Did you choose a film you had not seen before? No. I wanted to watch Schindler’s List again for a new experience than just watching it in school as a forced activity.
Choose one of the characters. Describe the characterization. Is the character round/flat, dynamic/static? What is the character's motivation? Schindler is a round and dynamic main character that definitely changes throughout the film. With each new action, we see his character grow to a righteous man who sacrificed everything for justice in an insane time period. The character's motivation is to help others at the end of the film. We see him never satisfied because he wanted to save all and he wasn't able to. At first we see him as a pure business man but then we see him transformed into a self sacrificing character.
What is one of the themes in the film? How is this theme portrayed? Justice at all costs. The whole movie is about trying to obtain justice in a world that seems so far from it. Schindler's character simply moves this theme from being in the background to the very central focus. When we watch movies about the Holocaust, we often simply feel pity. But in this movie, I couldn't help but feel for Schindler at the end. His devotion to find justice made me feel more than just pity, it made me feel an uncontrolable urge to do the right thing.
How might watching film as literature (instead of simply as entertainment) change the way that you watch movies? It helps me understand how a movie is more than just action and plot driven entertainment. Instead of looking at it from a mere pleasure perspective, I get to see and understand how the director made this movie for a true purpose.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Friday, April 23, 2010
Fancy But Empty Words
I know a lot of fancy words.
I tear them from my heart and my tongue.
Then I pray.
This is a simple and elegant poem from Mary Oliver. The words seem pretty up front and straight forward to when you look at it from first glance. First we see that the writer knows a lot of “fancy” words which just means an extended vocabulary. They then tear them from their heart and tongue which means they separate themselves from those words. Because after they have simplified their way of speech they can communicate honestly with God.
Now, this seems like this is it to the poem. It’s short so the analysis must be short as well, right? We see that the writer is intelligent and they must simplify the way they speak in order to talk to God. It might make us feel like we too should re-examine our thinking and prayers. However, there is more to this than the surface. If you look deeply and are willing to open your mind, you will begin to ask the questions of why and how and who really is the author.
This poem is about the prayer of any person. We can put ourselves and read aloud the poem as if we were saying the words ourselves. We often find ourselves needing and longing to say the right things. Our own sanity relies on how well and how often we can communicate with others around us. The words we say take up so much of our time and prioritize our thoughts. Words help mold and represent who we are as people and how our relationships are formed and strengthened. Most people rely on words than actions because it’s quicker and more efficient. So if we are striving to keep our relationships here on earth due to the utmost importance they hold to our lives and sanity, think about how we need to strive for us wanting to pray to God. There are many days where I know I just wait and yearn for the voice of God. I sometimes buy into the fact that if I just talk enough or say the right thing, He will respond in a voice that is similar to Morgan Freeman’s. This is a wrong thought though that many people give into.
Oliver has the right frame of mind when she admits that she knows a lot of fancy words. She is using the first sentence to declare her intelligence. And at first you might think that this is a good thing. But then when you go down to the second line you see her say that she tears them from not only her heart but her tongue. Oliver uses the word “tear” because of the urgent and drastic connotation the word has to the reader. Usually a tear is something that is pulled apart by force. Oliver shows us that we must tear away our fancy words from our heart and tongue. We must force ourselves to separate from what we usually rely on which are words. She tears the fancy words away from her heart so she might be more sincere, and then she tears away in the same manner from her tongue so that her words might be genuine.
Finally, Oliver prays.
Praying simply; praying beautifully; praying sincerely. This is what Mary Oliver does. In the midst of silence, without the needs to speak correctly or “feel” what we are suppose to feel, Oliver can truly pray. She trusts that the Father will know not what she says but what she means. Often this cannot not be expressed in words of man but words of the Spirit.
You see, there is something about this poem that we fail to realize which her utter surrender to God is. This poem shows that she stripped herself from fancy words (which she must be good at because she is a poet) and those fancy words must be part of her security and safety. We must be like Oliver and when we pray not to focus in on what we say or how we say it. Our words are empty if we only try to say the right thing. The Creator of everything knows our hearts yet we still feel like we have to communicate in such a manner that will appease Him. We only need to say what we feel, not what we think we should say.
Oliver calls us to strip away the words and to be comfortable in the silence. Are we willing to get rid of our securities such as words and need to please? Because if we are, then I truly believe we will understand what Mary Oliver wrote. We simply need to cast away such things that we think might help in order to rely on what true praying is: talking to God, our Savior.
We make things so complex. We try to say the right things. We even have thoughts that are so audacious as if we reason with God when we heavily rely on words.
Mary Oliver breaks down prayer into what it means. It is simple and not too complex. However, our natures make us tend to over complicate things.
God just wants our hearts and our tongues to praise Him. Our words cannot even express how much He has done for us and how awesome He truly is.
I tear them from my heart and my tongue.
Then I pray.
This is a simple and elegant poem from Mary Oliver. The words seem pretty up front and straight forward to when you look at it from first glance. First we see that the writer knows a lot of “fancy” words which just means an extended vocabulary. They then tear them from their heart and tongue which means they separate themselves from those words. Because after they have simplified their way of speech they can communicate honestly with God.
Now, this seems like this is it to the poem. It’s short so the analysis must be short as well, right? We see that the writer is intelligent and they must simplify the way they speak in order to talk to God. It might make us feel like we too should re-examine our thinking and prayers. However, there is more to this than the surface. If you look deeply and are willing to open your mind, you will begin to ask the questions of why and how and who really is the author.
This poem is about the prayer of any person. We can put ourselves and read aloud the poem as if we were saying the words ourselves. We often find ourselves needing and longing to say the right things. Our own sanity relies on how well and how often we can communicate with others around us. The words we say take up so much of our time and prioritize our thoughts. Words help mold and represent who we are as people and how our relationships are formed and strengthened. Most people rely on words than actions because it’s quicker and more efficient. So if we are striving to keep our relationships here on earth due to the utmost importance they hold to our lives and sanity, think about how we need to strive for us wanting to pray to God. There are many days where I know I just wait and yearn for the voice of God. I sometimes buy into the fact that if I just talk enough or say the right thing, He will respond in a voice that is similar to Morgan Freeman’s. This is a wrong thought though that many people give into.
Oliver has the right frame of mind when she admits that she knows a lot of fancy words. She is using the first sentence to declare her intelligence. And at first you might think that this is a good thing. But then when you go down to the second line you see her say that she tears them from not only her heart but her tongue. Oliver uses the word “tear” because of the urgent and drastic connotation the word has to the reader. Usually a tear is something that is pulled apart by force. Oliver shows us that we must tear away our fancy words from our heart and tongue. We must force ourselves to separate from what we usually rely on which are words. She tears the fancy words away from her heart so she might be more sincere, and then she tears away in the same manner from her tongue so that her words might be genuine.
Finally, Oliver prays.
Praying simply; praying beautifully; praying sincerely. This is what Mary Oliver does. In the midst of silence, without the needs to speak correctly or “feel” what we are suppose to feel, Oliver can truly pray. She trusts that the Father will know not what she says but what she means. Often this cannot not be expressed in words of man but words of the Spirit.
You see, there is something about this poem that we fail to realize which her utter surrender to God is. This poem shows that she stripped herself from fancy words (which she must be good at because she is a poet) and those fancy words must be part of her security and safety. We must be like Oliver and when we pray not to focus in on what we say or how we say it. Our words are empty if we only try to say the right thing. The Creator of everything knows our hearts yet we still feel like we have to communicate in such a manner that will appease Him. We only need to say what we feel, not what we think we should say.
Oliver calls us to strip away the words and to be comfortable in the silence. Are we willing to get rid of our securities such as words and need to please? Because if we are, then I truly believe we will understand what Mary Oliver wrote. We simply need to cast away such things that we think might help in order to rely on what true praying is: talking to God, our Savior.
We make things so complex. We try to say the right things. We even have thoughts that are so audacious as if we reason with God when we heavily rely on words.
Mary Oliver breaks down prayer into what it means. It is simple and not too complex. However, our natures make us tend to over complicate things.
God just wants our hearts and our tongues to praise Him. Our words cannot even express how much He has done for us and how awesome He truly is.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Problems
I think the essay we read for Friday’s class was pretty inspiring. Even though I might not have a disabled child or close relative, how often have I thought that people with disabilities only just need to touch the cloak of Jesus’ robe or have mud rub over their eyes to be “cured” from their circumstance. Often times we just think that…that if we only had enough faith or enough belief in God then surely would our problems cease.
But when we look at it from a different sight, maybe our problems aren’t really problems. Perhaps they do make our lives inconvenient or difficult, but are they really problems?
I think about all the times that I have grown and matured as a human being. It was with trials and tribulations that I was able to grow. The easy times – full of happiness and contentedness- those were times were I didn’t grow but kept skimming across the waters of easy living.
I even listen to today’s radio and all it talks about is living the good life which is easy. One song that I find rather catchy but stupid goes “If we could party all night and sleep all day, and throw our problems away: our lives would be easy” and despite the catchiness that makes my feet tap to the beat, the song itself is complete bologna.
