0

I Wrote a Sonnet!

Posted by Editormum on Feb 1, 2010 in True Stories, poetry

That’s awesome, because I haven’t been able to write poetry since my marriage began to disintegrate in 1997. I have been waiting, sometimes impatiently, for the ability to return. Sometimes I was afraid it never would. Occasionally a phrase or two would come … but I could never get the fragments to gel into a complete work.

The lesson here is that a poet who smothers her feelings will be unable to communicate through poetry. A poet who hides from truth will not be able to distill truth in the way that poetry demands. And a poet who shuns pain will be unable to feel anything well enough to write about it.

Well, I felt today. I’m cleaning, and decluttering, and paying down debt. There are weeks when it’s hard to make ends meet. There are times when I have to say “no” when I want to say “yes” because I can’t afford “yes.” So the other day, I was putting some papers in the safe and discovered my wedding bands and engagement set. I’d thought they were stolen along with all of my other good jewelry in November 2007. I was wrong.

I knew I didn’t care to keep the bands. They mean nothing to me, and as far as I’m concerned, I wouldn’t want to pass them on to my sons … they are cursed.  The engagement set, I wasn’t so sure about. I’ll never wear it again, but one of the boys might like to give it to his girl … anyway, I never felt at peace about selling the engagement set like I did about the bands.

But when I got to the jewelers to get an estimate of what the bands would bring me, I started to cry. I’d intended just to get a quote, and then get a couple more and choose the best offer. But, standing there watching the kind old man carefully inspecting and evaluating these tiny artifacts of my marriage — artifacts that carried so much feeling and hurt and pain — I realised that I couldn’t face that ordeal again. I just took what he offered. It was more than I had hoped — nearly three-quarters of what we’d paid for them fourteen years ago.

When I got back to the office (I foolishly did this on my lunch break, among other errands like returning a tub of cat litter to the grocery), I sought out my girl-friend who has stood by me for almost ten years, and cried on her shoulder. She’s also been through the painful death of a marriage and having to recover from it. She understood.

And later, as I was trying to concentrate on the reports I was compiling (while trying to see through a right eye clouded by a broken blood vessel), a sonnet hit me. Full force. In the solar plexus. Those of you who are writers understand that I just yanked up a new Word document and got those words on paper, double-quick. And then went back to my reports … a little more emotionally stable.

When I got home, I decided that since I’d been writing about sonnets recently, I’d share it here.

The day I sold my wedding bands, I cried
For all the dreams I lost when I divorced
So tragic that the vows were based on lies
And all commitment died when truth was forced.
The years between decree and sale of rings
You’d think would have erased the stinging pain,
But no! There was no time to ponder weighty things
While tending to life’s pressing, hectic strain.
I think that letting go becomes more real
As artifacts of past times are released.
We often fail to take the time to feel —
Avoiding pain, we grasp at spurious peace —
So when at last divestiture comes due
We gasp and shudder, and we weep anew.

Tags: , , , , ,

 
0

The Sonnet

Posted by Editormum on Jan 26, 2010 in Education

This post is for my online friend Alan, aka Success Warrior. We met on The Blogging Network (now Blogit) and we both have moved on to our own, independent blogs. And to various life challenges. Alan is working on finishing his college degree. And his first assignment this semester is to write a sonnet. He asked, on his blog, for pointers, and I started to comment, realised it was gonna get lengthy, and told him he’d have to come visit my playground here to get the dirt.  So, Alan, this is for you.

I am highly amused by the timing of his assignment, because I am actually working on a sonnet cycle at the moment and looked up the rules for Petrarchan, Shakespearean, and Spenserian sonnets last night!

There are three major types of sonnet: Italian (also called Petrarchan because the best-known writer of these was a guy called Petrarch), English (also called Shakespearean because the best-known writer of these was a guy called Shakespeare) and Spenserian (a variant of the English sonnet, called Spenserian because …. you get the idea). There’s also the Pushkin sonnet (guess why), which is completely different from the usual sonnet in both meter and rhyme scheme, so I’m not talking about it here.

All sonnets have fourteen lines (well, okay, except for caudate and curtal sonnets, and we’re not going into those here, either, because they are strange poetic beasts and may be confusing to the novice poet) in the meter called “iambic pentameter.”

An iamb, or iambic foot,  is two syllables: the first unstressed, the second stressed. When you get five of them together, it’s called iambic pentameter. So, for a sonnet, each line consists of five iambs — a total of ten syllables, alternating between unstressed and stressed. So the rhythmic feel of the poem is ta-TUM ta-TUM ta-TUM ta-TUM ta-TUM. (It always makes me think of a trotting horse.)

Here’s the first and last lines from one of Milton’s sonnets (“On His Blindness”), so you can get the feel of the meter:

When I consider how my light is spent ….
They also serve who only stand and wait.

There’s one more requirement for a 14-line, iambic pentameter poem to be a sonnet. It has to rhyme. And it’s the rhyme scheme that differentiates the different kinds of sonnets. (Mostly.)

The Shakespearean sonnet rhymes this way: abab cdcd efef gg. You can see that it’s made up of three quatrains (groups of four rhyming lines) and a couplet (set of two rhyming lines).  Here’s a pretty well-known one.

The Spenserian sonnet rhymes this way: abab bcbc cdcd ee. Again, three quatrains with a couplet, only this time the rhyme scheme interconnects between quatrains. Here are a few examples.

