Me: Dad, I wish I had gone through a dinosaur stage as a child. I was missing out. I really like dinosaurs.
Dad: Well, that's all very nice, but where were you when they were sickly?
I remember one of the most interesting conversations of my life was when Kelly taught me what it is to imagine away boredom. We were maybe 12 years old, and I am sure it was largely motivated by the movie Jurassic Park. As we were in the car headed past fields separated by tree lines, with a forest bordering the horizon, she quietly mentioned, "sometimes, when I'm bored, I picture a pack of velociraptors coming out of the trees."
Ever since, I have often imagined dinosaurs entering into my life. I especially love the way Dinotopia makes it possible for humans to interact with dinosaurs (specifically the herbivores).
Thursday, July 26, 2012
Sunday, July 22, 2012
In Which My Phone Teaches Me Humility
Vacation. This time at a theme park, and we had settled in the Best Western across the way. We had spent all of Wednesday at the park, and, weary from roller coasters and sun, had all found our way to napping after dinner. When I awoke at 7pm I sent Dan a text telling he and Mom that I was heading over to the park again to ride some roller coasters. I think it failed to send or something, but Dan, Chelsea and I met outside the rooms anyway, and Dan and I had a super fun time riding rides while Chelsea made friends with people who were waiting for people in line.
When we all got back to the hotel, Chelsea and I both ended up texting Mom to let her know that we were sitting by the pool watching fireworks. Again, I think my text failed to send. So I deleted all my texts, and Mom told Chelsea that she was already mostly asleep and we'd all meet up in the morning.
Early in the morning, 7:40am, I was awakened by a text from Mom, saying "Coffeeeee." To which I responded, "huh?" To which she responded "french toast." To which I responded, "Mom, it's too early for cryptic messages.What are you getting at?"
Suddenly, I received a text from Dan, informing me that "The park opens at 10am." To which I responded, "...OK..."
Then Mom replied to my rude message, "Well, I am going to get breakfast before anything else, and I'm inviting you to come along." I was terribly annoyed.
I woke up Michelle and Chelsea and we all readied ourselves and trudged to breakfast; I confessed to Mom and Dan how it was a little earlier than I had been planning to wake up. But that I was grateful for breakfast.
Mom and Dan looked puzzled: "You texted US."
You see what happened there? My phone decided to wake everyone up with the texts at 7:40am. The most amazing thing is: neither Dan nor Mom told me to take my over-eager self back to bed. Instead, Dan graciously responded with the opening time of the park. And Mom graciously responded with an offer to eat breakfast first.
Plank in my eye.
When we all got back to the hotel, Chelsea and I both ended up texting Mom to let her know that we were sitting by the pool watching fireworks. Again, I think my text failed to send. So I deleted all my texts, and Mom told Chelsea that she was already mostly asleep and we'd all meet up in the morning.
Early in the morning, 7:40am, I was awakened by a text from Mom, saying "Coffeeeee." To which I responded, "huh?" To which she responded "french toast." To which I responded, "Mom, it's too early for cryptic messages.What are you getting at?"
Suddenly, I received a text from Dan, informing me that "The park opens at 10am." To which I responded, "...OK..."
Then Mom replied to my rude message, "Well, I am going to get breakfast before anything else, and I'm inviting you to come along." I was terribly annoyed.
I woke up Michelle and Chelsea and we all readied ourselves and trudged to breakfast; I confessed to Mom and Dan how it was a little earlier than I had been planning to wake up. But that I was grateful for breakfast.
Mom and Dan looked puzzled: "You texted US."
You see what happened there? My phone decided to wake everyone up with the texts at 7:40am. The most amazing thing is: neither Dan nor Mom told me to take my over-eager self back to bed. Instead, Dan graciously responded with the opening time of the park. And Mom graciously responded with an offer to eat breakfast first.
Plank in my eye.
Friday, July 20, 2012
Advice to Jess
I was recently privileged to be asked for advice from a younger friend for three areas of her life:
1. not getting along with my brother,
2. doing my devotions with God, and
3. talking when it's not my turn to speak.
I share my response here in order to, first and foremost, demonstrate to all how good I am at giving advice. (Ask me anything. I'll change your life.) And secondly, to be able find these thoughts again, for myself, in my own struggles.
To the first, dear Jess, not getting along with your brother, I have to ask: what are you afraid of? I think my sisters often don't get along because they are afraid. One is afraid that the other will ask too much of her, and that by complying with the request (to change the channel, to borrow shoes, to spend time helping with a chore), the one will be left with less for herself. Of course, it's true at first, giving and helping another person can be difficult or exhausting, leaving us with less for ourselves. But loving Christ isn't about what we can hold back for ourselves. By the way, I struggle here, too. I often think my family is an exception to serving others: they'd be so much easier to love if they weren't related to me!
