The Social Network

I came across this post by Jonathan Dodson and it's something that I've been articulating in my conversations for the past year. Well, Jonathan wrote about it and it's something that I thought was worth sharing and I didn't need to re-write what was already well written (how's that for slackers united?). Check his full article if you have time but this is the heart of the blog's article:

In this age of social networking, true friendship and community are in steady decline. Conversation is increasingly superficial–an exchange of information or a piece of entertainment–but rarely do we reach the deep places where people truly feel, believe, and desire. And when we do, if feels foreign and awkward. With this decline in depth of conversation, we are not only losing deep conversation but also the ability to relate to one another on deeper levels. The threat we impose upon ourselves by opting for influence over friendship is not only losing friends but also losing the ability to make friends, real, deep, lasting ones. For example, when is the last time you asked someone not just “how was your day” or “What’s up” but how you feel about what’s up and how your day was?

In The Social Network, we observe a variety of things threatening true friendship in addition to the hunger for influence. Greed, power, selfishness, immaturity, and jealously. These very same things threaten the waning art of true friendship, every time you choose not to ask that deeper, second level question, every time you choose to compete instead of converse, every time we wait for someone else to take the “risk” of going deeper than “What’s up?”

The Ethic of Love

If anyone has the power, the rationale, to take the risk, to “plunge” one or two levels deeper, to make friends, to build community, it is Christians. This is not so because they are morally superior. Far too often, Christians are morally inferior. What Christians do possess, however, is an ethic of love. Love is not essentially affection and romance. Love is essentially denial of self in the pursuit of another, like asking a deeper question of someone who has not yet asked such a question of you. Or like denying yourself some comfort in order to provide a need or comfort for someone else. Love is like picking up someone’s children in less than 24 hours notice so that a tired couple can have some time to themselves (which happened to me tonight).

Love is like dying so others can live. Jesus Christ did all of these things and more. He showed us that God truly is love, by denying himself for the good of countless others. Yes, Christians have an ethic of love that compels friendship, community, sacrifice, and deeper truer conversation. My fear is that we are building churches of social networkers not Christians, churches that are more concerned with influence than friendship.

In an ironic twist, the closing scene of The Social Network leaves Zuckerberg, broker of 500 million friends, at a computer clicking “Refresh” over and over again in the hopes of regaining a lost friend through his own social network. He has the same desire we all have, but he is using the wrong medium, a medium of convenience and safety, not inconvenience and risk. Love may be more costly but it is also more rewarding. Having lots of influence may seem like power, but true power comes from being loved with an incorruptible, inexhaustible love that never fails, a love that only a god could afford, a love that was purchased at great cost so that we could reap every benefit and pass those benefits on.

Will you choose friends or followers, relationships of love or relationships of convenience, ephemeral bursts of dopamine or never-ending fountains of love? My hope is that we’ll choose love, and in doing so rescue friendship and community from its steady decline. In an age ravaged by desire for influence and starving for friends, Christians have an opportunity, perhaps more than ever, to show the world that God is love.

alas-

I have been too busy to post--and the photo upload function on my blogspot is not appearing. I may switch teams. I'll keep you posted;)

Closing the chapter even as God’s river of delights pours forth

I am back where I started three months ago, back at Southeastern and nestled once again with my studies and wrestling with library hours and my gloriously All-American To-Do list. And I love it. It feels wonderful to be back even though I hardly had a summer vacation. (Although I must admit that my week in Spain helped.)
Yet even as the dust settles from my whirlwind arrival late Saturday night and the subsequent dash to North Wake and group hug with my southern kin, the question de jour is: “So, how was it?”
This innocuously double-edged question that everyone is asking places me in the delicate position of sharing too much of one aspect of the culture and then glossing over the rest…this is a terrible injustice. It would be a lie to suggest that I am an expert after a summer. Rather, I’m still reeling with the implications of living in a drastically different worldview and reevaluating my experiences in light of my return to the States.
Still, I manage to sum my experience with these three words: difficult, challenging and blessed.
The difficulty was that I was very ill half the summer as I had picked up a dastardly amoeba from the some contaminated fruit at a store. Following which I experienced migraines, horrible dizzy spells and a fatigue that guaranteed that I would be flopped half-unconsciously on my bed as soon as I was finished teaching my classes in the morning and night. The hospitals, unfortunately, are rubbish---even the locals won’t go so we had to find antibiotics on hearsay. Nonetheless, God is good and I recovered.
The challenge was the pace of the culture: slowing down and being willing to be simple. This is actually harder than it sounds if you are used to learning and thinking and experiencing a great deal of personal liberty and independence. As a woman in the Middle East, those aspects are hardly encouraged. I must have seemed quite odd to them: a rather modest, polite and God-loving young woman who studied and worked and travelled around the world without an escort. That combination is a difficult concept to them. Because of my natural independence, the real challenge was my wanting to shake up their culture to accommodate my own preferences or beliefs. Yet even if I strongly wished to do so on moral and ethical grounds, I wasn’t there for that. I am commanded by King Jesus to be salt (a preservative for what IS still good in a rotting land) and light (exposing wickedness) to an unbelieving world.
But the sum is the whole of all the parts, and the blessings were evident to me all around my allotted time. I joined one of the few gyms in the city and was warmly included in the class activities. It tripped me out that no one seemed to know how to swim and yet they always had fun running into one another. Now, I miss seeing the ladies with their kind smiles and gallant efforts to speak English. I miss my instructor who repeatedly threw me off the treadmill because she didn’t want me to lose any weight (they thought I was in danger of becoming too skinny—classic). I miss my students who giggled when we talked about marriage and dating as if they were 12 year olds instead of adults. I miss the conversations and how they shared their hopes and fears about their country and their dreams.
Since I’ve been back, I’ve actually experienced a reverse culture-shock. I miss people wanting me to be with them: it’s a powerful thing, to be wanted. Then there was their incredible generosity to strangers, neighbors and internationals…this is abnormal even in a southern country subculture. If they know someone is in need, they step in and step up with a ready alacrity that shames me. Moreover, their lovely concept of community maintains a dignity people with a comfortable commitment to relationships that endure for a lifetime---with great regularity! When I left, I was happy to return to my rights and privileges---and indeed, I was skipping around Istanbul for two days to be back in Europe. I wouldn’t want to live in the Middle East: I’m much too independent to settle down to such docility. Yet, I owe the people my sincere gratitude for the love that they displayed by taking me in and loving me so well. I’m grateful and I humbly acknowledge the superiority of some of their customs over my own. I want to share those noble aspects wherever I go and take the choicest piece of their culture with me: real community. Meanwhile, I am still running. And the pages and letters march on.