Now, Petrarch was obviously a complex guy, because the Petrarchan sonnet has two requirements: in addition to its special rhyme scheme, it has an outline — a specific layout, if you will. The Petrarchan sonnet has two sections. The first section of eight lines, called the octave, presents a problem and rhymes thus: abab abab OR abba abba. The second section of six lines, called the sestet, gives the solution to the problem, and rhymes thus: cde cde or cdc cdc. Here are some good examples.

So the basic rules for a sonnet are 14 lines, 10 syllables per line in an unstressed / stressed pattern, and a pre-set rhyme scheme based on which type of sonnet you are constructing.

Sonnets used to be very common and familiar poems, but with the advent of free verse, which threw off the restraints of classical poetry (things like formal structure, meter, and rhyme), the sonnet fell into disuse — it was too “old-fashioned” and “restrictive.”

And while it can be frustrating to write sonnets — you can get stuck on a rhyme, or the meter won’t come right — I have found that they are wonderful for distilling disordered thought into a concise, coherent statement. I will often cast problems into sonnet form, just to get to the meat of the problem and work out the best way to phrase a response.

Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

 
0

Myriad Projects

Posted by Editormum on Jan 25, 2010 in Family Life

If some scientist somewhere could come up with a way to alter the stream of time, I would be so very grateful. I have a boatload and a half of projects that need attention, and there’s nowhere near enough time to address them all. Among the pile of things to do…

I’m discontinuing my blogs on my old “pay-per-click” site, and they aren’t compatible with WordPress, so I’m having to migrate the posts one by one, cut and paste, and backdate the posts so that they are in the correct chronological order. It’s very time-consuming. And I had SIX different blogs on there. One of them will not be migrated here, but will have to be cut and pasted into a Word document for use in a future book. But the other five I do intend to incorporate here. I finished moving the low-carb diet journal tonight.

I have three partially completed hooked rugs that I want to finish and get done, and the beginnings of a black-and-camo rag rug to braid, coil, and sew.

I have enough clothes to start my own “gently used” boutique. I’m cleaning these and sorting them for giveaway, consignment, yard sale, or donation. And a few of them are being saved for either sentimental (cute baby outfits) or cockeyed optimist (one day I will be this small again) reasons.

I’m also catching up on about three years worth of ironing. Ugh.

Then there are the books. I am trying to organise and catalogue my books. There are about 10K of them. Maybe more. Probably not any fewer. LibraryThing is very helpful with this project, but it’s still time-consuming.

And the paperwork. I don’t even want to think about the paperwork. Where does all this stuff come from? It’s like, filling half my house … all this paper.

I was doing everything at once, which I should have realised was profoundly stupid. I came to my senses last weekend and prioritized. This week’s goal is to complete the ironing and decide what to do with the clothes that are in the house. (The ones in storage can stay there until the house is in order and the other projects are done.) I want that project done by Sunday afternoon. Then I’m going to tackle the paperwork, one box a day until it’s all done. The blogging gets one-half to one hour a day — because my subscription to the old site expires in February, and I want the old stuff moved before I discontinue the subscription.

So days are busy and it’s hard to make myself quit and go to bed at a reasonable hour. But I’m trying to be disciplined about that, because I gain weight and get sick if I don’t get adequate sleep.

Still, I would very much like it if I had a time-turner or some kind of way to be able to do more than one thing in more than one place at a time.

Tags: , , ,

 
0

Religion at Work

Posted by Editormum on Jan 20, 2010 in Religion, Work Life

I’ve been pondering this post for many weeks now, because I have come across something that disturbs me, greatly, but putting it into words has not been easy.

I read the Brazen Careerist blog, by Penelope Trunk. I don’t recommend it to many people because her subject matter is often totally NSFW (not suitable for work). But I still read, because I do pick up interesting insights and a lot of food for thought. The blog also gives me a window into the mind of a fairly typical liberal Democrat. And the blog talks a lot about the effects of Asperger’s Syndrome on one’s work life. Since the 2005 wreck left me with a lot of Asperger-like symptoms, I find the information on the blog to be helpful in integrating my somewhat-shattered mind with the minds of those whom I contact at work.

In any case, Ms. Trunk has had a poll running for some months, in which she asks the question “To what extent does your religion determine your choices at work?” The question doesn’t disturb me, but the answers do. Since day one, the results have been almost static, though the number of respondents has climbed from a few hundred to more than two thousand. I know, because I have watched the evolution of the results very carefully.

Here are the results:

Not At All: 61 % ….. (1233)
Not Often: 12 % ….. (240)
Sometimes: 11 % ….. (221)
A Great Deal: 16 % ….. (325)

So of the 2019 people who have responded, seventy-three percent (73 %) say that their religion seldom or never affects their work life. And, as I said, those results have really not changed significantly since the first day of the poll.

Am I the only person who finds this disturbing?

I’m a Protestant Christian, and my religion is quite clear in its expectation that its principles should be carried through all of one’s interactions in life. But I have also had fairly wide exposure to other religious systems. Enough to say that most religious systems are intended to infiltrate the follower’s entire life. Work, play, home … everything.

I understand that not all of Ms. Trunk’s readers will profess any religion — her comments often spark responses from self-described atheists and agnostics, as well as from adherents of belief systems across the entire religious spectrum.

