Powerful Men

Have you even noticed that some men just stand out as powerful and having authority? I mean the ones who seem to have power and authority rightfully, not the ones who try to have authority when it isn't theirs to have. I really wonder about these sorts of men. How do they perceive themselves?

I've been taking this one class this semester from a man who is like that, he sort of reminds me of my Father-in-law. I think that my Father is like that too - but since I started knowing him by being his little girl, I probably never experienced him like that . . . although there have been times where I thought, "Wow. Dad's a real strong man!" And then I felt really glad to have his protection.

I just don't see much of this type of male. I know that our American society doesn't encourage strong masculinity, but I don't think that that is a good thing. I want strong men! There is something so impressive about a man who knows his mind, is in full control of his facilities, and is unswayed by evils and so goes forth to do good things.

The other thing that I want to point out is that we women are not as strong as we wish we were, or we think we are. Yeah, we can get stuff and do stuff because we are persistant - and we can endure pain longer than men because we are used to being in pain - but we are not physically as strong as men. Sometimes I think that we are not emotionally as strong as men either, or maybe a better way of putting that is that we are just not as emotionally consistent.

I'm not trying to be sexist, I'm just saying that I really admire strong, powerful men - men who are good-hearted, seek after God, have authority and strength and use these tools to serve God. I love this type of man. I wish that there were more of them!

Thanks for the help on the acushla thing. I also heard that it is a Russian word. Huh. But good to know that it is from a different language and so I shouldn't expect to see it in an English dictionary. Whew! My faith in the system is restored.

I'm in my office right now, although not on the clock yet, and I have to say that there is a very odd occurrence that I've noticed in the office plant trends. I'm guessing the point of having plastic plants in the office is that they are less trouble and mess than real plants - no water or dirt required - but why do they make fake plants that do not correctly represent real plants? I mean, why make fake grapes grow on a fake ivy vine? I know that it looks decent from far away, but when you stop and think about it, it's just plain strange. I shouldn't walk into work and think that Dr. Seuss was let loose overnight and created this fantastical false foliage. Don't the creators of plastic plants ever look at the real thing? Shouldn't they have a degree in some sort of botany so that they can understand how a plant works and then reproduce its likeness in a fairly realistic way? I just find it odd to have such confused fake plants. Although, being that I live in a country where people can't decide what gender, hair color, breast size, race, or religion they are, maybe I shouldn't be surprised that fake plants are having an identity crisis as well.

Maybe I'll just bring in a real ivy plant for my desk on of these days . . . that would be nice. Well, back on the clock.

Acushla

What does this word mean? I have now seen it in two separate books, a sci-fi and an English Detective mystery. In both the word seems to be some sort of endearment, but what does it mean? Webster's has nothing to say on the matter, which I find annoying and I am quite put out. Of all the languages to pick, you would think that one such as English, which has quite a few educated speakers, would have these sorts of definitions down by now. Of all the annoying drivel!

stay with me

Just as I was about ready to turn off my car engine tonight, a song came on that stopped me. The plea of the song was to "stay with me" the song ends by saying "we'll be alright as long as you stay, I'll be alright, as long as you stay with me." This song passionately resonates with a very core part of my being. The pleas "stay with me" and "don't leave me!" have moved me to tears for years. Just the contemplation of being left and not having companionship brings a deep sorrow to the surface of my heart.

When I started dating Josh I realized that I was in love with him when I wanted him to stay. There were times when all I could do was hug him and say "don't leave me please." Because when I really love someone, all I want is for him or her to be present in my life.

The harsh reality of life, though, is that I married a man who will forever be leaving me. He takes business trips once a month, often more. The first time that we spent a night apart after our wedding was within the first two weeks. I have been bound to a man who leaves. The deepest fear of my heart has been realized. I get left.

