A Story

To be honest, I've begun this post entry at least four times, only to stop because I couldn't understand what I was trying to write. I decided at last that what I wanted to say was best said in a story. This is a story that has definite Christian undertones but, unfortunately, does not work out to a neat little conclusion. It does, perhaps, resolve itself, but it leaves many questions unanswered. These I leave the reader to ponder because I have not yet found the answers myself. I believe in Truth. Sometimes, I don't know where to find it.

Once there was a boy named Marco, who greatly desired to find the truth. He was rich and well provided for, so he decided to dedicate his entire life to finding the elusive truth. He set out one day, when the birds were singing and the grass was green and he was young and spry, to find Truth.
“For,” he said, “Truth is something firm and unchanging and real, and surely if I search hard enough I shall find it.”
But though he wandered long and asked many a soul both young and old, he had no luck finding Truth. Long and hard he searched, under mountains and in canyons and through cities and by still ponds where old sages murmured midst the reeds. At last he burst out,
“I must be systematic about this! I must stop chasing the wind and start systematically.”
So he went to those great systematizers, the scientists, who peered at meniscus lines and pulled the legs off walking stick bugs and hurled protons at lead shields for the sheer fun of the boom and the bang. And he asked them,
“How can I find the Truth?”
And they, greatly annoyed with being distracted from Great Endeavors and Long Research, squinted at him from amidst the flasks and centrifuges and pocket-protectors and spat with disgust.
“Only trust a Truth that has a number attached to it,” squawked one. “Doesn’t matter if it is a number you like or understand or is relevant, but make sure there’s a number attached.”
“Experiments! Only trust experiments! Devise them, execute them, replicate them! Experiments!” said another.
“If Truth was a number, it would have been discovered long ago and you wouldn’t be fussing with your glassware and your solutions to find it,” Marco said. “And if it was the result of an experiment, does it change when one experiment contradicts another.”
There was a great deal of hem-hawing and awkward stuttering and a good deal of gaffe about calibration and testing theories, but in the end Marco left the laboratories in frustration.
“Apparently systems don’t work either,” he said. “Perhaps I shall try reasoning, pure reason, amongst the philosophers.”
He went to a the Leading Academy and Conference of Philosophers, where all the great and wise and learned philosophers sat in a circle and argued with each other, pausing only for July 4th and their yearly day of sleep. When he entered, he called out in a loud voice,
“What is Truth?”
Immediately, one philosopher leaped up and shouted,
“It’s an abstract form, of which all reality is a copy!”
Another leapt and shouted back,
“It is only a name we give to things that bear a resemblance to one another!”
Very soon, Marco had the viewing pleasure of 451 philosophers arguing for 453 different view of truth.
“It doesn’t exist!”
“It exists in every one of us!”
“It is subjective!”
“It is objective!”
“It is self-explanatory!”
“It is a byproduct of our neurons!”
“It’s a cat!”
Needless to say, with all the confusion and hubbub Marco had no understanding of what Truth might actually be, for every argument seemed as good as another. When the chair legs started flying and Democrites was spitting stones at Zeno and Descartes was trying to show how Aristotle’s head could be graphed next to a cat, Marco decided he could learn nothing from the Leading Academy and Conference of Philosophers and he left in disgust.
“I was better off looking for myself,” he muttered. “But there are still other people who claim to find Truth. I will ask the great sages and religious scholars to tell me what Truth is.”
He couldn’t find the religious sages and scholars all gathered in one place. Rather, each one had his own pond that he sat by and his twelve to fifteen disciples who firmly believed that The Sage knew Truth and no one else did.
“Truth is the air; it comes and goes with the breath of God.” Said one.
“Truth is what I say God said it is,” snapped another sage.
“Truth is that if you place fifteen gold pieces in here, God will give you thirty back,” replied another very suavely, gesturing to his dirty hat. Martin threw two gold pieces in and left with a bow.
“I fear the sages and scholars are frauds,” Marco said. “Their religion only make them bolder than the philosophers and scientists.”
He looked out at the world for the first time since he had started his great journey. The grass was no longer green, in fact, it had faded out altogether and he was standing in the middle of the dry desert. And he was no longer young and spry, but older and creaky in the left knee and bald. He looked out at the mournful wilderness, and lo! He saw rushing towards him a crowd of people.
“Good people, where are you going?” he asked wearily.
“We are going to see the crazy man of the desert,” they said. “He claims to have seen the Truth.”
“Pah,” Marco spat. “And then another crazy man will say that no, only he’s seen the Truth and before we know it the Truth will be a cactus and we will all be cactus buds.”
But he went along anyway because he supposed that since he had squandered his life already with uselessness he might as well do it more now. Very soon he saw the crazy man, who looked, well, crazy. His hair was thrown all around and his tunic was dirty and his teeth were black and his nails were long and his arms and legs were hairy and he had a crazed, awe-struck expression on his face.
“Tell us the Truth, crazy man!” the crowd mocked.
“The Truth is God and God is the Truth,” the crazy man said in a quiet, husky voice. “I have seen Him and I have seen Truth and I have seen that they are the same.”
“You are crazy, crazy man!” the crowd scoffed. “How can Truth be God? How can God be Truth? Show us God and we will believe you!”
“You cannot see God.” The crazy man said. “You are all sane.”
“Then we will stone you, so no one can see God,” they said. And they grabbed the stones nearby and they stoned him to death.
But in his last convulses, as he sunk to his knees in the middle of the desert under the rain of stones, the crazy man said in a weak, dying voice,
“I have seen the Truth and the Truth has set me free.” And then he died.
Marco was much moved by this sight, for though he did not stone the crazy man still he was as angry as the crowd that he could not see the Truth. It seemed unfair, inhuman, a cosmic injustice that only the crazy man in the dirty tunic could see the Truth.
“I want to see the Truth!” he cried out, loud and strong. This he did for many days, as the crowd muttered that “here is another of these crazy fools.”
Finally, one day, as he was crying out about Truth and the crowd stood scoffing by, he looked up into the sky. At first, all he saw were clouds, but then, like a tiny speck of light in a dark sky, he saw something. It grew larger and brighter, like a comet spreading across the night sky over many days, until finally he realized that he was looking at Pure, Unadulterated Truth.
“I have seen it!” he said. “I have seen the Truth!”
And with that he keeled over on the hard ground and writhed across the sand. Whether in bliss or agony, in wretched paradise or heavenly torture, none of the astonished crowd could tell, but in the dirt he rolled and writhed like one poked with hot brands. At last, his body stopped quaking and he looked up at the crowd and croaked,
“I see white horses.”
With that, he died.