But I find it disturbing that nearly three-quarters of respondents to this poll don’t find their religion dictating their choices at work. I find myself surprised to be in a minority. I really expected different results as I watched this poll evolve. I really expected that the numbers would settle at around 50 / 50. Or even with those influenced by their religion having a slightly greater proportion than those who are not. It’s not an exaggeration to say that this poll’s results “rocked my world.”

While I have a nodding acquaintance with many belief systems, I am most knowledgeable about Christianity and Judaism. Both religions teach such principles as not stealing, not lying, not cheating, and fulfilling your agreements. That means that such things as goofing off at work, taking company supplies for personal use, lying to clients or vendors, holding invoices, and the like, are forbidden.

Now, I’m not saying that I am perfect about following these principles, but my imperfection doesn’t negate the fact that the principles are there. When I “take five” and play Solitaire instead of typing the report that’s due, I feel guilty. When I jot down my grocery list on the company-provided steno pad, I feel guilty. My boss isn’t paying me to play Solitaire or plan my shopping, and he certainly didn’t purchase that pad for my personal use. When I get to work a few minutes late, I feel bad because I have broken my agreement with the company to be available to them at a certain time. When my boss says, “Tell him I’m not here,” do I obey and tell the lie, or do I change the wording — essentially disobeying orders — to avoid lying? (After all, “He is not available just now” is not a lie, but it conveys the same message as “He is not here.” But it is also not what my boss told me to say.)

So I find that even though I’m not perfect at following the ideals set down by my religion, it does influence me. I have often replaced a steno pad or stayed late to make up for a tardy arrival, because my religion requires that I not steal time or supplies from my employer. I “disobey” and re-word messages so that I do not have to lie. And I think twice before opening the Solitaire game or jotting down my grocery list. It’s not really a conscious thing, except when I’m resisting the temptation to surf the web instead of compiling reports.

And it disturbs me to think that three-quarters of the people around me don’t have any compunctions at all in this regard. Their religion doesn’t inform their choices. It apparently doesn’t even nag at them when they do something that their religion classes as wrong behaviour. And I am, therefore, left with the question: “What purpose does your religion have, if it’s not influencing your choices in all aspects of your life?”

Tags: , , , ,

 
0

The Stupid Talent Strikes Again

Posted by Editormum on Jan 16, 2010 in Family Life, True Stories

Back in December, I wrote about my talent of getting injured in the most ridiculous ways — while engaged in perfectly innocuous, normally safe activities. Well, the stupid talent has struck again: I fell last night and hurt my left hand badly.

I had come home from eating dinner at Las Tortugas Deli Mexicana, and was listening to the weather forecast on channel 13 — so it was about 21:30 or so. Rain was in the picture for Saturday, starting by noon. I had some stuff in the backyard that was in cardboard boxes, so I thought, I’ll just go out and bring that into the house so it doesn’t get rained on if I sleep in. It wasn’t particularly valuable stuff, just some boards I’d had cut down to practise breaking.

Yeah, I guess I should mention that I’ve been breaking boards (karate fun!)  for the past week or so, and having a blast doing it. And not a single injury sustained … not even a bruise. Not even when I tried to break two boards at once and failed. I thought I might have got a bruise from that, but it failed to materialize. So I’ve broken almost two dozen boards without injury in the past week …. anyway ….

I’d stacked the boards into a couple of boxes to make them easier to move from the car to the karate pit in the backyard. So it wasn’t like I was trying to carry shifting piles or anything. I lifted a box with my hands cupped around the bottom, and started to head in the back door. That’s when it happened.

I should also mention that my back porch-light is not working, and I haven’t yet figured out why. So it was dark in the backyard. But I had grabbed my son’s spelunking headlamp, so I wasn’t working totally in the dark. The headlamp is LED, so it’s pretty bright and casts a wide glow; I could see what I was doing quite well.

I stepped up onto the back walk, tripped over a brick that had been left lying on the walk, and fell. Hard. Still gripping the box. It happened so fast, and so unexpectedly, that I didn’t even have time to drop the box or try to break my fall the way my sensei has been teaching me. I just fell.  Face-first. And because I was still holding the box with my fingers wrapped round the bottom edge, the last three fingers of my left hand took the majority of the force of the fall.

When I’ve got my breath, I look up. All I can see in the glare of the headlamp is the concrete corner of the back stoop. It is one-half inch from my right eye. I lie back down for a moment and quietly freak out a little bit — Oh, God, thank you that I did not slam my eye socket into that corner! Then I get up and look at the damage to my hand. I seem to have scraped the middle knuckles of my last three fingers, but they aren’t  bleeding. (Yet.) I figure I’ll get the stuff inside and then clean up my hand and slap on a couple of sticking-plasters. I take the box inside and set it down. Then I head back out for the second box.

I’m reaching for  the second box to pick it up when I hear it. DRIP! I aim the headlamp down at the box. There are several huge drops of blood spattered in the box. I look at my hand. It’s bleeding now! With a vengeance.  And those are not mere scrapes on those knuckles … they are gouges. So I grab the box — I’m already there, after all — and head back inside. I grab the first thing I see — the dishtowel — to wrap my hand in while I figure out what to do. First things, first — I lock the back door and arm the alarm.

