In my last post I discussed how we artist “waste” time. In that post, I offered metaphors and symbols for a process that is more emotional than analytical, but there is room for analyzing the process and a place for explaining its mechanics.
On the whole, I do not believe that most of us are aware of how the creative process plays out. Some of us have been privileged enough to know those inspired moments, and they are so pristine and complete unto themselves that it almost feels violent to dissect such a sacred event. And yet, I think that it is because we do not understand the process that we are reluctant to submit to its needs. Maybe if we were better acquainted with the contradictions of creation we would be less inclined to discard the tools we need to achieve our desire.
I think that many of have this notion that great artists and writers simply sit down one day and begin to create. They may have had some training but once inspired they simply do so fully and completely with no flaws or defect. I will grant you that I have had those moments when it seems like my fingers race along the keyboard with no conscious thought or design, seeming to chase an idea of their own accord. There have been times when the paint seemed to dance upon the canvas to the proper place and adopt the proper shade with no assistance from me. Always these are my favorite pieces of work, pieces that I feel no arrogance or vulnerability in showing, because they seem to have to very little to do with me.
I wish that such times were always the case, but in truth they are rare. And yet, even in those times of almost spontaneous generation, I know the truth of the moment. The work before me, taking shape as if it had a life of its own, seeming to assert that my hands are but the hands of a barely needed midwife, is not something that was born on this day.
Throughout my life I have been an observer, picking apart every idea put before me. I can never remember a time when I could simply watch a movie or read a book. Constantly, I am grappling with the work demanding that it yield the idea that it cloaks, searching for its most elemental meaning. I blame this on my father who taught me that anyone who took the time to write a book, play, or movie, anyone who bothered to paint a picture or sculpt a form, had a fundamental belief that they believed so profoundly they were compelled to share it with the world.
I took him at his word, and I began to see the truth in what he had told me. To this day, I have yet to see any creative work that did not embody some ideology or dogma that had shaped the individual who created it. Some are easier to spot than others, but they are there.
Like grapes, I gather all of these bits of inspired thought and emotion. I pool them together in my mind, allowing them to sink deep within me, until I can distil the truth from what I have seen or heard. It may set untouched for years fermenting as a good wine, waiting until the proper day to be tasted. Some ideas may be taken out, reevaluated and judged as I mature only to be recasked and shelved yet again. At times I have been guilty of revealing an idea too soon when the flavor, while promising, has yet to gain the depth necessary for true greatness.
But then there are those ideas whose time has come, the image in my head is complete or the words have formed deep within my psyche and now it must be shared with my friends. If I have been sensitive to the nuances of its maturation I will produce a seductively simple yet bold creation whose complexities must be experienced to be known.
We work when we collect the bounty of the creation around us. We toil as crush the ideas beneath the weight of our scrutiny. We labor as allow them to foment within us, giving them room and space to find a new life under our care. With diligent patience we tend to the knowledge we have taken and wait for the pristine moment of clarity to bring it forth. These are the times when inspiration seems effortless. These are the moments when our art is at its finest, finding its form beneath our fingers, only after days, weeks, or even years of tireless exertion to insure that it is revealed in all the grandeur we can bestow upon it.
As artist we live lives of contradiction that perhaps on a good day can be seen as balance. We learn so that we may destroy and prefect, forget and rediscover. No step may be skipped or forgotten. Each one must be made with boldness and caution, or not taken at all. We create alone in the dark but creation without light or unshared is incomplete and not a creation at all. Perhaps the greatest contradiction is the illusion of spontaneity and the dedicated discipline that cannot supplant the instinctive response to inspiration.
Showing posts with label learning. Show all posts
Showing posts with label learning. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Wherein God Speaks, and Emily Gets a Clue
Many of my friends have noted that I rarely get mad. There is very little that sets me off anymore, at least on a personal level. Now, this has sometimes been seen as a bit of a flaw in me, and perhaps out of balance it is, but I remember the time when my temper ruled my world. It was so much easier to get caught up in the mayhem of emotions run amok than to deal with the cause of the emotion. Now, I didn’t just stop losing my temper because I woke up one morning and decided to be a kinder and gentler Emily. I stopped losing my temper when I learned how to be kinder and gentler to Emily.
I realized that nothing makes me angrier than failing, and so much of my life I have failed to have the appropriate emotional response to any given situation. I am the type of person who finds Christmas arduous, funerals amusing, comedic movies depressing, and dry theological tomes thrilling. None of these meet the criteria for the proper emotional response in any social circle I have inhabited. So it seemed that everything I ran up against rubbed me the wrong way, exposing my failures to the world, and the best cover for this – anger. No one questions the emotions of an angry person.
I never really set out to stop losing my temper. I considered it my divine right to spew my venom at anyone who failed to meet my standards, and my standards are just one degree removed from perfection. And can you guess who the biggest offender was?
Yep, that would be me. So I went around, mad at the world and my loved ones for failing to be who or what I thought they needed to be. All the while, I am failing miserable to be who and what I thought I needed to be, leaving me angry with me and with so much more anger to share. There was enough of this toxic emotion to power the entire east coast, but I was the one being zapped.
One day as I was driving home from work, I had a thought that must have been sponsored by God. (I just have this image of him saying, “I want to buy a thirty second spot to run a special commercial in her brain.”) I know it had to be him, because I am not this smart. The thought was, “Your response should be counter-intuitive.”
Occasionally, a cryptic remark like that makes more sense to me than the most detailed diagram but this was not one of those times. So I paused for a moment to ponder what this could possibly mean. The person sitting behind me at the light did not properly appreciate this revelatory moment, I could tell once I became aware of the honking horn and some rather expressive hand gestures. I can be perceptive like that. Fortunately, I was too intrigued by what was going on in my head to care or I might have been angry.
What?, I thought with incredulous eloquence. My response to any give situation is an emotional reflex, how in the world can I make them counter intuitive? Almost immediately, the next God thought followed, “A response is not the same as a reaction.”
Now wait a minute, I thought, how could they be different? Can you distinguish one from another? I waited, but it seemed like I was on my own this time. Here’s what I came up with, a reaction is the first emotional rush brought on by any given event. It is the emotional equivalent of hitting your knee with a hammer, your knee jumps and it is neither good nor bad. It just is, accept it as part of a working design.
