two months into senior year

So I haven't posted since July - An update since I last appeared.

I began my last year of NSA.

I have also realized that my desire to blog has more or less completely vanished. I think I'd rather live my life than blog about it.

think: christians in the arts

I picked up a book this week, imagine. by Steve Turner, that I found thought provoking. Behold a series of quotes. Agree, disagree but read on.

Chapter 1 : THE VISION

*No one ever told me that it would be wrong for a Christian to become a an actor or a songwriter, a novelist or a dancer. It was implied. There were no role models. I can remember a well-known actress and a British pop singer getting saved, but then they gave up their careers "for the Lord." Their testimony was obviously more highly valued than their talent. Like drunkenness and promiscuity, involvement in the arts was something best spoken of in the past tense. pg 15

*When Christians did on rare occasions employ the arts it was as "outreach." The arts, we were told, could be "used." They could be "effective tools for evangelism." Thus we had movies with tissue thin characters and threadbare plots that moved inexorably toward climactic conversions. We had singer-songwriters with a beat to capture attention and a "message" to be given in the lyric. We even had Christian novels that coated the gospel in the candy of fiction.
Instinctively I felt that this was not right. I didn't yet have the theology to back it up, just a gut feeling that Christians could, and should, be involved in all areas of culture. [emphasis mine] pg 19

*I resented ever being described as a "Christian poet" because the label was too confining. I believed that Christians should be writing poetry infused with godly perception rather than poetry about religion. pg 20

* The Christian artist will often be an irritant, disturbing the anthropocentric view of the world that fallen nature naturally gravitates toward. Just as people think they have removed God from the consideration of a particular question, the Christian annoyingly puts Him back on the agenda the same way. And when God is back on the agenda, people are forced to deal with him, even if only to try to marginalize Him again. pg 22

grace and peace - weekly tidbits from Pastor Wilson

"For this reason I remind you to fan into flame the gift of God, which is in you through the laying on of my hands, for God gave us a spirit not of fear but of power and love and self-control" (2 Tim. 1:6-7)

God both initiates and sustains. But the relation we have to what He does in both instances is quite different. When He first bestows on us, His action is unilateral, monergistic. But when He walks with us through the course of our Christian lives, He bestows and we respond. We work out our salvation with fear and trembling because God is at work in us to will and to do for His good pleasure. We work out what He works in. This is not what Paul cautioned the Galatians against, the error that thinks God does His part and then we do ours. Rather, God does His part unilaterally, and then God continues to work in us and that work is manifested in what we do. It is like Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead. First He spoke and Lazarus came alive. God then continued to give Lazarus the gift of life, which was expressed in what Lazarus did.

In Timothy's case, Paul reminds him that God had given him a gift, and that it was Timothy's responsibility to fan that gift into flame. The gifts of God are not to be taken for granted on the assumption that He will do everything. He does do everything, but He does so through us. Timothy had been given this particular gift through the imposition of Paul's hands. The reason Paul gave for fanning the gift back into flame was that God gave us a spirit of power and love and self-control, and not a spirit of fear. This indicates that Timothy was neglecting this gift because of some measure of timidity. The gift, whatever it was, had a tendency to get Timothy into trouble -- as power, love and self-control frequently do.
Cordially in Christ,

Douglas Wilson

suddenly legal

I'm getting old, apparently.

unexpected adventures

For some reason Mom put a huge roast on. She didn't know how we would eat it all.

But it turned out that it was polished off. My cousin and some of his friends were flying their planes around the area and were stranded in the Tri-Cites due to a massive thunderstorm between here and Spokane. Aaron took me up for a short flight over the Tri-Cities, then we brought them all home and fed them dinner as the storm blew in.

With the plane - a Cessna 185 Skywagon

Epic Dinner-ness

what i did today

As is customary upon arrival home after a year of NSA, I came down with a cold. The kind of cold that makes you think you will never get well, raises the stock of Kleenex Corp. and makes people think that all you ever do is sleep.

I think I'm hitting the tail end - starting to cough, which historically is an indicator of two or so more days.

But what to you do when your main company is a box of Kleenex?