Then I decided that the first thing to do is try to clean my hand so that I can assess the damage. I grab a  bowl and run tepid water in it — I already know that the backs of my knuckles are shredded, and I’m not up for the pain of running water over that. When I get them rinsed, I look at them. The middle finger is barely scraped. Good. The ring finger has a nasty, deep wound, but it’s fairly small. Okay.

OMG, is that my pinky finger? It’s already swollen up bigger than my thumb, solid purple, and bleeding profusely. That looks bad. Is it broken? I flex my fingers, and then try to make a fist. I manage it, so the bones don’t seem to be broken, but the pain is incredible. And the bleeding gets worse.

I call my sister-in-law. Thank God for this amazing woman who is married to my brother. She’s a doctor. And she is one of the calmest people I have ever met. Nothing fazes her — which is, I suppose, a good character quality for a doctor to have. I don’t remember what I said to her …. I’m fairly calm in a crisis, and blood doesn’t bother me — unless it’s mine. Then I’m apt to get a bit flustered.

But she listened to me describe what happened, told me that the only advantage to going to the ER — because, of course, all of the urgent care places are closed at 2200 on Friday night — is that they can X-ray and confirm if it’s broken. And then they will splint it and wrap it and send me home. So she tells me that it would be just as good to splint and bandage it, take an anti-inflammatory, and apply an ice pack.

(Which is fine with me. On Friday night, the ER is full of really strange people, and I figure that “scraped knuckles” will get me four hours minimum wait among the weirdos, and probably a sleepy intern to bandage me up. No thanks. I’m a dab hand at splinting and bandaging, thanks to years of Red Cross training and instructing. And while my stuff always looks better on others than it does on me, I’m not worried about looks here.)

So, after a restless night’s sleep, here I sit. Typing with one hand plus an index finger (it’s taken me almost two hours to get this typed), and wondering what the heck I’m going to do today, since cleaning house, karate practise, board-breaking, writing (since I’m a lefty, even longhand is out), hooking a rug, and most exercise are all impossible. I can’t even grip the controller well enough to play on the Playstation. Or hold a book well enough to read. I think I’m going to try ironing, folding clothes, and filing papers. I might be able to manage those without my dominant hand. We’ll see.

And LifeBlood just called to see if I could donate. I was SO tempted to say, “I gave last night, in the backyard.” But I didn’t.

Tags: , , ,

 
0

Degrees of Sin

Posted by Editormum on Jan 14, 2010 in Religion

We tend, in our human minds, to think of levels or degrees of sin. There’s the little white lie that “doesn’t hurt anybody,” and there’s the really evil-wicked-mean-bad-and-nasty stuff like murder and rape. So we see Hitler as this depraved man responsible for the murder of six million Jews, and think “He’s a terrible sinner!” But when we tell a little white lie, we don’t see ourselves as a terrible sinner. In fact, sometimes we see ourselves as kind and charitable because the lie spared someone’s feelings.

But here’s an “OMG, I can’t wrap my head around that” concept for you:

There are no degrees of sin in God’s eyes.

Think about that! It’s hard to see that the angry words that we said to our child this morning are as bad as what Hitler did. Or that the woman who gossips about her neighbours is just as bad as the man who beats his wife or kids in a drunken rage.

What would it mean to you if you really believed this? If you accepted that when you lose your temper and say something hurtful to someone, it’s just as much a sin in God’s eyes as the atrocities committed by Saddam Hussein.

To God, sin is sin. And anything touched by sin, is sin. In Isaiah 64:6, God tells the children of Israel “all of your good works are like a pile of dirty diapers in My sight” because of the condition of their relationship with Him.

(My paraphrase. The actual words in the KJV are “all your righteousnesses are as filthy rags.” The Hebrew word translated “righteousnesses” means “good deeds.” The word translated “filthy rags” refers to something so revolting that I don’t even want to think about it. ”Dirty diapers” is close enough. Essentially, God is saying that good works done without a right relationship to Him are utterly loathsome and disgusting.)

The point is that these people were living in rebellion against God, but were trying to please him with good works. And God says that because they were, basically, hypocrites, their good works are no better than a pile of soiled nappies. Their good works were contaminated by their rejection of the relationship with God.

In those days, you restored your relationship to God by making an animal sacrifice to “pay” for your sin. They called it a sin-offering. The animal had to be pure and without any flaws. It had to be killed in a certain way, and its carcass had to be butchered and disposed of in a certain way. We don’t do animal sacrifices now. We don’t have to. Because, for Christians, Jesus is our sin-offering.

When you become a Christian, you pray and tell God you are sorry for offending Him with your sins, and you ask that He cleanse you with Christ’s blood and credit you with Christ’s righteousness, making you a new person. That is the beauty of Christ’s sacrifice — His Crucifixion restores our right relationship to God. His resurrection proves that the sacrifice was acceptable and that anyone who trusts in it by asking to be covered by it will be considered clean of sin.

For Christians, so long as we are doing good works through the strength of Christ, repenting and asking forgiveness for our sins, and maintaining a right relationship with God, then our good works represent an outpouring of God’s love through us. The minute we start priding ourselves on our service or our goodness or whatever, the instant that we take our focus off of the righteousness of Christ and begin preening ourselves on our “goodness,” at that moment our good works lose their goodness and become nasty.

