To make up ...

I realize it's been too long since my last post. My excuse? I actually have two. ;)

1. After years and years of having fun being chorus roles in musicals, God has seen fit to give me a huge gift: playing Cinderella in "Cinderella." I'm dreadfully excited and am planning to put my all into this. So far things are going very well, I'm awed at how God is strengthening my voice... my voice always, always became shaky or weak when I sang in front of a lot of people, but during the past 2 weeks it has somehow remained strong. Such a God thing. Anyhow this could be a post in itself, but it's not! Ahem.

2. I'm one of the editors for the feature-length film First Impressions, which is a time-consuming project.

Therefore, I have been busy. Also, I've been overthinking life, as I'm terribly prone to do, which wearies me emotionally and makes me just a tad stressed. I'll post about it sometime. For now, know that I have at least 4 posts planned... I just need to write them and make them look nice.

I figured out one of the reasons I haven't been blogging is because I've been journaling more than ever. If it means anything to anyone, I'm an INFP. Thus, I really wouldn't live without journaling, because that and talking are how I extravert my "processings." All to say that all the things I should be blogging about I just write in my journal instead because (selfishly) I don't think I have to time to make them look nice, and I just need to get them down on something. So yeah, I've been selfish.

So. Here's two random thoughts I've been processing lately. Happy birthday.

- I went to the mall with my mother a couple days ago. I hadn't been there in forever, and I was savoring that delicious feeling of walking into a store full of jewelry and hair accessories... you know, that joy that just makes you feel ... joyful? Yeah. Emotions are hard to explain. The point is, I am pretty positive that the male population cannot feel this shopping happiness. So as I'm trying on a dress, just for the fun of it since I know I'm never going to waste the money to buy it, I thought, "God, do you understand this funny feeling? I mean, of course you do, but ... you're male, aren't you?" It made me stop and think. God, experiencing the frilly shopping joy? But then again... he did create it, didn't he?

So then that got me thinking. Because God created male as well as female... I mean he must have saved some of himself to characterize the female, when he created Adam. Am I making any sense? Basically I guess I'm trying to say that God is more than just male, because he's not human. I'm not saying he genderless or anything... I mean, maybe he is - after all, he's God! He's a "god", not a man or woman. And yet I just said "he." Humph. Well, it was just one of those things we'll never quite understand until a couple million years into Heaven...

- I will tell about this experience in a later post, but I had a very intense sort of ... emotional (for lack of a better word) experience. I don't like to use the word emotional because it intimates uncontrollable feelings that are "less than" real life. I've always been one to criticize romance and frown upon how emotions (especially romance) are glorified in our culture. And yet, the other night I found I had to admit that emotions are created by God. Well, duh, but the point is, they've been tainted by the sin nature. Emotions themselves are not bad, but when they're allowed free reign they are destructive. Right? So in a perfect world, emotions would not have to be guarded (I'm thinking aloud here) because they could not lead astray. Perhaps.

Most people, it seems, don't think of Heaven as a place of high emotions. Maybe this is because they think that the changing of emotions, like happy to sad, are necessary to the thrill of emotions. But that's not true - the beauty in emotions is not in the fact that it's different - "Oh, I'm so awed by this feeling because it's different than the feeling I had at 2:30" - no, the beauty in emotions is inside the feeling itself. It's that ethereal, indescribable quality. It's what all those cheesy pop love songs try to describe. It's just beyond words, though.

 Anyhow, my point in this is that emotions are from God, and because they are so indescribable, they seem, at times, to come far closer to showing us glimpses of God than words or visual things. You know what I mean? Also, in this world they are indeed less than real life... meaning they're like a color screen over a movie, they're not the movie itself. But perhaps in Heaven, just perhaps, where emotions are pure and untaintable, they will be real life. Or at least a part of it. I mean, just think about it - when we, who were ripped apart at birth from the one Thing that we were created for, are once and for all joined to that beautiful, wondrous Thing, our Maker ... what can describe that ... that feeling? Feeling. Does that seem profane? That a mere emotion might be the only thing to describe a moment such as that? I don't think so.

Well I'm not sure if any of that made any sense, but I don't always have a closure on my thoughts. In fact I usually don't. So I'm sorry if that bothers you.

Until next time...

One sentence

If there were no
evil,

love
would mean
nothing.

Not Just Another Night

by Ariel J

It is not a pleasant evening to be in town. The streets pour with people – most of them irritable, and most of them voicing their annoyance. Here a child who won't cease his shrill whine until hoisted on his mother's shoulders; there two men arguing heatedly about who ran into whose cart and subsequently toppled its contents into the dirt; everywhere people pushing, crowding, yelling for a relative, trying to keep their sanity amidst the cacophony.