You research. (I go to NSA - it's what I do)

My most resent topic of study is strong femininity. I admit it. I am stubborn and opinionated. Ask anyone who has lived with me or who has worked with me. I get the job done and I move on. Emotion? People have emotions? And I have to pay attention to them? Hmmmm. Apparently so.

Due to the fact that I have a year until graduation and am looking into various career options, possibly including grad school, I have been reading up on what it means to be a strong Christian woman, while still being a graceful, thoughtful one. I have issues with being soft. Lace? Frills? Ribbons? Sentimental poetry? Delicate tea cups and cucumber sandwiches? Meh. I'm attracted to speed, power, strength, brawn and magical things like tulips, spectacular sunsets and brilliant stars scattered over the sky just after dusk.

Today has been enlightening. I've browsed sites ranging all over the modesty spectrum, ranging from "stay home forever while wearing long skirts and a bonnet" (kill me now!) to a site that I appreciated far more than the others. It was started by a girl my age who had the same complaint as I do: shopping for modest clothing can be unbearable. You can do it, but hey, why not save yourself the trouble by starting your own line of clothing? Which she did. And then started blogging about more than simply clothes.

I've posted a link (look to the right).

there and back again

This was my apartment. It no longer is. Last week it found itself stripped of furniture, wall hangings, lamps, rugs, books, every element that made it home. For several days it was a maze, nay, a jungle of boxes. Now it is empty. It echos. It waits for new tenants.

These were my roommates. They no longer are. Strange spices, unique music, odd movie selections, fun times. Next year will be different, but no less enjoyable.

Nate and Leah's wedding was the last hurrah for most of us.

But we made the most of it.

And before leaving Moscow for good, I said goodbye to my sophomore year boarding family at Matt's graduation.

I'm home. Onward.

I need to learn how to use a camera

There is something about bold, bright, cheerful colors that makes me ridiculously happy. Bell peppers, tulips, the bright, crazy earrings you'll probably never see me wearing.

And someone was nice enough to capture this on film. Or a digital screen, more likely. Mmmmm. Why am I blogging about bell peppers when I have packing to do?!

curtain call

Last week was full of saying goodbye to classmates, last chance get-togethers, junior breakfasts, weddings, engagement parties, baby showers, graduation parties....

So now I'm sitting in Bucer's, a bit off kilter. Most of my my classmates are gone. There is no homework waiting to be done. Instead there is an apartment waiting to be sorted and packed. Slightly depressing, actually - when I come back, it will be for the last year of undergrad studies I'll ever do.

The leaves are finally coming out, and there is nothing quite so hopeful as new leaves coming out after a long, drawn out winter. There is green emerging everywhere - full of promise. Mmmmmm. I love it.

last week of finals, day one

I'm not sure how I got here, but they tell me that this is the last finals week of Junior year. We have already begun registering for Senior classes this fall and wide-eyed freshmen are staring down at the reality of sophomore year - which promises to be lovely. NSA has been restructured to the point that my sophomore experience is no more. Different classes and all that jazz. Sounds like it should be a good year for them all.

Junior Traditio is now but a memory. Soon this term of Greek will be as well.

What was this year like (so far - it isn't over just yet)? Very, very short. I think it started in mid January. Because I don't really remember anything about the first two terms. They came, they instilled knowledge, they left.

I've drunk coffee, but not as much as last year. I've stayed up late a few times, but not as much as last year.

But last year will stay with me for a long while - this year has already begun to fade.

it's raining, but the tulips are out

I'm currently borrowing my sister's car - which has its own unique benefits and drawbacks.

Benefits: I can go to Winco without having to wait for someone else who also needs to to to Winco. It also keeps the rain off of my head as I travel from point A to point B. (It's raining as I type)

Drawbacks: It's stick shift. What's so bad about stick shift you ask? Er, well, let me expound. This car has seen better days. Currently it suffers from a collection of infirmities, including but not limited to: arthritis, asthma, and osteoperosous. And on top of that, this is only the third weekend I have ever driven stick shift. It has been an epic experience. The day Kristina taught me the basics, her ever faithful dog became positively seasick as I shifted from first to second and then, oh crumb, killed the engine again.

Reversing -*hem* I only stall and die about 67% of the time now, instead of 100%. That's progress, right? The fun part of the entire ordeal is that neighbors around here have a tendency to go to the same church as you do. "I see you're learning to drive stick shift!" one such neighbor says as a cheerful Sunday morning greeting.

