I am jumping through your hoops
feet tucked in like a fetus.
That makes you the basket
I hope
and not the board, backed by
the brilliant brains of businessmen
who know how dangerous
an idea can be, once it is
in
the
air.
My goal is not yours.
We each make our own points.
But with every bounce, the ball
moves closer to the final test
A centimeter smaller than I need you to be
A centipede swallows the Amazon canopy
One tiny bite at a time
Monday, February 20, 2012
The Champion
Whenever he fights for us
we know that victory is ours.
We pull up seats to watch him work,
to see his ugly power.
He stretches out his mighty arm--
our enemies retreat.
His laughing eyes mock death and hell
while the strong die at his feet.
He is our champion,
our fortress and our strength
He fights our enemies
and breaks our bonds away
He is unpredictable at best,
a beast inside a man
His love for war insatiable,
a leader with no plan
There is no one to compare
with our dread champion.
No one here even dares
to fight him one on one
Our time to reign has come
This is the climax of our fate
Kings of the earth we will be
After we crush this sickly state
Against him now no one stands
They hide inside their tents
The only sound our warrior's voice
Scorning their scared silence
***
Who is that peasant boy
walking toward our man
wearing no armor
with three stones in his hand?
Friday, February 17, 2012
On Doing
Could it be that our biggest problem is not that we do the wrong thing, but that we often don't do any thing? Within the subset of "us" I include all of humanity, but especially English/Humanities/Philosophy majors.
Quick biographical example: I was sitting in my apartment today, trying to work up the nerve to Do something. I needed to practice guitar, I needed to work on taxes, I needed to call the dentist, I needed to figure out how to get my free yearly credit report, etc... In addition to all of these tasks, of course, is lurking my desire to reach out to my community, to have an impact on those around me, to spread the Good News that God loves human beings. And with all of these options for action floating in my head, what was I doing? Sitting on the couch, eating chocolate covered espresso beans and descending into a distinct state of despair...while petting a fluffy rabbit named Izzy. (side note: rabbits are great pets. You should all go out and get one. But never keep it in a cage. You wouldn't keep your kids in a cage, would you? Remind me to dedicate an entire post to the advantages of rabbits soon)
What was the problem? I was over-thinking my situation. I was analyzing ad infinitum. I was convincing myself that if I could not accomplish everything I needed to accomplish, then there was no point in getting off the couch. Then I remembered something my father told me: "You have to exercise."
When he told me that I thought he was making a joke, or at least exaggerating. Or worse, perhaps he was actually crazy. But today, while popping chocolate covered espresso beans into my mouth, I thought to myself, "What if he's right?"
Now, I will be the first to say, it doesn't make sense. How could expending energy help to create energy? I don't know. But that's probably just because I don't know anything about the way the human body works. Perhaps there's a purely physical explanation. I have a hunch, however, that the explanation also involves the mental and spiritual facets of humanity.
Long story short: I went for a run. It felt good. So good, in fact, that I cleaned the dust off the ceiling fans when I got home. Did I finish my taxes? No. Did I get my free credit report? No. Did I reach out to my community? Probably not. But I did something. And that something (exercising) motivated me to do other things.
Many times, I find myself paralyzed because I cannot figure out what the most important thing is. How can I possibly decide what to do, when I can't even finish the list of things to be done? To this, I would say: calm down. If I were to accomplish everything on the list...I would discover fifty more things to do during the process of accomplishing the first fifty. The world will keep spinning (until of course, it stops...but that has nothing to do with me). The only important thing is... God.
Quick biographical example: I was sitting in my apartment today, trying to work up the nerve to Do something. I needed to practice guitar, I needed to work on taxes, I needed to call the dentist, I needed to figure out how to get my free yearly credit report, etc... In addition to all of these tasks, of course, is lurking my desire to reach out to my community, to have an impact on those around me, to spread the Good News that God loves human beings. And with all of these options for action floating in my head, what was I doing? Sitting on the couch, eating chocolate covered espresso beans and descending into a distinct state of despair...while petting a fluffy rabbit named Izzy. (side note: rabbits are great pets. You should all go out and get one. But never keep it in a cage. You wouldn't keep your kids in a cage, would you? Remind me to dedicate an entire post to the advantages of rabbits soon)
What was the problem? I was over-thinking my situation. I was analyzing ad infinitum. I was convincing myself that if I could not accomplish everything I needed to accomplish, then there was no point in getting off the couch. Then I remembered something my father told me: "You have to exercise."