A response is what I give when I have put thought into how I will behave towards any given situation, and once I think about how to behave I am responsible for my actions, because it is no longer a reaction. And this means any thought, even as minute as “I am going to kill them.” I am making a conscious choice in how I am conducting myself, and that puts me in charge, not some pre-wired survival mechanism. First, I realized that this a pretty weighty responsibility, but then I realized something fabulous.
I am not responsible for my reaction. I don’t have to beat myself up any more for not having the right emotional reaction to life. I can react any way my little erratic mind reacts and it’s okay. I wasn’t a failure. I was operating as God intended me to operate, as a person who tends to be a little on the passionate side with a warped sense of humor. And I am good with that.
All of a sudden my job shifted, I could stop wasting time trying to undo my emotional reflexes and work on the stuff I really could control. I am a great thinker, and I love to do it! How awesome is it that God had already given me the tools to fix my problem! As I learned to temper my responses, I found that my reactions became calmer, more subdued, and I could offer an honest response more in keeping with the heart of my Father. When I learned to cooperate with the creation he had made in me, and stopped fighting it, I was able to live at a greater level of freedom and effectiveness than I had ever known.
I realized that nothing makes me angrier than failing, and so much of my life I have failed to have the appropriate emotional response to any given situation. I am the type of person who finds Christmas arduous, funerals amusing, comedic movies depressing, and dry theological tomes thrilling. None of these meet the criteria for the proper emotional response in any social circle I have inhabited. So it seemed that everything I ran up against rubbed me the wrong way, exposing my failures to the world, and the best cover for this – anger. No one questions the emotions of an angry person.
I never really set out to stop losing my temper. I considered it my divine right to spew my venom at anyone who failed to meet my standards, and my standards are just one degree removed from perfection. And can you guess who the biggest offender was?
Yep, that would be me. So I went around, mad at the world and my loved ones for failing to be who or what I thought they needed to be. All the while, I am failing miserable to be who and what I thought I needed to be, leaving me angry with me and with so much more anger to share. There was enough of this toxic emotion to power the entire east coast, but I was the one being zapped.
One day as I was driving home from work, I had a thought that must have been sponsored by God. (I just have this image of him saying, “I want to buy a thirty second spot to run a special commercial in her brain.”) I know it had to be him, because I am not this smart. The thought was, “Your response should be counter-intuitive.”
Occasionally, a cryptic remark like that makes more sense to me than the most detailed diagram but this was not one of those times. So I paused for a moment to ponder what this could possibly mean. The person sitting behind me at the light did not properly appreciate this revelatory moment, I could tell once I became aware of the honking horn and some rather expressive hand gestures. I can be perceptive like that. Fortunately, I was too intrigued by what was going on in my head to care or I might have been angry.
What?, I thought with incredulous eloquence. My response to any give situation is an emotional reflex, how in the world can I make them counter intuitive? Almost immediately, the next God thought followed, “A response is not the same as a reaction.”
Now wait a minute, I thought, how could they be different? Can you distinguish one from another? I waited, but it seemed like I was on my own this time. Here’s what I came up with, a reaction is the first emotional rush brought on by any given event. It is the emotional equivalent of hitting your knee with a hammer, your knee jumps and it is neither good nor bad. It just is, accept it as part of a working design.
A response is what I give when I have put thought into how I will behave towards any given situation, and once I think about how to behave I am responsible for my actions, because it is no longer a reaction. And this means any thought, even as minute as “I am going to kill them.” I am making a conscious choice in how I am conducting myself, and that puts me in charge, not some pre-wired survival mechanism. First, I realized that this a pretty weighty responsibility, but then I realized something fabulous.
I am not responsible for my reaction. I don’t have to beat myself up any more for not having the right emotional reaction to life. I can react any way my little erratic mind reacts and it’s okay. I wasn’t a failure. I was operating as God intended me to operate, as a person who tends to be a little on the passionate side with a warped sense of humor. And I am good with that.
All of a sudden my job shifted, I could stop wasting time trying to undo my emotional reflexes and work on the stuff I really could control. I am a great thinker, and I love to do it! How awesome is it that God had already given me the tools to fix my problem! As I learned to temper my responses, I found that my reactions became calmer, more subdued, and I could offer an honest response more in keeping with the heart of my Father. When I learned to cooperate with the creation he had made in me, and stopped fighting it, I was able to live at a greater level of freedom and effectiveness than I had ever known.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Just One of Those Days
Well, it has been one of those mornings. The kids have decided their teacher is a cruel taskmaster doling out far too many assignments and not enough grace. And since yelling at the teacher is forbidden, yelling at each other will have to do. Lydia called Lauren a name that I can’t record here. Lauren screamed at Lydia for not doing something right, in all honesty I am not for sure what it is because my ears don’t register screams or whining. It’s a survival skill I picked up years ago and one that drives my girls insane.
I wish I could say that all the drama is pointless and squash it dead in its tracks, but since I haven’t figured out a way to stop it, I look for ways to redeem it. I have learned that when I look at my girls I can see myself, and each day they show me something new in them, I find that that same quality is within me. They just have the guts to let it out.
I realized this morning, as they yelled at each other from across the house, that I am like that. They really aren’t mad at each other, and would probably find a way to entertain themselves, if I had not dared to interfere in their lives. You see, they are really mad at me. Ultimately, at least in this small sphere, I set the terms, control the circumstance, and I have the authority to compel the other one into submission. And since life is being so devastatingly unfair and they cannot persuade me to make it otherwise, they have to spew at something and who better than a sibling?
I wonder if God ever has the urge to lock himself in the bedroom and sneak a cigarette when I behave this way? You know, the days when I could entertain myself just fine but he chooses to make other plans on my behalf, or more specifically, he has something to teach me. The days when I know he is just not being fair and I truly believe my life would be just great if he would make that other person behave.
Because I know that even though my children can throw a fit, my fits are far more dramatic and possess a distinctive flair that they have yet to develop. I have far more ammunition – I mean justification, for seeing myself as the victim. After all, I have been put upon, oppressed, mistreated, and abused. I have witnessed a world full of evil and I know that it is out to get me. I have to stand up for myself, demand that my rights be observed, and fight to make my voice heard. My hurts, my needs, my disappointments, and frustrations need to be vindicated. Evil must be punished, and I . . . uh, I mean, good must prevail.