This easy life is not a good life. The hard life is the good life. Your struggles help you believe that there is something more than just pain.
In that essay, he was a father who loved his son regardless of what others might have thought of him. He was ready to deal with the struggles of life, but he was willing to do them without judging his son and without praying for a “cure”.
I believe sometimes in life, our cures shouldn’t be for illness or sickness but it should be for our minds to be opened to what God wants. This certainly wouldn’t make things easy but it would help aid us in our trials to live.
But when we look at it from a different sight, maybe our problems aren’t really problems. Perhaps they do make our lives inconvenient or difficult, but are they really problems?
I think about all the times that I have grown and matured as a human being. It was with trials and tribulations that I was able to grow. The easy times – full of happiness and contentedness- those were times were I didn’t grow but kept skimming across the waters of easy living.
I even listen to today’s radio and all it talks about is living the good life which is easy. One song that I find rather catchy but stupid goes “If we could party all night and sleep all day, and throw our problems away: our lives would be easy” and despite the catchiness that makes my feet tap to the beat, the song itself is complete bologna.
This easy life is not a good life. The hard life is the good life. Your struggles help you believe that there is something more than just pain.
In that essay, he was a father who loved his son regardless of what others might have thought of him. He was ready to deal with the struggles of life, but he was willing to do them without judging his son and without praying for a “cure”.
I believe sometimes in life, our cures shouldn’t be for illness or sickness but it should be for our minds to be opened to what God wants. This certainly wouldn’t make things easy but it would help aid us in our trials to live.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Holding A Hand
Reading The Boys Next Door is an incredible opportunity to let the text transform my mind.
This play has introduced me to a more realistic life style of people who are in fact handicapped. I always assumed that people with disabilities often were helpless. I gave pity and sympathy. These are pretty apathetic emotions. I mean sure you can feel sorry for someone, but honestly – what’s the point? Save your emotion and “care” and actually show what you mean. If I thought: “Wow. That sucks that someone is born like that” but never actually act upon my upset emotions it’s meaningless and fake. Why should you feel sorry for someone? The only answer I can come up with is because we know that something is wrong, but we are too self-centered to actually act upon it. Feeling sorry only makes us feel good; like we actually did something about it when all we are doing is being in denial.
So after reading the play, I had to think about what I viewed. Saying all these harsh things, I feel like I only got these thoughts after I decided to stop hiding underneath my security blanket.
Getting the opportunity to go see and interact with disabled people made the play more life altering. In the book, you see characters and read in your head what they say and do. In class we got to act out how we thought they would be. On our trip, we witnessed reality and what a precious thing it was.
I learned that mentally handicapped people learn and they work and they can sew and they can have hard times just like anyone else.
I sat across a lady who was eating chocolate and vanilla cookies and barely touching her Coke. She and I had the same conversation about 7 times and each time she opened up more and more of herself to me. She went home last night with a terrible headache. She wanted to cry but couldn’t. She then took pills that took some of the headache away. Today she didn’t want to be there. Today she was having a poor day. Today she wanted someone just to hold her hand.
I feel like maybe if we gave a little bit of our time out to those we feel we already know, we can change ourselves for the better. Instead of assuming that we are the lucky ones and those who are handicapped are the unfortunate really is insulting. Pity and sympathy are really slaps in the face to those who try their very best to live life.
Instead of feeling sorry, we should be encouraging.
Instead of shaking our heads, maybe we should just reach out our hands one at a time.
This play has introduced me to a more realistic life style of people who are in fact handicapped. I always assumed that people with disabilities often were helpless. I gave pity and sympathy. These are pretty apathetic emotions. I mean sure you can feel sorry for someone, but honestly – what’s the point? Save your emotion and “care” and actually show what you mean. If I thought: “Wow. That sucks that someone is born like that” but never actually act upon my upset emotions it’s meaningless and fake. Why should you feel sorry for someone? The only answer I can come up with is because we know that something is wrong, but we are too self-centered to actually act upon it. Feeling sorry only makes us feel good; like we actually did something about it when all we are doing is being in denial.
So after reading the play, I had to think about what I viewed. Saying all these harsh things, I feel like I only got these thoughts after I decided to stop hiding underneath my security blanket.
Getting the opportunity to go see and interact with disabled people made the play more life altering. In the book, you see characters and read in your head what they say and do. In class we got to act out how we thought they would be. On our trip, we witnessed reality and what a precious thing it was.
I learned that mentally handicapped people learn and they work and they can sew and they can have hard times just like anyone else.
I sat across a lady who was eating chocolate and vanilla cookies and barely touching her Coke. She and I had the same conversation about 7 times and each time she opened up more and more of herself to me. She went home last night with a terrible headache. She wanted to cry but couldn’t. She then took pills that took some of the headache away. Today she didn’t want to be there. Today she was having a poor day. Today she wanted someone just to hold her hand.
I feel like maybe if we gave a little bit of our time out to those we feel we already know, we can change ourselves for the better. Instead of assuming that we are the lucky ones and those who are handicapped are the unfortunate really is insulting. Pity and sympathy are really slaps in the face to those who try their very best to live life.
Instead of feeling sorry, we should be encouraging.
Instead of shaking our heads, maybe we should just reach out our hands one at a time.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Museum
Disclaimer: "I went to the Polk Museum of Art for this assignment, and I stayed there for at least 40 minutes."
In the museum, I was lost for words. Each painting had its own story. Each was thought up and created due to some spark of inspiration that the artist had. What makes me ponder the most is how much each artist had to give and to risk creating something that they loved.
I am a big music lover. I enjoy the sounds that come into contact with my ears. I love listening and actively participating with music by singing or dancing. With art, I’m not avidly as active with it as my friends back home would be. But while I was on this trip, I incorporated the art of literature with the visual art and then listened to the sounds in the museum and somehow I was stuck with not wanting to move. It was interesting to see how they all can work so well together if you just take the time to notice it.
So, after my mini-epiphany, I started to think about how hard it would be to sacrifice something like security to produce something that you were passionate about. I learned in high school that most famous artists were not famous until after they died. After they could no longer care for success or feel the adoration of fans was when the most pivotal points of their careers took place.
Am I going to let the uncertainty keep me from being passionate about my dreams in life? The artists at the museum weren’t afraid of jumping into the abyssal of ambiguity. The security of a 9 to 5 job and health benefits is not what most people would give up for a whim – for a dream? It takes a lot of strength to sacrifice the “good” life for a “meaningful” life. And I just hope that once I graduate college I’ll be able to look back and see how I sacrificed the comfort for a purpose.
Staring
I stare at you,
A painting with
So many and yet few
Brush strokes of the hand.
A flick of the wrist,
A dab of blue,
A dollop of yellow,
And soon the paint is more
Than just that.
It is ever flowing
Ever animated,
Awaiting to take me on a journey.
Sacrifice
Each name
Remembered or not
Has led a meaningful life
Without the title
It might seem invisible
But the action is more than word
And the product is more valued
Than the paper in the wallets.
In the museum, I was lost for words. Each painting had its own story. Each was thought up and created due to some spark of inspiration that the artist had. What makes me ponder the most is how much each artist had to give and to risk creating something that they loved.
I am a big music lover. I enjoy the sounds that come into contact with my ears. I love listening and actively participating with music by singing or dancing. With art, I’m not avidly as active with it as my friends back home would be. But while I was on this trip, I incorporated the art of literature with the visual art and then listened to the sounds in the museum and somehow I was stuck with not wanting to move. It was interesting to see how they all can work so well together if you just take the time to notice it.
So, after my mini-epiphany, I started to think about how hard it would be to sacrifice something like security to produce something that you were passionate about. I learned in high school that most famous artists were not famous until after they died. After they could no longer care for success or feel the adoration of fans was when the most pivotal points of their careers took place.
Am I going to let the uncertainty keep me from being passionate about my dreams in life? The artists at the museum weren’t afraid of jumping into the abyssal of ambiguity. The security of a 9 to 5 job and health benefits is not what most people would give up for a whim – for a dream? It takes a lot of strength to sacrifice the “good” life for a “meaningful” life. And I just hope that once I graduate college I’ll be able to look back and see how I sacrificed the comfort for a purpose.
Staring
I stare at you,
A painting with
So many and yet few
Brush strokes of the hand.
A flick of the wrist,
A dab of blue,
A dollop of yellow,
And soon the paint is more
Than just that.
It is ever flowing
Ever animated,
Awaiting to take me on a journey.
Sacrifice
Each name
Remembered or not
Has led a meaningful life
Without the title
It might seem invisible
But the action is more than word
And the product is more valued
Than the paper in the wallets.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Transformation
Lectio Divina is a practice that I’ve never heard about or thought about until this year at Southeastern. I guess this is my second post on such an amazing concept which therefore I think is worthy of such appearances in my blog.
In this essay, another new concept is brought forth which is how when we read it’s not only for just the reading part; it’s also so “we open ourselves to the possibility of spiritual experience”.