Kill Your Darlings and The Great Divorce

When I was in college, my teacher had a saying that has always tormented me: “Kill your darlings.” This common writing idiom is brutal in its concise message. But what is a darling? Simply a favorite phrase or expression that is meaningful to the writer but actually gets in the way of the rest of the message much like a beloved two year old in the middle of a formal dance. Darlings are a liability to great work. But we don’t want to get rid of our sweet monsters: they make us feel good, somehow forming an emotional attachment with our subconscious matter. Unfortunately, we are too close to the darling to see how it poisons the work at hand.
I’ve been reading C.S. Lewis’s “The Great Divorce” and while this worthy novel is not referencing writing, this writing axiom illuminates a great deal about human nature: even when something hurts us and is actually a point of destroying our raison d’être, we long to keep our darlings. Even with something as simple as writing, I know my tendency to change whole paragraphs and outlines just so that I can keep a “darling” when it has no substantial bearing on the rest of the work. And I am the same in life: Those ridiculous sensual and personalized snares of hell have a parasitic occupation to attenuate our passions. Yet, they mean so much to us. Lewis, without needing to verbalize this, demonstrates that these manners thrive in unmitigated selfishness. People struggle all the more with their personal evil (even as they despair of ever being free of it) because they are, essentially, alone. They may have many people around them but their depth of authentic community is shallow. It’s my struggle, my connection…everything is keyed into ME. In an early section of the book, a great spirit, George MacDonald, is explaining to Lewis the various hindrances that people face to enter the kingdom of God. Some are ostensibly innocent but have such a stronghold that a person cannot be persuaded to chose God over his ‘other love’ such as self-respect, proper pride and injured merit (see page 72). And then there are the ‘undignified vices’ of ‘mere sensuality’ as Lewis asks:
“Then is no one lost through the undignified vices, Sir? Through mere sensuality?”
MacDonald’s reply: “Some are, no doubt. The sensualist, I’ll allow ye, begins by pursuing a real pleasure, though a small one. His sin is the less. But the time comes on when, though the pleasure becomes less and less and the craving fiercer and fiercer, and though he knows that joy can never come that way, yet he prefers to joy the mere fondling of unappeasable lust and would not have it taken from him. He’d fight to the death to keep it. He’d like well to be able to scratch; but even when he can scratch no more he’d rather itch than not.”
Yet freedom is a real option! Towards the end of the book, there is scene in which a ghost character that has somehow made his way to the threshold of heaven has brought along his “pet” lizard. The lizard sits on his shoulder and whispers horrible things in his ear, driving the ghost mad until he gives up and decides to return to hell. When a Real Person intervenes and offers to silence the creature, the ghost is initially pleased (he thinks it would be nice to stay) and then horrified that the method of silencing the lizard involves killing the creature. Even though the man hates his demon, he is in turmoil over such “drastic” measures. Yet, as the Angel, explains—it’s the only way. Several times the angel offers to kill the creature and the ghost whines and whimpers and pleads that he thinks the creature will behave, he’ll be alright when he goes to sleep, that he can handle his sin on his own or gradually work up the resistance to this painful operation. Yet, the angel is adamant that the ghost doesn’t have a day to lose, that the ghost won’t have another chance like this again. At this point, the Lizard ‘wakes up’ and quickly builds his case against the cold, bloodless, and judgmental angel. It’s natural for the angel to be without a ‘creature’ because he’s not a real man, he doesn’t understand. “Yes, yes. I know there are no real pleasures now, only dreams. But aren’t they better than nothing? And I’ll be so good. I admit I’ve sometimes gone too far in the past, but I promise I won’t do it again…”
The Angel asks for permission for the last time. Finally, in fear and rage, the ghost permits the angel to kill the creature. And then: life! Healing, if you like, yet the following scene is so vivid and beautiful; you simply have to read it for yourself. But to have life, true community that is the beginning extension of heaven for the saints, begins with love and humility and selflessness. You must kill your darlings that cause you to hesitate on the threshold of real life. And faith that is the reality of things not seen but are more than hoped for. We aren’t meant to be alone: that is the joy of loving God—we are not meant to skip bodily life and trials with the flesh. That’s a dualistic, unbiblical notion. We were meant to experience true passions and have full, sensual delights. We were meant for joy, and to know and live it today.