Wow, that felt good. Too bad it’s all a load of garbage.
The hard truth is I have no rights. Not at the deepest level. No one owes me anything, least of all God. Every bit of goodness, peace, and joy I experience comes as a gracious gift from his love for me. I can’t earn a gift, and I can’t perform well enough to merit his love. It is something I accept with joy and hopefully, at least sometimes, with the proper humility. Any importance or significance I have is found in the fact that he created me in his image and he loves me.
But sometimes, I forget. I look around and the world is not as I would have it and I grow impatient. I see people screwing it up, making mistakes from ignorance or laziness. I can never do what I want to do when I want to do it because there is always someone there making demands, wanting my attention or my time. I get frustrated and I want to scream at them to all go away, leave me alone so that I can just love my God and put on my pretty Christian face. It’s their fault I get ugly. It’s their fault I lose my temper and have to yell, stomp my feet, and make a spectacle of myself.
But deep down in my heart, I know they aren’t the ones I am mad at. They are just people, in the same boat I am in. They don’t control their fate any more than I control mine. We all have to deal with the fact that other people have their own agendas, get in our way, and just generally annoy us. But we all know there is another one who is in control who can change the circumstance, fix the terms, and has the authority to compel everyone into submission. He’s the one I am really mad at, because after all he needs to make things work out for me. And though I may be yelling at the rest of the world, I am also yelling loud enough so I know he will hear.
Thankfully, I now know the other side of that equation. I know he doesn’t take away all the obstacles because he is teaching me something that I will one day appreciate. I know he lets the other person get in my way because he loves them as much as he loves me. He doesn’t always bust my butt when I deserve it, and his ears will hear me again when I can learn to stop screaming. And sometimes, us kids just need to work it out amongst ourselves. He loves me enough to do all this for us simply because we are his children.
I wish I could say that all the drama is pointless and squash it dead in its tracks, but since I haven’t figured out a way to stop it, I look for ways to redeem it. I have learned that when I look at my girls I can see myself, and each day they show me something new in them, I find that that same quality is within me. They just have the guts to let it out.
I realized this morning, as they yelled at each other from across the house, that I am like that. They really aren’t mad at each other, and would probably find a way to entertain themselves, if I had not dared to interfere in their lives. You see, they are really mad at me. Ultimately, at least in this small sphere, I set the terms, control the circumstance, and I have the authority to compel the other one into submission. And since life is being so devastatingly unfair and they cannot persuade me to make it otherwise, they have to spew at something and who better than a sibling?
I wonder if God ever has the urge to lock himself in the bedroom and sneak a cigarette when I behave this way? You know, the days when I could entertain myself just fine but he chooses to make other plans on my behalf, or more specifically, he has something to teach me. The days when I know he is just not being fair and I truly believe my life would be just great if he would make that other person behave.
Because I know that even though my children can throw a fit, my fits are far more dramatic and possess a distinctive flair that they have yet to develop. I have far more ammunition – I mean justification, for seeing myself as the victim. After all, I have been put upon, oppressed, mistreated, and abused. I have witnessed a world full of evil and I know that it is out to get me. I have to stand up for myself, demand that my rights be observed, and fight to make my voice heard. My hurts, my needs, my disappointments, and frustrations need to be vindicated. Evil must be punished, and I . . . uh, I mean, good must prevail.
Wow, that felt good. Too bad it’s all a load of garbage.
The hard truth is I have no rights. Not at the deepest level. No one owes me anything, least of all God. Every bit of goodness, peace, and joy I experience comes as a gracious gift from his love for me. I can’t earn a gift, and I can’t perform well enough to merit his love. It is something I accept with joy and hopefully, at least sometimes, with the proper humility. Any importance or significance I have is found in the fact that he created me in his image and he loves me.
But sometimes, I forget. I look around and the world is not as I would have it and I grow impatient. I see people screwing it up, making mistakes from ignorance or laziness. I can never do what I want to do when I want to do it because there is always someone there making demands, wanting my attention or my time. I get frustrated and I want to scream at them to all go away, leave me alone so that I can just love my God and put on my pretty Christian face. It’s their fault I get ugly. It’s their fault I lose my temper and have to yell, stomp my feet, and make a spectacle of myself.
But deep down in my heart, I know they aren’t the ones I am mad at. They are just people, in the same boat I am in. They don’t control their fate any more than I control mine. We all have to deal with the fact that other people have their own agendas, get in our way, and just generally annoy us. But we all know there is another one who is in control who can change the circumstance, fix the terms, and has the authority to compel everyone into submission. He’s the one I am really mad at, because after all he needs to make things work out for me. And though I may be yelling at the rest of the world, I am also yelling loud enough so I know he will hear.
Thankfully, I now know the other side of that equation. I know he doesn’t take away all the obstacles because he is teaching me something that I will one day appreciate. I know he lets the other person get in my way because he loves them as much as he loves me. He doesn’t always bust my butt when I deserve it, and his ears will hear me again when I can learn to stop screaming. And sometimes, us kids just need to work it out amongst ourselves. He loves me enough to do all this for us simply because we are his children.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Learning to Live
Ty started a new job right after Christmas, and he is working regular hours now, as opposed to the weird hours of his previous job. I have been finding that I am a bit at loose ends. It is the first time in my adult life that I have not had a job to get up and get dressed for or a deadline looming over my head. Yet, as I sat here this morning, I found myself asking for more time. Time to get the house cleaned, time to write a few more blog posts, time to organize the kids’ lessons and time to dream.
Mostly time to dream. I tend to spend a lot of time in my head, thinking things through to their ultimate conclusion, working out problems, and just wondering about the great mysteries of life. It is one of my favorite times, pacing around the living room, speaking my thoughts out loud and letting them drift where they may. It gives me energy and keeps me awake both mentally and physically.
This past week I haven’t been able to shake this groggy feeling, like my brain is only functioning at minimum capacity, refusing to do anything beyond basic life sustaining operations. I feel like a decade of being on survival mode has left me unable to cope without some sort of crisis demanding my attention, every cell super charged with adrenaline. Now it seems as if all the big issues of my life either have been or are being addressed, all without any apparent effort by me. It is a strange lulling security that seems to be dulling my edges.
