Why Bookstores Frustrate Me December 30, 2009
The Writer, writeth December 24, 2009
“Oh, daughter that art the writer-eth,” yes my mom really talks like this, “I need you to ‘Noel’ these narrations for me.” So, Christmas Eve is here, and we’re blasting Christmas music through the house and making goodies and tons of food for the myriad of people that will be coming in and out of the house over the next two days.
Since I was little Christmas Eve has been a blustery, flustered, busy day. A few years ago my mom and I were both on staff of different churches and had to attend certain services every year. Which meant I went to one Christmas Eve service by myself usually after the one my parents put together at their church. This year I’m attending two of my own volition.
And Christmas is finally here. I’m excited about this. Even though money has been tight for me I managed to make/give some pretty rock-awesome Christmas gifts. And we’re back to my favorite part for this season.
I think Eugene Peterson says it best:
John 1:14
The Word became flesh and blood,
and moved into the neighborhood.
We saw the glory with our own eyes,
the one-of-a-kind glory,
like Father, like Son,
Generous inside and out,
true from start to finish.
You know I’m obsessed with words, the life they bring, the inspiration they create, the worlds made possible by stringing a few together. But this Word, this Story of redeeming love, glory come to earth, salvation, hope… NOTHING trumps this. He was born to die, so that I might truly live, see the world for the beauty it was created to be, and people as whole.
I’m grateful that in all the ways I was created in Your image that you gave me a gift for words. And an outlet for them. Let Your words be my words, and my words be Your words, and let us remember that You are the Real Author.
the Muse is melancholy tonight December 23, 2009
Henry December 19, 2009
Uncle Oscar used to call me Henry. This confused me because I’m a girl. And I wasn’t very good at sarcasm until I was much older.
This was back in the days that I used to try to wander around in the woods like an “Indian” without making a sound and looking forward to when I would finally be able to drive the three-wheeler. I was young and fascinated (and a little terrified) by the woods behind my grandparents house. We had a little garden and grew carrots and my little sister ate them right out of the ground.
So, I was Henry. An awkward little girl that would imagine the woods as a magical playground made just for her, who loved playing outside, and thought swinging was the closest you could get to flying.
Henry… When I was sixteen my parents bought a car from some of our friends. My first car. He was a 1987 325is BMW. Made the same year as me… heh. Our friend bought it brand new in 1987 and owned it all the way up until we became the new owners. He asked that whatever we did with him that I keep his name the same: Heinrich. I was new to the idea of naming things, but I agreed and called him Henry for short.
So we were the Henrys. And we had some adventures. And I think about all these memories… these people I’ve been and could be… names I’ve had and will have. And this is what keeps me grounded.
These Gloomy Winter Days December 18, 2009
These gloomy winter days make me depressed.
Sitting in a summer garden in the winter I hear a train’s melancholy call. “All Aboard!” it screams, but no one moves. I see that days like this go on forever. I carry the incalculable weight of the grey clouds on my shoulders. Even my sunshine can’t break the clouds.
This is the season for Salvation Army bell ringers. I passed one today who told me the wellies I’m wearing are happy boots. They have large lime green and hot pink dots and were the subject of ridicule by our tour guide in England last March. They grab people’s attention. When I wear them I feel like I’m going places.
But I feel out of place today. Too bright in the gloom. As if I’ve been invited to a funeral and wore a bright yellow dress. Everything around me seems to be trying to convey a certain mood. I almost bought into it.
But I don’t have to be gloomy just because some weather and dead plant stalks try to evoke this in me. I can and will be sunny. I’ll take the train and escape this dreary setting. This is a weekend of celebrations. My melancholy mood can wait.
Potential December 7, 2009
So, for the past year I’ve been obsessed with the idea that I’m not fulfilling my destiny. That I used up all my potential in the glory days of high school and will never hit such heights of greatness again.
Earlier last week I discovered some stories that have helped me become less concerned that this is the case and regain some hope that I will redeem this wasted year with industrious decades to come.
I read on RELEVANT Magazine’s website (the article is originally from 2005) an article entitled In Pursuit of Your Passion an interesting breakdown of what each decade in your life can be like:
“One of my mentors said in your 20s, you think you’re good at everything, so you try everything,” McLaren said. “In your 30s, you find out you’re not good at some things. In your 40s, you try to get out of the things you’re not good at so you can concentrate on the areas where your best gifts lie. In your 50s, you actually try to thrive in your areas of gift and strength.”
They’re quoting Brian McLaren here. I don’t know much about him, and obviously I cannot state the above as FACT in my life… because I’ve not yet even reached the halfway point of my 20s…. but I sort of hope that it is the case. At least it’s given me a new perspective on what each decade may mean in my life.
Then there’s this book I’ve been reading about the Guinness family (the beer brewing ones, not the guy that started the world record book… you can read about him here.) It’s offered me a strange sort of comfort because from the founding father Arthur Guinness down through his sons the stories all begin to get really interesting when they hit about the age of 30. Some of them even later in life. Of course, before they either took over the brewery, or found some other profession that called to them, they apprenticed for years.
I love the idea of apprenticeship. And the connection this has to the theory of 10,000 hours. I first read about this idea in a book called Outliers. In it, Malcolm Gladwell explains that the process of becoming a master, expert, or top in any given field is directly affected by the amount of practice spent in that area. Proving true the old adage, “How do you get to Carnegie Hall? Practice, Practice, Practice.” Literally, once you’ve spent 10,000 hours doing something… you’re the best at it. So, these Guinness sons became experts in brewing the best port in the world because they spent a lot of time involved (to varying degrees) in the process of brewing said port.
