When I am consumed by my problems—stressed out about my life, my family, and my job—I actually convey the belief that I think the circumstances are more important than God's command to always rejoice. In other words, that I have a "right" to disobey God because of the magnitude of my responsibilities.
WORRY implies that we don't quite trust that God is big enough, powerful enough, or loving enough to take care of what's happening in our lives.
STRESS says that the things we are involved in are enough to merit our impatience, our lack of grace towards others, or our tight grip of control.
Basically, these two behaviors communicate that it's okay to sin and not trust God because the stuff in my life is somehow exceptional. Both worry and stress reek of arrogance. They declare our tendency to forget that we've been forgiven, that our lives here ate brief, that we are headed to a place where we won't be lonely, afraid, or hurt ever again, and that in the context of God's strength, our problems are small, indeed.
Why are we so quick to forget God? Who do we think we are?
…
Frankly, you need to get over yourself. It might sound harsh, but that's seriously what [God being the center of everything] means.
…
To be brutally honest, it doesn't really matter what place you find yourself in right now. Your part is to bring Him glory…The point of your life is to point to Him. Whatever you are doing, God wants to be glorified, because this whole thing is His. It is His movie, His world, His gift.
(pp. 41-42, 44-45)
Showing posts with label books. Show all posts
Showing posts with label books. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
On the Possession of (Mostly Fictional) Books
It's funny; I used to be the type of person who never purchased books.
I didn't see the point in spending money on something that's going to last me half an afternoon—a whole day, or two, if I was unusually lucky—and might never reread. But in the last several months, that's started changing. Oh, I wouldn't buy books on a whim, and I still much prefer to read them for free (via the four libraries to which I have cards, plus the heavensent MeLCat interlibrary loan).
Yet there are books I would buy (some of which I already have bought) in a heartbeat if I could afford them—Tolkien's works, for example, which I will probably never stop adulating until I die—and most of C. S. Lewis' works, Pride & Prejudice and Sense & Sensibility, Tosca Lee's books, Francine Rivers' Mark of the Lion trilogy and Redeeming Love, Karen Hancock's The Light of Eidon, and L. B. Graham's The Binding of the Blade series. And there are some books that I don't know if, no matter how many times I've read them already, I'd really reread them once I owned them (weird phenomenon that's happened to me before), but they're so beautifully written and I loved them so the first time through that it feels like a crime not to own them, like Megan Whalen Turner's Queen's Thief series, The Books of Pellinor series by Alison Croggon, and Meredith Ann Pierce's Darkangel trilogy. Then there are the books, like Castle In the Attic and my Black Stallion novels, that I already own and reread even long after I've outgrown them, because it's almost as much paper nostalgia as my own childhood journals. Then there's books I ended up with and have utter intention of reading eventually, such as Julius Caesar (by Shakespeare) or The Once and Future King; and the books I have read and can't recall a word of, like The War of the Worlds. And the books that I cried over the first time I read them, but have not reread since purchasing, such as Memoirs of a Geisha. And then there are books that I feel like I ought to own because they're classics, but I have only marginal interest in actually reading. And there's books that I may not have even read all the way through, but am somehow convinced that owning them adds somehow to my quality of life, like my four anthologies of Irish myths, or my three-inch thick "concise" French-English dictionary. And the books I didn't realize I'd outgrown until I spent money on them, like the Dragonspell series. And the book series that were really good when you bought the first books, but now that the last book is out, you realize you don't really care about the plot anymore but you feel like you should buy it so you'll own the complete series (Christopher Paolini's Inheritance Cycle). And the books that looked good in Barnes & Noble yet turned out to be worth about as much effort as it would take to throw them off a cliff, like The Summer King by O. R. Melling.
It's funny (again) that, unlike many people with whom I've chatted, going to college has not made me sick of reading; it's made me want to really know what I'm reading.
I didn't see the point in spending money on something that's going to last me half an afternoon—a whole day, or two, if I was unusually lucky—and might never reread. But in the last several months, that's started changing. Oh, I wouldn't buy books on a whim, and I still much prefer to read them for free (via the four libraries to which I have cards, plus the heavensent MeLCat interlibrary loan).