Divine Appointment at the Blue Mosque

For the past few days, my life had an eerie similarity to movies like Up In Air or The Terminal. One airport after another, all the various terminals were starting to blur into easy familiarity. Still, I was able to spend two lovely nights in Istanbul, the paradoxical port where East meets West and the two mutually agree to disagree. Asia and Europe are strange yet necessary bedfellows in this country which eagerly desires full admittance into the exalted establishment of the EU. To its credit, it has made its ambitious presence felt as this year it was selected as Europe’s 2010 City for Culture and the Arts. Charging ahead, as Turkey tries to woo its economic and political superiors, it spouts concessions to religious equality. Of course, this is bollocks. Take the Hagia Sophia for example.
For a thousand years, the Hagia Sophia was the crown cathedral, a shining giant of byzantine architecture. Yet, when the Turks invaded Constantinople, the Sultan converted it to a mosque and it remained thus utilized for hundreds of years. Then, in 1935, Turkey secularized the Hagia Sophia and dedicated its use as a museum. Tour guides sport polos with Faith emblazed on their backs but anyone who shares the gospel is in danger of expulsion for being “un-Turkish”. The guides supplied by the Hagia Sophia are quite verbose in their sentiments of the Bible as well. Unsubstantiated, of course. As I stood gazing up at the mosaics that decorated the vast dome ceiling and near the world-renown Deesis mosaic, a small group of internationals, led by an impartial Muslim guide who launched into the Trinity (the paradoxical nature of it) and Jesus’ own statements affirming order within the Diety (the Father has sent Me, I am send the Holy Spirit, etc.). All of this was put forth without reference or context to the passage or book. He picked his few lines and from this, apparently satisfied with his silent audience, that he had proved that Christ was only a prophet (totally ignoring EVERYTHING else that Jesus taught and accomplished) shuffled off. I bit my tongue and I could have sworn that I tasted blood. As I was not apart of the group, I didn’t think it was right to hurtle into their midst and say, “Excuse me but you are leaving out these other passages and you are also leaving out the passage context. Furthermore, the New Testament was written by those who believed in His divinity and resurrection---don’t you think they would have had a problem recording these statements if they believed otherwise and were concerned about confusion?” Needless to say, the fact that this experience coincided with recent reports about Christians expelled from the country for sharing the Gospel (it’s “un-Turkish”) left me in an Irish-fighting mood. Sometimes I can almost feel the cellular red in my hair when I get this way. I left the museum and made my way across the park towards the Blue Mosque, an active worship site for thousands of Muslims. The call to prayer rang out on speakers and echoed throughout the city even as I watched tourists and souvenir vendors hawk their Faith merchandise. It left me in a mood to do something unmitigated. That’s when I was approached by a man. Now, I’m frequently approached by men (most single women are) and I assumed he was either coming over to chat me up (ugh) or sell me something (sigh). But whatever his (at present) unknown intentions, he had a nice, unaggressive approach and as I walked toward the mosque, he tried to engage me in conversation. At first, I was cool and brief, not encouraging him yet not freezing him off (no matter what some may mock as my Ice Queen routine). Yet by the time that he had stated that he was a Persian rug shop keeper, and I had clearly stated that I was a poor grad student whose idea of a splurge was a tall Mocha frap from Starbucks, our talk had already led us to discuss the Mosque and why I desired to visit this Muslim site since I was patently not Muslim. I was delighted to comply with his questions and for the next hour, standing in the inner courtyard of the mosque, my unsolicited Muslim friend and I discussed religion and works and why Jesus was necessary as both Man and God and as our sacrifice. Why the Resurrection is not an optional belief. The poor fellow---all that I had longed to say to the Hagia Sophia proselytizer, I expounded with this fellow. And he listened and questioned and debated: it was wonderful. He concluded that he needed to study this for himself and I pray that he does. So many people are confronted with their lack of substantiated knowledge and settle easily into their own good opinions from sheer laziness. As it is, for the past couple of months, I have listened and conversed with Muslims this summer and they all (all ignorant of actual Scripture) argue that the Bible has been corrupted by translators. When I ask when and where, they admit that they don’t know. In fact, aside from listening to their mullah, they don’t know anything about it at all. To be fair to our Muslim friends, people are noxiously comfortable about listening to others instead of investigating the matter for themselves. Even Christians fall into this passive crap trap. This is directly opposed to the Apostle Paul’s teaching when he urged the Thessalonian Christians to "test all things" and "hold fast to that which is good" (I Thessalonians 5:20-21). If the Bible is filled with error and contradiction, it should be viewed as man’s work, not God’s. But, no matter how many opponents try to lay siege to the word of God (and there have been thousands—the Gospel is always under attack because the claims and work of Christ are radically unique to a works-based religion world), it remains strong and pure with its historical reliability and the power of its message from Creation to Redemption to Glory, that God came to save the Lost and bring to life those who were dead through the Person and work of Jesus Christ (1 Cor. 15).




Read more at Suite101: Is Biblical History Knowable?: How to Evaluate the Credibility of the Bible http://biblestudies.suite101.com/article.cfm/is_biblical_history_knowable#ixzz0wg8YpSnV

The Apprentice

Is torture ever a legitimate action? Wherein is the good that compensates for the violation of human character? That being said, no matter how foreign the soil or discombobulating the customs, wherever you are in the world, women, be she an illiterate village woman or president, will make sacrifices on the altar of beauty. Furthermore, not inexplicably (the reasons ascertained may be discussed further in a future blog) are anxious to improve their own, whatever the cost: this country is no different. Case in point, the art of threading. It matters not how straight the gate nor charred with punishment the scroll, these women congregate in cruel harmony to overcome their common adversary as Middle Eastern women: body hair. Sure, it can look lovely, strong and fit enough for a Pantene commercial in theory but the reality is not that kind. In full recognition of this odious fact, threading is a common treatment against all unsightly manifestations of it. In the States, threading, that is, taking a spool of thread (I prefer the color red to set the mood), twisting it around your hands and, with concentrated effort, begin sawing motions across the body. With this innocuous torture device, this little spool of thread rips great patches of hair from the root. This art must be done delicately, which takes time. Lying on one another’s lap, the women stretch and strain to aid their beloved victims, mixing that heady concoction for beauty consisting of tears of pain and smiles of exchanged sympathy and delight with the final product. Ultra white girl that I am, cleaning up my brows are all that’s necessary. Others are not so fortunate. While I am not a promising “test” candidate I refused to be deterred from fully experiencing this communal ritual of womanhood. It took an embarrassing amount of time for me to learn how to thread the skin just right (much to the amusement of my onlookers) but after much duress, I finally finished threading the hair of one subject’s arm. I was quite pleased with myself although I cannot ascertain whether or not my subject concurred. She only bled a little bit. Which is good, right? Perhaps I have the makings of a good apprentice after all. On to my next victim!