This is a strange new role I have stepped into, full time wife and mother, good but strange. I look back over my life and I place them alongside my former job titles and I wonder how the tool-and-paint-sales person, art instructor, berry farm foreman, bartender, restaurant manager, college instructor, field hand, green house worker, hay hauler, floor layer, and shelf stocker got here. I had always hoped, but I don’t think I have ever believed that it could happen.
There is a big difference in hope and belief. Hope is dandelion fluff that floats through our vision, catching the sunlight, but impossible to grab. Belief is the foundation stones of something greater than you. Solid and strong, never failing to bear you up when you need the support.
I find now that this hope has solidified, and no longer am I chasing it across a field of broken glass. It’s here and I am learning to live with it. I am trying to understand how to accept it as a reality and keep reminding myself it is real. I am not going to wake up only to find that it has all been a pretty figment of my imagination.
So I am left with the question – Now, what?
Before Ty, so many of my hopes and dreams were bound up in the idea of being in love and being loved. I planned the ways I would care for the man who was willing to share in this life I desired, and I dreamt of the days when I would no longer feel that crushing weight of being alone. It took up so much time, kept me from going mad from the harsh facts of my existence. It was a beautiful place to retreat, to hide when the world got too scary, but now I live there. I don’t need to hide in my head. It is a good and frightening feeling all at once. One that leaves me blissful and sappy while filling me with a rare dread–what shall I dream of now?
Is it possible to be still and enjoy the moments that flow one right into the next? It is so new to me, so very strange and foreign, I often find myself holding my breath as if it were an exotic bird that I dare not startle or frighten away. I tip toe around this new life, careful lest I awaken myself and not all together sure that I like this new feeling of peace. Wondering how insane is that?
My father once said ignorant people are scared of what they don’t understand and even if something is better, they will do everything in their power to destroy it or remove it. I think that is where I am. This place, this feeling, is something I don’t understand but thankfully, I don’t believe that I am ignorant. So I am going through the process, learning to accept this blessing with grace and joy. It isn’t always easy, and I don’t think we acknowledge this part of the journey enough.
In this fallen world, marked with pain and suffering, doing without and just surviving, we have forgotten how to receive. We have forgotten how to experience the good things that the Father has chosen to bless us with. We have found that it is far easier to destroy or remove the blessing before we truly allow ourselves to experience it. It just seems so out of place when measured against our past experience, so we sabotage it, we deny it, or we run from it.
So look around, what is the Father bringing into your life? Is it a blessing? A special provision of grace? Your heart’s desire? Can you embrace it, acknowledge that it may not feel right just, yet is a good thing? Embrace it, protect it, and I promise you it will be worth all the awkward moments, every new and uncomfortable feeling. He only gives good gifts.
Mostly time to dream. I tend to spend a lot of time in my head, thinking things through to their ultimate conclusion, working out problems, and just wondering about the great mysteries of life. It is one of my favorite times, pacing around the living room, speaking my thoughts out loud and letting them drift where they may. It gives me energy and keeps me awake both mentally and physically.
This past week I haven’t been able to shake this groggy feeling, like my brain is only functioning at minimum capacity, refusing to do anything beyond basic life sustaining operations. I feel like a decade of being on survival mode has left me unable to cope without some sort of crisis demanding my attention, every cell super charged with adrenaline. Now it seems as if all the big issues of my life either have been or are being addressed, all without any apparent effort by me. It is a strange lulling security that seems to be dulling my edges.
This is a strange new role I have stepped into, full time wife and mother, good but strange. I look back over my life and I place them alongside my former job titles and I wonder how the tool-and-paint-sales person, art instructor, berry farm foreman, bartender, restaurant manager, college instructor, field hand, green house worker, hay hauler, floor layer, and shelf stocker got here. I had always hoped, but I don’t think I have ever believed that it could happen.
There is a big difference in hope and belief. Hope is dandelion fluff that floats through our vision, catching the sunlight, but impossible to grab. Belief is the foundation stones of something greater than you. Solid and strong, never failing to bear you up when you need the support.
I find now that this hope has solidified, and no longer am I chasing it across a field of broken glass. It’s here and I am learning to live with it. I am trying to understand how to accept it as a reality and keep reminding myself it is real. I am not going to wake up only to find that it has all been a pretty figment of my imagination.
So I am left with the question – Now, what?
Before Ty, so many of my hopes and dreams were bound up in the idea of being in love and being loved. I planned the ways I would care for the man who was willing to share in this life I desired, and I dreamt of the days when I would no longer feel that crushing weight of being alone. It took up so much time, kept me from going mad from the harsh facts of my existence. It was a beautiful place to retreat, to hide when the world got too scary, but now I live there. I don’t need to hide in my head. It is a good and frightening feeling all at once. One that leaves me blissful and sappy while filling me with a rare dread–what shall I dream of now?
Is it possible to be still and enjoy the moments that flow one right into the next? It is so new to me, so very strange and foreign, I often find myself holding my breath as if it were an exotic bird that I dare not startle or frighten away. I tip toe around this new life, careful lest I awaken myself and not all together sure that I like this new feeling of peace. Wondering how insane is that?
My father once said ignorant people are scared of what they don’t understand and even if something is better, they will do everything in their power to destroy it or remove it. I think that is where I am. This place, this feeling, is something I don’t understand but thankfully, I don’t believe that I am ignorant. So I am going through the process, learning to accept this blessing with grace and joy. It isn’t always easy, and I don’t think we acknowledge this part of the journey enough.
In this fallen world, marked with pain and suffering, doing without and just surviving, we have forgotten how to receive. We have forgotten how to experience the good things that the Father has chosen to bless us with. We have found that it is far easier to destroy or remove the blessing before we truly allow ourselves to experience it. It just seems so out of place when measured against our past experience, so we sabotage it, we deny it, or we run from it.
So look around, what is the Father bringing into your life? Is it a blessing? A special provision of grace? Your heart’s desire? Can you embrace it, acknowledge that it may not feel right just, yet is a good thing? Embrace it, protect it, and I promise you it will be worth all the awkward moments, every new and uncomfortable feeling. He only gives good gifts.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
So tell me a story!