"Yup."

"you are far from normal"

I hear this, or variations thereof, frequently.

Perhaps I should consider it a gift.

Who wants to be normal?

finals week

The Sunday before finals is for one thing and one thing only:

Sleep.

Nothing else.

What am I thinking?

if you don't have a spare evening

you need to rework your schedule.

the problem with NSA

I don't know about you, but unless I know something inside out and backwards, I don't feel like I can honestly say I know it.

The problem with NSA is that we only have a year with each core class, the equivalent of a thimble full of knowledge floating in an ocean of stubborn people. It's enough to know when something is off-key, but not quite enough to stand up to a pagan expert in the field and not get at least somewhat squished.

Four years is an awfully small amount of time to learn a little about a lot.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not complaining; I've enjoyed the challenge of learning of things I've never known before. But I'm also a specialist - I prefer to know one thing well than six things adequately.

Carry on.

as an atheist, I truly believe africa needs God

(don't worry - I'm not the atheist. This is simply an article I found quite fascinating)

Missionaries, not aid money, are the solution to Africa's biggest problem - the crushing passivity of the people's mindset
Matthew Parris

Before Christmas I returned, after 45 years, to the country that as a boy I knew as Nyasaland. Today it's Malawi, and The Times Christmas Appeal includes a small British charity working there. Pump Aid helps rural communities to install a simple pump, letting people keep their village wells sealed and clean. I went to see this work.

It inspired me, renewing my flagging faith in development charities. But travelling in Malawi refreshed another belief, too: one I've been trying to banish all my life, but an observation I've been unable to avoid since my African childhood. It confounds my ideological beliefs, stubbornly refuses to fit my world view, and has embarrassed my growing belief that there is no God.
Now a confirmed atheist, I've become convinced of the enormous contribution that Christian evangelism makes in Africa: sharply distinct from the work of secular NGOs, government projects and international aid efforts. These alone will not do. Education and training alone will not do. In Africa Christianity changes people's hearts. It brings a spiritual transformation. The rebirth is real. The change is good.

I used to avoid this truth by applauding - as you can - the practical work of mission churches in Africa. It's a pity, I would say, that salvation is part of the package, but Christians black and white, working in Africa, do heal the sick, do teach people to read and write; and only the severest kind of secularist could see a mission hospital or school and say the world would be better without it. I would allow that if faith was needed to motivate missionaries to help, then, fine: but what counted was the help, not the faith.

But this doesn't fit the facts. Faith does more than support the missionary; it is also transferred to his flock. This is the effect that matters so immensely, and which I cannot help observing.
First, then, the observation. We had friends who were missionaries, and as a child I stayed often with them; I also stayed, alone with my little brother, in a traditional rural African village. In the city we had working for us Africans who had converted and were strong believers. The Christians were always different. Far from having cowed or confined its converts, their faith appeared to have liberated and relaxed them. There was a liveliness, a curiosity, an engagement with the world - a directness in their dealings with others - that seemed to be missing in traditional African life. They stood tall.

At 24, travelling by land across the continent reinforced this impression. From Algiers to Niger, Nigeria, Cameroon and the Central African Republic, then right through the Congo to Rwanda, Tanzania and Kenya, four student friends and I drove our old Land Rover to Nairobi.
We slept under the stars, so it was important as we reached the more populated and lawless parts of the sub-Sahara that every day we find somewhere safe by nightfall. Often near a mission.

Whenever we entered a territory worked by missionaries, we had to acknowledge that something changed in the faces of the people we passed and spoke to: something in their eyes, the way they approached you direct, man-to-man, without looking down or away. They had not become more deferential towards strangers - in some ways less so - but more open.
This time in Malawi it was the same. I met no missionaries. You do not encounter missionaries in the lobbies of expensive hotels discussing development strategy documents, as you do with the big NGOs. But instead I noticed that a handful of the most impressive African members of the Pump Aid team (largely from Zimbabwe) were, privately, strong Christians. “Privately” because the charity is entirely secular and I never heard any of its team so much as mention religion while working in the villages. But I picked up the Christian references in our conversations. One, I saw, was studying a devotional textbook in the car. One, on Sunday, went off to church at dawn for a two-hour service.