Are you familiar with the Seven Deadly Sins? (pride, avarice, envy, wrath, lust, gluttony, slothfulness) They are a convenient way to categorize sin, but none of them is any worse than telling a lie or spreading gossip. What about the Seven Holy Virtues? (humility, charity, kindness, patience, chastity, temperance, diligence) These are simply a convenient way to categorize right behaviour if and only if that right behaviour springs from Christ working through a person. But the Seven Virtues can be practised sinfully.

I’m sure you’ve met people who were “good” people doing “good” things, but who were tiresome or obnoxious in their “goodness.” By glorying in their goodness, they destroy it completely. Remember the praying Pharisee: “Thank you, God, that I’m not a terrible sinner like that thieving tax collector over there. I fast and pray and give alms … I’m just so good.” And Jesus said that the Pharisee was not the one upon whom God showed favour. Nope. The favoured one was the wicked tax collector, who simply prayed “Oh God, have mercy on me, for I am a sinner.”

Now, while God wants us to be fully aware of the magnitude of sin, and to understand that our “little” sins are no less sinful than Hitler’s “big” sins, He doesn’t want us dwelling on it. He doesn’t want us feeling like we are impossibly bad people.

What He wants is for us to say, “I am a terrible sinner. But God loved me enough to make a way to fix my sin, and He sent His Son to pay the price for me. And I accept that payment on my behalf. I will go where God leads and do as He bids me because I am grateful for His sacrifice and I want to help others know the Love that has set me free.”

In other words, He wants us to accept ourselves as sinners, accept His atonement that makes us righteous, and then go about our business without a lot of fuss. And without making a distinction between ourselves and those “bad, bad people” who murder, rape, or steal.

Tags: , , , , ,

 
0

Cross-Bearing

Posted by Editormum on Jan 10, 2010 in Philosophy, Religion, True Stories

I’ve been thinking a lot about crosses lately. I daresay that sounds a strange topic of thought — it’s C.S. Lewis’s fault. Between Mere Christianity and The Screwtape Letters, I’m getting a lot of input about what Jesus meant when He said that each of His followers must “deny himself, take up his cross daily, and follow Me….” (Matthew 16:24, Mark 8:34, Luke 9:23) And in Matthew 10:37–38, Jesus said that anyone who was not willing to give up even his parents and siblings, take up his cross, and follow Jesus was not worthy of Him. Those are hard sayings. What do they mean?

The first question is: What is my cross? And it seems that everyone’s cross is different. Jesus doesn’t say, “take up a cross” or “take up the cross.” He said “take up his cross.” That tells me that my cross and your cross are probably two different things.

My heaviest cross at present is the effects of the car wreck I was in nearly five years ago. That wreck stole part of my personality, damaged my capacity for what my doctor calls “executive ability,” and left me with a speech impediment, panic attacks, and an explosive temper.

There are other crosses: Not being home with my children and having to go to the office every day. (Those of my friends who get to be stay-home mothers are so blessed! And they are a constant and very real temptation to envy for me. Another cross.) Not having enough money to do the things I want to do.

But Lewis says that there are other, smaller crosses to bear. The traffic jam that makes me late to an appointment. The woman who is screaming at me on the phone. The illness that forces me to miss karate class. Having to work on a team project with a person I dislike. All of the annoyances and irritations of the day — crosses.

The important point is that I am to bear these crosses as Jesus bore His: humbly and meekly, without shouting, threatening, or complaining. I won’t say “without protest” — He did, after all, beg God in Gethsemane Garden to please “let this cup pass” without His having to drink it. But, once it was clear that the cup had to be drunk, Jesus tipped it up and swallowed the draught to the very bottom, dregs and all. Once it was clear that the Crucifixion was an inescapable task, He went without further complaint.

That’s the hardest bit for me. I want to grumble or whine or explode in anger at the circumstances. I don’t want to accept that this is my appointed cross and bear it meekly. I want to fight. To rage. To resist. To finagle my way out of it. I don’t want to carry a cross. It’s no fun. Crosses are painful, uncomfortable, lethal.

But if I reject the cross that is appointed to me, I am not worthy of the Lord. If I rebel against the task I am given, I reject the very nature of the Master I have vowed to serve.

Like a loving parent, God is tolerant and compassionate when we fail, if only we have tried to complete our task. But with rebellion or shirking, He must be firm. He is still loving, but it is the stern, tough love that allows for consequences, rather than the tender, gentle love that praises even feeble efforts and lifts you back to your feet when you fall.

So I must weigh my choices. Bear the pain that is my cross patiently, willingly, manfully? Or refuse the pain of that cross, only to find myself suffering the pain of consequences? Try, even when I am afraid I will fail? Or refuse to try and spend my life wondering “What if?”

Oddly enough, I got a lesson about that last night. I’ve discovered the joys of board-breaking. So I picked up some supplies yesterday on my lunch break. I wanted to practice this new skill, and I wanted to try breaking two at once. Just to see if I could. I would once have been too scared of the pain to even try it. But karate’s been good for me in that respect. Pain doesn’t scare me quite so much as it used to. It’s just pain.

So I set up and broke a couple of singles to warm up. I didn’t orient the first one properly, and when I hit it, it didn’t break. That was painful. Once I got them properly oriented, though, I broke them with no problems. And no pain. So I stacked two together. When I hit them, nothing happened. Well, nothing but pain. Then someone said that they’d heard that it was better to separate them with small pieces of wood, like pencils. So I grabbed a couple of broken pieces, separated the boards, and tried again. This time, I broke through the first board, but not the second.