I’ve read the Bible. And often I approached it with the thought process that God was going to slap me across the face with a Biblically led revelation. Or sometimes I just opened the Bible randomly and thought “Here is where I’m supposed to read today.” I’m sure I’m not the only one who has done this. But to say that I’m reading the Bible (or any other form of literature) to be spiritually transformed in mind isn’t really my goal. Like, I hope something will change inside of me because what I’m reading is God breathed, but I don’t expect it.
Simply by reading something, we open ourselves up to new thoughts and ideas that transform us into who we are today without us knowing it! This is simply amazing to think about.
I look back on what I’ve read in life and how I live life now and I can significantly see how my life has been influenced by literature.
Think how much our minds would be transformed if we actually approached it in that way!
Instead of flipping through or wincing after every page turn because we know the spiritual revelation is coming, we just simply use lectio divina and approach it in a transformational way, I’m sure our results would be faster and more obvious than ones that are often left in frustration after reading a proverb or pslam.
In this essay, another new concept is brought forth which is how when we read it’s not only for just the reading part; it’s also so “we open ourselves to the possibility of spiritual experience”.
I’ve read the Bible. And often I approached it with the thought process that God was going to slap me across the face with a Biblically led revelation. Or sometimes I just opened the Bible randomly and thought “Here is where I’m supposed to read today.” I’m sure I’m not the only one who has done this. But to say that I’m reading the Bible (or any other form of literature) to be spiritually transformed in mind isn’t really my goal. Like, I hope something will change inside of me because what I’m reading is God breathed, but I don’t expect it.
Simply by reading something, we open ourselves up to new thoughts and ideas that transform us into who we are today without us knowing it! This is simply amazing to think about.
I look back on what I’ve read in life and how I live life now and I can significantly see how my life has been influenced by literature.
Think how much our minds would be transformed if we actually approached it in that way!
Instead of flipping through or wincing after every page turn because we know the spiritual revelation is coming, we just simply use lectio divina and approach it in a transformational way, I’m sure our results would be faster and more obvious than ones that are often left in frustration after reading a proverb or pslam.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Darkness
It’s said that darkness is the absense of light. However how are we suppose to know its light without the darkness? And what really is the point of light if we do not have a way to use it?
I think we all can relate to anyone of those stories in the article written by Professor Corrigan. Each one of us can relate to pain and suffering. For me, it was the loss of my grandpa that I connected with. However, my pain was different than the pain of our Professor. And it’s pretty amazing how even though we all hurt, we all hurt differently. No matter if our situations seem the same, each story is different. Each pain more painful to one than it is to the other.
I guess, even if it is cliche and empty wording, there is a consistent love we can run to. A love that is the same for everyone even if the pain is different. Perfect, infinite love to our finite problems of pain and misfortune. We view this Love sometimes as empty wording to a situation that seems to be so far deep in trouble because we can’t see how love can be in pain. Which makes me wonder:
Why do we hurt then? Why is the pain so unbearable at times? Its because we love that pain is the way it feels. If we hated everyone and was apathetic towards life, wouldn’t that pain become numb? If we loved life and appreciated everything though, the pain would be worse because we would be in a more vulnerable position. Depending on the ammount of love we use and gather is a big variable in the problem to pain.
Random thoughts on the abyssal amount of pain to one’s thought. I just know though that there is more to the words we speak to someone when we say that God loves them or that it’s in God’s will or anything pertaining to God that seems cliche and effortless. There is more to the Lord’s love that we sometimes dismiss because we are too caught up in our pain. However, just because we are in pain does not make God’s love any less powerful. It might seem like it’s effortless and redundant when we say we are praying but it isn’t. And the more that we believe in it, the more that we will feel His love. And the smaller amount of pain we go through.
I imagine Paul and all his trials. However, how could he keep living the difficult life full of pain and misfortune? It was beacause of God’s Love - this ever present, abounding, endless love - that he was able to finish the race.
I think we all can relate to anyone of those stories in the article written by Professor Corrigan. Each one of us can relate to pain and suffering. For me, it was the loss of my grandpa that I connected with. However, my pain was different than the pain of our Professor. And it’s pretty amazing how even though we all hurt, we all hurt differently. No matter if our situations seem the same, each story is different. Each pain more painful to one than it is to the other.
I guess, even if it is cliche and empty wording, there is a consistent love we can run to. A love that is the same for everyone even if the pain is different. Perfect, infinite love to our finite problems of pain and misfortune. We view this Love sometimes as empty wording to a situation that seems to be so far deep in trouble because we can’t see how love can be in pain. Which makes me wonder:
Why do we hurt then? Why is the pain so unbearable at times? Its because we love that pain is the way it feels. If we hated everyone and was apathetic towards life, wouldn’t that pain become numb? If we loved life and appreciated everything though, the pain would be worse because we would be in a more vulnerable position. Depending on the ammount of love we use and gather is a big variable in the problem to pain.
Random thoughts on the abyssal amount of pain to one’s thought. I just know though that there is more to the words we speak to someone when we say that God loves them or that it’s in God’s will or anything pertaining to God that seems cliche and effortless. There is more to the Lord’s love that we sometimes dismiss because we are too caught up in our pain. However, just because we are in pain does not make God’s love any less powerful. It might seem like it’s effortless and redundant when we say we are praying but it isn’t. And the more that we believe in it, the more that we will feel His love. And the smaller amount of pain we go through.
I imagine Paul and all his trials. However, how could he keep living the difficult life full of pain and misfortune? It was beacause of God’s Love - this ever present, abounding, endless love - that he was able to finish the race.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Poetry
Do you see the trees, the way I do?
Do you see them dance and wave a gentle hello?
Or do you just walk by step by step without a glance?
Do you see the water, the way I do?
Did your eye catch a glimpse of their beauty?
Or is this yet another jewel you have failed to find?
Do you hear the birds, the way I do?
How each melodic note is perfect yet unique?
Or are you busy with the thoughts that you think?
Do you see the sky, the way I do?
How its colors are in constant fluid motion to change?
Or is it just another thing you take for granted?
Do you hear the wind the way I do?
Its sweet gentle whispers telling that God does love you?
Or are you just listening to your own voice?
Do you feel the sun the way I do?
How it’s warmth embraces my face?
Or is it just something you pass by?
All these things
In every season
Are beautiful
Are intricate
Are full of life.
And all it takes
Is a second
A moment
From your time
To know that
Life is in and around us
And appreciate it the way I do.
I’ve never really written a poem before. I’m not much of a rhyme-ist, and my flow is not exactly that of an Emily Dickinson or a E.E. Cummings, but I do enjoy poetry. I do enjoy the outdoors. So, trying to convey that in a poem is pretty enjoyable even it’s not the best.
I think that one of the best portion of poetry that captures my true intentions is that of Emily Dickinson in one of her poems when she talks about nature being a gentle mother:
With infinite Affection --
And infiniter Care --
Her Golden finger on Her lip --
Wills Silence -- Everywhere --
Do you see them dance and wave a gentle hello?
Or do you just walk by step by step without a glance?
Do you see the water, the way I do?
Did your eye catch a glimpse of their beauty?
Or is this yet another jewel you have failed to find?
Do you hear the birds, the way I do?
How each melodic note is perfect yet unique?
Or are you busy with the thoughts that you think?
Do you see the sky, the way I do?
How its colors are in constant fluid motion to change?
Or is it just another thing you take for granted?
Do you hear the wind the way I do?
Its sweet gentle whispers telling that God does love you?
Or are you just listening to your own voice?
Do you feel the sun the way I do?
How it’s warmth embraces my face?
Or is it just something you pass by?
All these things
In every season
Are beautiful
Are intricate
Are full of life.
And all it takes
Is a second
A moment
From your time
To know that
Life is in and around us
And appreciate it the way I do.
I’ve never really written a poem before. I’m not much of a rhyme-ist, and my flow is not exactly that of an Emily Dickinson or a E.E. Cummings, but I do enjoy poetry. I do enjoy the outdoors. So, trying to convey that in a poem is pretty enjoyable even it’s not the best.
I think that one of the best portion of poetry that captures my true intentions is that of Emily Dickinson in one of her poems when she talks about nature being a gentle mother:
With infinite Affection --
And infiniter Care --
Her Golden finger on Her lip --
Wills Silence -- Everywhere --
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Lake Bonnie
I went to Lake Bonnie with high hopes of something I normally enjoy.
I’m not exactly an “out-doorsy” kind of girl. I love nature and the sky and the sounds of running water. I enjoy hiking in the forest and walking on the beach. I especially enjoy swinging on swings at Lake Mirror. However, I absolutely am petrified of bugs. Which apparently are big parts of the whole nature scene?
So, I was excited to do something I enjoyed for the class. My friends make fun of me all the time because once I got dressed up for the weather outside because it was so beautiful. Another time, I was just flabbergasted at how clean the air felt when I inhaled it on a summer night. I really do appreciate nature.