I believe that it is through the hardest times of life that God teaches us of his love the most. In coping, dealing, and grieving this unsettling reality of my plea for him to stay being set aside for the practicality of his job, I have come to treasure more and more the one who does not leave me. Jesus once said, "I will never leave you or forsake you." Although Josh tends to think that my sorrow at being left is slightly neurotic, I believe that it is a desire that was instilled deep in my soul by the one who created me. God gave me this strong passion not to be left because he wants me to treasure the gift that he gives of himself. God will never leave me. And so even when I spend nights alone, and my arms reach to the other side of the bed and find it cold, I am aware of the presence of God and remember the one who will never leave me.

So as I sat in the driveway tonight with the radio turned up into the glorious volume where the music becomes solid and meshes with my body, I tilted my head back and sang my plea to the One who it was meant for. Stay with me. We'll be alright as long as you stay, I'll be alright as long as you stay. Stay with me.

Dinner Time Rant - Warning: Is not Consistant with American Culture, so if you are American, you may not understand what I'm saying

Well, my biggest thoughts for today have actually been about theology. I'm taking this class right now on Patristic and Medeval Theology, and it has really got my brain working about stuff. So, although I'm not thinking about specific things from class, I am led to think about related things.

My biggest wondering lately has been about baptism and the Holy Spirit. Now these are both fairly huge subjects (or Being as the case may be) in their own right, but lately I have been thinking about how they relate together. I've been thinking about this because (1) I don't think that infant baptism is right and for a while have been trying to figure out why, (2) I've been trying to understand my own experience of it and (3) I would love to know how my experience connects (if it does at all) to some good'ol solid biblical theology.

My experience with it was that when I asked Jesus to be my Saviour and forgive me for my sins I was saved from going to Hell. During this time (post-salvation and pre-baptism) God talked to me in dreams and in the dreams it was always me standing in His presence. When I got baptised I experienced the Holy Spirit in me (I wasn't expecting him either - he just sort of showed up), which was really different from my prior experience of God. PRE-BAPTISM WAS ME IN THE PRESENCE OF GOD AND POST-BAPTISM WAS THE PRESENCE OF GOD IN ME. Now, what I'm wondering is as follows: is this theologically significant or is it just how God chose to work in my life?

I know that the Bible refers to the "Baptism of the Holy Spirit" but what does that mean? For me, baptism was a supremely huge event in my life and it made a very large difference in how I related to God and it really was the first time that I experienced the Holy Spirit in a physical and awake state. But is that how it is for everyone? Jesus said that he would send the Counselor (Holy Spirit) to us, but he also told us to get Baptised. So, what happens to people who are not baptised? Do they get the Holy Spirit? Do they experience him differently (as I did) than people who do have been baptised? This is an area that is amazingly grey to me right now, and it really bothers me that I don't know more about is. You would figure that someone who has been a Christian for 21 years and read the whole Bible would know a bit more about the workings of Christianity, eh?

The second thing that has occupied my theological thoughts is that of sacrifices. My big observation today is this: RITUAL ANIMAL SACRIFICES ARE ONLY SEEN AS ODD IN COUNTRIES WHERE PEOPLE DO NOT KILL THEIR OWN FOOD. Have you ever noticed that before? For some reason the minds of people who have never killed and eaten an animal shy away from the idea of sacrificing an animal. Now, do I think that animal sacrifices are good? In this day and age, no. They are bad. Were animal sacrifices good in the Old Testament period? Yes, they were good, necessary, and required up until Jesus died on the Cross. Why is it so hard for Americans to understand how important blood is? Don't they realize that blood is what keeps their bodies alive? And eating dead animals is also what keeps their bodies functioning? So why would it be odd that God would require the Israelites to sacrifice an animal for their sins? God wanted the Israelites to experience the costliness of their sins and have to pay for their sins in a way that was real to them, and giving up an animal was a very pivotal and attention-grabbing way of doing it. I'm sorry if I sound mean, but people who eat meat, and are unable to bring themselves to slaughter and eat their own food, are just plain odd. They are lacking a primary, physical, basic and normal understanding of how the world works. I think that this really hampers their understanding of the Bible. So everyone, go fishing or hunting and enjoy the fruits of your labor, then read Genesis.