Vacation

Very quickly, been on vacation and had a crazy, busy summer. Unfortunately, it hasn't slowed down so bye for now!
(I am entering this in a "the Rudest Blog Post Contest.")

Sickness

So apparently lately I've only really written about philosophy and theology and abstract notions. Now my mind has swung back into step with the rest of reality, or at least as close as it will ever get. I'm sick. Which is what usually kills the higher life for me. All I can focus on is the fact that my chest hurts and my head hurts and I feel like I'm about to explode. Lovely, isn't it?

But I didn't start this blog thing to complain about inflamed bronchial tubes. I just wanted to say that despite not feeling well, the sun still shines, the birds still chirp and the cicadas are loud as ever this year. I'm in that wonderful time of day called dusk, when everything is brilliant greens and browns and reds and golds. The curtain of life seems drawn away for a second and I see everything as if I was an eight year old again, merry as a lark and content to be outside and play my little games from seven in the morning until seven at night.

The butterfly bush is about five days from full bloom, the black eyed susans are doing nicely as well. Everything has survived the heat waves (record heats of 100-105 for two weeks!) more or less intact.

Good day for now,

Teaching

I've been teaching at Calvary Bible Fellowship Church's VBS this week. I'm discovering, once again, why I love to teach. I love to tell stories (I was, after all, the kid who at age 10 made up a whole plot about a war between Allentown Business College students and Upper Saucon Township landscapers that involved a sociopathic deer hunter, a destroyed police car light and a phantom train for the terror and delight of my peers). I love the Bible. I love kids, who are always cute. And I love the little look of understanding when they understand, at last, what I am trying to explain.

Kids say the darndest things, as someone famous once said. Like tonight, when a kid explained the Second Comin as "Jesus is a thief and he's coming back to clean you out." That's one perspective...

I've also been reading up neo-Orthodoxy interpretations of the inspiration of Scripture. This may seem a tedious summer pastime, but my job is mostly desserts anyway so I need some seriousness in life. Neo-orthodoxy believes most of the cardinal doctrines of Christianity - sin, salvation, deity/humanity of Christ, virgin birth, etc - but focuses on the individual experience of Christ. It's an essentially existential view of Christianity.

The problem many Evangelicals have with Neo-Orthodoxy is that it does not affirm the infallibility of Scripture. It doesn't exactly disapprove of this doctrine either, but it leaves the matter open to interpretation. The revelation of God is not IN the Bible, but the Bible becomes it when the Word of God is present. The focus is on Christ, not on the Bible. And this seems quite fine.