I went to Lake Bonnie. I walked around. I sat down with my back against a tree and I smiled. I felt the wind blow against my face which was warm on that hot Saturday afternoon. I heard the birds chirp, each one of them an individual: their sounds never quite the same. I enjoyed the sun peaking through the leaves and gently telling me hello. I proceeded to smile because I missed the sun and its warmth. I wasn’t really aware of the time because I didn’t mind spending longer than ten minutes. I just kept quiet and listened to the symphony that God had created for each and every one of us.
I then got up after a while because when I did open my eyes, I saw a huge spider. And even though it eloquently was making its way towards me (perhaps even inviting me for tea), I just couldn’t quite appreciate it as much. So I left with a full heart and fun memories at Lake Bonnie.
I took pictures after that, and I was going to post them but I lost my camera cord. If I find it, I’m definitely updating this blog post.
I’m not exactly an “out-doorsy” kind of girl. I love nature and the sky and the sounds of running water. I enjoy hiking in the forest and walking on the beach. I especially enjoy swinging on swings at Lake Mirror. However, I absolutely am petrified of bugs. Which apparently are big parts of the whole nature scene?
So, I was excited to do something I enjoyed for the class. My friends make fun of me all the time because once I got dressed up for the weather outside because it was so beautiful. Another time, I was just flabbergasted at how clean the air felt when I inhaled it on a summer night. I really do appreciate nature.
I went to Lake Bonnie. I walked around. I sat down with my back against a tree and I smiled. I felt the wind blow against my face which was warm on that hot Saturday afternoon. I heard the birds chirp, each one of them an individual: their sounds never quite the same. I enjoyed the sun peaking through the leaves and gently telling me hello. I proceeded to smile because I missed the sun and its warmth. I wasn’t really aware of the time because I didn’t mind spending longer than ten minutes. I just kept quiet and listened to the symphony that God had created for each and every one of us.
I then got up after a while because when I did open my eyes, I saw a huge spider. And even though it eloquently was making its way towards me (perhaps even inviting me for tea), I just couldn’t quite appreciate it as much. So I left with a full heart and fun memories at Lake Bonnie.
I took pictures after that, and I was going to post them but I lost my camera cord. If I find it, I’m definitely updating this blog post.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Character
So, during class on Monday we talked about This Blessed House and about characters.
During this time, I hope to unravel thoughts inside my head that still confuse me. Through just writing and venting, I hope to fully grasp the concept of our outer selves, our inner selves and ourselves in God.
Obviously outer and inner are grouped together. You can usually tell who is a good person and who is a bad person…that is if you are only looking from the surface. We usually think a happy bubbly person is nice and wonderful. But what happens if that happy bubbly person is actually far beyond wonderful and is actually manipulative and selfish. From first glance, you wouldn’t see that would you? It takes time to truly understand yourself and others around you. Just like it takes time to get to know characters in literature. You can’t really just read it once through and then figure out a character. This is why it’s so important to reread a story. How can you fully grasp a story with action, without knowing the why behind it? Every character does certain things not because it’s natural but because it’s in their personality, inner and outer. What goes beyond the words on a page is the meaning behind it. Simply just reading it once will only give you so much insight into which that person is in the story or why they are behaving that way.
And lastly, we in God are the hardest thing to think about. Because we change every day; we make mistakes everyday; we are in constant motion everyday;
I can’t really judge myself or others or even characters in a book. The most sacred place is our hearts where God dwells. And I will never know another person’s heart truly like God does. So how can I expect to understand the depths of love one has or doesn’t have for Jesus? It’s even hard for me to measure my own love and identity in him sometimes. I guess what I need to do, is not so much focus in on certain actions, but my overall character.
Hopefully, one day I will find out who I am in Christ.
During this time, I hope to unravel thoughts inside my head that still confuse me. Through just writing and venting, I hope to fully grasp the concept of our outer selves, our inner selves and ourselves in God.
Obviously outer and inner are grouped together. You can usually tell who is a good person and who is a bad person…that is if you are only looking from the surface. We usually think a happy bubbly person is nice and wonderful. But what happens if that happy bubbly person is actually far beyond wonderful and is actually manipulative and selfish. From first glance, you wouldn’t see that would you? It takes time to truly understand yourself and others around you. Just like it takes time to get to know characters in literature. You can’t really just read it once through and then figure out a character. This is why it’s so important to reread a story. How can you fully grasp a story with action, without knowing the why behind it? Every character does certain things not because it’s natural but because it’s in their personality, inner and outer. What goes beyond the words on a page is the meaning behind it. Simply just reading it once will only give you so much insight into which that person is in the story or why they are behaving that way.
And lastly, we in God are the hardest thing to think about. Because we change every day; we make mistakes everyday; we are in constant motion everyday;
I can’t really judge myself or others or even characters in a book. The most sacred place is our hearts where God dwells. And I will never know another person’s heart truly like God does. So how can I expect to understand the depths of love one has or doesn’t have for Jesus? It’s even hard for me to measure my own love and identity in him sometimes. I guess what I need to do, is not so much focus in on certain actions, but my overall character.
Hopefully, one day I will find out who I am in Christ.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
This Blessed House
In This Blessed House we see the how characters really are the central focus of good literature. And not only is this more character based than plot based, it also has characters growing and shaping right in front of us.
I enjoyed this short story for it’s characters more than anything else. There is so much insight to each character, and I almost felt as if I could relate to them. I believe the more you can relate to a character, the more involved you’ll be with the story. In stories that have plain characters or stereotypical characters, we often are left with no surprise because we already know what they will do. But when the characters are more life-like, more “me-like”, we then are vulnerable for new twists in turns.
My favorite character in This Blessed House is Sanjeev. Through each flip of the page we see his skepticism rising up and his inner battle with what he assumes and what he knows is true.
On page 1072, “He did not know if he loved her. He said he did when she had first asked him…that afternoon he had replied, yes, he loved her and she was delighted…Though she did not say it herself, he assumed then that she loved him too, but now he was no longer sure. In truth, Sanjeev did not know what love was, only what he thought it was not…”
This passage is a beautiful illustration of Sanjeev’s uncertainty. How many times have we sat in our chairs, at our desks, wondering if someone loved us the way we loved them? Or even wondered if we could ever love? Sanjeev is not perfect. He is real. He is doubtful. He gets angry. He gets skeptical. He is uncertain of things as big as love and that’s okay.
Flaws help a character change and develop into someone real. If we read a book with perfect characters, the stories would be boring and predictable. If we read a book with flawed characters, the story is exciting, eventful, and even enjoyable.
I enjoyed this short story for it’s characters more than anything else. There is so much insight to each character, and I almost felt as if I could relate to them. I believe the more you can relate to a character, the more involved you’ll be with the story. In stories that have plain characters or stereotypical characters, we often are left with no surprise because we already know what they will do. But when the characters are more life-like, more “me-like”, we then are vulnerable for new twists in turns.
My favorite character in This Blessed House is Sanjeev. Through each flip of the page we see his skepticism rising up and his inner battle with what he assumes and what he knows is true.
On page 1072, “He did not know if he loved her. He said he did when she had first asked him…that afternoon he had replied, yes, he loved her and she was delighted…Though she did not say it herself, he assumed then that she loved him too, but now he was no longer sure. In truth, Sanjeev did not know what love was, only what he thought it was not…”
This passage is a beautiful illustration of Sanjeev’s uncertainty. How many times have we sat in our chairs, at our desks, wondering if someone loved us the way we loved them? Or even wondered if we could ever love? Sanjeev is not perfect. He is real. He is doubtful. He gets angry. He gets skeptical. He is uncertain of things as big as love and that’s okay.
Flaws help a character change and develop into someone real. If we read a book with perfect characters, the stories would be boring and predictable. If we read a book with flawed characters, the story is exciting, eventful, and even enjoyable.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Changes
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The consistent sound of the pencil kept ricocheting on the top of a glossy classroom desk. Six by six rows perfectly aligned like a line of soldiers in ranks for a battle. All the desks were perfectly placid and smooth until you got to the sixth row at the sixth seat across. There at that very last seat, in the darkest spot sat a young woman. Her posture slouched. Her upper lip curled into a slight sneer. Her hazel eyes showed a storm of anger and frustration that illuminated a smooth, rich face. Her hair was braided and to the side. Crossing and uncrossing her legs, the pencil kept a consistent pace.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Hues of red and blacks made up her wardrobe, and her sneakers were polished and clean – brand new as the day she bought them. Manicured hands kept the pencil moving against the desk like a conductor keeping a symphonic orchestra in time with the metronome.
Tap. Tap. T-
“Hello, Ms.Somers,” a voice echoed across the barren room. The voice washed over her as she turned to see a young woman leaning against the doorframe. The only way out, her freedom to leave this cell was blocked by a small, meek woman wearing a plain navy pantsuit. Heels clicked across the tile, the time of arrival was soon upon sixteen-year-old Irene Somers. Her face was hard as the woman sat across from her. A small, timid smile looked up at Irene, sincere eyes trying to catch the glance of the troubled girl.
“I can leave in five minutes, Mrs. Jones,” Irene spat out as she desperately looked to the door.