When he told me that I thought he was making a joke, or at least exaggerating. Or worse, perhaps he was actually crazy. But today, while popping chocolate covered espresso beans into my mouth, I thought to myself, "What if he's right?"
Now, I will be the first to say, it doesn't make sense. How could expending energy help to create energy? I don't know. But that's probably just because I don't know anything about the way the human body works. Perhaps there's a purely physical explanation. I have a hunch, however, that the explanation also involves the mental and spiritual facets of humanity.
Long story short: I went for a run. It felt good. So good, in fact, that I cleaned the dust off the ceiling fans when I got home. Did I finish my taxes? No. Did I get my free credit report? No. Did I reach out to my community? Probably not. But I did something. And that something (exercising) motivated me to do other things.
Many times, I find myself paralyzed because I cannot figure out what the most important thing is. How can I possibly decide what to do, when I can't even finish the list of things to be done? To this, I would say: calm down. If I were to accomplish everything on the list...I would discover fifty more things to do during the process of accomplishing the first fifty. The world will keep spinning (until of course, it stops...but that has nothing to do with me). The only important thing is... God.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
We had been married for nine months, yesterday. Today, it's nine months and a day. That's fairly mind-boggling. Now I am beginning to understand why people are willing to take up arms over the sanctity of marriage. I used to think it was an odd fight to pick. Isn't there enough wickedness in the world? But once I experienced even the dusty glory of an imperfect marriage in a fallen and sinful world, I realized the tremendous nature of the blessing God has conferred upon humanity.
Here, at marriage, God allows us a peek into His nature. A nature that takes delight in Being With. A nature that values Other enough to engage in Relationship. A nature that grows fuller the more it gives. His very name for Himself emphasizes this idea: Emmanuel...God With Us.
Here, at marriage, God shows us that He cares for us, that He loves to fulfill our needs. It wasn't good for man to be alone. But who could fix this problem? Adam certainly couldn't. He was completely dependent on God for every single one of his needs--including his need for companionship and love. So God stepped in and created woman, created marriage.
Since marriage is such a blessing, since it is a glimpse into the nature of God, and since it was given to us by God Himself...the institution carries Weight. These are the ideas worth fighting for: ideas that link humanity to God.
How should we fight for marriage? I submit that the crux of the battle lies within, not without. Leaders lead by example as well as by exhortation. We must watch that there is no beam in our own eye before we start pointing at the splinters in the eyes of others. Marriage is no part-time job that you can relegate to a few hours a week. It is a glorious endeavor, an honorable undertaking. It is not an event to be crossed off the calendar but an existence to embrace. If we really care about marriage, we must tend to our own with at least the same level of zeal and energy that we use in trying to help others.
Our within will spill out into the without at some point. When we start looking around for a place to help, let us all keep these words in mind: humility, compassion, encouragement, love.
Here, at marriage, God allows us a peek into His nature. A nature that takes delight in Being With. A nature that values Other enough to engage in Relationship. A nature that grows fuller the more it gives. His very name for Himself emphasizes this idea: Emmanuel...God With Us.
Here, at marriage, God shows us that He cares for us, that He loves to fulfill our needs. It wasn't good for man to be alone. But who could fix this problem? Adam certainly couldn't. He was completely dependent on God for every single one of his needs--including his need for companionship and love. So God stepped in and created woman, created marriage.
Since marriage is such a blessing, since it is a glimpse into the nature of God, and since it was given to us by God Himself...the institution carries Weight. These are the ideas worth fighting for: ideas that link humanity to God.
How should we fight for marriage? I submit that the crux of the battle lies within, not without. Leaders lead by example as well as by exhortation. We must watch that there is no beam in our own eye before we start pointing at the splinters in the eyes of others. Marriage is no part-time job that you can relegate to a few hours a week. It is a glorious endeavor, an honorable undertaking. It is not an event to be crossed off the calendar but an existence to embrace. If we really care about marriage, we must tend to our own with at least the same level of zeal and energy that we use in trying to help others.
Our within will spill out into the without at some point. When we start looking around for a place to help, let us all keep these words in mind: humility, compassion, encouragement, love.
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
My blog is beautiful now.
And no, I had nothing to do with it. But I do approve of the facelift.
I am thinking through a new (to me) definition of music. It's simple, really: music is language. A medium of language, to be specific. Speech and writing are other examples that come to mind. But I suppose any art form would need to be part of this definition if I am to be consistent. So yes, visual art is language.
We use language for many purposes. We use it to communicate ideas or emotions. Sometimes we just use it because we are not comfortable with silence. We use to exclaim, to celebrate, to grieve, to vent.