However, how can we know whom Christ is if we have no infallible Bible to read about Him? Then any opinion would be equally valid as the next, with the Bible one authority amongst many. What then would be the truth? How could we find it? Neo-Orthodoxy is not itself heretical, but it can lead towards dangerous waters.

For those of you that cared,

Vacation

Hi there folks! Sorry I haven't blogged (note: this is my first and last apology for not blogging. I feel I have several legitimate excuses). First of all, my internet crashed. That usually impedes blogging. Or just about anything online. Then I went camping. Before these blessed events, I was working earning cash. So, in other words, I've been keeping busy.

I wanted to remark on the inappropriateness of a loose kickstand to mountain biking. You see, that kickstand is going to fall off as you ride down a rutty lane or hillside. I know because this happened to me today. Who's fault was that? Well, mine really, because I didn't tighten the bolts. Or consider the inappropriateness of driving a car through a barn (or a ditch, I've done both). Some things are just naturally inappropriate.

And some things become inappropriate due to circumstances. Gnawing your shirt is acceptable at age 3, but not at age 33. Ditto with sucking your thumb. But these are self-apparent inappropriatenesses, easily corrected. Less apparent ones are harder. Take, for instance, a cherished ideal that suddenly fades in the hard light of "reality." Or a dream that withers untimely due to unavoidable circumstances. These are hard to bear.

The circumstances do not invalidate the dream, they merely reform it.

Skepticism

I am the most thorough-going skeptic since Rene Descartes, at least I'm one of them. Descartes said that he could deny everything except that he was thinking. I sometimes wonder if I'm thinking or merely raving mad. Perhaps my greatest struggle as a Christian is the fact that I don't want to take anything on faith. I was the kid who at four calculated that Santa Clause couldn't exist because even with all of the times zones he couldn't make it around the world. Ditto the Easter Bunny (and what about non-Christian kids? What do they get, Passover eggs?)

If I do actually believe something happened, however, I take things to extremes. I love conspiracy theories because they tell me that my skepticism should be suspended. That is the reason I love mythology and the Lord of the Rings and just about any fictional works. It forces me to suspend my skepticism.

Consider the Bible, for instance, which demands to be take at face value. It claims to be no less than the inspired word of the only God. Let us unpack this exceptional claim. First, inspiration is a rather hard concept to claim. How can an invisible, non-material being "inspire" (such a deliciously vague term, is it not?) a material book? Just what is inspiration? And if you can't define it, how can it exist?

But putting that aside, there's this whole business of Word. Words are special to God, somehow, and He puts a lot of stock in what He says. Frankly, I don't usually like people who do that, because it means my ego is interrupted and I have this nagging feeling I should listen. And God really believes that His Word, which is somehow connected to Himself, indwells that Book. And that it should be taken seriously.

And then there's the concept of God. Someone more important than me is really a rather odd premise. I should be able to perceive a being so all-encompassing, so all-powerful, but I don't directly perceive Him. If I was illiterate, I could infer His existence. I've heard that less analytical people, more sensitive people, can somehow sense His presence calling them. I can't. God once had to beat belief in Himself into me - I had a dream. I'm just not sensitive enough to sense His presence.

Then, while reading C.S. Lewis' Chronicles of Narnia, I realized something quite profound. I had come to the scene where Puddleglum was trapped by the Green Queen in the Underground City in The Silver Chair. She is trying to convince the two children and our dour Puddleglum that there was no Sun, no Moon, no Aslan, no Narnia, no Grass. Nothing but darkness and gloom. Puddleglum's courageous reply was that though there might not be any such thing and though they might all be in his head, he preferred to live with the fantasies than with reality if this reality was all that existed.

Here is my reply to skepticism. What comes of not believing in anything? You end up believing in chaos, in nothing, which in itself is something. Chaos is not the absence of stuff, but the illogical disarrangement of everything. And that which hates God and His creation is naturally chaotic and evil. Evil wishes to use skepticism. The greatest lie is to convince that which exists that it shouldn't, and that which is alive that it should be dead, and that which moves that it should be stationary, and that which thinks that it should be dumb. Because Nothing, as an abstract entity, is docile and easily manipulated, but Existence must cohere by the very rules that God - the most detested being in the universe - set up.

Yet another philosophical musing that went way too deep,

Night

I've started this blog post 3 times in as many days. Only problem is that I got as far as "I love nighttime" each time and quit. Maybe it is because I was afraid revealing my true feelings for post-dusk hours would scare my loyal readers. Or perhaps I was just simply talking to important people.