“Then all I need is five minutes,” was the steady response as Amy Jones clasped her hands together and placed them on top of her suit.
Silence filled the room; where words were usually needed, Amy Jones thought that the best way to help someone was for them to speak first and then listen. This technique for most social workers was difficult. Numerous times had she saw co-workers come in and out of the office tired and upset, so desperately in want of change.
Nevertheless, through her few years of working, she knew that social workers, parents, boyfriends, children, or even higher places do not have the ability to change them. Those being these kids – like Irene Jones – who were hurt in more ways that make one uncomfortable to describe. There was one truth that Amy knew: you could not change someone, only they could change themselves.
So, where did that leave the two women? In a suspended moment of time is what it felt like. Neither said a word, each staring at each other.
You could hear more than just a pin drop; what you could hear was Irene’s long eyelashes sweeping across her face as she blinked and Amy lick her lips, desperate for moisture. After what seemed like an eternity, finally a voice spoke:
“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Irene bit out, as if she was already fighting for something more than a way out. Her hands gripped her jeans, and her eyes stared at the junction of the grout in the tile. “She was making fun of my brother. James didn’t do nothing to her. And she just sat there and made fun of his clothes and his messed up teeth.”
Amy just listened. Countless times, she found herself in this situation. Irene always seemed to want to speak her mind, but her pride was overwhelming. It seemed that family, respect, and honor were the only things prioritized in this young woman’s life. Therefore, Amy did what she did every time before, she nodded and kept listening.
Gulping the salvia, Irene just shook her head as if she was remembering what happened in detail. Her heart was inflamed with anger and justification for her actions. She could vividly remember her tiny hand whipping across the skin of another girl’s face. Her motives only on defending her younger brother from such teasing and harassment.
“Nobody understands. None of them do.” Gritting her teeth, she began to tap her pencil the more angry she got. “They think they know me and James, but they don’t understand. We have no money to buy new things. It’s not James’s fault for what he wears. Ma tells us she’ll buy us new clothes, but every month the electricity bill needs to be paid, or she needs to go buy groceries for us. It’s not James’ fault. It’s not his fault at all.”
By now, Amy was scooting slowly towards Irene. Seeing this rough and loud girl begin to shrivel up in insecurity and doubt was too much for even her. Irene put her face in her hands, the pencil rolling underneath the desk, no longer tapping. Irene was trapped in a struggle to save face and to finally let she go.
“I just wanted James to live a life not like mine. Not nothing like mine. He doesn’t deserve to go through what I did. The world is tough, and the only way to survive is to be tougher than what is thrown at you. But James doesn’t need that. He needs a normal life. And when someone brings him down, I don’t want to see him hurt. I love him. What’s wrong with that?” By now, Irene was unable to help her tears; they fell quickly and silently in the room as she began to cry. Her tears were like pearls gently rolling of her cheeks. So delicate was this girl and Amy couldn’t help herself but wrap her arms around Irene.
So many times, had Amy seen this girl close up? But for once, she was finally opening her fears and insecurities to someone else.
As she held the young girl in her arms, she knew that this moment wouldn’t last forever. So she held her tongue for words would only worsen the situation. Holding Irene in that moment was the best thing that anyone could do.
And as they walked out the door, hand in hand, Amy saw Irene smile weakly at her from the corner of her eye. She knew change was inevitable at this moment.
The consistent sound of the pencil kept ricocheting on the top of a glossy classroom desk. Six by six rows perfectly aligned like a line of soldiers in ranks for a battle. All the desks were perfectly placid and smooth until you got to the sixth row at the sixth seat across. There at that very last seat, in the darkest spot sat a young woman. Her posture slouched. Her upper lip curled into a slight sneer. Her hazel eyes showed a storm of anger and frustration that illuminated a smooth, rich face. Her hair was braided and to the side. Crossing and uncrossing her legs, the pencil kept a consistent pace.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Hues of red and blacks made up her wardrobe, and her sneakers were polished and clean – brand new as the day she bought them. Manicured hands kept the pencil moving against the desk like a conductor keeping a symphonic orchestra in time with the metronome.
Tap. Tap. T-
“Hello, Ms.Somers,” a voice echoed across the barren room. The voice washed over her as she turned to see a young woman leaning against the doorframe. The only way out, her freedom to leave this cell was blocked by a small, meek woman wearing a plain navy pantsuit. Heels clicked across the tile, the time of arrival was soon upon sixteen-year-old Irene Somers. Her face was hard as the woman sat across from her. A small, timid smile looked up at Irene, sincere eyes trying to catch the glance of the troubled girl.
“I can leave in five minutes, Mrs. Jones,” Irene spat out as she desperately looked to the door.
“Then all I need is five minutes,” was the steady response as Amy Jones clasped her hands together and placed them on top of her suit.
Silence filled the room; where words were usually needed, Amy Jones thought that the best way to help someone was for them to speak first and then listen. This technique for most social workers was difficult. Numerous times had she saw co-workers come in and out of the office tired and upset, so desperately in want of change.
Nevertheless, through her few years of working, she knew that social workers, parents, boyfriends, children, or even higher places do not have the ability to change them. Those being these kids – like Irene Jones – who were hurt in more ways that make one uncomfortable to describe. There was one truth that Amy knew: you could not change someone, only they could change themselves.
So, where did that leave the two women? In a suspended moment of time is what it felt like. Neither said a word, each staring at each other.
You could hear more than just a pin drop; what you could hear was Irene’s long eyelashes sweeping across her face as she blinked and Amy lick her lips, desperate for moisture. After what seemed like an eternity, finally a voice spoke:
“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Irene bit out, as if she was already fighting for something more than a way out. Her hands gripped her jeans, and her eyes stared at the junction of the grout in the tile. “She was making fun of my brother. James didn’t do nothing to her. And she just sat there and made fun of his clothes and his messed up teeth.”
Amy just listened. Countless times, she found herself in this situation. Irene always seemed to want to speak her mind, but her pride was overwhelming. It seemed that family, respect, and honor were the only things prioritized in this young woman’s life. Therefore, Amy did what she did every time before, she nodded and kept listening.
Gulping the salvia, Irene just shook her head as if she was remembering what happened in detail. Her heart was inflamed with anger and justification for her actions. She could vividly remember her tiny hand whipping across the skin of another girl’s face. Her motives only on defending her younger brother from such teasing and harassment.
“Nobody understands. None of them do.” Gritting her teeth, she began to tap her pencil the more angry she got. “They think they know me and James, but they don’t understand. We have no money to buy new things. It’s not James’s fault for what he wears. Ma tells us she’ll buy us new clothes, but every month the electricity bill needs to be paid, or she needs to go buy groceries for us. It’s not James’ fault. It’s not his fault at all.”
By now, Amy was scooting slowly towards Irene. Seeing this rough and loud girl begin to shrivel up in insecurity and doubt was too much for even her. Irene put her face in her hands, the pencil rolling underneath the desk, no longer tapping. Irene was trapped in a struggle to save face and to finally let she go.
“I just wanted James to live a life not like mine. Not nothing like mine. He doesn’t deserve to go through what I did. The world is tough, and the only way to survive is to be tougher than what is thrown at you. But James doesn’t need that. He needs a normal life. And when someone brings him down, I don’t want to see him hurt. I love him. What’s wrong with that?” By now, Irene was unable to help her tears; they fell quickly and silently in the room as she began to cry. Her tears were like pearls gently rolling of her cheeks. So delicate was this girl and Amy couldn’t help herself but wrap her arms around Irene.
So many times, had Amy seen this girl close up? But for once, she was finally opening her fears and insecurities to someone else.
As she held the young girl in her arms, she knew that this moment wouldn’t last forever. So she held her tongue for words would only worsen the situation. Holding Irene in that moment was the best thing that anyone could do.
And as they walked out the door, hand in hand, Amy saw Irene smile weakly at her from the corner of her eye. She knew change was inevitable at this moment.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Sonny's Blues
After finding out my morning had been ruined by a simple task of a phone dying in the middle of the night, I laid in bed just thinking of what happened and why it was already ten o'clock...
A passage from Sonny's Blues came to mind "I couldn't believe it: but what I mean by that is that I couldn't find any room for it anywhere inside of me". I had so many thoughts running through my head and I decided that it was best just to never rely on a phone that wasn't connected to an outlet(though it had three bars the night before...just inputting that there). I asked around about what we did in class, and I found out we did something that I was taught in the beginning of the year: lectio divina(please ignore incorrect spelling).
So, I tried this out on my own with a few key passages of the Bible to sorta inch my way along so I wouldn't be left behind in class for tomorrow.
As I went along with the process, I had to say it was cruel. It felt tedious. But most importantly, it changed my perspective on what the verse meant.
Using this technique brings out thoughts that usually don't happen when you skim a page or browse a few sentences here or there. With this latin term I can't spell, you find yourself really digging into the text and actually reading it.
I know. What a concept. To read something is a thing we often don't do. I mean you can skim words but does that mean that you are really reading it? If it is then by all means disreguard my thinking process.
