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| I think pride is my great temptation. And I'm convinced that the only way to deal with pride is to be humbled by one's own ridiculousness. Maybe it's just enough to be laughed at.
Yesterday, I was running around town trying to accomplish everything. My lot in life at present is to care for the technological needs of the faculty and staff at school, to consider, grasp and retain the information presented by my professor and form articulate pronouncements to employ in the classroom, and to fulfill my requirements as an intern by serving as a responsible member and student of a local church.
Yesterday I forgot a lot of things
I forgot that I am one man with limitations.
I forgot that I can only get so much done with the time that I have.
I forgot that I need help.
I forgot that I need rest before I can spend an entire day on go.
I forgot to that I started to boil four eggs for a relay race.
I've taken great pride in being responsible. Showing up for work on time. Showing up for class on time. Showing up for my internship on time. I have managed my finances fairly well. I have paid my bills. I have fulfilled my duties to my best ability, putting forth great effort.
Yet, I couldn't remember to turn off the stove. After spending a ridiculous amount of money on candles, plug-ins, carpet freshener and Febreeze, I realized how ridiculous I had been.
I thought I was passed the small mistakes with exponential consequences.
I thought I was finally settling into the groove of doing it all.
I thought I was at the point when I didn't have worry about little things.
I was wrong.
I was humbled.
Recently, I finished Pride and Prejudice. Of Mr. Darcy it is said that he is not a man to be laughed at. Bingley on the other hand is a silly character whose attractive quality seems to be his ability to laugh at himself. My desire is not to be a Darcy (in regard to pride), but a Bingley, humbled by his own ridiculousness.
It may hurt my pride.
But there is a lot of me which needs to be broken.
There are a lot of panes lined up before my eyes that need shattered before I can see things for what they are.
I believe pride is the first of many panes which will be painfully broken.
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| I have moved into a new apartment. Living off campus is my first step into the world beyond undergraduate life, though I feel as though I've only straddled that line--one foot in and one out. I have been here for a little over two weeks and have taken to sitting on the patio in back. At the close of the day, as the sun goes down, its light smears color across the sky and strips of cloud. Across the field stands First Church with a small cross atop. I like to think it serves as a reminder of why I often marvel at what I see each night, why I often feel a sense of longing for something, some reason...
This evening just before I had gone out to assume my post to bid farewell to the day and welcome the night, I had poured myself a glass of Coca Cola Classic. As I shifted my weight, the ice ting, ting, tinged against the glass like some mid-toned bell. As I took a series of small sips, I saw through the glass and thought... for now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known... and I began to realize why I sit and stare into the night sky, why the hymn writer proclaims how great Thou art at the sight of stars and the sound of thunder and why I allow myself to wonder, marvel, and long for more.
J. Wolfe
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| Things have gone by quite quickly as of late. The summer flew by so quickly that it feels like it was almost years ago, that I am somehow so far removed from those relaxing days. I can remember things have have happened, people with whom I've spoken, spent time with, things I read, things I wrote, thoughts which floated straight through--in and then out just as quickly. I remember things that I saw, things that I felt, touched, tasted, heard. It's sort of maddening to think of them all at once. It's like a lot of noise, but I remember that they were quite beautiful at the time. That's the funny thing about time.
Have you ever noticed how huge lapses get compressed into a fuzzy little unit? And then, as more time passes, the little units get a little more fuzzy and they sort of form larger units? If you were to try to color code the emotions, maybe happy times would be bright, and sad things would be dark. I don't know make up your own code. But if you were you think of those units as a color or a blend of multiple colors, what do you think they would look like... What colors would there be. I wonder if someone else could guess which colors were assigned to which emotion.
I wonder if there would be a sort of theme to it all. I'm not saying that I've been so bold or so diligent, nor so conceited to simply ponder my own emotional state, so I'm thinking about this as I type and as you read. I just think it might be interesting. If there was some representational piece being created directly... somehow... by our emotions... color schemes come to mind. I wonder if we subconsciously create these little dramas into our lives to brighten the canvas. Throw a little red in there, something deep and luscious. Or some blues, different shades. Perhaps, for some, a brighter shade would better contrast and add accent.
Would it be lines laying upon one another--top to bottom or bottom up? Or would it be like layers. Sometimes the same color would come up again and again, giving sort of a base or something. Then other colors that recurred often. Just as there are different parts of our lives, would there be different sections of our life's work? Some would probably be like a gridlock project and some would probably be like splashes of paint here and there.
There are two pieces of artwork that I have really had a desire to have. The first was one that I purchased my junior year. My friend Kerrie, whom I now think as more a sister than a friend, painted on wood paneling. There was one that I had the opportunity to see in a few different stages during visits to her studio. There are a lot of layers. Things were added. It was turned and another layer was added. This thing changed a great deal from when it started as a blank panel of wood. It's now mostly white or cream, with lines of brighter white, black, layers underneath of copper, and purple pops up here and there; there are a lot of deeper shades. I love to just look at this painting sometimes. Maybe that's something of what my life's work would look like. The painting is called Stopped Reasoning. I think it could be an appropriate title for my life sometimes. Sometimes, I just stop and do or be or am. Sometimes, I'm just shades of color, or streaks of black, streams of white or orbs of deep purple.