Anyway, I really, really like night because it makes everything appear strange. I've experienced nightfall in almost every situation imaginable except the top of a large mountain and at the bottom of the ocean. Each time it still amazes me. The light slowly fades, the darkness flows in like a cool stream and then all of a sudden you realize it is inky black (or, in some, ahem...populated places, dusky red)and night has come. Night is the introvert's comfort, because it forces everyone else away for a little while so he can think and ponder and meditate and process.

And everything turns gray. My favorite color is officially green, but gray makes everything very, very, very interesting. Shapes melt away, distinctions blur, the world is new and exciting if only because it is different. Gray is the color of obscurity, of anonymity, of isolation, but also of silver light and moonlight and lake water on a still, quiet dawn.

I've often wondered if gray isn't the color of humanity. The universe is shaded in black and white, good and evil, God and Satan. But humanity is caught in between the two great rival powers, pulled in both directions. Even Christians sin, despite Christ, and non-Christians do right things, despite their lack of Christ. We are gray, a mix of white and black. The white and the black can't mix, won't ever mix, so we are eternally caught in the scissor pinch.

And so, which color are you? White-gray or gray-black?

Friday Medications

I don't know why I titled this post that way. Frankly, I was going to write about Isaiah 39-40, but somehow "medications" sounded cooler than "meditations." But just read "meditations" in there and you'll be fine.

Isaiah 39 records the stupidest moment in the life of King Hezekiah. He has just witnessed an incredible victory by God over the Assyrians, a victory that saved his capital and his people from utter destruction. Judah has escaped the fate of Israel and the Assyrians suffered 180,000 military casualties, a number that wouldn't be topped until the 20th century or so.

And then the Babylonians show up with congratulatory gifts. Even at this time, Babylon was mulling overthrowing Assyrian rule and Baladan (later deliverer of Babylon)wanted to enlist the help of these plucky, if outnumbered, Israelites. It must be remembered that Israel stood between Egypt (the Iowa of the Middle East) and Mesopotamia (the megalopolis of the Ancient Middle East), making it a vital strategic area. Jerusalem, capital and largest city of this area, was thus a prime strategic point for both Assyria and Babylon.

Hezekiah was apparently still shaken by the whole invasion thing and feeling perhaps a little cocky. He decided, subconsciously perhaps, perhaps not, that Babylon was a strong friend for little Israel. He felt he could relax, because here were allies he could trust against the Assyrians.

Here was his great mistake. God had spent the first 30 or so chapters of Isaiah warning Judah against an alliance with Egypt or Tyre or Sidon or anyone else. And now Hezekiah has instead made an alliance with Babylon! The lesson has not been learned, because now Hezekiah is trusting in another foreign power instead of God.

God punishes Hezekiah, of course, with a promise of the Babylonian Captivity, and Hezekiah flippantly replies, "at least it isn't happening in my lifetime." In other words, at least I won't be skewered by posterity for messing things up.

Then, immediately after his flippant defiance, God returns with "comfort ye, my people." God knew that the news of Babylon's eventual victory would frighten Judah, so He moves immediately to comfort. This comfort is messianic without being directly applicable to Assyria. God does NOT say, "I will crush your enemies, rub their faces in the dirt and then serve you a chocolate sundae with whipped cream." He says, "I am sending the Messiah and when evil seems to reach its climax, I will crush it, but for my glory and not yours."

God never operates for our own personal glory. He never vindicates us or lets our enemies get blasted because they are so mean to us. He does not dote on us and we are NOT His only concern in the world. All of that being said, He still takes care of us in a wonderful, incredible way. His ways are not for our ego, to be sure, but He still tears down evil, upholds the oppressed and defends the helpless. Through Jesus, He is reconciling the World to Himself.

Just a thought,

Signs

Road signs annoy me. They really, honestly do because they distract me from what I really want to do. They are bossy. They make me pay attention to the side of the road. And what's more, jerks like to write gang symbols on them, which makes them absolutely appealing works of art! And yet, I'm thankful for them, as was proved yesterday when chevron signs warned my sister to stay on the right side of the road as a car was coming the other direction. If there were no signs, she would have crashed. We all would have had a nasty time, even though our massive van would have triumphed.

Now that you have all heard my little soapbox about road signs, I'm trying to think of a great analogy with some deeper, spiritual meaning. The first one that springs to mind is about the "Signs of the Times" for the End Times. I'm rather divided on the whole End Times thing, mostly because I firmly believe in taking prophecy as literally as possible and yet I'm not willing to believe that every tragedy is pointing to the End Times.

