Lenten Devotion

I've kinda been skipping reading the awesome devos that my friends at the UNC Wesley foundation have been sending out, but I was going through my email and this one made me feel better, so I hope it does the same for you.
PS BWL= Big Wesley Love


Matthew 26:59
“Now the chief priests and the whole council were looking for false testimony against Jesus so that they might put him to death.”

Not to point out the obvious here, but it’s kind of unfair that the good guy gets put to death just because the powers-that-be had a certain mindset that would not allow them to see what was right in front of their faces...namely, that Jesus was the Son of God. It’s kind of a symptom of the human condition thus far, isn’t it, though? The self-righteousness, the immobile worldview, the rush to condemnation...it’s all been a rather consistent short-coming of our kind throughout history. As much as it affects our relationships with the world at large, though, I’d like to talk about how we bring those same symptoms to bear when we pass judgment on ourselves. Lent is far too often a time of beating ourselves up—we focus on what we’re not doing well enough, try to “fix” it, and then pound our heads against the wall in frustration when we inevitably slip back into old habits. I’d like to take this moment to remind you that you are God’s creation, and you are loved. You are loved in totality, not just that which you consider good. This is not to say that we shouldn’t try to be the best possible versions of ourselves. On the contrary, I’ve found that there’s no greater motivating factor than the fact of such a great love. The point is, though, that we should be who we are created to be. We all have our limitations and our flaws. Figure out how to function and thrive in life through the wholeness of your personality, not just how to survive in spite of your weaknesses. Learn how you work in community, how even what you perceive as a weakness can help strengthen and guide others.

Prayer: Loving God, we are grateful for the gift of Your creation. We ask that you’ll help us to appreciate all of it, including ourselves, and to see it with fresh eyes everyday. Help us, during this Lenten season, to discover our true selves, and to become, in whole, that which You have created us to be. Amen.

BWLisReallyAnAwesomeThing,Isn'tIt?,
Jake

Anger

I am so sick.

I hate this world. I hate it. When, when did we decide that it was acceptable, fine, commendable to ignore the needy in the world and focus always on ourselves? When did we decide that we could 'help' people by bombing their country, tearing their world apart and forcing ideas and systems of governance foreign to them on their lives? When did we decide that we could put down other people to the point that they actually think they're as worthless as we make them seem? When did we make the choice to stop seeing humanity and start seeing us and them?

When did we decide that it's fine to have people living on the streets, out in the cold, without a house, when we have so much extra room in our houses, extra guest rooms, huge living rooms, game rooms, multiple dining rooms? When did we decide that we could waste our money on food we don't even want, that we're going to throw away, that we're going to turn our noses up at, when there are people dying, dying, as in never get to eat another meal because they're dead, dying of hunger? When did we decided that we could ignore the rest of the world as long as we are fine?

What are our institutions, our places of learning, our high towers and money systems, banks and corporate offices schools? What are our sporting events? How much money there is laying around, how many resources used for these things, when we could save the world, fix so many problems with what is spent in idle pleasure?

I'm sick of it. I'm sick of spending hours studying things that don't matter, that I won't use, that won't make a difference in the world, or that only make a difference in my tiny sliver of the world. There is injustice and oppression. There is murder and genocide and starvation and disease and hate, hate, hate, hate and anger and waste. The waste of the entire human race, do you realize that? Do we realize what potential we have, what we could do, if we would just save us from ourselves? And I'm angry and I don't want to spend another day being less than this world needs me to be. If I'm going to wear a cross of ashes on my forehead, I want to be Christ to the world, not have to hang my head down and ignore the people who are freezing outside because I don't know their situation or how I can help them.

No, and I know there are noble things to follow in this society of ours. And I know there is good. But fuck it all, because that's what's keeping us complacent, keeping me complacent, that's what's stopping us from waking up and realizing that there are problems that need to be addressed. We're comfortable, we're fine, we don't need to do anything yet.

And I'm afraid to see what it's going to take to make us change.

Guys

I had a Prince Charming once.

Of course, he only lived in my head, but I had him. I knew what height he would be and what he'd look like, what color hair and exactly what his eyes looked like. His face changed from time to time and I could never decide on a nose, but I knew what he'd do, what he'd think about life, what kind of job he'd have, what his favorite thing about me was. I picked my favorite name in the whole world to be his name. I could even imagine his voice in my head and sometimes I jump a little when I head a sound like it. He was my carefully constructed dream but I couldn't create him in words even if you paid me to.

So imagine my surprise when I met a guy who matched him. Same color hair, maybe a little too light in the summer, but I'm not picky. Same general build, though an inch or so maybe too short. I had always imagined him as a couple of years older than me, but I'm not opposed to someone the same age. I always felt like Prince Eric in the Little Mermaid, searching for the right voice, and though this new kid didn't match entirely, I loved his voice all the same. One day, the new kid said that he wanted to change his middle name to my favorite name in the world (a fact I think still unbeknown to him) and I took it as a weird sign. Beyond all of that, he had the right eyes. I am a sucker for a set of nice eyes.

Now, I know nobody's perfect (except for God, but I love Him anyway) but what do you do with a guy who fits the dream criteria, who jumps to your mind when someone starts talking about lomls (or loyals, we haven't decided yet), who meets expectations you didn't even know you had?

Forget him, apparently.

After three years or so, you realize that what you had thought was love is merely misplaced affection or that it wouldn't have worked out in the first place. You can't make someone your prince.