Occasionally, the actual words that we choose when using "word language" add to the meaning. The sound of a word can Mean. The rhythm of a sentence can Mean. Poets are generally adept at this use of word language. They can pick their words, phrases, and syntax carefully so as to communicate as specifically as possible. In the same way, some musicians can make the very music Mean. The choices they make in melody, tempo, and timbre can Mean.
However, just as many people use language at its simplest level (to communicate via shared definitions of words), so many musicians use music at its simplest level--as a vehicle, and nothing more. In this way, I feel that many popular (pop) musicians use music. However, instead of communicating quick ideas or commands, these artists use music to create a shared sense of culture, of togetherness. Why does a blues musicians play the blues? Often, it is because he is part of a culture that is defined by the blues...and he comes out of a culture that has defined the blues. Why does an indie rock star play...whatever it is he plays? He is part of a culture that is defined by indieness...and a culture that is constantly redefining indieness (but that's another discussion by itself)
The waters of this discussion become murky as many songs combine word language and music language. To sum up my point, however, I would say this: music can be played on several levels, just as words can be use on several levels. To only use one level is not wrong. Using multiple levels merely opens more possibilities.
What does this mean for me, the humble connoisseur of music? It means that I don't have to shun music that has no instrinsic "message" built into the tune. Unless, of course, I'm willing to shun all prose for the same reason.
And no, I had nothing to do with it. But I do approve of the facelift.
I am thinking through a new (to me) definition of music. It's simple, really: music is language. A medium of language, to be specific. Speech and writing are other examples that come to mind. But I suppose any art form would need to be part of this definition if I am to be consistent. So yes, visual art is language.
We use language for many purposes. We use it to communicate ideas or emotions. Sometimes we just use it because we are not comfortable with silence. We use to exclaim, to celebrate, to grieve, to vent.
Occasionally, the actual words that we choose when using "word language" add to the meaning. The sound of a word can Mean. The rhythm of a sentence can Mean. Poets are generally adept at this use of word language. They can pick their words, phrases, and syntax carefully so as to communicate as specifically as possible. In the same way, some musicians can make the very music Mean. The choices they make in melody, tempo, and timbre can Mean.
However, just as many people use language at its simplest level (to communicate via shared definitions of words), so many musicians use music at its simplest level--as a vehicle, and nothing more. In this way, I feel that many popular (pop) musicians use music. However, instead of communicating quick ideas or commands, these artists use music to create a shared sense of culture, of togetherness. Why does a blues musicians play the blues? Often, it is because he is part of a culture that is defined by the blues...and he comes out of a culture that has defined the blues. Why does an indie rock star play...whatever it is he plays? He is part of a culture that is defined by indieness...and a culture that is constantly redefining indieness (but that's another discussion by itself)
The waters of this discussion become murky as many songs combine word language and music language. To sum up my point, however, I would say this: music can be played on several levels, just as words can be use on several levels. To only use one level is not wrong. Using multiple levels merely opens more possibilities.
What does this mean for me, the humble connoisseur of music? It means that I don't have to shun music that has no instrinsic "message" built into the tune. Unless, of course, I'm willing to shun all prose for the same reason.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Hurry. It's a habit I have, a lifestyle I live, an attitude I have adopted. Perhaps it is genetic-- one of the many oddities I have inherited from the Eastman/Cornelius clan. I find it more likely, however, that it is a practice I have picked up over time. On a scale from nature to nurture, I would place this particular trait much closer to the latter.
It all began in elementary school when I realized that if I finished my schoolwork quickly, I could go outside and play. Given the choice, I believe most ordinary boys would choose playing with toy soldiers over copying vocabulary words. This realization coincided with a second and possibly more disastrous realization that school work was easy-- too easy. There was absolutely no challenge to it. It became merely a race to finish quickly so that I could move on to the important things of life.
This shift created a false but very believable dichotomy in my head between what was important to me and what other people thought was important for me. I would do what they wanted, to keep them off my back, as long as it did not interfere with my free time too much. This division created a state of war between work and play. Work became defined as that which was drudgery, monotony, dullness. It was forced onto me by others and was thus to be avoided if it all possible. Play was exciting, freeing, creative, and fun. I chose when to play, how long to play, how hard to play, and when to stop. Work and Play became, in my mind, mutually exclusive activities.