Won't you be my neighbor?

All through life I have given myself great motivation for learning things, but a lot of my motivation stems from a slightly (ok, greatly) neurotic fantasy of my childhood. From when I was 2 to when I was 8 I lived in the northern regions of Canada. I fit in perfectly and was fairly popular. When I moved from there to Southern California I stuck out like a pale white kid who said "eh?" and "I beg your pardon?" in a sea of dark brown faces who shouted "huera!" and "callate!" All of the sudden I was different and being the brilliant person that I was, I realized that I was in for it.

I got mocked for being white, smart, and ::gasp!:: horror of horrors! skinny. Every day after a bad verbal whipping from my peers I went home, looked at myself in the mirror, and told myself that when I was older I would be able to defend someone like me. Every time something bad happened to me I imagined a glowingly gorgeous vision of me in the future knowing exactly what to do and having compassion on the present lost and struggling version of myself.

Being that I believe in keeping promises, especially promises to my poor defenseless self of the past, I've learned Spanish, I know about the different cultures of Latin America, and I see how they work into the great American family. I can now defend myself against insults in Spanish. The thing that I never bargained on as a child, but now treasure deeply, is that I understand things from their point of view. I always knew what happened to me - I lived it, but now I know why those little kids felt like they had to treat me meanly.

Although I occasionally still feel odd when I look around the grocery store and realize that I am the only wearer of white skin, and it still hurts to hear old ladies insult me when they think I don't understand what they are saying, it is also good to be able to go up to someone and communicate. It kicks butt in a serious way to be able to talk to my neighbors and ask how their kids are doing or to crack a joke with some gap-toothed kid at the check-out stand. Knowing a language doesn't give me stuff worth saying, just the ability to say stuff. But being able to say stuff is worth lots because then there is a chance for a human connection, and that is worth all the world. I now have enough rope to either hang myself or save myself.

Partly Cloudy with Flurries of Insanity

Something that I love dearly, but hate passionately at the same time, are extremely busy days. I love the way things snap and crackle at work when there is much to be done and few to do much and the pressure is on to move and go. The crazed productive motion of work reminds me of the electric storms that roll over the mid-west and cause such beauty with the great light show and huge, rumbling resonations. There is a certain delight in being capable and knowledgeable enough to handle the flow and ebb mixed with rushing tides of people, paper work, and projects. Although at the end of the day I am good for nothing but to sit and think how glorious it is not to be on my feet, in the midst of the motion I am at home and feel like a skilled dancer, just waiting to jump gloriously to the crescendo of the overture. It's like the pain of the workout mixed with the exhilaration that comes from working out and knowing that this body God gave me is capable of incredible things. On this earth beauty and glory rarely come without pain, but in the midst of glory it is unpardonable to dwell on the pain. Well, supper break is done and I have to head back into the rush. Life is short - live it up!

Trust

Ok, I promise that this is a slightly better post than the one about my crap - honest (at least I won't talk about crap anymore in this post). The problem with blogs is that there is an internal monologue in my head that now has a place to voice itself. Yikes.

I have been thinking a lot about trust lately. It is one of those odd things that God made that I really have issues with at times. Ok. So I can trust God because he is perfect and, in fact, I should trust him even when I can't trust me. I'm good with that. Trusting God sounds like a fairly safe bet at this point.

The problem with trust is that because we were made to trust we go around trusting things that are not worthy - basically, we trust anything that we run into and anything that we run into is not innately trustworthy. In fact, anything that we run into that is not God is not trustworthy. So I trust my friend to love me, and say that because my friend is sinful I am deeply hurt. Then what? Time goes by, I forget my hurt, and I trust my friend again. Right? So . . . why? I mean really, why?

