On Pacing

I've never been this busy. I hope that I'll never be this busy again. I'm thankful for all the disparate elements of life - all of them fulfilling and challenging in their own ways. But I know that I can't sustain this pace for long. I hate the feeling of "working-in" times of uninterrupted contemplation and waiting on Jesus. I don't like that I probably talk to classmates and Kindergartners more than my fiance on any given day. And I don't like feeling unavailable for the beautiful interruptions of the Kingdom. I have become scarily good at apportioning my time into neat, 10 minute sections of pragmatism. Everything has its place, and as long as the order is preserved, we all keep on living, right? So what happens when God interposes? I don't want to miss his voice and will because I'm obsessed with Burkean aesthetics or notions of Victorian violence or internet registry updating. I don't want to miss out on the people I love and the people who need love because I'm busy with analyzing poems about goblins that may or may not be about sexual repression. Again, I love the things that are keeping me busy, but I am feeling the sting of it today. I want a moment without organization. I want a quiet moment with my Jesus. I think I'll go attend to that...

Mimesis

In the swirling chaos, adopting the character of Christ is what matters. It's basic. But I've been learning that it's the last thing I want to do when I'm pressed by the forces of this life and the first thing that I should do. My ability to love people through frustration and stress is contingent upon my awareness of and dependence on the nature of Jesus. If left to my own devices, I will begin to dislike people (particularly the people I love), become self absorbed, then become self deprecating, then begin to wonder why I feel so grotesque and misguided. If, on the other hand, I'm willing to become a servant like Christ, I will love YOU and be ok with ME and honor HIM. Lesson learned, now to implement it...

Imaginarium

I needed today. It has afforded relaxation and a momentary pause from the business of life (all of which is great, of course). After coffee with Kevin at Starbucks this morning, my dearest Emily and I made our way to SLO for some Linnaea's homework time followed by a dinner at Novo and a movie at the Palm. Oh, and one detail I left out: in between dinner and the movie, we stalked Justin Long and Drew Barrymore around SLO after a brief sighting. We tried to walk quickly to find them again, but they were sneaky and got away. It's to be expected. He's a Mac after all - and she was in E.T.

The Imaginarium of Dr. Parnassus was a delightful mind trip. It was both visually stunning and fairytale-esque: like a cinematic hallucination complete with the late Heath Ledger, his showbiz friends, and the underpinnings of psychological surrealism... with a sprinkling of meth.

My favorite quote of the evening, though, was from dear Miss Forman:

"I used to have a fear of aliens. If E.T. were real, I would kick him!"

Good day. Thank you, Jesus. I'm sorry, E.T.

I Learn from Kindergarteners

Earlier this week, my favorite Kindergarten class was creating an electronic booklet about seasons and holidays. When asked the reason for celebrating Christmas, an ardent-faced, runtish, red-haired boy named Randy (one of my favorites, if I'm allowed to pick favorites) responded, "Christmas is when Jesus and the animals were born at the same time in a big barn at night time." I don't know what translation of the nativity story he's been reading, and I don't really care - his response was more than satisfactory. I proceeded to ask, why was Jesus born near the animals? Randy, again with a serious face in keeping with the subject matter, responded, "Because the people inside hated him."

Again, Randy's telling was a little skewed, but I think he got the main point. From the moment he was born, Jesus was the subject of scorn, violence, and plotting. He entered into this hostility with forgiveness and a mind to make all things right. A man of sorrows, acquainted with grief, a friend to sinners, and God dressed in meekness. It's difficult for me to grasp the God-ness of Jesus at times when I think about the low state he assumed. But that's the goal, I think: to see the strength of God in his humility and grace. The perfect tension of God's justice and God's mercy dwell in the person of Christ. In seeing Him, we see the face of God. If that is the case, may we respond to his humility, his love, his grace, his passionate self-sacrifice with the mirror of our own lives.

Badgers and Wedding Plans

I've been creatively stagnant. I teach, study Victorian literature, talk about biodegradable wedding dinnerware, play music with kids, and drive - drive like the wind... a lot. And I'm in love. I'm getting married. I'm growing up. I'm changing and staying the same - such a contradiction. There's so much goodness hanging onto my shoulders that at times, I feel like I have a steady companion that I don't have time for. He's a tiny little badger called grace. I don't have the words or the ways to respond adequately to all this grace that I'm carrying. I need an outlet. There's a growing piece of something in me, and I need to give it a name. So I'm going to write more.

The purpose of this blog is to hold a mirror up to God's love - to write my little wonderings in response to his big words, his big heart, his big grace. I've got this girl who comes straight from the hands of Jesus. I've got this gospel that's all about redemption. I've got this youth group that lives mighty fierce. And I've got an itch to make something beautiful out of all this. Some days I want to write children's books, and some days I want to be a travel journalist. All days I want to be a husband and a friend and a disciple. Maybe I'll write about the hurdles of house hunting for 24 year olds during an economic down turn. Maybe I'll write a book of haikus. Or maybe I'll just write my vows... late into the night... over and over.

Many moments of life have been wasted by me not responding to the beauty of Jesus. And I'm so thankful that he has made such a something out of our nothingness. Life and love, ex nihilo. Now the question is, how can I bring Him glory. I've got a little life, and a little voice, and lots of running around to do. I want it to count.

From Nothing...