I bruised my hand last night. Probably on that first hit. You can’t break a board across the grain. (I think. Maybe someone with more skill and training could, but newbies like me sure can’t.) But that bruise is not going to stop me from trying again. It’s only a bruise. It’s only a moment of pain if you screw up. Better a little bruise on my hand while learning to protect and defend myself, than a devastating injury because I could not protect myself in time of need.

(And yes, I see board-breaking as part of self-defence. I don’t routinely smash solid objects. But if I don’t know what it feels like to hit something hard and follow through, then when I need to protect myself, I may be too scared, or too poorly-conditioned, to do it right. So the board-breaking, for me, is about conditioning. Getting the feel of what I’ve been practicing on air-shields in class. That it is fun and a good way to release stress is merely a fringe benefit.)

How does that tie into the “cross-bearing” thing? Two ways. First, if you are trying to break a board, you don’t stop when you touch the board. You have to keep going through the target. If you stop too soon, you are likely to get hurt. Likewise, if you drop your cross before the end of the road, you are liable to get hurt. You have to push your cross-bearing past the finish line, so that you don’t quit before you have achieved the goal.

The second way it ties into “cross-bearing” is through failure. When I struck the boards and they didn’t break, it hurt. But I’ve learned from the mistakes. I doubt I’ll get the orientation wrong again, and I’m going to get instruction from my Sensei before I go for two again. If I pick up my cross and fail to carry it to the end of the line, it’s going to hurt. Failure is painful. But God will still be pleased that I tried, and He will not scold me. He will instruct me in preparation for my next attempt. But if I refuse to pick up my cross, out of fear, or rebellion, or reluctance to experience pain, I will experience far worse, and more lasting pain — I will have to deal with both the consequences of my refusal and also with God’s disappointment.

Even those who try and fail get to hear “Well done, good and faithful servant; enter now into the place of rest.” But the rebels and shirkers do not. They hear, “Cast this wicked and lazy servant into outer darkness.” (See Matthew 25:14-46.)

What I wish to keep before myself, today and every day, is that the pain of the present cross is nothing in comparison to the pain of disappointing God. I would rather avoid the latter by suffering the former as I follow in the footsteps of my Master.

Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

 
0

For Ladies Only: Regarding Modesty

Posted by Editormum on Jan 8, 2010 in News Commentary, Religion

This one is for my lady friends only, please. If you are one of my gentlemen friends, please come back tomorrow, because today’s topic is not suitable for mixed company.

Like many people yesterday, I reviewed my Facebook home page in puzzlement as friend after friend posted an apparently random colour on her status. I did not know what it was about until this morning, when a male friend asked on his profile “what’s with the colours?” and several of his friends posted that these people were posting the colour of their brassieres to help raise awareness for breast cancer research. I was shocked.

I was even more shocked (and I think my friends would have been, too) by the comments left by the men who were answering the question. More than one of them said he wanted to see pictures! And while I know that some of those men don’t profess to be Christians, at least a couple of them do.

So I was glad to see that at least one of my Facebook friends had taken exception to the idea — publicly. Her status said, “As Christian women we wouldn’t stand up in church and announce such things as ‘colors’ to our fellow brothers, so why would we do it here on FB? Please ladies, don’t do things that may cause our brothers to sin.”

And wow, did she take some flak! While there were several women who thanked her for the different perspective and stated that they were going to change or remove the colour posts from their FB pages, there were a few who responded with a vitriolic attack.

I’m no prude, but I don’t think it’s appropriate for others to know what colour undergarments I am wearing. I would be horrified and disgusted if random women walked up to my brothers and announced that they were wearing black undergarments. If I were married or engaged, and other women came up to my husband or boyfriend and announced that they were wearing red underwear, or no underwear at all (and yes, I did see a few people post “commando” or “none”), I would probably have to be physically restrained. Because I would be outraged by such an offensive comment made to a man who was clearly committed to me. I don’t want to imagine what you look like in your underwear — whatever colour you may choose — and I don’t want my husband or boyfriend visualizing you that way, either.

Beyond that, for those who claim to be Christians, we are under orders to live modest and seemly lives, to refrain from causing others to sin or be tempted to sin, and to maintain purity in our actions. We are called to practise Christian charity. It is, at the very least, an affront to charity to announce the colour of your undergarments to the world. It is certainly immodest. And from the men’s responses, it is clear that both Christian and non-Christian men were being tempted to impure thoughts by the postings.

So, to my Christian sisters, I say: before you join in a trend or movement — even one that seems to support a good cause — please think carefully, or even pray for wisdom. Make sure that it is something that God would want you to do. Something that, should you have to stand before Jesus and talk about it, you wouldn’t be ashamed. I can’t speak for others, but I would be ashamed to stand face-to-face with Jesus and say, “Yes, I told several thousand people what colour my underclothes were.” Not that I am ashamed of my underclothes, but the immodesty of having announced it to the world would make me ashamed before my Lord.

To my friends who do not claim to be Christians, I appeal to your own sense of rightness. Would you want some random female coming up to your husband, boyfriend, brother, or dad, and saying, “I’m wearing pink underwear”? Do you really think that such announcements trigger thoughts like “Oh, I need to contribute to breast cancer research”? I don’t want to be offensive, but if you really think that the average man would think about breast cancer research after being told what colour your underwear is, then you are very naïve and do not understand men’s thought-processes at all.