Deep down inside of each of us is a craving to basic that we often fail to recognize its existence. A need so basic that we gratify without a second thought as to why we need or what we need. We fulfill this need in our children almost through instinct and yet it is considered a basic trait of a good parent. We have turned the fulfillment of this need into a billion dollar industry, and stores across the globe cater to it. Grand halls have been erected to service this need, products in all forms have been created in its honor, we have developed easily transported means to feed this desire, and yet, most of still fail to identify it as need. At best it is an indulgence or entertainment, but hardly ever deemed a necessity.
The need is simple, tell me a story. I need to hear, to see, to experience a time and place that I never inhabited. I need the chance to be a part of something greater, grander, or even more terrifying than the life I live. Tell me a story, be it a fairy tale, a romance, a thriller, or just how you took out the garbage this morning. Tell me a story, your story, another’s story, or one simply imagined.
There is power in a story. The power to influence my perspective, the power to teach, the power to inspire, and the power to destroy. A power so great that lives can be changed, nations moved, and eternity envisioned. Maybe this is the reason that God chose to reveal Himself first in a story. His first words to humanity are not rules, but a narrative of how He desired to create the beings He loved. He tells us of the men who served and failed Him and His unrelenting desire to redeem. And only after He tells us the stories of the first people to know Him does He take us deeper.
God knew that we would learn more from the stories than we would if confronted with rules alone. He understood that we would see the sins of Adam and Eve and know the brokenness of relationship to Him. He knew that if we could see the Ark floating upon the waters we have some idea of His greatness. He showed us how the devotion and heart break of Abraham could inspire us to faith more effectively than a mere command. In Moses, we experience his mother’s agony and grief only to be surprised by God’s grace and protection. In their stories we begin to know the God who is at once holy and loving in a way that only a story can convey.
Today we think of stories as something that belongs in other books, as if the pages of the Bible are too sacred to be read as a thrilling tale, but that is exactly what it is the most thrilling tale of how the creator of the universe chose to be a part of the lives of everyday, flawed people. And it is a story we long for, the one we want to be a part of.
We have tried telling it countless ways. We may replace the names of Scripture with Aragorn or Rooster Cogburn, but it is the same story over and over again. It is the story of people, or single person, who needs a hero. It is the princess in the tower who cries out to heaven praying that someone will come and rescue her from the dragon. It is Tyler Durden trying to make sense of the senseless, and Rigeletto playing the fool while hiding his treasure. No story we tell exists apart from our need to know THE story.
We search out the next big movie, and allow ourselves to know the story for an hour or so. We read a book, and get lost in the flow of words. We listen to the latest gossip, because even a dubious story is better than no story at all. Something inside of us tells us we need the story, so we seek it out, immersing ourselves in stories of all types because we don’t forget the story we are looking for is the one He wrote for us.
And unfortunately, we as a society and culture have forgotten the ability of a story to teach.We began to believe that stories are meant for entertainment. We think of them as amusement, and fail to grasp the significance of this great event. Our ancestors knew different, don’t believe me? Read the original fairy tales, before they were Disneyfied to make the audience feel good and were used to scare children into good choices. Or consider the fables which taught a moral.
Think for a moment of the parables Jesus used to teach, and how His stories reveal to us a Savior’s heart. He knew the value of a story and lived one so that we might know Him better. And He told us that our stories have power and that through our stories the world could come to know Him. So being good Christians we fancied it up a bit, not believing it could be that simple, not having faith in His words or example, we throw around phrases like “sharing our testimony” and lost sight of the fact that our testimony is nothing more than our story. That means that the enemy is overcome through our story, yours, mine, and all who have come before living a life of faith and struggle.
So tell me a story. One that is true but still has room for magic. One where there is still a man on a white horse, wielding a sword, coming to defeat evil. Tell me a story about how God was there in your life, how you came to know Him, and how He has demonstrated His love. Tell me a story that inspires me to keep pursuing Him, and tell me a story where love does conquer all. Tell me your story. I need to hear it because I need to hear His.
The need is simple, tell me a story. I need to hear, to see, to experience a time and place that I never inhabited. I need the chance to be a part of something greater, grander, or even more terrifying than the life I live. Tell me a story, be it a fairy tale, a romance, a thriller, or just how you took out the garbage this morning. Tell me a story, your story, another’s story, or one simply imagined.
There is power in a story. The power to influence my perspective, the power to teach, the power to inspire, and the power to destroy. A power so great that lives can be changed, nations moved, and eternity envisioned. Maybe this is the reason that God chose to reveal Himself first in a story. His first words to humanity are not rules, but a narrative of how He desired to create the beings He loved. He tells us of the men who served and failed Him and His unrelenting desire to redeem. And only after He tells us the stories of the first people to know Him does He take us deeper.
God knew that we would learn more from the stories than we would if confronted with rules alone. He understood that we would see the sins of Adam and Eve and know the brokenness of relationship to Him. He knew that if we could see the Ark floating upon the waters we have some idea of His greatness. He showed us how the devotion and heart break of Abraham could inspire us to faith more effectively than a mere command. In Moses, we experience his mother’s agony and grief only to be surprised by God’s grace and protection. In their stories we begin to know the God who is at once holy and loving in a way that only a story can convey.
Today we think of stories as something that belongs in other books, as if the pages of the Bible are too sacred to be read as a thrilling tale, but that is exactly what it is the most thrilling tale of how the creator of the universe chose to be a part of the lives of everyday, flawed people. And it is a story we long for, the one we want to be a part of.
We have tried telling it countless ways. We may replace the names of Scripture with Aragorn or Rooster Cogburn, but it is the same story over and over again. It is the story of people, or single person, who needs a hero. It is the princess in the tower who cries out to heaven praying that someone will come and rescue her from the dragon. It is Tyler Durden trying to make sense of the senseless, and Rigeletto playing the fool while hiding his treasure. No story we tell exists apart from our need to know THE story.
We search out the next big movie, and allow ourselves to know the story for an hour or so. We read a book, and get lost in the flow of words. We listen to the latest gossip, because even a dubious story is better than no story at all. Something inside of us tells us we need the story, so we seek it out, immersing ourselves in stories of all types because we don’t forget the story we are looking for is the one He wrote for us.
And unfortunately, we as a society and culture have forgotten the ability of a story to teach.We began to believe that stories are meant for entertainment. We think of them as amusement, and fail to grasp the significance of this great event. Our ancestors knew different, don’t believe me? Read the original fairy tales, before they were Disneyfied to make the audience feel good and were used to scare children into good choices. Or consider the fables which taught a moral.