All of this being said, I've come to the conclusion that we are living in the beginning of the End. Perhaps the End is still two hundred years from now, but it is coming nonetheless. I look at the news, and it more dismal than usual. Natural disasters keep on getting more prominent, Israel is increasingly surrounded by angry Arabs (wait, that isn't a change. It's the angry Europeans that bear watching.) and the US is led by the most inept administration since at least Warren G. Harding.

Oh, by the way, have I just made my political views known? So sorry if you voted for our current government. I respect them as the leaders of the US, I pray for them, I fervently disagree with them. And I have no trust. Just look at the BP fiasco. Not that I think Republicans could do better. It seems you know a US president's term limit is coming when he starts bumbling in the Gulf of Mexico.

Allow me to get more personal. I'm sitting on my front porch, watching my two-year-old brother sleep. It's sorta funny how I can walk into the post office and everyone knows me, I walk home from the post office and three people greet me, and then I get home and letting the kid sleep in the car unattended isn't safe. What type of place is this, anyway?

I started another story idea today. I hate it. That means it is probably pretty good, for me, although I still try my hand at fantasy long after I should have given it up and gone into romance fiction or something. Hey, what if I brought fantasy elements together with romance...WAIT, that's already been done and the world has yet to pay atonement in full for it. Maybe the BP accident is our propitiation for Twilight.

Have I mentioned my poetry? I wrote three or four poems on the EMW Mayterm and haven't been inspired since. Since the last time I had voluntarily written poetry before that was in 7th grade, I figure I have a few years to wait for my next inspiration. I should post it here but I'm lazy. I also have a financial aid form to fill out and a paper to write. I'm so motivated right now.

On the good side, my life isn't consumed with work like last summer. I'm hoping to keep work and life in balance - I do one for thirty hours a week, and then I come HOME and PARTY. Partying in my household is pretty much eating long, slow dinners, laughing at stupid jokes and playing chess or Blokus.

Welp, don't have to go but I have nothing else to fire off right now. Have a great day!

Friday the Not Thirteenth

Yesterday was one of those laid-back days where I only had to go one place besides home and that was to see a very dear friend of mine who needed help planting tomatoes. Or, to be more precise, taking a five pound sledgehammer to large metal poles that help tomatoes grow by keeping them off the ground so they don't rot. But the phrase "planting tomatoes" is so much more succinct and gives a general enough idea of what I was doing. All I know is that that is the first time I've planted anything from a ladder...with a hammer. It's grand fun. Especially when this dear old saint tells you stories about his long, amazing life. He knows about half the world and can tell you a story about the other half.

And now I'm sitting at my kitchen table (disregard that time clock, I can't figure out how to change it) and I want to give a warm welcome to vnKw...whoever you are! Actually, to be blunt, I don't KNOW who you are and since I can't message you without joining some Google friend connect, I'm just gonna say "please identify yourself." Otherwise, I'm going to block you.

I'm going to dress up today as a penguin for about four hours. Part of my ice cream job, actually, and it's new to me. But I like kids and I love being a ham, so I'm excited enough. Still, I hope it isn't too hot.

Gotta go, I'm hungy,
God bless,

Another Day

Another day, another baseball game. Unfortunately, the Pigs lost the playoffs and I have a very downcast little brother.

I've spent most of the last two days thinking about my childhood. I view my life as being on the opposite side of seven crazy years, starting with my mom's first miscarriage and A-'s asthma and ending with my father's cancer. Those years were tough years for me and my family. There were nights we cried ourselves to sleep and there were nights we never slept. We were on numerous diets for one or the other of the siblings, we learned how to use oxygen tanks and how to deal with sugar crashes. More than anything, we learned perseverance, patience, courage, compassion and gentleness, despite the grouchiness of the people involved or the desirability of the situation.

And now I'm on the other side, wondering where my life is headed. A part of me, a very rash part, is saying that I can take more punishment, bring it on! And another part of me says that what God gives, God gives, but don't ask for more than He allots! It is rather like Jotham and striking the ground with the arrow three times. Perhaps God really does give not only rest within the storm but also freedom from storms. At least in this period of my life.

Work

Worked for the first time today. It was nice to be back, since I need the money AND know the routine. Sort of. They've added a lot of stuff but I'm almost back in the groove. Standing invitation to anyone who happens to be on Route 309 in Coopersburg, PA - stop by for coffee or ice cream on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday or Saturday. I'd love to see ya.

It's raining, which means S-'s game is cancelled. I get to go to church tonight for whatever they are calling the Wednesday night service, then meet my mentor tomorrow for a quick catch-up, then plan VBS this time tomorrow.