But for me, I totally skim words all the time. I gaze at the page thinking "Why isn't this seeping into my brain any faster??" and end up skimming a few key words and ending my journey there.
With L.D. it is totally different. Instead of gazing at the pages hoping that the words magically seep into my brain, I picture instead my head getting beating over with the book because it's that intense. Not only do you actually READ the passage, but you do it 3 times! Not enough to be over kill but enough to actually be effective.
In the end, I enjoyed my experience with L.D.(not to be confused with LSD) because it really showed me how I've been cheapening many sources of literature. I do hope to correct my bad habits in the future...
A passage from Sonny's Blues came to mind "I couldn't believe it: but what I mean by that is that I couldn't find any room for it anywhere inside of me". I had so many thoughts running through my head and I decided that it was best just to never rely on a phone that wasn't connected to an outlet(though it had three bars the night before...just inputting that there). I asked around about what we did in class, and I found out we did something that I was taught in the beginning of the year: lectio divina(please ignore incorrect spelling).
So, I tried this out on my own with a few key passages of the Bible to sorta inch my way along so I wouldn't be left behind in class for tomorrow.
As I went along with the process, I had to say it was cruel. It felt tedious. But most importantly, it changed my perspective on what the verse meant.
Using this technique brings out thoughts that usually don't happen when you skim a page or browse a few sentences here or there. With this latin term I can't spell, you find yourself really digging into the text and actually reading it.
I know. What a concept. To read something is a thing we often don't do. I mean you can skim words but does that mean that you are really reading it? If it is then by all means disreguard my thinking process.
But for me, I totally skim words all the time. I gaze at the page thinking "Why isn't this seeping into my brain any faster??" and end up skimming a few key words and ending my journey there.
With L.D. it is totally different. Instead of gazing at the pages hoping that the words magically seep into my brain, I picture instead my head getting beating over with the book because it's that intense. Not only do you actually READ the passage, but you do it 3 times! Not enough to be over kill but enough to actually be effective.
In the end, I enjoyed my experience with L.D.(not to be confused with LSD) because it really showed me how I've been cheapening many sources of literature. I do hope to correct my bad habits in the future...
Sunday, February 28, 2010
The Imaginary Invalid
I would first like to say that I paid 7 dollars and sat through the whole entire play of The Imaginary Invalid in Bush Chapel on Friday night.
With that out of the way, I just wanted to say that this play blew my mind. It was insane and incredible; a perfect duo like yin and yang. I was thinking that who ever wrote this must have been under the influence of drugs at some point.
The actors were casted well. The directing was extremely wonderful. The set really made my mouth drop to the floor when it opened up. I also enjoyed the dancers in the beginning.
Each and every part of this play was purposely directed/written/acted/staged and I was on the edge of my seat just trying to keep up with the witty one lines and fast past monologues.
However, my favorite part of the play was the rock opera in the middle. I cried because I was laughing so hard. They did such a wonderful job singing and dancing and I've never seen anything like it.
I went with three people: myself and two guy friends. One guy loved it and the other said it was okay. I think the difference in the reaction depended on the appreciation.
The loved one felt the same way I felt and valued the play for everything it was.
The liked one felt like the play was okay but not worth the seven dollars. It kept him from appreciating the play.
I guess we all have something that keeps us from truly appreciating the lives we were given. Whether it is money or time, we often get distracted from enjoying things to the fullest. I think these issues also keep us from enjoying literature.
So it is my goal to read as much as I can and ENJOY it. I always read because I have to. And sometimes, I read the Bible because I feel like I have to, not because I want to. And when you are forced to do things, you often do not appreciate them as much.
In order to live life to the fullest, I believe it's nessecary to appreciate and value each thing that is put in front of us to the fullest!
With that out of the way, I just wanted to say that this play blew my mind. It was insane and incredible; a perfect duo like yin and yang. I was thinking that who ever wrote this must have been under the influence of drugs at some point.
The actors were casted well. The directing was extremely wonderful. The set really made my mouth drop to the floor when it opened up. I also enjoyed the dancers in the beginning.
Each and every part of this play was purposely directed/written/acted/staged and I was on the edge of my seat just trying to keep up with the witty one lines and fast past monologues.
However, my favorite part of the play was the rock opera in the middle. I cried because I was laughing so hard. They did such a wonderful job singing and dancing and I've never seen anything like it.
I went with three people: myself and two guy friends. One guy loved it and the other said it was okay. I think the difference in the reaction depended on the appreciation.
The loved one felt the same way I felt and valued the play for everything it was.
The liked one felt like the play was okay but not worth the seven dollars. It kept him from appreciating the play.
I guess we all have something that keeps us from truly appreciating the lives we were given. Whether it is money or time, we often get distracted from enjoying things to the fullest. I think these issues also keep us from enjoying literature.
So it is my goal to read as much as I can and ENJOY it. I always read because I have to. And sometimes, I read the Bible because I feel like I have to, not because I want to. And when you are forced to do things, you often do not appreciate them as much.
In order to live life to the fullest, I believe it's nessecary to appreciate and value each thing that is put in front of us to the fullest!
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Wikipedia is Spiritual
In class on Monday, we were raising all sorts of questions and classroom bedlam if you will. My confusion and concern for my grade in this class was thankfully shared with others because who likes to be confused and concerned alone? I took down notes on how to effectively blog and perhaps raise my blog posts grade with some quality points.
How to be risky...
-quote others
-quote professors
-puppet shows
-other creative outlets
I want to strive and not live a life that is the same every day. Whether it's trying questionable food at the Restaurant or if it's just trying to get a better grade by studying differently, it's still my goal to try new things in life. So, I hope to become risky with my blogging.
Today I choose to (drum roll)...QUOTE THE PROFESSOR.
Now, putting aside everything I just said, I would like to take a drastic and risky turn towards the comment "Wikipedia is spiritual".
Wikipedia was highly frowned upon by my classes in high school and in community college my English professor was a hippie from the 70's who only talked about conspiracy theories.
So needless to say, I try to stay away from the murky, vague waters of wikipedia.
I remember once I saw on the Colbert Report a Word about Wikipediality and basically told his viewers to change Wikipedia's page on elephants saying that they were extinct. This did happen because viewers were faithful, and wikipedia was revamped.
Now that it's harder to change it is more credible, but spiritual?
I try to understand how "everything is spiritual", but sometimes fail. How can looking up things(non-Jesus related) be spiritual?
After thinking, I don't think I have a correct answer to this quote that stuck out to me. However, I do understand that Wikipedia is such a cornerstone in accessible information on the Internet. Maybe one day I will look back in my rocker and say in an old voice "Thank God for Wikipedia". Or maybe not. Who knows...
How to be risky...
-quote others
-quote professors
-puppet shows
-other creative outlets
I want to strive and not live a life that is the same every day. Whether it's trying questionable food at the Restaurant or if it's just trying to get a better grade by studying differently, it's still my goal to try new things in life. So, I hope to become risky with my blogging.
Today I choose to (drum roll)...QUOTE THE PROFESSOR.
Now, putting aside everything I just said, I would like to take a drastic and risky turn towards the comment "Wikipedia is spiritual".
Wikipedia was highly frowned upon by my classes in high school and in community college my English professor was a hippie from the 70's who only talked about conspiracy theories.
So needless to say, I try to stay away from the murky, vague waters of wikipedia.
I remember once I saw on the Colbert Report a Word about Wikipediality and basically told his viewers to change Wikipedia's page on elephants saying that they were extinct. This did happen because viewers were faithful, and wikipedia was revamped.
Now that it's harder to change it is more credible, but spiritual?
I try to understand how "everything is spiritual", but sometimes fail. How can looking up things(non-Jesus related) be spiritual?
After thinking, I don't think I have a correct answer to this quote that stuck out to me. However, I do understand that Wikipedia is such a cornerstone in accessible information on the Internet. Maybe one day I will look back in my rocker and say in an old voice "Thank God for Wikipedia". Or maybe not. Who knows...
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Blogging
Blogging to me is a way to hash out thoughts, ideas, and opinions on certain aspects of life. I think a beautiful thing about blogging is that you are not bound to one certain area. As far as your mind can think and your fingers can type is the only limitations you have to blogging.
I think having to write two blogs a week has really expanded my mind to think more and more as the days go on. I'll hear a quote and think "Wow, I'd really like to write about this" and then put it in my phone as a note. Or I will just be walking around even just blogging in my head almost to write down later. Sometimes though I do enjoy sitting down and typing on and on(like now) about subjects. This proves that blogging is pretty limitless.
Blogging is good for a literature class too. How do we partake in literature if we just read it? Do we really engage the text by just skimming a few lines or finding a favorite quote that we could easily pick out like that? When we blog not only do we write down our ideas on a subject, but we also think fresh new ideas from just blogging. Things we never thought about before could come up in the process of just typing out words on a screen.
I think having to write two blogs a week has really expanded my mind to think more and more as the days go on. I'll hear a quote and think "Wow, I'd really like to write about this" and then put it in my phone as a note. Or I will just be walking around even just blogging in my head almost to write down later. Sometimes though I do enjoy sitting down and typing on and on(like now) about subjects. This proves that blogging is pretty limitless.