It would suit me to believe that their honesty, diligence and optimism in their work was unconnected with personal faith. Their work was secular, but surely affected by what they were. What they were was, in turn, influenced by a conception of man's place in the Universe that Christianity had taught.

There's long been a fashion among Western academic sociologists for placing tribal value systems within a ring fence, beyond critiques founded in our own culture: “theirs” and therefore best for “them”; authentic and of intrinsically equal worth to ours.

I don't follow this. I observe that tribal belief is no more peaceable than ours; and that it suppresses individuality. People think collectively; first in terms of the community, extended family and tribe. This rural-traditional mindset feeds into the “big man” and gangster politics of the African city: the exaggerated respect for a swaggering leader, and the (literal) inability to understand the whole idea of loyal opposition.

Anxiety - fear of evil spirits, of ancestors, of nature and the wild, of a tribal hierarchy, of quite everyday things - strikes deep into the whole structure of rural African thought. Every man has his place and, call it fear or respect, a great weight grinds down the individual spirit, stunting curiosity. People won't take the initiative, won't take things into their own hands or on their own shoulders.

How can I, as someone with a foot in both camps, explain? When the philosophical tourist moves from one world view to another he finds - at the very moment of passing into the new - that he loses the language to describe the landscape to the old. But let me try an example: the answer given by Sir Edmund Hillary to the question: Why climb the mountain? “Because it's there,” he said.

To the rural African mind, this is an explanation of why one would not climb the mountain. It's... well, there. Just there. Why interfere? Nothing to be done about it, or with it. Hillary's further explanation - that nobody else had climbed it - would stand as a second reason for passivity.
Christianity, post-Reformation and post-Luther, with its teaching of a direct, personal, two-way link between the individual and God, unmediated by the collective, and unsubordinate to any other human being, smashes straight through the philosphical/spiritual framework I've just described. It offers something to hold on to to those anxious to cast off a crushing tribal groupthink. That is why and how it liberates.

Those who want Africa to walk tall amid 21st-century global competition must not kid themselves that providing the material means or even the knowhow that accompanies what we call development will make the change. A whole belief system must first be supplanted.
And I'm afraid it has to be supplanted by another. Removing Christian evangelism from the African equation may leave the continent at the mercy of a malign fusion of Nike, the witch doctor, the mobile phone and the machete.

http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/comment/columnists/matthew_parris/article5400568.ece

research, google style

The deadline is on Friday. I'm working on Friday, so the deadline is actually Thursday. Today is Monday. Late Monday. The paper is worth 35% of our final grade.

My eyebrow is arched. Googlebooks is my hero, but this, this "sorry, this page is not available" is the bane of my existence. On the upside, Googlebooks is a vast, priceless online library with the purpose of aiding and abetting the production of intelligent undergrad philosophy papers. However, it also has another purpose: Selling $225 books to the unsuspecting public. The vital parts of the thesis proving books are....

GONE.

Unbelievable.

Click here to shell out a month's rent and phone bill for a vast, academic tome that is good for nothing but a door stop after Friday. *insert evil laughter*

Mumble.

$420,000 and he's yours

Does someone want to sponsor me?

Anyone?

in lieu of riding

It is break - and, not being obligated to surround myself with books and papers, I want to do something. Really, truly do something that is as far from sitting and studying as the east is from the west. Typically that means going out to the barn and getting a full body workout via large horses and a hard-core trainer (take that kindly, she's great).

However, this January is a bit, shall we say, wetter than previous Januaries. Snow and flooded arenas make riding a non-option. But I can't sit still. I wasn't made to sit still for more than two months at a time. My poor mother has had to deal with me bouncing off the walls as the snow falls, melts, falls again and once again my plans of the barn are thwarted.

So I tried out a yoga/pilates class.

I arrived a moment or two after the class had begun, and the instructor's rhythmic voice instructed us all to lean into the down dog pose. My poor mind searched for something that looked like a "down dog" and found nothing that resembled what the class was doing. But I did as everyone did, and proceeded to be amused and challenged at the same time.

I'm not as flexible as I thought. Nor is my balance as wonderful as I would assume. My muscles quivered, my ankles wobbled, and I discovered some sweet things to apply to my riding.

Perhaps I should go back.