Yet there are books I would buy (some of which I already have bought) in a heartbeat if I could afford them—Tolkien's works, for example, which I will probably never stop adulating until I die—and most of C. S. Lewis' works, Pride & Prejudice and Sense & Sensibility, Tosca Lee's books, Francine Rivers' Mark of the Lion trilogy and Redeeming Love, Karen Hancock's The Light of Eidon, and L. B. Graham's The Binding of the Blade series. And there are some books that I don't know if, no matter how many times I've read them already, I'd really reread them once I owned them (weird phenomenon that's happened to me before), but they're so beautifully written and I loved them so the first time through that it feels like a crime not to own them, like Megan Whalen Turner's Queen's Thief series, The Books of Pellinor series by Alison Croggon, and Meredith Ann Pierce's Darkangel trilogy. Then there are the books, like Castle In the Attic and my Black Stallion novels, that I already own and reread even long after I've outgrown them, because it's almost as much paper nostalgia as my own childhood journals. Then there's books I ended up with and have utter intention of reading eventually, such as Julius Caesar (by Shakespeare) or The Once and Future King; and the books I have read and can't recall a word of, like The War of the Worlds. And the books that I cried over the first time I read them, but have not reread since purchasing, such as Memoirs of a Geisha. And then there are books that I feel like I ought to own because they're classics, but I have only marginal interest in actually reading. And there's books that I may not have even read all the way through, but am somehow convinced that owning them adds somehow to my quality of life, like my four anthologies of Irish myths, or my three-inch thick "concise" French-English dictionary. And the books I didn't realize I'd outgrown until I spent money on them, like the Dragonspell series. And the book series that were really good when you bought the first books, but now that the last book is out, you realize you don't really care about the plot anymore but you feel like you should buy it so you'll own the complete series (Christopher Paolini's Inheritance Cycle). And the books that looked good in Barnes & Noble yet turned out to be worth about as much effort as it would take to throw them off a cliff, like The Summer King by O. R. Melling.
It's funny (again) that, unlike many people with whom I've chatted, going to college has not made me sick of reading; it's made me want to really know what I'm reading.
Saturday, July 23, 2011
What Lucy Found There
"Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Tumnus."
"I am very pleased to meet you, Mr Tumnus," said Lucy.
"And may I ask, O Lucy Daughter of Eve," said Mr Tumnus, "how you have come into Narnia?"
"Narnia? What's that?" said Lucy.
"This is the land of Narnia," said the Faun, "where we are now; all that lies between the lamp-post and the great castle of Cair Paravel on the eastern sea. And you - you have come from the wild woods of the west?"
"I - I got in through the wardrobe in the spare room," said Lucy.
"Ah!" said Mr Tumnus in a rather melancholy voice, "if only I had worked harder at geography when I was a little Faun, I should no doubt know all about those strange countries. It is too late now."
"But they aren't countries at all," said Lucy, almost laughing. "It's only just back there - at least - I'm not sure. It is summer there."
"Meanwhile," said Mr Tumnus, "it is winter in Narnia, and has been for ever so long, and we shall both catch cold if we stand here talking in the snow. Daughter of Eve from the far land of Spare Oom where eternal summer reigns around the bright city of War Drobe, how would it be if you came and had tea with me?"
That is, of course, the sort of opening snapshot of Narnia, from C. S. Lewis' The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. This passage has in my mind quite a bit over the last week or so. I'm not truly sure why.
There's so much change and choice and possibility in this little scene.
I wonder which of it is mine?
"I am very pleased to meet you, Mr Tumnus," said Lucy.
"And may I ask, O Lucy Daughter of Eve," said Mr Tumnus, "how you have come into Narnia?"
"Narnia? What's that?" said Lucy.
"This is the land of Narnia," said the Faun, "where we are now; all that lies between the lamp-post and the great castle of Cair Paravel on the eastern sea. And you - you have come from the wild woods of the west?"
"I - I got in through the wardrobe in the spare room," said Lucy.
"Ah!" said Mr Tumnus in a rather melancholy voice, "if only I had worked harder at geography when I was a little Faun, I should no doubt know all about those strange countries. It is too late now."
"But they aren't countries at all," said Lucy, almost laughing. "It's only just back there - at least - I'm not sure. It is summer there."
"Meanwhile," said Mr Tumnus, "it is winter in Narnia, and has been for ever so long, and we shall both catch cold if we stand here talking in the snow. Daughter of Eve from the far land of Spare Oom where eternal summer reigns around the bright city of War Drobe, how would it be if you came and had tea with me?"
———————
That is, of course, the sort of opening snapshot of Narnia, from C. S. Lewis' The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. This passage has in my mind quite a bit over the last week or so. I'm not truly sure why.
There's so much change and choice and possibility in this little scene.
I wonder which of it is mine?
Monday, November 29, 2010
I overheard a girl ranting about how much the newest incarnation of Doctor Who sucks today. It made me curious to see Season 5.
(Emily—I'm five episodes into Season 3.)
So, my day was long. And relatively boring. I went really early to school so I could figure out why the KVCC website wouldn't let me pay my tuition. Due to my ride-hijacking arrangement with my mother, in order to get to school early at all, I had to go three hours early. And then it took all of 20 seconds to get it worked out, so I could have done it in the 10 spare minutes I had before class if I'd gone at my normal time. And I forgot to bring a snack, so I didn't eat all afternoon until about half an hour ago. And then I sat through two hours of talking about the Romantics and the Realists and the Impressionists and the Modernists and Academic Art (basically, a LOT of 19th-century European painting). I actually find all of it fairly interesting, but today my mind was off somewhere north of Jupiter's moons. I hope i took enough notes to pass the exam the day after tomorrow. Then I went to the library to meet with my group for a group project we're doing this week, and only one other guy showed up. (We got it worked out after class, though...I'm putting together the portions of the paper everyone is writing. The other guys are doing the PowerPoint, even though it turns out i'm the only one who's actually used PP before...but one guy was like, "You wanna be a writer? Girl, this is RIGHT UP YO' ALLEY!") (The group for this project [business protocol in Italy] consists of me, this middle-aged divorced smoker, and two crazy black guys. It's interesting...) I also found out that the KVCC library is shelved according the Library of Congress system, which has been bugging me for a while. Now I know why all the books have eight to ten-digit call numbers. I also found out that they have a special career section, which explains the random lone bookshelf in the middle of the library thirty feet away from all the other bookshelves. (I checked out Careers for Introverts and Other Solitary Types, and Careers for Perfectionists and Other Meticulous Types. Wow, that combination makes me sound like such a standoffishly boring person, hahaha.) So. Then I caught the bus, listened to a This American Life podcast, made a cup of tea, read my friends' blog posts, and am now going to bed because I haven't gotten a decent night's sleep in several days and I'm exhausted. Yech.