This is a frustration to me. Trust is a necessary element of every day life. People who trust nothing are people who society labels as insane, correct? Correct. Because if you do not trust your toothbrush to the extent that you think that your toothbrush is out to kill you, then you have irreconcilable issues with your toothbrush and need to be hog tied for your own good in a nice, white, padded cell. So even though I know that trusting leads to hurt, it also leads to functional everyday life.

This is one of those dumb/brilliant paradoxes that God created to give me headaches at 1:30 in the morning when I really ought to be in bed. I promise that I will try and post during more normal hours next time. But really . . . argh. Can't live with it, can't live without it.

(Although I suppose that you could argue that because God made us to heal and that we were originally intended for a perfect world, this seeming paradox made sense at one point and will make sense again at one eternity and any damage that is done by broken trust can, eventually, be repaired - at least in part. Ok, so you are smart. But in the mean time broken trust can still be made to work for good in some sense but pain is still not good and in fact can be well neigh unpardonable at times . . . except we are supposed to pardon. However, I refuse to pardon my can opener when it doesn't work. That I reserve the right to toss. It is only humans that I really have to work on trust with. God I trust. Can openers I toss. And humans I deal with. I really need to go to bed now!)

Literal Dream

I had one of those strange dreams where my mind is telling me stuff about my life. There I was - innocent dream self - skippingly tra-la-laing through my dream, when I realized that I really had to go to the bathroom (and I mean badly!) So I found a toilet and went to. I produced amazingly large turds that were astoundingly numerous and felt incredibly happy about it. Seriously, there was little my dream self could imagine that would feel better than creating these mounds of dung. So my waking self thinks . . . hmm . . .

I'm full of shit and I would really love to get rid of some of it. Argh! The frustrating thing is that that is what I have been longing to do for months (as all of my friends know) and I can't see any way to doing it. I know that I have too much crap going on in my life (school, work, Josh, family, friends, driving back and forth, more friends, dance, youth group, ha! I quit karate!) and I can't do anything to lessen it right now. I really wish that I could take an incredibly large dump and limit my life to 3 things: Josh, work, and family/friends. But I can't. grr. So I guess that I'll just have to dream about it.

X box Widow

I am officially an X box Widow. It is a very sad life. Every night I fall asleep to the pounding of granades and the firing of guns . . . every once in a while there really is a gun firing outside, but usually it is just Josh, killing imaginary bad guys. ::sigh:: When I said "for better or for worse" I had no idea that this included technology. Maybe the wedding vows need to be updated, "For better, for worse, in sickness, in health, online, offline . . . " What do you think? The Book of Common Prayer is able to be changed, right?

What is lamer (this is real life here folks):

My husband playing X-box in the next room
My husband playing X-box in the next room, yelling at me to sign on, and then chatting me on the computer

You decide. Ahh, the joys of technology and the quality time that it engenders! Well, at least he still communicates!

Bilengual Sex Education

So there I was, driving home on the 5, singing loudly and off key to my Mariachi music and then the radio program changed. (Side note: Mariachi music is the blues/country of Spanish - the girl always leaves but there are cowboys involved. Second Side Note: It is a lot more fun to make up your own lyrics to mariachi music. My favorite lamentable subject is homework. Somehow it is a lot more fun to sing loudly and off-key in Spanish about homework than it is to whine in English to my friends.) Apparently Spanish Speakers have sex too (!) and their late night radio shows have sex advise. My first thought was, "Wow. They didn't teach me how to say that at Biola!" And then I learned to my astonishment that if your novio termino en tu boca then you can't get embarasada. Bilengual indeed! Ick! Somehow it just sounds wrong in Spanish. Ahh well . . . what's a good Catholic to do?

Class

Well, I'm off to class to philosophize about educational things. The philosophy I like, the real life application I enjoy (take that Plato!), the prof is actually good, but I can hardly wait for it to be done so that I can go and hang out with my family. The more I become this married lady that I am, the odder it feels to hang out with them because we no longer share the common baseline of everyday life. These people, who I know and love, I now no longer know everything about. Strange.

Good thing of the day: ideas - free and life expanding