For me, it proves that life is not over even though I have not published a book by 15 years old, gotten engaged by 20, married by 21 and started working on kids. Admirable though that may be in the lives of others… it’s not a competition standard for me. I can spend this time in my 20s trying different things, becoming comfortable with the things I’m not good at and honing the skills of the things I am. Life goes on and I have a lot of it to live.
As an addendum:
It’s taken me about three tries to finally get this whole blog post out. I started it on my iPhone the other night at work. And handy as those things may be… sometimes the technology glitches. So, here it is. I’ve finally gotten it all out. Chuck full of hyperlinks for you to peruse. And hopefully some inspiration. Here’s to our futures!
part of a family December 1, 2009
Well, we’ve entered the home-stretch of The Holidays. Last weekend I got to spend time with some family members that I only see every couple of years for a few days. We had some really awesome God-filled moments… impromptu worship sets, sharing what’s been going on in our lives, celebration that we were all able to be together (minus a few family members) considering the events of our last year. It was interesting; a moment when I discovered how much I really do have in common with my family.
At one point, when several of us were on my aunt and uncle’s front porch singing praise songs with family members and friends gathered round, a friend of my aunt’s leaned over and said, “I wish I’d been born into your family.”
My grandfather was Jere. He had four children. Over the years they’ve spread out all over and had children of their own. Since my grandfather’s lifetime we’ve been through a lot. Stories that a wonderful and stories that would break your heart. Sometimes, it seems like we’ve had more of the latter. Without getting into all of it, we’re literally lucky that certain people in my family are alive.
When my aunt told me about her friend saying that to her, it brought to mind this song by Shane & Shane. It’s about Rack, Shack, and Benny (these guys in the Bible… their names are hard to spell so I go for the Veggie Tales version). Long story short, I think my family falls into this concept… here are the words:
There were three
Before the king
There were three who wouldn’t bow to him
For when you heard
The music play
And you were standing you would burn.
They looked at him and said…
Burn us up! Burn us up! Burn us up!
Oh king won’t you burn us in the furnace of
Your desire
We give up! We give up! We give up!
Oh king won’t you burn us in the furnace of
Your desire!
Won’t you throw us in the fire!
The king enraged
At what they said
Sent the three away to find their death
The palace stopped in unbelief
When the guilty raised their hands to sing
They looked at him and said…
You are able to deliver from the fire of affliction
It’s the declaration of my Lord
You’re not an image of gold
You’re the God of old
You have made us
Come and save us
We are Yours
But even if You don’t, we will burn!
Burn Us Up, Shane & Shane
to live November 26, 2009
Death tugs at my ear and says, “Live, I am coming.” -Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr., poet, novelist, essayist, and physician (1809-1894)
What is the meaning of life? To find a purpose? To fall in love? To create something to leave behind?
How do you measure a successful life? By age reached before death? Possessions accumulated? Relationships built, broken, maintained, restored?
Is the whole point to live so that once we no longer live people will remember us?
I could be a hermit. Find an artsy friend with property and go all Thoreau on the world. Write another Walden. Hang out with nature.
I could travel. Become a rubber tramp, or maybe find a profession that supports road-tripping. Go all Kerouac. Meet whoever the road leads me to.
Or I could do what I do best. People-watch. Live vicariously through the lives of people I know, love, interact with.
I read something yesterday about a good novel making you live several lives while reading it. I realized that is my motive for reading, watching movies/tv shows, and searching for music. I want to live through it.
Sometimes when I longboard (which I’m slowly getting better at) I close my eyes, hold my arms out, and pretend I’m floating. I want to feel like that every day, in everything I’m doing.
payphones and vinyl November 20, 2009
I don’t think I’ve ever legitimately used a payphone in my life. I remember seeing a lot of them when I was a kid. And I knew people that had pagers (which now makes me think of Dennis Duffy a la 30 Rock). But with the cell-phone revolution payphones are virtually non-existent in our world now.
The one time I can remember using a payphone was in Dublin, Ireland. And it cost something like 5 euro to call home. It was a short conversation… on a Sunday afternoon. My dad and I called my mom who was still in Florida to tell her quickly about all that we’d done so far and find out how she and my little sister were. I don’t know if the crackling I remember was added by my imagination or if the phone really was crackly.
Last night I had dinner with my friend and two of our other friends stopped by to watch us eat and polish off the cheesecake we ordered. At one point all of us had our cell-phones up answering texts, playing video games, or just joining in to be obnoxiousness of it all. My friend suggested we have the waitress take our picture and title it “The Decline of Civilization”. We all laughed and slowly put our phones away.
I recently became obsessed with starting a record collection. I love music so much and am constantly looking for a new band or new style, diving through the old collection to feel the old feelings, and looking for new ways to experience music.
My friend Pam has a record player named Hermes that I’ve been envious of for quite some time. So, I asked my family to keep their eyes open for a record player. A few weeks later I became the proud owner of a turntable. I have yet to purchase a record and figure out how to hook it up to a system… (it’s missing a needle so I can’t really play anything until I get that anyway) but I’m so looking forward to the first moment I hear Abbey Road or the White Album the way it was meant to be heard with all the crackles and pops. I can’t wait to relive an old Boston record with my dad, enjoy some Ella Fitzgerald with my mom, and show my little sister Kings of Leon or Anberlin on vinyl.
The thing is, whether vinyl or payphones I think of how we’ve moved forward with technology and lost something in our relationships. Ironic as it may be to blog about this phenomena, it’s what was on my mind today. There’s a line in a Jimmy Eat World song (Dizzy) where he says, “I tried, but it rang and rang, I called all night. On a payphone, remember those from another life?” That line echoes in my head on days like this.
So, we chat, text, network, tweet, and blog. Maybe all we need for connection is to dust off a vinyl or find an old payphone, remember the other life.