The second piece is one that was given to me by Maggie, who is probably one of the most magnetic people I know. Her piece, entitled Sharing Life, also has a lot of layers. It started out with some printmaking, then some intricate little doodles, and some oil bar. The edges are rough and there are two pieces put together--it's not all one piece. But they're joined by their composition, as if the two broken pieces were mended and overwritten. There are boxes which frame several sections in succession, but not all of it is like this. There's a piece that sort of looks like the curl of a wave and then stretches across the length of the piece. The whole thing has a sort of copper tone and a shine because it was shellacked or something. There are parts of it which are fuzzy because something else was smeared overtop of it. Some pieces of this puzzle are large and some, so miniscule, but they all seem to belong there somehow. It all just sort of fits. I can't help but add that one of the most incredible parts of Maggie's show was that it was all illuminated. The pieces just sort of pop and the layers are more complex when you shine a light through them.**
You know I'm not sure that there was really anything about life in those two masterpieces, but I think there is. In both cases, the process of the entire show was a just that, a process. There were layers, sometimes entire pieces were thought to be finished, as far as they could go. But there was still more to be done. Rather than starting over or wiping it anew, things were added, layers formed, some stayed, some disappeared. I really think this may be a more striking resemblance to life than we might give credit. Maybe we just have to look for it. I don't know. I like looking for things because I like finding new things. I enjoy seeing something I never saw before.
I'm terribly fascinated by time and it's passing. I wonder what colors look like when you look back. Do they fade? I think so. Sometimes, they seem more vibrant than they might have when I was looking at them up close and in the moment.
I like the deeper shades, appreciate the layers, and love what a Good Light does for all of it.
Just a wondering wandering mind,
JW
**I had the piece in my window and a friend, was looking at it while the sun shone through the glass, backlighting Maggie's work. She said that it was admiring it and that it was even better when the sun shone through. Yeah, it's incredible what the light does to the piece.
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| When I reflect upon my life, I attempt to recall each of the major relationships which shaped and influenced the man that I have become. I am thankful for each influence, though at given points in time, some seemed to have been more of a detriment than a benefit. Yet, in retrospect, it is clear that the menagerie of lives which were poured into mine were all worked out for good; perhaps this is the wonder of the grace of God.
So many people have been gracious enough to share something of themselves with me and I am convinced that this is simply the purpose for which we were created. An infinite God, triune Persons, bound for all eternity by mutual and overwhelming love created because of the joy of that love. And thus, being created in His image, we too are compelled by love, desire love, desire acceptance, vulnerability, intimacy to the point that the love is creative... sometimes love ends in a baby--what an incredible act of worship!
I'm not completely idealistic. I realize that circumstances are rarely perfect and neither are the people involved, but a very good God has worked all things for the good of those who love Him. I honestly believe that.
Throughout my life there have been moments at which I adhered to extreme thoughts, honest thoughts. But at this point, I'm not so sure that extreme anything is appropriate. Fundamentalism, conservative thinking, left, right, right, wrong... The longer I live, the more appreciative I become of the simple, yet complex, reality that I am alive and what that means.
Purpose: love. Never before has this been so evident to me. Everything I have experienced has pointed to the desire for, the responsibility to, and implications of a life of love. The longings I (and I believe others) have, the draw of intimate relationships, the joy of friendship... seems to suggest to me the purpose for which we were created, the concept, act, reality by which we were created.
Some question the simplicity of God as love. Love is just a concept. Love is just a word... I believe it is true, but love is not just a word, Love is the Word:
"In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things were made through Him, and without Him nothing was made that was made. In Him was life, and the life was the light of men. And the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not comprehend it." John 1:1-5
JW
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| So... I may be a nerd, or perhaps something much worse. Meh, so be it. I have read Stephenie Meyer's Twilight series recently and found them quite a fascinating fictional observation of ethics/morality, psychology, sociology, and love. The characters are beautifully drawing. It is hard to not hope for them, to care for them, and to desire for them a happy ending, though it looks to be impossible. The two main characters are a mortal named Bella and a vampire named Edward. During the second book, there is a discussion had between the two characters regarding two literature-locked lovers. I believe they are the main characters of Wuthering Heights. Anyway, Bella says of the two, "I think that may be the point... their love is their only redeeming quality." In questioning a magnificently profound and insightful friend, she explained her take on the quote.
She said that as individuals, we're not much account, really. But it seems that there is something quite incredible about two average people who are "head over heals" in love. Thus, she believes believes and hopes that love has such a redemptive quality. So, I began to think of some of my favorite love stories to discern whether this is common amongst most romantic tales. I must confess that I didn't make it far. I only made it about as far as the old 80s film When Harry Met Sally (my favorite).
There are two characters who are pretty colorful, but not terribly special on their own. They're both pretty crummy and their views on life are like polar opposites. Harry is obsessed with death and Sally thrilled about the future and its prospects. Over the course of 12 years, the two have a few chance encounters and there is some odd magic which occurs between them. While men and women are declared to be incompatible in friendship, an anomaly occurs--they become friends. Their relationship continues to develop. They just talk and they are there to support one another. It happens every so subtly and we can see them share much more than common views meeting in the middle. They "fall in love," though I would argue that they did not fall into anything.
They were not terribly special by themselves, nor with anyone else. It was when they were together that they really found resonance with another. Beginning each chapter of their story is an anecdotal scene of a different couple on a couch. They explain how they fell in love and you can see how unique each relationship is. At the end, Harry and Sally tell their story, which we have witnessed. It's interesting that they glance over much of the details, but they have idealized the whole experience and inject playful banter here and there. I believe that in this case it is still true that "their love is their only redeeming quality." Their love makes all the difference.
Aside from my thoughts on the film, I have pondered my own life in relation to this statement. I admit that I am nothing special on my own. Yet, together with another average someone, will love be our redeeming quality? I hope so, though I am almost certain that the presently unknown someone will seem far more than merely average to me, and perhaps I will seem more than average to them as well. One can only hope...
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