Just because it’s typed on Facebook doesn’t mean that it’s any less outrageous or immodest. Now, if you are looking to outrage and cause discomfort, that’s a whole nother issue altogether — one that I do not intend to address. But if you are hoping to raise awareness about breast cancer and hoping to inspire people to support breast cancer research, there are much better, much more socially appropriate ways.

Tags: , , , , , ,

 
0

Human Amphibians and the Law of Undulation

Posted by Editormum on Jan 7, 2010 in Philosophy, Religion

I had actually intended to post about just the Law of Undulation today, as I have been listening to C.S. Lewis’s The Screwtape Letters over the last few days, and his concepts of the Law of Undulation and of humankind as a hybrid, amphibian creature subject to that law have been occupying my thoughts greatly.

But in looking for someplace online to which I could refer readers for the explanation of the Law of Undulation (scroll down to sections VIII and IX for the pertinent information), I came across this blog article, and felt strongly compelled to share it in addition to my own thoughts. (And please do read the info in the links, or you will totally not “get” what I’m going to say next.)

I am, in some degree, in a “trough period” right now. A questioning time. The reasons would fill a week’s worth of posts and are not worth going into here. Suffice it to say that I am struggling with “a universe from which every trace of Him seems to have vanished” and I am “wondering why [I have] been forsaken.” Fortunately, God brought Mere Christianity, The Great Divorce, and The Screwtape Letters back to my shelf (they’ve been lost in my Room of Doom for several months) just in time to remind me that I have been here before, that this is a temporary state of affairs, and that my assigned task, my orders, my “cross” is to simply obey.

And then came the blog article, which adds to the assurance that this is a short-term dry spell the certain knowledge of my worth and dignity as a human being. Ever looked in the mirror and wondered “God, why in the world did you ever bother creating me? What were You thinking?! I hope to goodness you threw that set of plans away, because the prototype sucks.”? Yeah.

Well, as Aslan says to Prince Caspian, “You come of the Lord Adam and the Lady Eve … And that is both honour enough to erect the head of the poorest beggar, and shame enough to bow the shoulders of the greatest emperor in earth. Be content.”

I have often read that passage in Prince Caspian and been comforted by it, though without clearly understanding why. So I am grateful to Sarah Arthur for putting into words what my spirit glimpsed and held to, though it could not articulate it.

“Painful” does not begin to describe my heritage, though I know for certain that my past is not half as horrific as that of some of my readers. And there have been many, many times over the past few weeks that I have wished most heartily that I could go back to the age of 12 and just redo the entirety of my adult life. Yes, I would even go through adolescence again, just to have the chance to undo some of the choices I have made. 

But regardless of my past, I am a Daughter of Eve, created in the image of God and, through Christ, indwelt by the Creator and Ruler of all creation. My painful past is only a part of my heritage, and it has been covered by the Blood. Therefore, I, like Caspian, need to be content.

And, too, like George Bailey in It’s a Wonderful Life, I need to remember that no matter how disastrous a choice may seem, no matter how worthless my life may feel, I have impacted many for good. God may, or may not, choose to reveal those whom I have touched to me in this lifetime, but the fact that I don’t know about them doesn’t mean that the good contact didn’t happen. God probably keeps a lot of that sort of thing from me so I don’t get smug and proud and self-satisfied.

Anyway, so this little frog is crouched in a trough, hoping to stay more or less afloat until the Master comes and lifts me out again. I hope that my readers who have difficult pasts, or who find themselves in a low point, will find the words of CS Lewis and the explanations of Sarah Arthur as helpful and encouraging as I did.

Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

 
0

Why I Don’t Witness

Posted by Editormum on Jan 5, 2010 in Religion, True Stories

Several of my good friends have challenged me on my assertion that I don’t pray aloud in public and I don’t witness to people. So maybe I need to explain. Because I am, in fact, under orders. My Lord’s last words on this earth were “Go and teach all nations, baptizing … and teaching them to obey everything I have taught you.” (Matthew 28:16-20) So, I have been asked, why are you refusing to obey a direct command?

It’s a longish story, and parts of it may sound silly. But it does prove very clearly that the things that we experience as children can have a lasting and detrimental effect on us long after we grow  up.

I made my profession of faith at the age of five. Many years later, I wondered  if it could have been real. If I could really have understood what I was doing. My Dad says that he is certain I did, because the first time I asked to go forward in church, he would not let me, because he thought I was too young. I was apparently so upset about being held back that when we got home from church, he quizzed me deeply about what “getting saved” meant. And I knew the answers — apparently I knew the answers well enough that Daddy didn’t think I was just “parroting.” So the next week, he allowed me to go to the altar and make my profession of faith public. And, shortly thereafter, I was baptised.

I don’t really remember much of my childhood, but both of my parents agree that I was very excited and vocal about my salvation. That I frequently volunteered to pray aloud at home and in church groups, and that I shared my faith freely. I do remember one of the illustrations that they gave me: When I was about eight and my younger brother about four, a neighbour hosted a Child Evangelism Fellowship Five-Day Club in her backyard during the summer. I went with my brother. I wanted him to be saved, too, so when they did the invitation prayer at the end of the week, after the Wordless Book presentation, and they asked anyone who wanted to ask Jesus into their heart to raise their hands, I (being a good big sister) raised my brother’s hand for him. Of course, he began to struggle with me, and the leader had to separate us. She told my mom about it, and mom and I had a long talk about how you can’t drag people into the Kingdom, no matter how much you may love them.