I'm rereading the Lord of the Rings, which has been very instructive. You see, last time I read them I was a young pipsqueak of fifteen who didn't know much about the world, or even his own shoelaces. Now I'm nice and mature (ok, I'm 19) and I've traveled to Europe. I'm struck by the Europeanness of the books, or my interpretation. All of the scenes are being imposed on the EMW trip scenery, making a wondrous portrait.

I've been reading the book of Isaiah, which is fearfully complicated. I'm afraid the whole Bible is. When I was young, I thought that at some point I'd know all there was to know in the Bible because, after all, it's only a finite number of words and therefore a finite amount of knowledge. I was very wrong. Every time I reread something, I gain a whole new perspective. For now, I'm struck by God's justice as He raises up nations to punish Israel and then punishes those nations for punishing Israel. I'm afraid these dastardly deeds make both predestination and free will seem a bit foolish. God isn't bound by our human constructed concepts (helpful as they may or may not be). He didn't predestine Babylon or Assyria to punish Israel, or else why were they held accountable? And yet He does actively raise those nations up to punish Israel, thus seeming to obliterate free will. Where is the answer? God's sovereignty and man's will are not mutually exclusive.

To veer onto lighter subjects, I had Jon- burst into tears today because he thought I was returning to "cowwege." I'm afraid August is going to be hard.

Later:
Tonight we had a fellowship time at church that focused on diversity of backgrounds but oneness in Christ. When it was asked who was from Asia, one woman stood up. When it was asked who was from Africa, one young man stood up. A few stood up from the Caribbean. No South Americans or Aussies were present. But when Europe was called out, 75 people stood up. And when it was announced that "those with ancestors from Germany should raise their hand," 74 people raised their hand. Gotta love a PA Dutch church.

Baseball

I returned from college/Europe to find my family has gone baseball-crazy. I should have seen it coming, because S- is very athletic and was in Little League last year. But this year he was in the playoffs and for a week my family has talked non-stop about rankings, playoffs, championships, home runs, tie games, clean-up batters and short-arm throws. I'm really amazed how much they knew. I was never and never will be athletic - I acquired depth perception at the so-young age of 17 - and until a year ago none of this would have mattered. We all probably would have scoffed at the notion of a Janney baseball fan club. Just one of the changes that happened under my nose while at college.

I went to my church for the first time in two months. I realized I haven't been there for more than 3 weeks in over nine months. Until last year, that would have been unthinkable and I'm glad I've found another church to replace it! It was nice, however, to be amongst people you've known for 17 years (give or take). I was remembering my first VBS, so many years ago, and my very vivid memories of the play kitchen I never got to play with because I was so shy and timid. (Yes, I've changed).

I also went on a long walk. Or, to be precise, it was short (1 mile) but I was running. With a stroller. With two siblings. One of whom had a very full bladder. Haven't done anything like that in a year. I was stopped by three people who knew me or my family, which goes to show I live in a small town. I love my town because Coopersburg is the best of all worlds (except Croatia). Within five minutes I can get anything I want - from fields to shopping malls (ok, I don't ever want those, but details are...details) to doctor's offices (a staple in my family). It's still small enough (or I'm well connected enough) that my neighbor is the mayor (he's also my pastor's son and my banker), the postman is a personal friend/acquaintance and I'm known as a member of "that nice family that had the sick father." Way to be known for our strengths...

Gotta go fix up asparagus and ham,

Routines

Life is full of routines. We have our daily habits, such as when we wake in the morning, what we eat, how long we brush our teeth, where we go in a day, when we buy groceries, and twenty thousand other trivial details of ordinary life. But go away from somewhere for a year, and suddenly leaping back into the routine takes conscious effort. I went away to college and now I am back. It seems simple - there and back again. It isn't. It's not terrible so far. I haven't corrupted family life or broken rules or offended my parents or anything. I just have to relearn what I used to know by heart, about how to do things and how not to do them.

But that being said, some relationships are fun to take up again, relationships that were once so routine they were subconscious. I went out today to the B- family, who have been friends of the family for over a decade. S- and their youngest boy are very close friends. It was nice to be somewhere that reminded me of Houghton, with rolling fields (ok, it's an orchard. Technicalities!) and (theoretically) bright stars. (Dratted clouds...) And yet it was so comforting to have family and old friends nearby. I felt that the two worlds - Houghton and Home - somehow intermingled and mixed up to the point where I was finally a single being. Will it last? I don't know.

Back Home

Hello Folks,

I just returned from the Balkans, which is an eerie type of experience. I know most people will ask me how I enjoyed it, what my favorite places were, what I saw, what I did, how I changed, but the truth is I'm not sure of the answer to any of those questions.