Regarding your second question, doing devotions with God, I have a brief testimony. In high school I was very regimented with my devotional times. I am glad I was so disciplined. I learned much, and I relied on that strength throughout the day, the week, etc. But it became a stumbling block for me. It became a measurement by which I would judge others. Oh Jess, there have to be at least 25 passages in the Bible talking about how wrong that mindset is.
One day, my mentor/counselor friends told me to stop doing devotions indefinitely. Just. Stop. Because my heart was not burdened for others and motivated by love, but I was burdened under an expectation for myself, and obligation to DO in the presence of God. Self-righteousness.
Ever since, I believe I have drawn nearer to the heart of God. I don't mean to say that disciplined and regular time with God each day is bad. It's a wonderful way to live in the light: the structure holds even when our emotions have taken a day off. But for me, the guild of not doing it, the guilt of missing a day was clearly showing me how my devotional time had become a law. And, well, the law is fulfilled in Christ's death. By knowing Him, accepting Him, we're free from that guilt. All that to say, for me, for a while, I had to forget "daily devotion" to remember Christ.
On to your third dilemma: speaking out of turn. I have very little to tell you here. In fact, I might just as well ask you for advice. This is one of my chief difficulties. But, and perhaps this recognition alone is helpful, I think I know why I always want to speak: again, I'm afraid. I'm afraid people will think I'm not following the conversation if I'm not contributing something, or that they'll forget I'm in the room. That is all just pride and fear working together to make me obnoxious. I hope you find your answer, and then share it with me!
1. not getting along with my brother,
2. doing my devotions with God, and
3. talking when it's not my turn to speak.
I share my response here in order to, first and foremost, demonstrate to all how good I am at giving advice. (Ask me anything. I'll change your life.) And secondly, to be able find these thoughts again, for myself, in my own struggles.
To the first, dear Jess, not getting along with your brother, I have to ask: what are you afraid of? I think my sisters often don't get along because they are afraid. One is afraid that the other will ask too much of her, and that by complying with the request (to change the channel, to borrow shoes, to spend time helping with a chore), the one will be left with less for herself. Of course, it's true at first, giving and helping another person can be difficult or exhausting, leaving us with less for ourselves. But loving Christ isn't about what we can hold back for ourselves. By the way, I struggle here, too. I often think my family is an exception to serving others: they'd be so much easier to love if they weren't related to me!
Regarding your second question, doing devotions with God, I have a brief testimony. In high school I was very regimented with my devotional times. I am glad I was so disciplined. I learned much, and I relied on that strength throughout the day, the week, etc. But it became a stumbling block for me. It became a measurement by which I would judge others. Oh Jess, there have to be at least 25 passages in the Bible talking about how wrong that mindset is.
One day, my mentor/counselor friends told me to stop doing devotions indefinitely. Just. Stop. Because my heart was not burdened for others and motivated by love, but I was burdened under an expectation for myself, and obligation to DO in the presence of God. Self-righteousness.
Ever since, I believe I have drawn nearer to the heart of God. I don't mean to say that disciplined and regular time with God each day is bad. It's a wonderful way to live in the light: the structure holds even when our emotions have taken a day off. But for me, the guild of not doing it, the guilt of missing a day was clearly showing me how my devotional time had become a law. And, well, the law is fulfilled in Christ's death. By knowing Him, accepting Him, we're free from that guilt. All that to say, for me, for a while, I had to forget "daily devotion" to remember Christ.
On to your third dilemma: speaking out of turn. I have very little to tell you here. In fact, I might just as well ask you for advice. This is one of my chief difficulties. But, and perhaps this recognition alone is helpful, I think I know why I always want to speak: again, I'm afraid. I'm afraid people will think I'm not following the conversation if I'm not contributing something, or that they'll forget I'm in the room. That is all just pride and fear working together to make me obnoxious. I hope you find your answer, and then share it with me!
Friday, July 13, 2012
Thoughts on the Law and Love
I asked Patrick, "What is the purpose of the law? Is it to protect private property?" I had heard that in some movie.
He replied, "No, at its core, it is to protect from injury."
That reminded me of how Jesus is the fulfillment of the law, because he loves.
Love is patient, love is kind. It doesn't envy anyone.
Love does not boast. It isn't proud.
Love doesn't dishonor anyone; it's not self-seeking.
Love doesn't get angry very easily, and it keeps no record of when you mess up.
Love isn't glad when evil wins, but rejoices in the truth.
Love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
Love never fails.
For now, we know in part. But when completeness comes, we will know in full. (Based on I Corinthians 13)
So, love fulfills the law. Love does not injure. Of course love does not injure. It does more than not injure: it protects. It doesn't just stand outside the gates, refusing the hurt anyone. It enters in, persevering. It slays the dragon. It finds the lost one, and it won't fail, either.