Taxi Land

Unlike the States, taxi rides here are generally a pleasant and cheap way to get around the city. Whereas in the West, just hoping into the cab will cost you a couple of bucks within a few blocks, there’s a set fee for the city and it’s fairly cheap. That’s the upside. I take the taxi a few days a week to bust it at one of the few gyms in the city and getting there is generally an experience. All the drivers are nice...too nice sometimes, comprende? In their limited English, they use every moment to a.) ask me to marry them (even if they are married, old and have children), b.) offer me a cigarette (ah, gross?) and talk to their family on the phone. Yes, they call their relatives, offer their numbers (sometimes quite forcefully), invite me to their homes for dinner and generally are very excited to see me. They love Americans, no doubt. It’s funny that the aspect that troubles me the most is that they think I smoke because I’m from the States. Just thinking about it gives me the hives. Enough said. Whatever the case, I’m delighted that the drivers go out of their way for people here. When they stop to get a snack and drink (which they do—this a very relaxed work environment), they buy water for me too and offer to share food. Their manners are impeccable. Of course, if taxis are no where to be found, the “others” stop too. I’ve been told that I will be treated like a sister, they’ll take me wherever I need to go…yada, yada. So not going to happen. But you know what? It’s actually possible that these fellows mean just that: generally, this is really a safe place for women and children. There’s strong ethic that runs throughout the community so where I’d snicker in any other place, it’s feasibly a legitimate offer here. Still, I’ll stick to my amorous taxi drivers.

Sia's Song of Solomon

I know, this is a bit random but I cannot get this song out of my head. It's just beautiful. So, when you've got the blues and nothing is going right, I dare you to play this song (check it out on youtube) while reading the Song of Solomon. It's like chocolate for the soul. It's that great.

MY LOVE BY SIA

My love leave yourself behind
Beat inside me, leave you blind

My love you have found peace
You were searching for release

You gave it all
Give into the call
You took a chance and you took a fall for us

You came thoughtfully, and then faithfully
You taught me honor
You did it for me

Today you will sleep for good
You will wait for me my love

Now I am strong
You gave me all
You gave all you had and now I am home

My love leave yourself behind
Beat inside me, leave you blind

My love look what you can do
I am mending, I'll be with you

You took my hand
You added a plan
You gave me your heart
I asked you to dance with me

You loved honestly did what you could believe

I know in peace you go, I hope relief is yours

Now I am strong
You gave me all
You gave all you had and now I am home
My love leave yourself behind
Beat inside me, I’ll be with you.

To See Simply

I went on a picnic yesterday, a concept that is simultaneously similar and disparate from picnics in the States. Families here spend a lot of time together, especially on Fridays, the Muslim holy day. Every week, during the spring, summer and fall, everyone and their grandmother pile into their vans and heads out to scenic locations with the ridiculous amounts of food that the women stayed up half the night to prepare for lunch the next day. We’ll drive for at least a couple of hours, usually up into the mountains, pulling over for whoever needs to chuck their breakfast and finally find a place with some running water. Of course, if there’s anything slightly lovely to see, it’s already trashed with everyone’s rubbish. That’s an unfortunate backlash of the culture here: They don’t have any concept of environmental management. Forget reduce, reuse, recycle: we’re a step up to put things in a trash can around here.
But I semi-digress. We went to this one spring along the highway and I couldn’t really tell why we were stopping at this junky stream but hey, go with the folks and do what they do and do you’re best to have a good time while your at it is my motto. But the trash site that was to be our oasis definitely gave me a pause. Still they asked, do you like it here? They were so sweet and eager to make ME happy, I didn’t have the heart to tell them that the rubbish piles creeped me out. So, of course! So, we ate and then hopped into the cold water, ignoring the litter as best as I could which was surprisingly easy once everyone decided to attack the American in a water fight. I represented my country well! So this lasted for (what I considered) and inordinate amount of time before we climbed out to dry. Then we took off for another site. And this is where the rubber meets the road folks: the people here don’t do anything in a straight line. Their concept is time is, shall we say, lax. They don’t rush to get back. They have, no joke, 3 sets of tea within an hour. I’m thinking, enough already but then, they’ll talk some more. And eat and drink. Lord help me not to gain weight! And talk some more. But there’s something that I can’t get over: They’re just altogether PRESENT. They are completely in the moment and not fixed on some mental checklist. It’s rather refreshing.
Alexis de Tocqueville once commented that America, even in the 18th century was beginning to reveal “a strange melancholy in the midst of abundance.”
Being here checks my western despondency with time and life when things don’t move fast enough or the thrill isn’t present. It’s always a fight to catch myself as I struggle for the grand adventure. Like so many of my generation, I desire to be entertained, to be enraptured and captivated in the moment. That’s just not possible here. It’s the little things, the small moments of good companionship, of staying with people that you have loved and argued with for years, the constancy that helps them in the lack of visceral gratification. As grossed out by the litter and time that sometimes lagged, I kept thinking of just being content with these sweet people. Teasing and playing simple card games, thousands of little details that I regularly fail to pay attention to because the actions and plots aren’t lit up with grandness. It’s almost as if I’m blind. Now, when I struggle with the culture, the distance from my loved ones, I take hope in what joys I’m learning to see everything, it’s life and light:
“For the one who finds me finds life and obtains favor from the Lord.” (Prov. 9:4) And, as the silver tongue would say, “The path of the righteous is like the light of dawn, shining brighter and brighter until midday.” (Prov. 4:18)