Think for a moment of the parables Jesus used to teach, and how His stories reveal to us a Savior’s heart. He knew the value of a story and lived one so that we might know Him better. And He told us that our stories have power and that through our stories the world could come to know Him. So being good Christians we fancied it up a bit, not believing it could be that simple, not having faith in His words or example, we throw around phrases like “sharing our testimony” and lost sight of the fact that our testimony is nothing more than our story. That means that the enemy is overcome through our story, yours, mine, and all who have come before living a life of faith and struggle.
So tell me a story. One that is true but still has room for magic. One where there is still a man on a white horse, wielding a sword, coming to defeat evil. Tell me a story about how God was there in your life, how you came to know Him, and how He has demonstrated His love. Tell me a story that inspires me to keep pursuing Him, and tell me a story where love does conquer all. Tell me your story. I need to hear it because I need to hear His.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Putting it all Together – Part 12 Failing and Winning, and Gold Medal Performances
This past weekend was the Splendor and Holiness Worship Seminar in Muskogee. For those of you were not there we missed you, but for those of you who were able to make thank you for choosing to spend the afternoon with us. And lest I forget, for our readers and fans in the Norman, Dallas, and Tulsa areas, we will be in your area soon.
Nathan, Micci, and I spent a great deal of time Saturday night and Sunday discussing how the Seminar went. The largest portion of the discussion was about how you rated such an event. Do you go by attendance? People’s comments? Set up and tear down went phenomenally smoothly? Barbie did a great job MC-ing? The food was great or the technology worked? The fact that I did not fall flat on my face as I stepped onto the stage? Nathan wasn’t grouchy?(He gets that way when he doesn't get fed regularly.) The answer is yes.
The problem is what point value do you give everything.
If you looked at attendance, we would have hoped that more people would have turned out, but we were greatful those who did attend. And we have to believe that those who should have been there were the ones that God directed there. We also have to factor in that we are not the well known yet, and that we did not have large a church backing for this event. We did all through the graciousness and willingness of those few people who believed enough in our vision to get on board and help. There was some supernatural provision that we were humbled to receive.
This is, for the most part why set up and take down went so well, and the technology worked. It is why the food was delicious. People jumped in and did what they could, and it was sufficient for the need. In fact, it was greater than the need.
Some things did not surprise us. We knew that Barbie would be the perfect host for the day. She has a gift as a speaker and she presented our vision well. Not to mention that she presented Nathan and me well. (In fact, she played up my strong points so nicely that I am considering taking her dates so that she can tell my suitors just how amazing I am.) We also knew Sarah would shine as the official Pagus chef, and she did. (I am even greatful for leftovers, they made a nice lunch today.)
We knew Laurie and Tammi would pitch in and keep the behind the scene stuff rolling smoothly. We knew Calen and Crystal would do anything we asked and then some. I have yet to see the photos of the day, but I have no worries that David and Patricia will make us look good. Even our collective kids jumped in where they were needed to fill in the gaps. And good friends loaned us things like video cameras and tripods when we needed. It was truly the result of united hearts, united in vision, purpose, and love for God and his truth.
A unified people is a powerful people, able to make the impossible possible, and we did that Saturday. It was moment when we were able to operate as Christians should operate. Focused on the greatness of our God and a desire that we share our revelation of him with others.
Last night was the closing ceremonies for the Olympics, and as I consider the roller coaster ride of the last week, I think it was fitting that our timetables collided. The games are time when people who share a passion and drive come together, yes to compete, but also in celebration of the disciplines by which they live their lives.
The passion that drives them is rewarded, not always with a medal, but with the cheers of others who believe in them.
This week there was a stir about the Russian figure skater who was the only one able to jump the quadruple axle. The strength and coordination needed for that is staggering, but as impressive as it was, one great jump did not compare the artistry of the American skater. Both men competed for a medal, but as I watched their faces, I realized that one competed only for a medal. He had lost the joy and the beauty of his sport in the quest. The other man still knew the value of bringing excellence to each aspect of his program. In the end, all the nuances he brought to his performance outweighed the power of his competitor, and he walked away with the Gold.
And maybe Pagus can’t jump a quadruple axle yet, but hopefully we make up for it in our artistry. We may not have the skill or means to do it all, but what we do do, we do well.
So once again, thank you to everyone who helped make Splendor and Holiness Muskogee possible. Remember us in your prayers as we prepare for Metamorphosis – Norman on April 17, 2010. The adventure is just beginning.
Nathan, Micci, and I spent a great deal of time Saturday night and Sunday discussing how the Seminar went. The largest portion of the discussion was about how you rated such an event. Do you go by attendance? People’s comments? Set up and tear down went phenomenally smoothly? Barbie did a great job MC-ing? The food was great or the technology worked? The fact that I did not fall flat on my face as I stepped onto the stage? Nathan wasn’t grouchy?(He gets that way when he doesn't get fed regularly.) The answer is yes.
The problem is what point value do you give everything.
If you looked at attendance, we would have hoped that more people would have turned out, but we were greatful those who did attend. And we have to believe that those who should have been there were the ones that God directed there. We also have to factor in that we are not the well known yet, and that we did not have large a church backing for this event. We did all through the graciousness and willingness of those few people who believed enough in our vision to get on board and help. There was some supernatural provision that we were humbled to receive.
This is, for the most part why set up and take down went so well, and the technology worked. It is why the food was delicious. People jumped in and did what they could, and it was sufficient for the need. In fact, it was greater than the need.
Some things did not surprise us. We knew that Barbie would be the perfect host for the day. She has a gift as a speaker and she presented our vision well. Not to mention that she presented Nathan and me well. (In fact, she played up my strong points so nicely that I am considering taking her dates so that she can tell my suitors just how amazing I am.) We also knew Sarah would shine as the official Pagus chef, and she did. (I am even greatful for leftovers, they made a nice lunch today.)
We knew Laurie and Tammi would pitch in and keep the behind the scene stuff rolling smoothly. We knew Calen and Crystal would do anything we asked and then some. I have yet to see the photos of the day, but I have no worries that David and Patricia will make us look good. Even our collective kids jumped in where they were needed to fill in the gaps. And good friends loaned us things like video cameras and tripods when we needed. It was truly the result of united hearts, united in vision, purpose, and love for God and his truth.