I also remember, very clearly, the two incidents that led to my abandoning both public prayer and witnessing.

The prayer incident, sadly, happened at church. I was ten or eleven at the time. I had volunteered to pray and something I said struck some of the other kids as amusing. They all started jeering at me. One of my biggest challenges in life is that I care, very deeply, what other people think of me. And kids are cruel. These kids were very cruel. So cruel that I vowed never to publicly pray in a group again.

The witnessing problem actually went in two phases. The first thing happened shortly after the prayer incident. I really enjoyed playing with our next-door neighbours, and I wanted them to know Jesus. So I started to share about salvation with them one day while we were playing. And they made fun of me for believing all that “superstitious nonsense.” I didn’t know how to respond to their objections and I got confused and embarrassed. That shut me up about my faith for about ten years.

The second incident was when I was in my mid-twenties. I was working for a para-church organization, and one of the requirements was that each staff member gave his or her personal testimony once a year — it wasn’t necessarily your salvation story, but might be somet particular truth that God was teaching you  at that time. My first couple of these went well, but the third time I did it, someone misunderstood something I said, and it upset some people, and a big ruckus was raised. I ended up in tears, feeling like I wasn’t really saved and doubting the very foundations of everything I believed. That was a very dark time. And I decided then that it was dangerous for me to share, because people either didn’t understand me or thought I was stupid.

My bigger concern was the misunderstanding. I don’t want to turn someone off permanently to the beautiful love and grace of God because I communicate poorly. I don’t want to teach someone error or heresy, misleading and confusing them. I have a horror of being a false teacher. And I don’t want, in my zeal for truth, to turn someone off by coming out harshly against their pet sin. (And we all have one of those … me included.)

I also didn’t want to be one of those judgmental, Bible-thumping zealots who whack sinners over the head with scripture while acting all holy and self-righteous. I’ve had that done to me, and I didn’t like it. And I’m not all holy and self-righteous, anyway. I’m a flawed and damaged human being, with human failings and a sin nature. The only thing that saves me is that Jesus covers all my faults with His righteousness, so that God sees me through “Jesus-coloured glasses.”

So, after a lot of study, I decided to follow my Lord’s example. Jesus didn’t whack people over the head or chase them down and tell them they were going to Hell if they didn’t follow Him. He just lived His life as an example, and answered people’s questions when they asked. Then He let them make their own decisions about what they would do with the teachings He presented. He also tended to form relationships with people before confronting them with sin and their need for repentance.

My favourite example of this is the story of Zaccheus. I like Zach. He was a short guy — so short he had to climb a tree so he could see Jesus when He came walking through the town. I can identify with vertical deficiency. And people pretty much despised him because of his job. He was a tax collector. They tended to skim a bit off the top — to round your tax bill up just a bit to augment their salaries. So Zach’s job made him pretty unpopular with the people in his town. Anyway, here’s Zach up in this tree, and Jesus comes walking by and invites Himself to Zach’s house for a visit and a meal. The story doesn’t tell us what Jesus talked about at the meal. But it does tell us that Zach was so affected by the visit that he publicly promised to pay back everyone whom he had cheated (with interest!), and to stop skimming and live honestly from then on.

Obviously, something about Jesus influenced Zach to mend his ways and live a more righteous life. But Jesus didn’t come out all “Yo, Zach, you are a bad man, stealing money from all these hard-working people so that you can have a life of luxury and ease. You’re gonna go to Hell if you don’t stop this stealing and make it right.” No. Jesus just invited Himself for lunch and treated Zach like a regular guy. Maybe it was just that fact, that Jesus didn’t care that everyone else thought He was terrible for being nice to this rotten thief. Jesus didn’t make Zach feel like he was a horrible, worthless, dirty person. He showed unconditional love and acceptance to Zaccheus, and Zach responded with repentance and restitution. 

The way Jesus dealt with Zaccheus is the way I want to interact with people. Not judging or condemning. Just loving. Just living life as it comes. I hope that I live in such a way that people will want to know my “secret.” If someone asks me why I do certain things, or how I keep on keeping on in the face of some challenge or others, I’ll explain. But I’m not volunteering. I figure that if I’m supposed to share with someone, God can inspire them to ask me a question.

And on the very rare occasions that I do feel an urge to confront someone about an issue, I hold back unless I know that there is a relationship so that the other person knows I’m not judging them and don’t think I’m better than they are. Establishing relationships means showing others your vulnerable spots and admitting your faults. And if I’ve shared with you that I struggle with anger or envy, you’ll feel more open about my addressing your struggles in those areas, because you know that I understand. That’s why the Bible is so careful to tell us that Jesus was tempted in every way that we are. (Hebrews 4:15) Because then we know that He understands how hard it is to resist and conquer sin.

I figure that one day God’s going to call me on this fear of mine, because He’s a God of courage and boldness, not of fear and timidity. But I’m content to wait for His timing on that. I have plenty of other issues to work on, and God  is patient, for which I am profoundly grateful.

Tags: , , , ,

Copyright © 2010 Audio, Video, Disco All rights reserved.
Desk Mess Mirrored v1.4.3.1 theme from BuyNowShop.com.