But love can't be forced. It has to have a will behind it. So, technically, people can reject love. And if they're doing that, they're prone to injure others, and are in need of the law to minimize injury.
Until we know in full, it looks like we have the law to fill in where people reject love.
He replied, "No, at its core, it is to protect from injury."
That reminded me of how Jesus is the fulfillment of the law, because he loves.
Love is patient, love is kind. It doesn't envy anyone.
Love does not boast. It isn't proud.
Love doesn't dishonor anyone; it's not self-seeking.
Love doesn't get angry very easily, and it keeps no record of when you mess up.
Love isn't glad when evil wins, but rejoices in the truth.
Love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
Love never fails.
For now, we know in part. But when completeness comes, we will know in full. (Based on I Corinthians 13)
So, love fulfills the law. Love does not injure. Of course love does not injure. It does more than not injure: it protects. It doesn't just stand outside the gates, refusing the hurt anyone. It enters in, persevering. It slays the dragon. It finds the lost one, and it won't fail, either.
But love can't be forced. It has to have a will behind it. So, technically, people can reject love. And if they're doing that, they're prone to injure others, and are in need of the law to minimize injury.
Until we know in full, it looks like we have the law to fill in where people reject love.
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
7 Bad Ways to Eat an Orange
I would like to see a video entitled "7 Bad Ways to Eat an Orange." I can think of at least that many.
BJ, for instance, eats an orange like a grapefruit (like one would eat a grapefruit, rather, not like a grapefruit would eat an orange, that's ridiculous), by cutting it in half perpendicular to the core and eating the sections with a spoon.
One might also try to eat an orange by ravenously tearing it apart. What a mess.
One might also try to use a slingshot and spatter it against a tree, and then approach its squishy bits with mouth open, no hands.
One might also try to slingshot the orange directly into another's mouth. Ouch.
One might try cutting the orange into "matchstick slices." Talk about herding cats.
One might try using a potato shooter. Another hopeless mess.
One might try removing the peel, then the white, then separating each tiny juice packet, then lining them up, and using a small straw to suck up the bits.
For proper ways to eat an orange, go here.
BJ, for instance, eats an orange like a grapefruit (like one would eat a grapefruit, rather, not like a grapefruit would eat an orange, that's ridiculous), by cutting it in half perpendicular to the core and eating the sections with a spoon.
One might also try to eat an orange by ravenously tearing it apart. What a mess.
One might also try to use a slingshot and spatter it against a tree, and then approach its squishy bits with mouth open, no hands.
One might also try to slingshot the orange directly into another's mouth. Ouch.
One might try cutting the orange into "matchstick slices." Talk about herding cats.
One might try using a potato shooter. Another hopeless mess.
One might try removing the peel, then the white, then separating each tiny juice packet, then lining them up, and using a small straw to suck up the bits.
For proper ways to eat an orange, go here.
Monday, July 2, 2012
Fish, Cats, and Family Vacation
Sometimes, on vacation, a meal out is just another meal. You find nourishment. Maybe you pay too much. And you leave full, but empty. Then there are those special meals out. There's a spark to conversation. The food is better. Commensality.
On our family vacation to Baltimore last weekend, we had a few of those successful, special dinners together. The best was Saturday night. Meg had made the reservations, and she and I had chosen dresses to wear, and Meg and dressed my not-yet-seven-year-old niece Aida in a twirly pink skirt. When Dad saw that Stephen was wearing a collared shirt, he felt under-dressed and returned to the room to change. As we all piled into the shuttle, I wondered why "dressing for dinner" had ever gone out of fashion. It separates the work from the play. I can appreciate people better after I feel I have taken care of myself.
We walked along the piers of Inner Harbor, arriving at the restaurant just before sunset. The inside was inlaid with rich woodwork that reminded one of lavish captain's quarters. Final rays of sunlight peeked through the westward windows, illuminating specks in the air. We all attempted to sit up straight and act as though we always ate in places with multiple forks. I ordered the flounder
We chatted while Aida colored a picture of a shrimp wearing a hat and a hook. (She must have colored ten of these pictures by the end of the weekend.) When we slowed our eating, Dad remarked that we should save the fish that we don't eat so that he could feed it to the starving cat at the hotel. If you don't know my Dad, you'll appreciate that he gave me a little book called 101 Uses for a Dead Cat when I was eight years old. But you should also know that I am an avid cat-lover, and he was less than 50% joking about the book.
So when he issued a proclamation regarding the saving of scraps for a cat, one wondered how much he had had to drink. And one wondered a lot more when the honest answer was that he was not drunk; he was serious. Stephen corroborated the story: a skin-and-bones cat had been wandering about the hotel gates, meowing pathetically, clearly the victim of some tragic human.