And that's not to mention the animals. Chickens in little cages squawking pettishly at the unsteadiness of their transportation; horses bearing children compliantly and donkeys being pulled along by red-faced men; and cows following slowly, unconcerned about the whole matter.

The resulting racket is unpleasant, to say the least, but what choice does anyone have? If the king said to go to your hometown … well, you went to your hometown. And quickly.

Every other minute a new sign is put out in front of yet another inn: No Vacancy! Somehow, though, these signs don't seem to deter people from pounding on the poor innkeepers' doors.

Amidst all the chaos, who would notice a frail, elderly man hunched in a little corner between two wedged buildings? No one – and no one does. He simply sits there, skinny arms and legs tucked under a frayed blanket, inches away from the swarm of human beings but seemingly untouched by it. His face is placid, yet almost a little sad. But then perhaps not, as his bushy eyebrows are relaxed and his wrinkly face unagitated.

But now – something seems to get his attention. He turns his head slightly to the right, to look at the inn right next to him. There's a younger man at the door once again, pleading with the owner. Nothing out of the ordinary, but the aged man continues to watch.

The younger man, who is lean and strong though not handsome, gestures to a donkey a little ways away. The creature carries a woman who is heavy with child. The man continues to plead with the host, who is still shaking his head. Then the innkeeper disappears inside for a few moments. The old man still watches.

The man emerges with a couple blankets and a lamp. He steps out into the dusk, closing the door firmly behind him. The younger man, looking grateful, moves to get his wife. He takes the donkey's reigns and gently leads the animal forward, following the host. As they pass by the old man, the woman offers him a feeble smile. As if startled by this, he simply watches her with a blank face as they disappear around a corner.

Then, slowly, a lopsided smile spreads on the lined face. It remains there as he slips lower into his blanket, the sky growing ever darker.

Deep into the night, the old man awakes with a start, as a woman's cry fills the air. He blinks, eyes wide, listening. Again a outcry, this one more like a shriek, breaks the silence. The man calms a little, realizing what is happening. He almost smiles and looks up at the night sky. The stars shine effortlessly in the deep darkness, those stars he has seen thousands of times before. Softer groans greet his ears now, but he keeps his eyes on the stars.

Then the man frowns. He squints, looking into the distance. A strange sort of glow comes from near the horizon. It is like someone dropped a bit of the sun's radiance into the black sky. The man is still peering intently at it when it bursts into greater luminance, as if multiplying itself. He stares, wide-eyed, the gleam from the radiance faintly lighting up his face.

He looks astounded as soft strains of some kind of music creep through the dry, cold air. Or is it music at all? It's too quiet to tell, but whatever it is, it is warming. Yes, it is a sound that is warming.

Then, as if finished with its errand, the bright glow vanishes abruptly. For two seconds a soft light hangs in the air where it had been, but that soon disappears as well.

For a whole minute, the old eyes continue to stare at the spot, perhaps hoping the radiance will return, or perhaps doubtful it even occurred. Then the man shakes his head slightly, his face baffled. He leans his head against the ill-painted wall beside him and closes his eyes.

Not five minutes later, he is once again roused from sleep. This time it is by talking. The deep voices are hushed, but still a disturbance at this late hour. Blinking drowsily, the old man looks around, as if slightly confused. Then he looks right as footsteps grow louder …

Four men run by – in a rather disjointed run, for each looks this way and that, searching for something. It is too dark to see who they are, but the fact that they are awake at such a time of night suggests them to be some sort of night watchmen. Their words are too quiet to be understandable, so the old man simply watches them, silently.

Then they are gone, the voices and footsteps getting quieter until someone shouts. Abruptly the running feet stop. The old man's face is in concentration, as if listening for some other sound. But none comes. The men must have found what they were looking for.

Seeming to be a little miffed that this second interruption was not as grand as the first, the old man quickly resituates himself and once again closes his eyes.

Laughter wakens the ancient man. Oh, but laughter, indeed! Who laughs in the middle of the night?

As if genuinely displeased this time, the man stubbornly keeps his eyes closed, unwilling to be awakened. Four men run by him, talking in intense voices, and – yes – one of them laughs. As they energetically pass through the street, one sees the sleeping man. He slows, as if unsure whether to wake him. Apparently he decides it worth the disturbance, for he runs up to the feeble man and shakes him gently by the shoulders.

“Wake up, old man, wake up!” Obediently the man's eyes pop open. He looked surprised, and slightly scared.

