Toeless

I love socks, but I also love flats. They don't usually go well together, because the socks show between the pants and the shoes and I look like the Wicked Witch of the West. But then there was Rachel. She got me socks to remedy that problem.

On the triumph of Grace

Let us now avoid poetic locution and speak plainly: on Sunday I witnessed a great event, one for which I have little to say. For there are those that know the power of what I have seen, and need no description; and there are those who do not, and for whom no eloquence of speech will suffice.

Let me only lay down a bit of history: my dad was married for eight years after my mom, and I rarely got along with my old step-mother - we were polite at best, and at worst I was convinced she was the wicked step-mother of fairy tales. Whose fault that all was rests equally upon many shoulders, but the point is this:

My grandmother (my dad's mom) told me last week she'd heard Carolyn had been saved and was getting baptized. And that's that.

Five Days

I spent all Sunday afternoon playing The Sims.

I went to my grandma's on Monday and Tuesday to choose a pattern and fabric for a quilt.

I watched Hero again on Wednesday.

I worked late on Thursday in the (let us pray jinx-proof) hope that I might leave early on Friday. I really wanted to write something, but my brain hurts. And, I found an exciting band. It's Christian Celtic punk. Flatfoot 56

I am going to work early tomorrow.

At work, I have been accused of being in a bad mood for three days now, all because Dan is not here. They're exaggerating. Mostly.

My Lobster

When I was younger I always thought that there was a sort of top-secret rite of passage that all girls go through to become a woman. She learns things about men and about being a wife and mom, and being woman in general, and only ever talks about it to other women. No girl hears of it until it is her time.


Now, I cannot speak of it, but if it does exist, I know that it would most certainly include that episode of Friends that talks about finding one's lobster... It's like an inside joke that all females get (once they've been initiated) and very few men do. Except maybe Darrin.

The Immature and Impractical Roots of Progress

The English recently decided to revisit a decision they made twenty years ago not to invest in an astronaut training program. At the time, they didn't see the point. Now, however, they fear that they will be left behind.

And so I was thinking recently about the English and American desires for expansion and exploration, but being very different cultures, even from soon after their sundering, I realized those desires spring from very different sources.

The English have sought new lands, throughout their history, for practical and pragmatic reasons - tea, sugar cane, slaves, world dominance.

Americans, however, pursue the unknown merely for its own sake. Space exploration? Why? It is unlikely that we will find anything that it will be cost-effective to develop. So then, one must take note that the greatest state in the world, the one who leads the way in so many actions (good and bad) always does so out of its own poorly thought through and pointless quests for discovery.

That's all I have to say.

Those Evil Intellectuals

I have noticed a curiosity among Americans that both intigues and irritates me... there seems to be a general disregard for, distrust of, and even animosity toward those whom we might call "intellectuals." Take, for example, the last presidential race - Americans, in general, were intimidated and put off by the (albeit uptight and removed) rational, intelligent candidate. And much earlier, a large reason the prior president won was because he hid his intellect, and appealed to the "common man."

Or, to draw upon a less controversial example, the questionable heroic nature of a character such as Batman - the thinker. We do not wholly believe that he is good, because his strength lies not in what we can see, but in what only he knows - his own mind.


Now, I must ask, why does the common man have to be uneducated and ignorant? Why is it not a matter of pride among Americans to have knowledge for its own sake? Why are those with "book smarts" treated with disdain, as if their expertise is useless or pointless?

Luke 15:32

Growing up in The Church, all my life I have heard of Christ and His forgiveness, mercy, grace, etc. It was understood, a given. When asked why I was saved, I would give the answer I learned early, "Jesus died for my sins."

Yet now, as an adult, I give that answer offhand, without a thought, and it's only in the quiet that I truly begin to ponder its meaning.

It is a thing that I have never been capable of grasping fully. I have never before had to cling to it, rely upon it as my only hope, know that without it I would perish in despair and wretched filth.

For years I have been an intellectual Christian: in my mind, I know that I have been rescued from damnation; I can argue all I like for Biblical principles and morals; I can regurgitate the words that have been running between my ears since birth. But, of course, on any real plane it all had no meaning. It was an understanding of the flesh and no more.

...

I do not know at what point my faith shifted from its simple path onto such a wayward route. Perhaps it was when I left the church, or when I moved in with my boyfriend. I made many foolish decisions after that moment - I eloped, and told no one; I eventually let my eyes and heart wander; I divorced my husband (although it was technically justified, I still do not agree with or condone divorce); I made some rather foolish choices this last summer, and ultimately removed all control from God. I was in charge, and oh, how poor I turned out to be at that job.

Yet I do know at what point I returned to the old path, rough and hidden though it may be in this wood. On September second, I took a drive at sunrise, and upon having a spontaneous and inspired talk with my God, for the briefest of moments I caught a glimpse of a shadow cast by His glory. Dim though it might be in His glorious presence, nonetheless it shone radiant before me and since then, in leaps (and occasional gradual steps), I have returned to Him. But still I held onto the weight of my shame.

Recently, I learned that I needed to at last fully relinquish my claim on my guilt. If I was to let God actually care for me, well, I needed to let Him do it in all ways. While I envy those who carry no such burden, still perhaps they might be jealous of me; for though I have always the thoughts to dredge up my previous wicked acts, still I know, far more than any righteous man, what it is to accept grace. It is something that I will never take for granted. I am no better for it, in fact, I am even more keenly aware of how pitiful I am - but I can never go without my God again. His death wrenches me from my grasp upon this pale world as it never would otherwise. I am desperate for Him and His light, without fear of its brilliance.

Savior:daylight.