A unified people is a powerful people, able to make the impossible possible, and we did that Saturday. It was moment when we were able to operate as Christians should operate. Focused on the greatness of our God and a desire that we share our revelation of him with others.
Last night was the closing ceremonies for the Olympics, and as I consider the roller coaster ride of the last week, I think it was fitting that our timetables collided. The games are time when people who share a passion and drive come together, yes to compete, but also in celebration of the disciplines by which they live their lives.
The passion that drives them is rewarded, not always with a medal, but with the cheers of others who believe in them.
This week there was a stir about the Russian figure skater who was the only one able to jump the quadruple axle. The strength and coordination needed for that is staggering, but as impressive as it was, one great jump did not compare the artistry of the American skater. Both men competed for a medal, but as I watched their faces, I realized that one competed only for a medal. He had lost the joy and the beauty of his sport in the quest. The other man still knew the value of bringing excellence to each aspect of his program. In the end, all the nuances he brought to his performance outweighed the power of his competitor, and he walked away with the Gold.
And maybe Pagus can’t jump a quadruple axle yet, but hopefully we make up for it in our artistry. We may not have the skill or means to do it all, but what we do do, we do well.
So once again, thank you to everyone who helped make Splendor and Holiness Muskogee possible. Remember us in your prayers as we prepare for Metamorphosis – Norman on April 17, 2010. The adventure is just beginning.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Christianity is the school of hard knocks
The other day Emily wrote about church not being the same as school. In her post, she states life is the real test. I agree but just when you think you have the answers to the questions, life changes the questions.
Christianity is a lifelong learning process with small pop quizzes along the way. The good thing is the pop quizzes don’t count against your semester grade. What about quizzes do you remember? The questions you got right? Most people remember questions they got wrong.
We all remember the snarky comment overheard by the subject of the comment; the smashed finger and the resulting creative language overheard by the person we talked to about Jesus. The great thing about life is we have the opportunity to re-take the quiz
Also, life provides real world, in the world, in your face, get your hands dirty experience. How many times have you thought “If only I had…” or “I wish I would have…”? The neat thing is you will probably get a second chance to attempt to put action to your words.
The best parallel I can think of, for the Christian life, is the school of hard knocks. We get bruises, scuffs, bangs, and cuts as we live. These heal but the experience gained allows us to be wiser, smarter, and better able to minister to those around us.
So the next time you miss the answer to one of life’s questions, don’t ignore the question. Be sure to take note of what you got wrong. You will get another chance to answer the question.
Christianity is a lifelong learning process with small pop quizzes along the way. The good thing is the pop quizzes don’t count against your semester grade. What about quizzes do you remember? The questions you got right? Most people remember questions they got wrong.
We all remember the snarky comment overheard by the subject of the comment; the smashed finger and the resulting creative language overheard by the person we talked to about Jesus. The great thing about life is we have the opportunity to re-take the quiz
Also, life provides real world, in the world, in your face, get your hands dirty experience. How many times have you thought “If only I had…” or “I wish I would have…”? The neat thing is you will probably get a second chance to attempt to put action to your words.
The best parallel I can think of, for the Christian life, is the school of hard knocks. We get bruises, scuffs, bangs, and cuts as we live. These heal but the experience gained allows us to be wiser, smarter, and better able to minister to those around us.
So the next time you miss the answer to one of life’s questions, don’t ignore the question. Be sure to take note of what you got wrong. You will get another chance to answer the question.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Go ahead, make my day.
You can only teach yourself. You can only learn the technique of learning. –Clint Eastwood
The memorization and regurgitation of facts has become our working definition of learning. As children we are placed in class rooms where our teacher writes a series of words or numbers upon a board, we copy them, and then we recite them when called upon. Seldom do the words connect with our real lives or have any bearing upon our reality. As children we know this. We question when will we ever need to know the value of pie, the dates of the French Revolution, or even the chemical composition of chewing gum (bubble gum is a whole other matter). The good adults in our lives assure us that we will need this information one day and we should be good students and learn what the teacher says.
As adults we then become the ones who perpetuate the myth when our children are the ones asking the question. We tell them that they will one day need to know this information, and we secretly wonder when exactly did we ever need to know what we were taught in school. Of course if we are good parents we never voice this thought out loud, because we don’t want our children to grow up to be idiots.
The thing is even in the midst of what may now seem to have been pointless exercises in obscure facts, we did learn something. We learned our idea of education, of what it means to be taught. We know that if someone is teaching us something they are to communicate certain facts on the topic which we in turn should be able to recite if called upon. We learned that education often has little to do with our real lives, that educators do not teach life lessons as much as they teach us abstractions and principles that we have a hard time integrating in our day to day activities.
Unfortunately, somewhere we adopted this model into our Biblical teaching as well. We turned Bible study into Bible trivia, and Church stopped being a place where went to experience God with other believers and became a place where we learned about God. We studied God, Jesus, and the Bible like we are going to have a test next Friday, so bring your notes. We got points for attendance, memorizing the right verses, and being able to give the proper answer when called upon.
The problem is we forgot that life is the test. You can’t cram for this one, and like it or not being able to quote the proper verse doesn’t get you a one hundred. Somewhere along the way Christianity stopped being relational and became something that happens after opening prayer but before the fried chicken. Being a good Christian became more about how many Sunday mornings you actually made it to a building and less about loving your neighbor. We turned it into an exercise and not a walk.
Maybe this is why we have a hard time with the transition from the class room of the church to real life. We don’t know how to make our faith a part of our life. Maybe when we started referring to the church as a place with class rooms and teachers, instead of as a body of believers and a family that we lost sight of the fact it is about more than knowing the right answer. Maybe when God became a school teacher and not a father, we forgot that he loves us and doesn’t just give us a grade.
Maybe this why so many people have become disillusioned with Christianity. We have presented it like a list of facts to memorize, and life is a problem to be solved. Maybe when we started teaching Christianity as an abstraction and principles instead of as a way of life, we forgot how to make the shift from information to understanding. Maybe when we stopped teaching people the technique of learning and told them the answers we bypassed an important step in our faith. We skipped the beauty and joy discovery through experience and learning.