The younger man grins at him. “He has been born. He's been born tonight!” he says eagerly. His listener watches him, brows furrowed. “He has finally come to us – the Messiah!” He stands, raising his hands to heaven. “Praise Jehovah, the God of Israel!”

As if unable to contain his joy while standing still, the younger man rushes off in the direction of his companions, leaving the old man with a stunned face. Slowly he reaches for his blanket, which slipped off him in the other man's exuberant shaking. He draws it back up around himself, and his expression slowly changes to awe, wonder.

Then he allows the full effect of the words to overcome him. The crooked smile, which earlier appeared tentatively, now covers his face in an instant. For the final time, he closes his eyes, but the smile does not go away.

Perhaps, just perhaps, it was a pleasant night to be in town after all.

Perfection and Weakness Fused Together

We've all heard the Christmas story. So much that it seems like it's almost lost its sense of miraculousness. God really did come down to earth as a human.

 I love the way Tosca Lee* puts it in her book “Demon: A Memoir.” Hearing this familiar story from a demon's point of view puts it in a whole different light, showing us just how amazing it really was. But enough said. I'll let her words speak for themselves.

(The “she” is Lucian, the demon, and the “I” is Clay, the person Lucian is telling the story of the world to. Lucian is speaking here.)

        “Had it not been for the identity of the baby, it would have been an otherwise unremarkable night, and your polite 'Greensleeves' would have been an appropriate soundtrack, after all. But it wasn't an ordinary baby. It wasn't an unremarkable night.

        “There had been rumors. Prophets ranting about saviours.” The demon's cup of tea sat steaming in front of her, neglected. “Then the news came: A messiah was imminent.”

        “How did you feel about that?” I asked.

        She folded her hands on the table and smiled. “Oh, I wanted to see it! After all, it had to be a Herculean job, being a savior; it didn't seem possible for one man. And we began to speculate among ourselves which of his favorites El would raise up. Perhaps he'd be a man of breeding and education. A leader of men. A great general – a soldier, in very least.”

        “But this guy in Bethlehem… ”

        “A carpenter's kid born of a teenage pregnancy.” She covered her eyes with her hand and shook her head. “It was so ridiculous. El was making a clay child in the womb of some ordinary girl with a boring name. An unremarkable virgin – and not even the best-looking girl I'd ever seen – pledged to mary some carpenter or another in some insignificant town. Suffice it to say, it didn't look promising.” I felt now a strange tension in her, a tautness.

        “Finally we realized El's plan was far more extravagant and unimaginable than anything we could have fathomed. And as I huddled on the periphery of that night, I saw a shot of light, heard the heralding Host. The pulse of the world fell silent, one sound only filling the void where that deafening announcement had been: the first wail of a newborn human.”
        She lowered her head. “Had I blood, it would have frozen in my veins, for I recognized the voice in that human cry. And the knowledge of it rushed upon me all at once: Elohim, Creator Almighty, had sent that part of himself, the very part that had spoken the words for the forming of the cosmos before my inception, had planted himself in the womb of an insignificant girl. He had arrived in person. Do you understand? Flesh! He had taken on flesh, true flesh! The sentence of humanity. God himself in the clay body of man.
       “Here, suddenly, was the unfathomable combination: the perfection of El in a fallible mud body. Perfection and weakness fused together.”

Unfathomable. Yes, it was. Let us treat it as such!

It's coming...

A couple nights ago our family went caroling downtown. I love our downtown – its so old-fashioned and small and downtowny. And I love how the alleyways are filled with shrubs, vines and little benches. But I digress. ;)

Our family sings four-part harmony, and we've learned some new Christmas tunes this year, so we went out in the freezing cold weather to carol to folks downtown. Just the four of us. Despite the fact that my nose, toes, chin and fingers were half-numb, I had a grand time. It's just that feeling … Let me try to describe it to you.

Heart high. Jacket snug. Deep breaths of cold, dry air. Happy faces. Seeing my breath as I sing.
Smiles, thanks from strangers. Dad's top hat. Singing louder, into the winter. Horse drawn carriage trots around corner. Tianna points. Smile, enjoy it.
Laugh.
Love.

Christmas is coming.

Present Tense: Yay or Nay?