As I grew older, this division began to affect many areas of life. I categorized music as Play, and would therefore never Work at it with the intensity and perseverance demanded of it. Whenever practicing guitar became difficult I stopped or played easier tunes that I had already learned. Without Working at the instrument, I was never able to progress past a very primitive level of musicianship.
Or take drawing, for another and even more abysmal example. I drew constantly throughout middle and high school. I tried so hard to express what I was feeling through drawing, but I absolutely refused to take lessons, study the art, or practice preliminary tecniques. Therefore, all of my drawings were stunted--unable to become what I wanted them to be due to my refusal to Work at drawing.
Writing may be the only area where this habit did not do irreversible damage. Somehow, I still enjoyed to write despite the fact that I was forced to Work at it in school. After studying grammar and vocabulary all day at school, I still loved to come home and write stories and poems. This intersection of Work and Play greatly improved my writing skill (in my opinion--you can be the judge of that of course), and gave me what may be my only refined skill.
College did not change my habit of hurry. I worked hard at school--hard enough to get by--but I almost never Played at my Work. Seldom did I put my creative, individual, playful humanity into my assignments. But there were moments: a few projects for Hubele, a presentation for McAllister, and a smattering of speeches for various worldview classes. It was in these moments that Work felt most like Play, and I began to wonder if I was really in college at all.
Could this be what our teachers were trying to teach us all along?
It all began in elementary school when I realized that if I finished my schoolwork quickly, I could go outside and play. Given the choice, I believe most ordinary boys would choose playing with toy soldiers over copying vocabulary words. This realization coincided with a second and possibly more disastrous realization that school work was easy-- too easy. There was absolutely no challenge to it. It became merely a race to finish quickly so that I could move on to the important things of life.
This shift created a false but very believable dichotomy in my head between what was important to me and what other people thought was important for me. I would do what they wanted, to keep them off my back, as long as it did not interfere with my free time too much. This division created a state of war between work and play. Work became defined as that which was drudgery, monotony, dullness. It was forced onto me by others and was thus to be avoided if it all possible. Play was exciting, freeing, creative, and fun. I chose when to play, how long to play, how hard to play, and when to stop. Work and Play became, in my mind, mutually exclusive activities.
As I grew older, this division began to affect many areas of life. I categorized music as Play, and would therefore never Work at it with the intensity and perseverance demanded of it. Whenever practicing guitar became difficult I stopped or played easier tunes that I had already learned. Without Working at the instrument, I was never able to progress past a very primitive level of musicianship.
Or take drawing, for another and even more abysmal example. I drew constantly throughout middle and high school. I tried so hard to express what I was feeling through drawing, but I absolutely refused to take lessons, study the art, or practice preliminary tecniques. Therefore, all of my drawings were stunted--unable to become what I wanted them to be due to my refusal to Work at drawing.
Writing may be the only area where this habit did not do irreversible damage. Somehow, I still enjoyed to write despite the fact that I was forced to Work at it in school. After studying grammar and vocabulary all day at school, I still loved to come home and write stories and poems. This intersection of Work and Play greatly improved my writing skill (in my opinion--you can be the judge of that of course), and gave me what may be my only refined skill.
College did not change my habit of hurry. I worked hard at school--hard enough to get by--but I almost never Played at my Work. Seldom did I put my creative, individual, playful humanity into my assignments. But there were moments: a few projects for Hubele, a presentation for McAllister, and a smattering of speeches for various worldview classes. It was in these moments that Work felt most like Play, and I began to wonder if I was really in college at all.
Could this be what our teachers were trying to teach us all along?
Saturday, January 7, 2012
I finished a journal. It feels nice to have done so. Every page filled with thoughts, verses, sermon notes, jokes, and a lengthy entry by guest writer Danny Johnston about halfway through which makes me smile every time I read it.
Speaking of Danny, I miss him. And his wife. And the Harwells. Yes, I even miss Kevin and his sarcastic pessimism. And the Freels, though we see them now and again--but never enough. And others, many others, whose absence from my life does not go unnoticed. Separation from such friends is hard stuff. Hard stuff, indeed.
I have a rabbit in my lap who begs for my attention, making it difficult to type. So, until next time, God be with you all. And happy new freakin' year.
Speaking of Danny, I miss him. And his wife. And the Harwells. Yes, I even miss Kevin and his sarcastic pessimism. And the Freels, though we see them now and again--but never enough. And others, many others, whose absence from my life does not go unnoticed. Separation from such friends is hard stuff. Hard stuff, indeed.
I have a rabbit in my lap who begs for my attention, making it difficult to type. So, until next time, God be with you all. And happy new freakin' year.
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