For instance, I know I absolutely enjoyed the experience. I've got the travel bug, bad, and I loved wandering these old cities. Everything was new and exciting because every day I was in another place, seeing another sight, sampling another dish, smelling another new scent. I was stimulated to the point of near-intoxication. But that, in itself, makes things stressful. There was no routine or familiarity because everything was always new. I learned I could cope with that better than the homebody that left Coopersburg almost 9 months ago to go do that college thing, but it was still challenging.

My favorite place is also a complicated question. It's rather like asking what my favorite $100 bill is, because I loved almost everywhere. I know the few places I DID NOT like, such as parts of Belgrade (stinky,ghetto-like mud-bucket of a place) and Venice with tourists (which more than compensates for its charm). But as for my favorites, there would be an eight-way tie between Zagreb (the charming, historical capital of Croatia), Krk (the island and the main town, both of which were gorgeous), Boshko (on Krk Island with a dramatic view of the Adriatic as far as the eye could see), Dubrovnik (the fortifications outweighed the touristy parts), Sarajevo (which was the most Islamic place I have ever been, except certain parts of Allentown), Plitvice (gorgeous waterfalls) and Padua (which I saw on my own).

I saw everything from a car being rescued from the Mediterranean in Trogir to St. Anthony's tongue and vocal chords in Padua to the ringing leaves of the Baptistry in Trogir to the Ghazir-beg Han in Sarajevo. Some things saddened me, many things outraged me, most things fascinated me, all things excited me (even the pigeons, which are so much fun to kick *licks chops*).

And finally, how did I change? Truthfully, I won't know that until I'm back in the USA for, say, 3 months. I have a lot of processing to do, a lot of thinking and analyzing and feeling. I'm on overload right now. But I can say that I've learned to be confident, assertive and relational, all of which are pretty good for a guy still getting this whole grown-up thing. Other than that...I'm still thinking. I do know that, spiritually speaking, my life has taken off from a very dry last month or so at school. Perhaps it was all the statues and pretty paintings - I did discover that paintings help me worship and focus on God in a way that almost nothing besides music and...ahem...thinking allows me to do.

I'm starting my first day back in the USA, so I'm signing off,
A still confused, bumbling American,

Belgrade

Hi there! This is from Belgrade, capital of Serbia but rather run-down. We're on week 2, exactly, in the EMW mayterm and it's been a mixed bag type of trip. To be brief (if that's possible), the scenes are awesome, the intercultural experience stupdendous and the weather...lousy. I've gotten many, many, many beautiful pictures of the Dalmatian coast, of Zagreb, Budapest, Krk, Trogir, Split, Dubrovnik, Shibenik, Cetinje, Perast, Sarajevo, Visegrad, Kraljevo and Belgrade. I'm loving the different sounds, different foods (pastries!!!!) and life in the Balkans. I've been reminded how blessed I am as a American, which is a prosperous country where people can debate giving healthcare to all and a stable government to enforce such absurdities. Here, things are still chaotic and unstable, with burnt out remnants of hourses bearing witness to a war that no one has forgotten and no generation will be allowed to forget.
The weather, due to Icelandic interference, is rainy and generally bleh. That has affected tempers (plus seperation from the home front) and made a few of the days rather miserable. But on the upside, I know a whole lot of people a whole lot better than I did before.
From Belgrade,
Bog je Kralj (in my poor Serbo-Bosnian Croat)

Pondering the Second

Pondering the Second sounds like a royal title. King Pondering the Second, Lord of Bessarabia, Potentate of the Sky, Son of XYZ, the Magnificent, the Awesome, etc, etc. Sorry, my mind wanders. Maybe that's because I watched Return of the King with S-, A- and K- tonight. Or maybe it's simply because I'm psyched for the Balkans. About 36 hours to go and then I'm in Budapest. I've got about half my stuff together and about half my life strewn across my bed (balancing that stupid checkbook. Whoever invented the process out to be flayed and then hung and then drawn and quartered and then kept on bread, water and okra for a week).
Again, I digress. I had a simply incredible (checkbooks aside). And an incredible concert by Dr. and Mrs. P-. He sang in German and I understood, eh, 60% of it. That was an incredible experience. I'd like to go to Germany at some point to gain a 100% understanding.
Once again, I digress from my account of my day. Let's see, checkbook, bank shtuff, LOTR, concert, dinner...not much else. So if I don't blog until June, here's a "have a happy May" and may God bless your footsteps.