Blogging is good for a literature class too. How do we partake in literature if we just read it? Do we really engage the text by just skimming a few lines or finding a favorite quote that we could easily pick out like that? When we blog not only do we write down our ideas on a subject, but we also think fresh new ideas from just blogging. Things we never thought about before could come up in the process of just typing out words on a screen.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Poetry
While walking in a graveyard, I think it's easier to understand Walt Whitman's poem. It is the same gloominess and melancholy that fills your heart that Whitman has as well.
If we actually walk as the writer walks and think as the writer thinks, I believe the more connected we are to his works.
This experience almost moved me to tears. I am a highly emotional person, but I usually am not so easily moved by texts. Due to other events though, I really could feel the pain that Whitman had for Lincoln's funeral.
I don't usually go on walks in graveyards, but I might have to rethink this. Just kidding, but honestly, I now appreciate more than I ever would before because of one simple walk.
If we actually walk as the writer walks and think as the writer thinks, I believe the more connected we are to his works.
This experience almost moved me to tears. I am a highly emotional person, but I usually am not so easily moved by texts. Due to other events though, I really could feel the pain that Whitman had for Lincoln's funeral.
I don't usually go on walks in graveyards, but I might have to rethink this. Just kidding, but honestly, I now appreciate more than I ever would before because of one simple walk.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
And I will pour out My Spirit...
I painted a picture of what I thought it meant to pour out God's Spirit upon believers. I wish I had more time to finish my painting, but I still think it gets the point across.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Prophet
In class we read Joel outloud letting the Spirit lead us to stop and go. Such a simple task like reading something out loud seemed easy enough, but after a while when each person read a certain passage, my heart felt as if it wasn't as simple nor easy to read it out loud.
If we take a look at the life of a prophet we know for certain that they are dedicated to the Lord. We know that they are bold and sold out for God. However, do we realize the pain and anguish they went through? Some prophets had families. And living in a community that only wanted to hear the good could leave to the prophet and their family in danger.
I think what is worse is the fact that the prophets feel legitmate burdens from God. We might today romanticize what a burden really is or at least a burden from God. I can imagine that the pain is intolerable to the heart. When a prophet spoke out to the crowd, they we're crying out for people to hear God! And in all reality God was speaking through the prophets right then and there.
Joel gave everything to the Lord and was mightily used. However it was not fame he recieved or even wanted. His heart was after God alone. Reading that book aloud had allowed me to get a small idea of such a hard job it was to be a prophet.
If we take a look at the life of a prophet we know for certain that they are dedicated to the Lord. We know that they are bold and sold out for God. However, do we realize the pain and anguish they went through? Some prophets had families. And living in a community that only wanted to hear the good could leave to the prophet and their family in danger.
I think what is worse is the fact that the prophets feel legitmate burdens from God. We might today romanticize what a burden really is or at least a burden from God. I can imagine that the pain is intolerable to the heart. When a prophet spoke out to the crowd, they we're crying out for people to hear God! And in all reality God was speaking through the prophets right then and there.
Joel gave everything to the Lord and was mightily used. However it was not fame he recieved or even wanted. His heart was after God alone. Reading that book aloud had allowed me to get a small idea of such a hard job it was to be a prophet.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Joel
In the book of Joel there is suffering and redemption. Verse twelve states "'Even now,' declares the LORD, 'return to me with all your heart, with fasting and weeping and mourning.'"
Even after all the suffering, the LORD is telling His children to return to him! To rend their hearts and humble themselves through fasting and weeping and in mourning. What a powerful verse that applies to this very second of my life.
In previous posts, I've talked about a wonderful man that is dying of lung cancer. And even now I am weeping and mourning because the days are few and it's a sickening feeling just to wait for a phone call of confirmation. This past week, I've lost my student I.D. card, and my debit card. I've felt as if I've fallen apart, only caring about the one phone call so much that I am absent minded towards life itself. And it feels as if with everyday comes another thing that is lost whether it is something that is tangible or if it's hope or happiness.
I'm in awe that reading Joel was so much of an encouragement to me. I feel better just for taking the time to read it. I believe that every time you open the Word, you will see words that will benefit your life in that moment. For the book of Joel, not only is there judgement but there is a day of hope as well.
Often we only stage ourselves on the weeping/mourning aspect of life. Sometimes our problems are the only thing we see. We become consumed by the depression and our heads are never lifted; they only continually stare at the floor. However, what if we fasted and prayed when the times of famine came in our lives? When the locusts come to devour our happiness and content lifestyles, what actions do we take?
If only we took the "Even now" step. Even now in the midst of death and destruction, would we only lift our heads up towards Heaven, I'm sure our suffering would not last as long, and even if we still suffered, at least we would have hope in something more than what our earthly abilities are.
Even now, I will try and recoup. Even now, I will try to lift my hands and praise Him. Even now will I return to Him, weeping and mourning and just trying to get closer in His arms. Even now, I will just try to look up.
Because trying is the only way we get the results we need. God has not called me - or you - to a life of perfection. He has called us to a relationship with Him. One that is full of tryings. We might fall, but we will fall right back into His hands. I take comfort and try to delight in Him who has created me.
Even after all the suffering, the LORD is telling His children to return to him! To rend their hearts and humble themselves through fasting and weeping and in mourning. What a powerful verse that applies to this very second of my life.
In previous posts, I've talked about a wonderful man that is dying of lung cancer. And even now I am weeping and mourning because the days are few and it's a sickening feeling just to wait for a phone call of confirmation. This past week, I've lost my student I.D. card, and my debit card. I've felt as if I've fallen apart, only caring about the one phone call so much that I am absent minded towards life itself. And it feels as if with everyday comes another thing that is lost whether it is something that is tangible or if it's hope or happiness.
I'm in awe that reading Joel was so much of an encouragement to me. I feel better just for taking the time to read it. I believe that every time you open the Word, you will see words that will benefit your life in that moment. For the book of Joel, not only is there judgement but there is a day of hope as well.
Often we only stage ourselves on the weeping/mourning aspect of life. Sometimes our problems are the only thing we see. We become consumed by the depression and our heads are never lifted; they only continually stare at the floor. However, what if we fasted and prayed when the times of famine came in our lives? When the locusts come to devour our happiness and content lifestyles, what actions do we take?
If only we took the "Even now" step. Even now in the midst of death and destruction, would we only lift our heads up towards Heaven, I'm sure our suffering would not last as long, and even if we still suffered, at least we would have hope in something more than what our earthly abilities are.
Even now, I will try and recoup. Even now, I will try to lift my hands and praise Him. Even now will I return to Him, weeping and mourning and just trying to get closer in His arms. Even now, I will just try to look up.
Because trying is the only way we get the results we need. God has not called me - or you - to a life of perfection. He has called us to a relationship with Him. One that is full of tryings. We might fall, but we will fall right back into His hands. I take comfort and try to delight in Him who has created me.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Death
Reading "A Grief Observed" at this moment in my life is very important. Had I read this book at any other time, I know I would not have become so attached to a book.
In my life, I've only experienced two deaths in my immediate life.
The first death was that of my grandma. I spent the whole summer with just her and I at her house. I learned so much from her and it had to be the best summer I have ever experienced. That fall, the day after Thanksgiving, she had a sudden heart attack and died in her new apartment. I was deeply hurt and frustrated with myself. It was the one time I just didn't know how to respond. I couldn't cry or frown or yell. I just stayed emotionless for a long time.
The second death was with my new close friend, Melissa. She and I met in the beginning of the summer and she gave me a love for photography. She also died in November; she was hit by a drunk driver. I had alot of struggles before I properly grieved her.
These two experiences had similarities. Both happened around the same time in different years. Both had me become very close before they died. Both died unexpectedly.
C.S. Lewis writes: "Reality never repeats. The exact same thing is never taken away and given back."
He seems so angry. So displeased with those who had tried to say the one liners of sympathy.
Lewis made me see how grieving is a dirty thing. It is messy and unorganized. It leaves one feeling disorientated about life. But the beautiful thing is, Lewis becomes stronger through his grief.
And that is what I want to become: stronger.
My grandpa was diagnosed with lung cancer the day I arrived on campus. He has been in and out of the hospital. Radiation, chemotheraphy, medicine are things that should prolong his life but actually have made him weaker. My father is a proud man who is now on his knees at night crying out to God for a healing touch or a salvation of a soul. It's never hurt so much to be so far away from family in a time like this. However, this is what help me feel at peace in a moment of chaos:
"We cannot understand. The best is perhaps what we understand least"
Perhaps what we need is less understanding about things and more belief in an infinite God who understands all.
In my life, I've only experienced two deaths in my immediate life.
The first death was that of my grandma. I spent the whole summer with just her and I at her house. I learned so much from her and it had to be the best summer I have ever experienced. That fall, the day after Thanksgiving, she had a sudden heart attack and died in her new apartment. I was deeply hurt and frustrated with myself. It was the one time I just didn't know how to respond. I couldn't cry or frown or yell. I just stayed emotionless for a long time.