Okay, I really need your guys’ opinion on this. Please read the following paragraph.
I followed Marcus into the front room and stopped short. Wow. It was huge. The staircase was like as wide as my bedroom, and the two would-be tall house plants were dwarfed by the towering ceiling. I looked around in wonder. Was this seriously someone’s house?
That is called past tense, and is how the majority of books are written. Now read this paragraph.
I follow Marcus into the front room and stop short. Wow. It’s huge. The staircase is like as wide as my bedroom, and the two would-be tall house plants are dwarfed by the towering ceiling. I look around in wonder. Is this seriously someone’s house?
This is called present tense, and it unusual in published books. In my opinion, though, it’s much more personal and, well … present. It feels as if it’s happening right now. I think it really draws the reader in, as if “I” is, indeed, the reader.
So I need your opinion. Shall I go with the tried and true, which, though not as cool, is more accepted? Or shall I go with the unique, the risky … yeah, you can tell I’m biased. The only thing that prevents me from going with the awesome present is that I’m already committing 2 novel no-no’s with this book. 1, having all three viewpoint characters be first-person (I, me) and 2, it’s gonna be longer than the average novel. So it is really worth it to add to my literary sins and increase the difficulty of getting it published?
Needless to say, I can’t decide. Please comment and give me your honest opinion. I don’t care if you’ve never even considered writing a book. Just tell me which you think would be more desirable – a better book or better chance of it being published and therefore reaching more individuals?

"In the good old days..."

I love elderly people. Seriously, they're amazing. It's almost as if they're a different type of people altogether. Maybe that's just because most of the people I talk with are either my age or my parents.

But old folks? They rock.

This revelation came to me when I joined the Rogue Gold Band, a jazz band in town comprising of a dozen or so elderly musicians - and me. Every Monday as I pack up my trombone into the trunk, I smile as I anticipate all the friendly smiles, corny puns, playful jokes, heartfelt compliments and warm laughter about to surround me. It's a beautiful break of every day life.

It almost seems to me like time slows down when I'm around these folks. They take life slower, and I'm pulled into the ease, pulled away from rushing and stressing. It's a time I dearly need.

Another thing I love about these people is that they've been through so much of life. That alone is really cool to think about - "Wow, she's been married, had kids, had grand-kids" - it sure makes me realize how much of life I have ahead of me. But the stories they have to tell! I think that's why they are often eager to talk. They own an array of beautiful and horrible experiences and are only too happy to share them.

You'd almost think that after so many years of life, these people would be perfect, fully matured and sanctified. But the truth is, they're sometimes unreasonable, overly sensitive, self-absorbed - just like us. It's a sober reminder that our sin nature will only be removed, by the grace of God, when we die. And it gives us all the more reason to be diligent in our pursuing the fruits of the spirit, never assuming we will just "be a better person" when we turn 21, or 25, or 40, or 90. Now, in essense, is the only time we have.

So. Go take a moment, and think about when you will be one of the "old folks". Will you look back on your life, on the days when you had boundless energy, and smile? Or wish you had used it in a wiser way?

Oh, and go talk to an elderly person. I guarantee they will make you smile.  :)

Be Still

I've been afraid to post lately. Afraid of being mediocre, of wasting your time, of making a mistake in something about God.

Yes, I know, it was very vain of me, but it's the truth. So here I am again, hoping to make some sense and somehow help you to glorify God more. That's pretty much my purpose in life. :D I mean, not just through this blog, but... you know.

Anyhow.

My sister and I both have kindles. The other night, my sister says, "Hey guess what? They're making games for kindle. I tried one out and it actually worked!" 

"Cool," says I. Then I thinks, Wait. What?!?

The whole purpose of a kindle is to read. It's like a book, okay. But just in case you don't feel  like reading, you can play a game. Seriously?
What is wrong with this picture? There's nothing wrong with playing games, don't get me wrong, but my point is, it seems as if the culture is doing everything possible to make sure consumers aren't bored. Think about it - iPads, iPhones, tablets, kindles, you name it. Nothing is wrong with those things, but aren't they all designed so that we will never be bored?

In the physical therapy place I go (for my knee) they have magazines in the waiting room. Doesn't seem out of the ordinary, but if you start to think about it... do we really need magazines? We have to sit in a chair for five minutes - akkk!! Quick, give me something to read! I can't just sit there and think.  I must be entertained.

Yeah.

I am guilty of this, okay, I'm not trying to condemn anyone; I just think it's sad that our culture is like this. What if, every time we had to wait, we made a habit of praying? That would be trillions time more useful than reading a junky magazine to "pass the time." One thing I have been working on (but often forgetting) is praying every time my computer locks up or makes me wait. I encourage you to try it.

So yeah. Keep your eyes open, and you'll start to notice this around you. And the next time you have to wait in line, in an office, or wherever, just sit and think. Be still, and know that He is God.