"I’ll give you a lot of detail so you can see how much of it you're missing. Then, when you're feeling despair, you can look for the little things and see them as magnificent." I'd always thought that hope took for form of lightning bolts or blazing fires or northern lights. For me it's just like Emily Dickinson wrote: "hope is the thing with feathers." Hope is a giant flock of pelicans. Hope is love and grace and even in the middle of the shadow of death. -- Excerpt taken from Stumbling Toward Faith, p.153-154-- Written by Renee Altson (2004)-- J.Brown & Grains of Sand

Kiss Dating Goodbye

Where I am, you can kiss dating goodbye. Actually, leave out the kissing too. Dating here is strictly for the rebels and while there IS dating, it’s only on the hush and the parents (no matter how old you are) would flip if they discovered this contraband romance. And we’re not even talking about kissing. It happens but only closest friends would know about it. So why note this? Because I keep cracking up in my class since we’re using a British grammar book and it only references dating and kissing every other page. You should see the looks of consternation as they organize the WHEN/time placement relationship sequence:
a. Jane and John meet
b. Jane and John chat
c. Jane and John date
d. Jane and John kiss
e. Jane and John meet each other’s parents
f. Jane and John get engaged
g. Jane and John get married
h. Jane and John have children

And this is the R rating here. So, to make it more culturally applicable, I usually (as I’m attempting to smoother my laughter the whole time as I do so) switching things up to make it work thus:

e. Jane and John’s parents meet each other.
a. Jane and John meet
b. Jane and John chat (with the family present)
f. Jane and John get engaged
g. Jane and John get married
h. Jane and John have children

Hmm. I don’t think d. or c. ever come into the picture here. Even married couples don’t hold hands which really irritates the married Americans here. The men gripe that they can’t hold their wives hands but it’s kind of the same thing as walking down the street holding onto each other’s tooshies. Keep the hand-holding in the bedroom folks. Yet, to be fair, there ARE some love matches but that’s not the norm. To be fair, many apparent love matches in the States don’t look like love either. So perhaps it’s a wash.

On the lighter side, (in theory) you can hang out with someone of the opposite sex but never alone. However, a girl should always have another girl with her when she’s with her guy friend—even if they are in a public place. This is because of the parents, not because they are going to do anything and some of the younger people like my friends find this exasperating. I have three guy friends that I would really love to hang out with (I’ve been invited out to places with them), guys that I really like but just see as friends (two are Muslim) but I can’t because of the culture and, because I’m an American, I have to be ULTRA conservative—not my forte as anyone who knows my rambunctious nature would attest. So how do girls get out? If their momma isn’t with them, simply stated, they don’t. Every night is guys night out and every night is girls night in. All they do is watch American films and television after 6 pm but then again, all the guys do is drink chai and avoid their families. I’m so glad that the American men that live here, who understand the culture and could attempt to get away with being crappy husbands don’t act like average Joe here. They date their wives and watch the kids, do the laundry and try to be good men of God. Meanwhile, husbandless, aside from going over to my friend’s house for the evening with his family, this cat has hung her hat. I’ve kissed dating goodbye. And kissing. For now.

TO BE CONTINUED ;)

The Lost Virtue of Happiness

….the Good of man is the active exercise of his soul’s faculties in conformity with excellence or virtue, or if there be several human excellences or virtues, in conformity with the best and most perfect among them. Moreover this activity must occupy a complete lifetime; for one swallow does not make spring, nor does one fine day; and similarly one day or a brief period of happiness does not make a man supremely blessed and happy."

Like many of the ancient wise men, Aristotle was more concerned with emphasizing and developing human goodness in his fellow citizens than bequeathing theoretical knowledge of what that goodness is. Yet Aristotle states, “goodness is simple, badness manifold.” As such, his chief ‘good’ is primarily composed of the excellent function of man and this he refers to as eudaimonia or “human flourishing.” Although Aristotle is not exactly clear on whether happiness is the chief end of man, he seems to imply that this may be the case. The best way for man to flourish and attain happiness is through virtuous conduct. Yet, despite the fact that we live in a culture that embraces a pluralism of spiritual propositions, we are weaker than ever before in the knowledge of goodness.

As I study Proverbs, I reflect on relationships and it seems evident that the condition of a man’s relationships are a moral reflection of his character. What a man believes about life, love and God determines whether he can know happiness. I’ve been reading The Lost Virtue of Happiness by J.P. Moreland and while the book is simply constructed, I have been greatly encouraged by his advocacy of spiritual discipline and character formation. In the words of one review off Amazon:

One of the first points made in the book is the difference between our modern concept of happiness and the virtue of happiness. The difference is an important factor in living the life God intends for us. Modern happiness is a feeling, usually a feeling of pleasure. The problem is that as a goal in and of itself it is usually fleeting and out of grasp. But the virtue of happiness is the byproduct of a life well-lived. Moreland quotes Plato, "There is no question which a man of any sense could take more seriously than...what kind of life one should live." If God has made us, He has made us to flourish in a certain way.

Part of the problem with our modern notion of happiness isn't that it's fleeting, but that it’s too small.

"Remember, the concept of eternal life in the New Testament is not primarily one of living forever in heaven, but of having a new kind of life now. This new kind of life is so different that those without it can be called dead, truly. This is a life of human flourishing; a life lived the way we were made to function; a life of virtue, character, and well-being lived like and for the Lord Jesus."