We don’t grade relationships by the number of facts we know about another person. We don’t rank friendships by another’s ability to rattle off random thing we may have said. We don’t keep score with people we really love by totaling up their right answers to our questions. We gauge the depth by how well they understand us, by how much they affect our lives and vice versa. Everything else is a byproduct of the time we spend experiencing their presence. And we should all know that knowing about a person is not the same as knowing someone.
It is in the experience that we learn to know someone, that we learn how to learn about them. We discover how to ask a question, how to read their expression, or hear what they are saying beyond the words.
So study, read your Bible, gather with other believers, but do it so that you can experience the one who made you. Do it so that you can learn about this God who loves you more than you can imagine, but remember he isn’t an algebra problem. We don’t get to solve him, figure him out, or define him. That is not our job, our privilege is to know and experience him in this life, in this reality. The disciplines teach us how to draw near to God, being there teaches us how to learn from him.
The memorization and regurgitation of facts has become our working definition of learning. As children we are placed in class rooms where our teacher writes a series of words or numbers upon a board, we copy them, and then we recite them when called upon. Seldom do the words connect with our real lives or have any bearing upon our reality. As children we know this. We question when will we ever need to know the value of pie, the dates of the French Revolution, or even the chemical composition of chewing gum (bubble gum is a whole other matter). The good adults in our lives assure us that we will need this information one day and we should be good students and learn what the teacher says.
As adults we then become the ones who perpetuate the myth when our children are the ones asking the question. We tell them that they will one day need to know this information, and we secretly wonder when exactly did we ever need to know what we were taught in school. Of course if we are good parents we never voice this thought out loud, because we don’t want our children to grow up to be idiots.
The thing is even in the midst of what may now seem to have been pointless exercises in obscure facts, we did learn something. We learned our idea of education, of what it means to be taught. We know that if someone is teaching us something they are to communicate certain facts on the topic which we in turn should be able to recite if called upon. We learned that education often has little to do with our real lives, that educators do not teach life lessons as much as they teach us abstractions and principles that we have a hard time integrating in our day to day activities.
Unfortunately, somewhere we adopted this model into our Biblical teaching as well. We turned Bible study into Bible trivia, and Church stopped being a place where went to experience God with other believers and became a place where we learned about God. We studied God, Jesus, and the Bible like we are going to have a test next Friday, so bring your notes. We got points for attendance, memorizing the right verses, and being able to give the proper answer when called upon.
The problem is we forgot that life is the test. You can’t cram for this one, and like it or not being able to quote the proper verse doesn’t get you a one hundred. Somewhere along the way Christianity stopped being relational and became something that happens after opening prayer but before the fried chicken. Being a good Christian became more about how many Sunday mornings you actually made it to a building and less about loving your neighbor. We turned it into an exercise and not a walk.
Maybe this is why we have a hard time with the transition from the class room of the church to real life. We don’t know how to make our faith a part of our life. Maybe when we started referring to the church as a place with class rooms and teachers, instead of as a body of believers and a family that we lost sight of the fact it is about more than knowing the right answer. Maybe when God became a school teacher and not a father, we forgot that he loves us and doesn’t just give us a grade.
Maybe this why so many people have become disillusioned with Christianity. We have presented it like a list of facts to memorize, and life is a problem to be solved. Maybe when we started teaching Christianity as an abstraction and principles instead of as a way of life, we forgot how to make the shift from information to understanding. Maybe when we stopped teaching people the technique of learning and told them the answers we bypassed an important step in our faith. We skipped the beauty and joy discovery through experience and learning.
We don’t grade relationships by the number of facts we know about another person. We don’t rank friendships by another’s ability to rattle off random thing we may have said. We don’t keep score with people we really love by totaling up their right answers to our questions. We gauge the depth by how well they understand us, by how much they affect our lives and vice versa. Everything else is a byproduct of the time we spend experiencing their presence. And we should all know that knowing about a person is not the same as knowing someone.
It is in the experience that we learn to know someone, that we learn how to learn about them. We discover how to ask a question, how to read their expression, or hear what they are saying beyond the words.
So study, read your Bible, gather with other believers, but do it so that you can experience the one who made you. Do it so that you can learn about this God who loves you more than you can imagine, but remember he isn’t an algebra problem. We don’t get to solve him, figure him out, or define him. That is not our job, our privilege is to know and experience him in this life, in this reality. The disciplines teach us how to draw near to God, being there teaches us how to learn from him.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Lessons learned from rounding up cattle
My Long Term Spouse (LTS), myself and her brother have a small herd of cows. Recently, we needed to round them up. Our cows are pampered - hay when the temperature drops and feed pellets fed by hand. We can easily round them up just by calling them and shaking a feed bucket filled with pellets.
The herd easily went into the pen where the pellets were plentiful. One older, stubborn cow refused to come into the corral. I shut the gate on the other cows, who were busy eating, but didn't chain the gate closed and turned my attention to the stubborn cow. One of the cows in the corral decided she was full and it was time to stage a jail break. She headed toward the closed, unchained gate and pushed the gate open. The jail breaker charged into the open pasture with 2 additional escapees following her.
At times are we not like the escaped cows? God provides a roof over our heads and food on our table but we want what is on the other side of the gate. We see a gap and we charge through the gate forgetting what God has provided. We want to see what we can find, experience, or do for ourselves.
Just as we had to round up the escapees, God rounds us up and returns us to the safety and comfort of the corral. God does not punish us but allows us to learn from our mistakes. I'm glad I have a God who lovingly seeks me out, provides safety and allows me to learn from my "bull headedness".
The herd easily went into the pen where the pellets were plentiful. One older, stubborn cow refused to come into the corral. I shut the gate on the other cows, who were busy eating, but didn't chain the gate closed and turned my attention to the stubborn cow. One of the cows in the corral decided she was full and it was time to stage a jail break. She headed toward the closed, unchained gate and pushed the gate open. The jail breaker charged into the open pasture with 2 additional escapees following her.
At times are we not like the escaped cows? God provides a roof over our heads and food on our table but we want what is on the other side of the gate. We see a gap and we charge through the gate forgetting what God has provided. We want to see what we can find, experience, or do for ourselves.
Just as we had to round up the escapees, God rounds us up and returns us to the safety and comfort of the corral. God does not punish us but allows us to learn from our mistakes. I'm glad I have a God who lovingly seeks me out, provides safety and allows me to learn from my "bull headedness".
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