Smoke in the Eyes

I always seem to sit downwind when I'm seated by a fire. Maybe it's my introverted nature, maybe it's just a sheer fact of life, maybe smoke just has the hots for me. All I know is that smoke and my eyes don't mix. I'm really trying to pull a spiritual lesson out of here somehow, because it seems like smoke in the eyes should be a Biblical metaphor for something. Anything. But the only thing I could think of was the passage I read yesterday from Isaiah about the destruction of Israel's enemies and persecutors. That would entail a lot of smoke.
K- and I were debating the origin of evil and the role of predestination. This is a hard topic because the Bible is rather unclear. God cannot be tempted (check the Book of James) and He is not pleased with evil. But never does it say that God did not make it. In a sense, God did make evil because He defined what was good. And yet he also did not desire to have the triumph of evil.
I suppose this all stems from Dr. P-'s books I've been reading on free will, predestination and warfare theology. It's all rather laughable now that I've read both sides of the argument. Both accuse the other of being heretics, of mixing Greek philosophy in with their theology, of deviating from "the clear truth" of Scripture. And yet I am convinced there is a truth out there, somewhere within the Biblical texts. God is not a god of obscurity and confusion, but a God of knowledge and order.
I'm enjoying seeing those little siblings of mine. The littlest two are always coming up with the rummest sayings, including long diatribes on things I discovered 15 years ago. I love it when they fall asleep. The little faces are so innocent and trusting it's hard not to love them.
And I really want to watch a movie with my oldest sister, so have a great day until I blog again.

Papers and Baseballs

I turned in my paper today! Last paper for over a month! So I'm excited about that. Also, S- pitched 3 innings today, including a perfect inning.
Thursdays are always hard in my family. People are tired out from staying out late (for Janneys, that means 9pm) the night before at church. There's also way too much sugar in the church-provided Wednesday meals, which leads to cranky kids (and some adults too).
I don't know why, but my mind is being dragged back to Civil War songs we used to blare at POTS. Crazy, really, but all I can to say is, "The Union forever, hurrah boys, hurrah! Down with the traitors, and up with the stars! As we rally 'round the flag, yes we rally once again. Shouting the battle cry of freedom!"
I had training today at the Inside Scoop. That was my old job last summer and I loved it, so now I'm excited to return. Some things have changed but I was amazed how quickly I jumped back into the loop.
And now I'm tired and I need to unpack some more and the dishes need, well, cleaning. So talk to y'all when I have a spare moment.

Home at Last

I suppose there's nowhere quite like HOME. I suppose that is why I love Michael Card's song "Home," which talks about, well...home. My home is (I think) rather unique. Beautiful in a sense, really. An old brick house, caressed by a Japanese maple a few months younger than I and flanked by arborvitae. Some would say the lot is small, the house dark and cramped, the inhabitants loud and melodramatic. I say the lot is cozy, the house warm and inviting, the inhabitants eloquent and loquacious. I love to walk up the short concrete path and see the signs for "Faith," "Hope," and "Charity."
I don't know how many people know about my family's miscarriages, which are one of the more painful parts of my past. We lost three babies in the first trimester - one when I was 6, two when I was 12 - and our family is still coping with some of that trauma. In my mind, those three siblings are Faith, Hope and Charity, three pretty little girls I won't meet until Heaven. Maybe that's why I love those round, inscribed plaques my mom put up years ago on our front porch.
I'm sorry, I'm wagging on and on about three little plaques! I got to see S-'s baseball game today, which was incredible. My younger brother is turning into a catcher of superior merit and I'm very proud of him. It was a close game because the pitchers on his team were rather off their game tonight. Nevertheless, the Iron Pigs managed a 8-7 victory which is, frankly, incredible. S- made a play at second, which is rare in his league.
I need to get some sleep. God bless y'all and May the Fourth has been with you.

Pondering the First

Welcome to my humble abode (virtual, online and otherwise non-real but still an abode nonetheless in the howling wilderness of cyberspace)! I just moved in (ok I set up the blog 20 seconds ago).

I started this blog to keep people I know up to date about my life. I've just finished my first year at Houghton College. This has been a crazy year, really. What with settling in as a Freshman and then going through the EMW honors program and in the meanwhile weathering who knows how many crises, I think the year has been productive. I'm now in that part of the semester where I start packing up to go home. Campus is vacant, almost deserted, with everyone either studying for finals or gone home.

I have a hard time believing I'm in college. I've spent most of my life trying to get here. Ever since I was a little kid, really, I've wanted to go to college, learn, get a Ph.D and then torture undergrads in the name of "teaching them." I've even got the arrogant attitude down...

Well, I have a bibliography and title page to write, some friends to bother and a room to clean.