----
This concept of happiness, a contentment of the mind and heart based on Jesus’ resurrection, is juxtaposed to our culture’s thrill seekers. I listen to bands like Coldplay, U2, Snow patrol and The Script and while there is much that I commend in their message, many songs pivot on the initial euphoria of finding love or the grief of failed expectations. While I know that God created us to feel and to anticipate heighted emotions, the weight that we evaluate our relationships in response to the thrills continues to disturb me. I think of Jesus and what horrors life would hold for us if He, in His grief with people failing to love and honor Him, the Creator, had paused on the way to the Skull and said, “You know what, I’m not feeling it right now. I have to make myself happy because you’re not healthy for my emotional well-being.” Or, “I think I need to take some time for myself and wait until I feel more comfortable with committing myself to putting your need for salvation ahead of my need to be exalted.” The character of God is the fulfillment of all virtues, most notably the four cardinal virtues (prudence, temperance, fortitude and justice) and the three theological virtues (faith, hope and love). With the virtuous man or woman of God, they alone may know true joy (as opposed to thrill and desire and fleeting pleasures) not because they are comfortable or they are admired, desired, or receive all that they want. They are fulfilled and happy in the truest sense because they are becoming true reflections of the One Who created us to know happiness as we live virtuously for Him.

Psalm 16:11 says, “You have made known to me the path of life; you will fill me with joy in your presence, with eternal pleasures at your right hand.”

----Notes on Aristotle:

Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics. (Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Press, 1947), I. vii.13-16.
Aristide Tessitore, Reading Aristotle's Ethics: Virtue, Rhetoric, and Political Philosophy. (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1996), 22-23.
Aristotle, NE, II. vi. 15-17.
Tessitore, 22.
Peter Kreeft, Back to Virtue: Traditional Moral Wisdom for Modern Moral Confusion. (San Francisco: Ignatius, 1992), 25.

Red Dawn, Spring of Peace and a Battle Lullaby

It’s a long road and a long way down to the place where I hang my hat for the moment. I went to the mountains with my translator’s family this past weekend and it was the closest that I’ve had to freedom since my arrival. It’s hard to be a woman here in the city unless you check your brain at the door. If the only thing that concerns you is cooking and cleaning, you’ll be just fine. I was never much of a Martha although I never turned my nose to taking care of my home. Yet to discover that the country allows a bit more leg room is a pleasant surprise. I could race my friends outside (I won), play in the wicked cold springs (the people called me a mermaid since swimming and diving skills are rare in this part of the world: mostly, they bob awkwardly) and relax my guard from the wagging tongues of city neighbors about American morals. It’s rather interesting how everyone is irritated by gossip but nonetheless it flourishes here. But the countryside is a breath of fresh air to the body and the spirit. I walked along old aqueducts, picked purple plums and juicy peaches in blossoming village orchards. I drank clean, cold water straight form the mountain streams with my hands and sang Waka Waka with my new friends. The many mothers, fathers, uncles, aunts, and cousins that I met were one and all good to me. Everyone is related. A stranger is really a family member that you haven’t met yet. I felt very comfortable and loved and had a few opportunities to share the gospel which left me hungry for more time with them. They are so lovely to be around, my heart aches that they are in darkness without Jesus to cover them with the holiness of God. The days are decidedly hot but we walked the shaded overgrown trails of the mountain forests and were refreshed by streams everywhere. Wildflowers and roses blossomed in abundance. I spent a fair amount of time touching, smelling and photographing the wild flora with quiet delight. Water has such a significant meaning out here. It produces beauty in this rough climate. And it is more than a basic substance but refreshment to the whole body: I think of how Jesus referenced Himself as the living water and as we constantly were refilling our water jugs at the village drinking well (although the homes have electricity, the water is contaminated). We found the ancient Spring of Peace that had been fought over for centuries. Good water that provides life in this arid region is precious and worth dying for if it means that your family land will survive. But that was not our concern, however and water fights ensued. So I awoke every morning at 5 am to the sound of the call to prayer from the village mosque, slept on the roof even after my friend came to check the roof for desert snakes and scorpions and without fear, fell asleep to the dizzying display of the Milky Way and the sound of bombs a few miles away. I was in perfect peace as my mind reflected on the providence and direction of God. Of course, it could have been the Turkish dark chocolate that they kept feeding me or the promise of a beautiful red and purple dawn that I knew would wake me up but it was a straight way for my heart to see that all that I had lost since I came to this country was but a piece of the magnificent puzzle of this wilderness in the East.

Culture Shock, Hopscotch Travel and Art

Before coming to the Middle East, I traveled for a couple weeks in Madrid and Vienna. I’m not so certain that doing so was a good mix as the pleasant cocktail of experiences that I had jostle now that I am in the midst of this culture’s restrictive flavor. Less than a thousand miles away, life is rife with opportunities. Here, at the very least politically, I don’t see a hopeful way for these people; the corruption and harassment that any business must face is frustrating at the least and the apathy that I’ve encountered concerning their state is regrettable. The unemployment rate makes the States look like a workers utopia. The one connection that I can make here is that, wherever you go, people love to hate their government.
Still, there is so much rugged beauty, the mountains that surround this prosperous city fairly preen and it’s a delight to see the sheep scattered on the hillsides. Yet, trash is thrown out on the street and mix openly with the chemicals that people use to clean their front walks which then flow into their rotting creeks and poison the land. The children roam the streets in their mini packs and even though they beat each other severely, I rarely see any alone. It’s a real delight to walk home from the school to witness the community in the late afternoon and early evenings. There aren’t ANY play grounds for the children so the streets sufice (note: they don’t have driving lanes so the motto is move it or lose it) and make their empty demolition lots their roost. So many people are incredibly rich but there seems to be little investment in their community outside of the gated homes. On the upside, people generally are socially industrious and their table is generous to say the least. I sometimes wonder how their tables don’t audibly groan under the weight. Their hospitality is a reprimand to Western standards and the neighbor is expected to be Generous! Generous! Generous! To show less than abundant hospitality is shameful. I have taken note and I cannot help but compare this to ancient Israel, Abraham’s relations and attitudes. In any case, I visited such a home a few nights ago and met an art teacher for elementary students. I have learned that her display of artwork was very rare as the people tend to not invest in artistic development which, when you think about it, should not come as a surprise really since art is a very liberating venture. In a religion and culture that dismisses the aspirations of individuals, especially those who do not readily conform to a standardized testing, the forms of beauty and art are not cultivated. This is a harsh note that rattles the Viennese culture that I adored prior to my current post. In beautiful Vienna, I swam in the fresh Danube, went to the opera Madame Butterfly and learned about Gustav Klimpt, an Austrian symbolist painter and his influence across the continent (I believe one of his paintings broke the record, selling for a cool $135 million). As a brief snapshot,Klimpt was a young artist when he and his two brothers the “Company of Artists", were commissioned to paint murals in the Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna. The Ringstraße museum was commissioned by the Emperor in an ostentatious display for the Habsburgs' astounding art collection. Few royals could compare to the conservation of their nation’s art and Vienna is a jewel of creative talent in its manifest forms. I enjoyed the story of how the young men and their employment as unestablished talents who took on Vienna and then Klimpt, the world. Even now I find it fascinating how much Klimpt was actually able to contribute to Egyptian archeology today through his Egyptian symbolism.
So, yes, I miss Vienna. But I am not wrong to be here either. Maybe I will discover a new treasure in these people. One might note that at the very least, the people are my pleasure and I’m forming good relationships with my students so the unfortunate aspects that I witness here are mitigated with love.And that can't be so bad, n'est pas?