(Also, one of my fellow honors students Facebooked me to ask if I'd proofread his English essay for him. Oo, I feel a slight shade of awesome. But mostly just still tired.)
So, my day was long. And relatively boring. I went really early to school so I could figure out why the KVCC website wouldn't let me pay my tuition. Due to my ride-hijacking arrangement with my mother, in order to get to school early at all, I had to go three hours early. And then it took all of 20 seconds to get it worked out, so I could have done it in the 10 spare minutes I had before class if I'd gone at my normal time. And I forgot to bring a snack, so I didn't eat all afternoon until about half an hour ago. And then I sat through two hours of talking about the Romantics and the Realists and the Impressionists and the Modernists and Academic Art (basically, a LOT of 19th-century European painting). I actually find all of it fairly interesting, but today my mind was off somewhere north of Jupiter's moons. I hope i took enough notes to pass the exam the day after tomorrow. Then I went to the library to meet with my group for a group project we're doing this week, and only one other guy showed up. (We got it worked out after class, though...I'm putting together the portions of the paper everyone is writing. The other guys are doing the PowerPoint, even though it turns out i'm the only one who's actually used PP before...but one guy was like, "You wanna be a writer? Girl, this is RIGHT UP YO' ALLEY!") (The group for this project [business protocol in Italy] consists of me, this middle-aged divorced smoker, and two crazy black guys. It's interesting...) I also found out that the KVCC library is shelved according the Library of Congress system, which has been bugging me for a while. Now I know why all the books have eight to ten-digit call numbers. I also found out that they have a special career section, which explains the random lone bookshelf in the middle of the library thirty feet away from all the other bookshelves. (I checked out Careers for Introverts and Other Solitary Types, and Careers for Perfectionists and Other Meticulous Types. Wow, that combination makes me sound like such a standoffishly boring person, hahaha.) So. Then I caught the bus, listened to a This American Life podcast, made a cup of tea, read my friends' blog posts, and am now going to bed because I haven't gotten a decent night's sleep in several days and I'm exhausted. Yech.
(Also, one of my fellow honors students Facebooked me to ask if I'd proofread his English essay for him. Oo, I feel a slight shade of awesome. But mostly just still tired.)
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Ode To a Hare
(and, by its existence, an ode to my childhood companion, Brian Jacques’ Redwall series.)
originally composed July 12, 2007.
Oh, a perilous beast’s the hare, they say;
Not many can match one in a fight any day.
But the one single time when the scrappin’s called off
Is when a hare sees the board laid out with scoff!
There’s none as can match a hare’s lust for food,
Repast a hare once; forever keep his gratitude!
Many have tried, but their efforts proved vain;
None can outscoff a hare when the feast comes again!
A bloomin’ hare could live through a ten-season march,
But a single missed meal’d leave him right parched!
Many a leveret’s been scolded “Grubswiper!”
But lackaday, sah, food’s what keeps ‘em all hyper!
Aye, quick to go adventurin’ is every young hare,
But what brings ‘em back home is the smell o’ the fare!
If y’think to win a victualin’ race with a hare—tchah!
Then y’ll be sadly mistaken: lackaday wot, sah!
Aye, there be few beasts that can match a hare’s paw,
But to match a hare’s stomach is a feat beyond all!
‘Ey, the meals o’ the day: two breakfasts plus lunch,
And of course a great feastin’ dinner to munch,
With many a score of snacks in between—
A malnourished hare is infrequently seen!
Pasties, pies, flans, custards, and tarts,
Go down to a hare’s bottomless parts.
There’s many a beast that’d die, if they may,
Rather than feed a blinkin’ hare for a day!
When a bally hare starts a-feasting, sirrah, wot wot,
His jaw may run faster than his flippin’ scut!
When a hare grabs his tucker, he’ll really get going,
And never will October Ale cease flowing.
Oh, the hare, a perilous beast he may be:
At his face I’d swoon as an enemy,
But I’d faint quicker when I see a hare
Catchin’ sight o’ my luncheon fare!
Many beasts love their books, their swords or their brood,
But a hare’s ardor is reserved for his food!
Aye, a hare’s a hare—while beakers plenty of mint tea he’ll quaff
You can bet his mind’s on his blinkin’ flippin’ bloomin’, bally good scoff!
(Apologies for the odd combination of rhyme and inconsistent meter.)
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