The second death was with my new close friend, Melissa. She and I met in the beginning of the summer and she gave me a love for photography. She also died in November; she was hit by a drunk driver. I had alot of struggles before I properly grieved her.
These two experiences had similarities. Both happened around the same time in different years. Both had me become very close before they died. Both died unexpectedly.
C.S. Lewis writes: "Reality never repeats. The exact same thing is never taken away and given back."
He seems so angry. So displeased with those who had tried to say the one liners of sympathy.
Lewis made me see how grieving is a dirty thing. It is messy and unorganized. It leaves one feeling disorientated about life. But the beautiful thing is, Lewis becomes stronger through his grief.
And that is what I want to become: stronger.
My grandpa was diagnosed with lung cancer the day I arrived on campus. He has been in and out of the hospital. Radiation, chemotheraphy, medicine are things that should prolong his life but actually have made him weaker. My father is a proud man who is now on his knees at night crying out to God for a healing touch or a salvation of a soul. It's never hurt so much to be so far away from family in a time like this. However, this is what help me feel at peace in a moment of chaos:
"We cannot understand. The best is perhaps what we understand least"
Perhaps what we need is less understanding about things and more belief in an infinite God who understands all.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Ninja Boy
On Monday while eating a delicious breakfast, I was with my group of Jose, Romeo, and Ana. We all brought in different forms of literature depending on our preference. What really stood out though was Romeo's comic book collection called Ninja Boy.
It was about a boy who was obviously a ninja. He was orphaned and had to learn quickly how to survive in order to avenge his family's death. Like all ninja stories there are foes, senseis, and your unusual sidekick that added comic relief. However, unlike other ninja comics Ninja Boy only lasted 6 volumes and was never concluded properly.
It makes me think about endings. Stories where there are "happy endings" or stories with "realistic endings" or stories with "no endings". Which ones do we like the most? The ones who give us a sense of unrealistic peace? Or how about the ones who are dry and make us so angry that we through the book across the room(I've certainly done this before...)?
I think a story with no ending is probably the best kind. We often want security, but with no ending, it gives our minds less barriers. We are allowed to think differently and expand our imaginations. I think this is a great skill that we need to grow and nuture.
Our lives are no endings until we die. We are always writing new chapters, and even if you die, you don't know what happens next. I'm not being blasphemous and saying there is no heaven. I am saying that even in heaven our lives will continue. We certainly do not know how heaven will be exactly. We have ideas but in the end there really is no ending.
Which is why I like Ninja Boy so much. Thanks to lack of budgeting I can continue the story the way I want and enjoy just as much.
It was about a boy who was obviously a ninja. He was orphaned and had to learn quickly how to survive in order to avenge his family's death. Like all ninja stories there are foes, senseis, and your unusual sidekick that added comic relief. However, unlike other ninja comics Ninja Boy only lasted 6 volumes and was never concluded properly.
It makes me think about endings. Stories where there are "happy endings" or stories with "realistic endings" or stories with "no endings". Which ones do we like the most? The ones who give us a sense of unrealistic peace? Or how about the ones who are dry and make us so angry that we through the book across the room(I've certainly done this before...)?
I think a story with no ending is probably the best kind. We often want security, but with no ending, it gives our minds less barriers. We are allowed to think differently and expand our imaginations. I think this is a great skill that we need to grow and nuture.
Our lives are no endings until we die. We are always writing new chapters, and even if you die, you don't know what happens next. I'm not being blasphemous and saying there is no heaven. I am saying that even in heaven our lives will continue. We certainly do not know how heaven will be exactly. We have ideas but in the end there really is no ending.
Which is why I like Ninja Boy so much. Thanks to lack of budgeting I can continue the story the way I want and enjoy just as much.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Judging Others / Reflecting on Ourselves
In class on Friday, we talked about alot of things. This class is mainly discussion and discovery which makes me excited! Even if I'm not a morning person(as I write this at 2:35 AM), I know that I enjoy engaging with others. All this said, Professor Corrigan said something that really had me thinking all weekend. Often we are posed with this situation:
Judging Others vs. Reflecting on Ourselves
Most of the time we dismiss judging others because as Christians we would never dream of this. But often, I am caught inbetween feeling comfortable and feeling uncomfortable. In my perspective the reason we judge people is because we are unwilling to see our own flaws and focus in on others'.
We want to be comfortable. And once we notice a problem in ourselves it's either change it and make ourselves uncomfortable, or we just ignore it and project our frustration on others.
Life is easy when it's comfortable. Life is simple when it's comfortable.
So, we judge because it's easy. If we focus enough on other people's problems than ourselves, then maybe our wish will come true and our problems will go away.
However, Christ said that we should not judge a needle in someone's eye when we have a plank in our own.
It's hard, but when we reflect on ourselves it leads to us becoming more mature and understanding. We then begin to better ourselves and those arounds us. It might be uncomfortable. It might be tough. But in the end it is the most effective. And if we don't judge in return we might also not be judged. It might seem farfetched, but I think that it could happen if little by little we began to understand ourselves.
Judging Others vs. Reflecting on Ourselves
Most of the time we dismiss judging others because as Christians we would never dream of this. But often, I am caught inbetween feeling comfortable and feeling uncomfortable. In my perspective the reason we judge people is because we are unwilling to see our own flaws and focus in on others'.
We want to be comfortable. And once we notice a problem in ourselves it's either change it and make ourselves uncomfortable, or we just ignore it and project our frustration on others.
Life is easy when it's comfortable. Life is simple when it's comfortable.
So, we judge because it's easy. If we focus enough on other people's problems than ourselves, then maybe our wish will come true and our problems will go away.
However, Christ said that we should not judge a needle in someone's eye when we have a plank in our own.
It's hard, but when we reflect on ourselves it leads to us becoming more mature and understanding. We then begin to better ourselves and those arounds us. It might be uncomfortable. It might be tough. But in the end it is the most effective. And if we don't judge in return we might also not be judged. It might seem farfetched, but I think that it could happen if little by little we began to understand ourselves.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Literary Profile!
My whole entire family has always been big on reading books that varied due to the person. My father enjoys reading patriotic stories of the wars we fought and more recently has been reading more of the spiritually edifying books. My mom enjoys her cook books and her home and garden books to make the house more of her own. My brother reads fantasy. My older sister reads Jane Austen and other classics. And my little sister loves the Baby Sitter’s Club series. All my life I’ve grown up around books. The first book I really remember as a kid was Good Night Moon and The Giving Tree. My mom use to make my sister read to me all the time because it would keep me quiet.
I recently have grown found of Donald Miller and have read his books which give me the best reaction I have yet: frustration. I’ve never been so frustrated to end a book and wonder why there is nothing left to read. It’s made me want to find more books that I can be frustrated with. I also enjoy reading Francis Chan. I basically enjoy anything that will refresh my way of thinking and keep me from staying the same. I enjoy learning and having my mind be expanded by new thoughts and ideas. I think that’s why the Bible is the most significant literary text I’ve read. My answer is not a cliché but a simple truth. I cannot recall one other book that has given me a new meaning every time I’ve reread a simple sentence or two. Nor have I remembered a time where I was disappointed with the Bible. I feel my heart expand at a word or two because it is just so special to have something that I know is from God. His thoughts and His ideas are in one little book depending on the font size.
Literature matters for the sake of our thoughts and ideas. We need to read to grow and to become better people who can make more educated decisions. But once we start reading there is a point where we need to stop and take action. I believe that if we keep reading and reading, we will have all this knowledge but do nothing with it. Sometimes I believe literature can prohibit our movement. We might hide behind the facts and do nothing to change. Overall though, literature is vital to our growth. Without literature – new and old – we would not be able to evolve our thoughts and grow as a whole.
I recently have grown found of Donald Miller and have read his books which give me the best reaction I have yet: frustration. I’ve never been so frustrated to end a book and wonder why there is nothing left to read. It’s made me want to find more books that I can be frustrated with. I also enjoy reading Francis Chan. I basically enjoy anything that will refresh my way of thinking and keep me from staying the same. I enjoy learning and having my mind be expanded by new thoughts and ideas. I think that’s why the Bible is the most significant literary text I’ve read. My answer is not a cliché but a simple truth. I cannot recall one other book that has given me a new meaning every time I’ve reread a simple sentence or two. Nor have I remembered a time where I was disappointed with the Bible. I feel my heart expand at a word or two because it is just so special to have something that I know is from God. His thoughts and His ideas are in one little book depending on the font size.
Literature matters for the sake of our thoughts and ideas. We need to read to grow and to become better people who can make more educated decisions. But once we start reading there is a point where we need to stop and take action. I believe that if we keep reading and reading, we will have all this knowledge but do nothing with it. Sometimes I believe literature can prohibit our movement. We might hide behind the facts and do nothing to change. Overall though, literature is vital to our growth. Without literature – new and old – we would not be able to evolve our thoughts and grow as a whole.
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