Awake My Soul, Sigh no More

Last night I saw the sky as if it was for the first time. I was invited by a family to go on a picnic, a popular pastime here in the Middle East and these gatherings are both frequent (weekly) and last long into the night. The camp site was located in the foot hills of the mountains that surround my city but resides on the other side of the mountain pass, making the city (and its lights) effectively obscured. My startling encounter occurred after a gastronomical display of overflowing food (imagine a spectacular Thanksgiving display and you have a fairly standard picnic with the exception that the women and men dress in their traditional formal clothing), everyone settles into their respective chatting groups with the kids playing tag and the families chattering over their chai tea (although various hypotheses are proposed as to the whys, tea somehow tastes better over a hearth fire than an oven or electric kettle).
After a few hours group of listening to the conversations floating around me, I sought a slice of quiet away from the crowd. I ventured from the picnic tables and the lighted outdoor pavilion and walked down the dirt road in the dark far enough that I could hear other things like the coyote in the distance or the brush of wind in the brittle vegetation. My thoughts were about my day and how much I needed to keep up with my investigation on the book of Proverbs. I was tired. My thoughts were muddled mixture good and difficult matters so it took several minutes before I stopped and looked up, as was my habit, to find the moon when I go on night walks in the States. I had not thought much about the difference that in sky since I knew I would spend most of my time in a fairly large city this summer. Yet, on the other side of this mountain in a land far away, away from the pollution of city artifice and sounds, I saw something that had fascinated me since I was a child: the night sky revealing itself in such a dramatic way, I ached with its fierce intimacy. The stars glittered brilliantly, their piercing radiance of fire and motion. The feeling that I could touch them was so strong, I reached to trace their formations with my hand. If only I was just a bit taller I felt sure I could reach them. Orion, of course, was posturing like the glorious warrior that he is, one of the easiest constellations to spot by even the most inexperienced eye. I had seen him before, thousands of times. But I didn’t see him fully. I didn’t realize how vast and powerfully he could appear, for all his popularity. My sincerest apologies, my dear. And Canis Major and Ursa Minor, old childhood friends when I was afraid in the dark and alone as a child. The feeling was better than magic because it was real. The truth of what I saw was both a sweet wonder and a quiet delight that seeped into my heart. Comforting me in the dusty mountains that encircled me, far from home and the people I love, my silent guides throughout my life declared God’s glory. There, as I marveled at God’s power and wisdom, MY Creator and theirs, spoke clear and true: He IS Unfathomable:

The heavens are telling of the glory of God;
And their expanse is declaring the work of His hands.
Day to day pours forth speech,
And night to night reveals knowledge.
There is no speech, nor are there words;
Their voice is not heard.

The mysteries of creation revolve around Himself, not man. In nature, in the darkness and the revelation of God in creation, Job understood for the very first time the epic Character of God:
“I know that You can do everything,
And that no purpose of Yours can be withheld from You.
You asked, ‘Who is this who hides counsel without knowledge?’
Therefore I have uttered what I did not understand,
Things too wonderful for me, which I did not know.
Listen, please, and let me speak;
You said, ‘I will question you, and you shall answer Me.’
“I have heard of You by the hearing of the ear,
But now my eye sees You. (Psalm 19)

The Creator appointed 300 billion stars in the Milky Way yet only 2500 stars may be seen to the naked eye at any one time in one place. But oh, how they shine. And now, I hold my tongue, grateful to see more clearly in the darkness the prominence God’s illumination of the heavens. “I meditate on You during the night watches because You are my help; I will rejoice in the shadow of Your wings, I follow close to You; your right hand holds on to me.” (Psalm 63)

(note: the title comes from a Mumford and Sons song)

Snap Dragon

when your camel has left you
and you don't have any more mint tea
and no Alchemist feelings in sight
just you
and the runaway camel
that’s when you'll say it.
and you will mean it.

October

I can breath
For the first time
In a long time.
I am away
I am alive
And the secret place
Inside me
Is released
Into the blue

Red sky at night
The sailor’s delight
Sand on my feet
Salt on my tongue
I can breath
I am laughing
With the release of it.
Pressure is gone
No more beneath the blue
I’m flying
Like the swans of the ocean
Cresting the gold
Catching the spray
I am alive
One inside my head
Pulsing the rhythm as I run
But I am still
And that’s a good, good thing
To Be.
God, I feel so good.