When the waiter came by, my father asked for a small box, "So we can give the rest to a starving cat."
No. Joke. I was mortified. So was my Dad.
"The food was excellent, though," I tried to clarify, "It's just... we're all full..."
"--and this cat, it really is starving," Dad helped. The waiter seemed to understand.
Megan laughed, "This is something Princess would love to eat, right Aida?" Princess lives across the street from Meg and Stephen. She often wanders into their yard, and is more a community cat than the property of any one household. Everyone loves her as if she were their own, and my niece and nephew especially so. My brother would often come outside in the morning to find Princess on the top of his car, waiting to say good morning to him. "By the way, where is Princess? It's been a long time since she's been around. Have you seen her, Steve?"
"Yeah, she died a month ago. She got run over," Stephen said matter-of-factly. He immediately realized his mistake.
Aida looked up at him, then put her head down on the table, covering her little face in her little hands. When she looked up again, she was close to sobbing, her face streaked with tears, her nose reddening, "P-Princess," was all she could manage. Megan held her as Stephen tried to mend it.
"I'm sorry, Pickle. I meant to tell you better." Dad and I looked at each other, nearly crying ourselves. I mean, we'll all miss Princess, but my young niece experiencing the first death of a pet (suddenly, over dinner) was almost more than we could bear. She pulled it together after being promised candy from some overpriced, sassy shop in the Harbor.
The night was warm and breezy, and filled with a jazz band. The perfect night for dancing under a crescent moon hanging above the skyscrapers.
Interesting fact: The starving cat rejected everyone else's fish except for the flounder.
On our family vacation to Baltimore last weekend, we had a few of those successful, special dinners together. The best was Saturday night. Meg had made the reservations, and she and I had chosen dresses to wear, and Meg and dressed my not-yet-seven-year-old niece Aida in a twirly pink skirt. When Dad saw that Stephen was wearing a collared shirt, he felt under-dressed and returned to the room to change. As we all piled into the shuttle, I wondered why "dressing for dinner" had ever gone out of fashion. It separates the work from the play. I can appreciate people better after I feel I have taken care of myself.
We walked along the piers of Inner Harbor, arriving at the restaurant just before sunset. The inside was inlaid with rich woodwork that reminded one of lavish captain's quarters. Final rays of sunlight peeked through the westward windows, illuminating specks in the air. We all attempted to sit up straight and act as though we always ate in places with multiple forks. I ordered the flounder
We chatted while Aida colored a picture of a shrimp wearing a hat and a hook. (She must have colored ten of these pictures by the end of the weekend.) When we slowed our eating, Dad remarked that we should save the fish that we don't eat so that he could feed it to the starving cat at the hotel. If you don't know my Dad, you'll appreciate that he gave me a little book called 101 Uses for a Dead Cat when I was eight years old. But you should also know that I am an avid cat-lover, and he was less than 50% joking about the book.
So when he issued a proclamation regarding the saving of scraps for a cat, one wondered how much he had had to drink. And one wondered a lot more when the honest answer was that he was not drunk; he was serious. Stephen corroborated the story: a skin-and-bones cat had been wandering about the hotel gates, meowing pathetically, clearly the victim of some tragic human.
When the waiter came by, my father asked for a small box, "So we can give the rest to a starving cat."
No. Joke. I was mortified. So was my Dad.
"The food was excellent, though," I tried to clarify, "It's just... we're all full..."
"--and this cat, it really is starving," Dad helped. The waiter seemed to understand.
Megan laughed, "This is something Princess would love to eat, right Aida?" Princess lives across the street from Meg and Stephen. She often wanders into their yard, and is more a community cat than the property of any one household. Everyone loves her as if she were their own, and my niece and nephew especially so. My brother would often come outside in the morning to find Princess on the top of his car, waiting to say good morning to him. "By the way, where is Princess? It's been a long time since she's been around. Have you seen her, Steve?"
"Yeah, she died a month ago. She got run over," Stephen said matter-of-factly. He immediately realized his mistake.
Aida looked up at him, then put her head down on the table, covering her little face in her little hands. When she looked up again, she was close to sobbing, her face streaked with tears, her nose reddening, "P-Princess," was all she could manage. Megan held her as Stephen tried to mend it.
"I'm sorry, Pickle. I meant to tell you better." Dad and I looked at each other, nearly crying ourselves. I mean, we'll all miss Princess, but my young niece experiencing the first death of a pet (suddenly, over dinner) was almost more than we could bear. She pulled it together after being promised candy from some overpriced, sassy shop in the Harbor.
The night was warm and breezy, and filled with a jazz band. The perfect night for dancing under a crescent moon hanging above the skyscrapers.
Interesting fact: The starving cat rejected everyone else's fish except for the flounder.
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