The surfers
How they grin and tease
What a beautiful thing
To push into the force
To make yourself stand on water
Then
To be swept away
To lose your grasp
To disappear beneath
Catch your breath
And struggle
To rise
Break the surface
Wipe the salt from your eyes
From your mouth
Shiver
Just a little
In the October blue
Yet my fire
Is so warm
Protecting me from within
I can do anything
I am everything
Sweet wonder.

A little girl’s call
catches me
Look daddy, at my kite
I’m flying
Higher! Shouts the father
Let go. Go higher!
And she does.
I pick up the rhythm
And run farther
Teasing the surf
I can’t stop grinning
Just can’t stop laughing
Sweet escape
The surfers grin and wink
Like the stars coming out
Above
And you by my side
Makes this a good, good thing.

Wisdom Screaming

I’ve recently turned 29, a real wake up call to start evaluating the choices I’ve made. I’m too young to feel so tired but I’m exhausted…and I’m too old to blame anyone but myself. So I’m starting at the beginning, and this blog will be my intentional collection of hopes, intentions and desires. I believe that God has a great plan for me, for my life…if I don’t trip things up by stupidity. Lewis Carroll’s Alice once asked the Cheshire Cat what she should do to get home. In his infernally mad way, he actually responded quite intelligently. Begin at the beginning and go till you get to the end, then stop. The mad cat’s advice has stayed with me. My calling is love: to love God, to love others. No other. It’s the glorious journey set before me, before each of us to love God, honor the King and keep the brotherhood. But what is loving? To figure that out I need wisdom…yet something holds me back, and I hesitate. Do I desire wisdom? Have I sought her honesty?
Once, I had a friend but something went dreadfully wrong. Selfishness tied with insecurity and pride robbed us of friendship and the glorious opportunity to grow in unity as co-heirs in Christ. My friend’s last words were peace and prayer but the bitterness of the message mocked the significance of their meanings. Peace was no where to be found and those uttered blessings were in vain. Those precious words, meant to soothe and strengthen only caused pain. But I learned a lesson from it. The truth of peace still comes to my mind and challenges me to always be honest in my chats with God and others. Do I want peace with others or are my steps leading to contention and discord? Proverbs is a book that shows the two paths that we all walk: Life and Death. My choices matter: the conversations, the little things which may not seem exciting or particularly noteworthy, matter because everything is a choice on a path. Which path am I walking?
Recently, I watched Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade and in the final scenes Indiana goes through the challenges to get the Holy Grail, the cup of Christ, which promises eternal life. There are three tests the brilliant Dr. Jones must pass before he can reach the cup. The first is penitence and the demonstration of humility. Indiana must kneel and bow to survive the deadly blades which slice through the air (and cut off the proud one’s head). This first test is an every moment decision for me: am I showing humility? (Psalm 131) Am I willing to concede that I am not my own, that I have been bought with a price—by Christ? When I fail to live my identity as a child of God, I can only get to the source by first showing humility, confessing and doing my best to reach out to my love one and seek peace, the balm of love.
But Wisdom warns that the path to life is not yet over. Indiana’s second challenge is to literally choose the ground that he must stand on. The floor is over a stone hopscotch maze of letters and if he missteps, the hero plummets to his death below the deceptive flooring. The only firm foundation is the Word, the name of God. (Psalm 72:17; John 1:1; Col. 1:15-20) What is my foundation? What do I trust? My own efforts? My actions, my gifts, my abilities, when I think I grasp the vision, I fail and misstep. My judgment that deviates from the Word is inimical to my relationships and I’m not the only one hurt. Broken bonds of promise—even as I grasp Wisdom’s hand and am rescued from the Fool’s death, I suffer and mourn what’s lost: a lost opportunity to love and a shipwrecked heart. Yet the challenge is presented again and again and the success of the mission is always guaranteed if we trust the Word, the name of God.
The third test on the path is the most difficult. It’s the step of faith, that there is a provision, a way made ready for the one who desires life. Stepping out from what is seen into the unseen, yet not as one who doesn’t know the way since our hero’s eyes are fixed on path, the heavenly vision. He walks straight and neither deviates to the left or the right. It is only when he has stepped out that he is able to begin to understand the brilliance at work. Brilliance. I’m always searching for the brilliance I’m lacking. Long before the end, I feel like I can’t go on in the beautiful path. I could hate another for leaving, for not loving me. But I understand. I lack brilliance, and so the search continues for him and for me. Something better than me and, because it is out there, all is not lost.

And this is Wisdom’s call to me now. All is not lost and this year’s loving will be moderated by her good counsel. I’m studying proverbs daily, searching the Scriptures for patterns of sense and truth, setting aside the world’s advice in light of life. Wisdom is on the corners of every page, screaming for someone to stop, listen and live. Life goes on after the first son of earth is gone. A new One is on the horizon. (Eph. 5:14)

Heavenly Father, grant your child the reward of righteousness and let the words of my mouth be as pure silver, true and good (Proverbs 10:20). When I hear Wisdom this year, Father, may she be roaring encouragement as I run the path of life.


In its own way, the song, After The Storm by Mumford and Sons, has reminded me of my journey---

And after the storm,
I run and run as the rains come
And I look up, I look up,
on my knees and out of luck,
I look up.

Night has always pushed up day
You must know life to see decay
But I won't rot, I won't rot
Not this mind and not this heart,
I won't rot.

And I took you by the hand
And we stood tall,
And remembered our own land,
What we lived for.

And there will come a time, you'll see, with no more tears.
And love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears.
Get over your hill and see what you find there,
With grace in your heart and flowers in your hair.

And now I cling to what I knew
I saw exactly what was true
But oh no more.
That's why I hold,
That's why I hold with all I have.
That's why I hold.

And there will come a time, you'll see, with no more tears.
And love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears.
Get over your hill and see what you find there,
With grace in your heart and flowers in your hair.