And who wants a prince anyway? Hamlet's clearly not a great choice. Pick a Disney prince and they've all pretty much done something pathetic and stupid. Prince Humperdink? I think we can all agree that Westley is in a whole different class. I mean, he's the Dread Pirate Roberts for goodness' sake. If I'm being honest, my Prince Charming wasn't technically a prince and so I shouldn't go about bashing all of them. You can't really blame their status as royalty for their uselessness. Marius, we can agree, isn't exactly the epitome of awesome manliness.

Don't mistake the general man-bashing for bitterness. And by don't mistake, I mean name it for what it is. If I say I'm not bitter, it's because I'm in denial and if I say I'm bitter, it's because I've hit rock bottom. I've been mourning the loss of someone I've never had for too long to be happy again, observing a grief that was never mine.

Well, screw that.

No, it is not my intent to go out and find me a man this very instant. I'm not going to go fall for the first guy that smiles at me across a room. I'm still watching Sweeney Todd tomorrow with a good friend (who could have better plans if dimwit would wake up and see what he's missing). I'm happy being single, and by that I mean that I'm fine being independent and by that I mean that I'm patient. But I think the war on boys may be coming to an end. I may not need a man to make me happy, but I certainly don't need them to make me sad.

On a Windy, Sunny Day

You ever feel like something's getting ready to happen, like today's your day, like the world is going to finally change and be on your side?

I do.

I woke up late, ran to class, got there just as my professor started, answered a question in lecture and actually got engaged in the topic, which is saying little, since it's Rome and I'm kinda taken in by the politics. I went back to my dorm and actually got ready for my day and felt like Something's Going to Happen. The wind is abusing my now-straightened hair and slipping through my coat and scarf to freeze me underneath two shirts, but it's enlivening to have something to fight as you walk. You're taking on something beyond just making one foot move in front of the other. There's life.

I've been waiting for so long for life to wake up and happen to me and I feel like today's the day. But then again, a long time waiting makes you think that maybe life's been waiting on you to wake up and happen to it. I feel like I could spend the rest of my life writing greeting cards or I could drop it all and go be an architect (why build something temporary like a building when you can have something that lasts, like a greeting card?) but I'd have to go.

So I'm sitting again at Caribou. I've got a paper to finish, a paper to write and a problem set to do. I'm going to be a productive student, I'm going to do well and I'm going to break the streak of mediocre academics because I care to be today. There's my pencil. Here's my laptop. I've got hours between now and practice and between practice and obligations tomorrow. I'm going to hunker down and focus and lose myself in Istanbul, Rome and the quantum world that hides beneath them both.

I wish someone would stop me.

From Sunday

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us.

We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous?
Actually, who are you not to be?
You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn't serve the world.

There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you.
We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us.
It's not just in some of us, it's in everyone.

And, as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.
- Marianne Williamson

Arg, Writer's Block...

I have a book review due on Thursday, but I also have a paper (on the Punic wars- darn those Romans with their excessive military activity and copious amounts of historians willing to record it) due on Friday and a problem set due two hours after the paper's due. I'm suffering massive writer's block, so I'm going to tell you, dear readers, about Orhan Pamuk's book My Name is Red.

The book is set in Ottoman Istanbul. I am currently enamored with the city of Istanbul (you would be too if you took a glance at the Aya Sophia or the Sultan Ahmet Mosque) but I know little about the Ottomans. I don't even know anything about their reputation, which is the second of the three things I'm supposed to write about. I'm supposed to talk about the Ottomans, how they're perceived historically and how the book is used as a foil for current issues today. Can I say that I have no clue what current issues are in modern-day Turkey, other than the fact that they want to be in the EU? This is probably why I'm at such a road block.

So, Ottoman Istanbul. Well, from what I can tell from the book, there are coffee houses, a lack of modern conveniences, and a lot of sex and violence. Ah, no, that's unfair, but if you go to read the book (which I quite recommend), be prepared for a little bit more information than you wanted about the character's personal, personal lives. The premise is that the Sultan of the Ottomans has commissioned a book to made that tells a story about the Sultan and contains his (gasp!) portrait. That's a main theme, right there, the idea of Venetian (from Vienna? See, 'cause I thought they were from Venice, ah well) painting which puts humanity front and center. This is a problem because 1) The portraits could become an idol for people, 2) The portraits are painted not from God's perspective but from the perspective of the artist and are thereby taking away God's creativity (Only Allah can create), and 3) they don't tell a story.

This story is told through the eyes of four miniaturists (each of which could be a murderer), their boss, his daughter, her sons and her childhood lover. The miniaturists' illustrations also speak. The beginning of the book is narrated by the corpse of the dead guilder for the miniaturists, killed by one of his compatriots. He was killed because he threatened to tell on his fellow miniaturists, to carry tales to the local religious extremists, who hate coffee (apparently Muhammad refused coffee like he refused wine) and artists in general. I'd lobby for a modern commentary on the treatment of artists, either by the government or by the people around them, but I don't know enough about Turkey to say that that's what the author's saying. And my TA shot that down.

There's an exorbitant amount of material about art in this book. They're all miniaturists (which means they draw little illustrations? I never got this- maybe on the margins of books or maybe like tiny little pictures? Glorified doodlers) and so they all talk about miniatures. They'll talk about drawing Chinese clouds and Persian horses in the style of the great masters of the past (and there's a good long section where two of the characters get locked in the Sultan's treasury to look at books and that's just a gigantic chunk of research wasted right there, because none of us appreciate it as much as we should) but they never complain that they are Ottoman's using the hybrid style of the past. Instead, most of the protestations come from people trying to blend Venetian and Ottoman styles (the daughter of the boss of the miniaturists regrets that the Ottoman style of painting will be gone, but she's willing to accept a new, happy life) and, indeed, the murderer is a proponent of these new forms. The word modernity keeps on coming up in lectures. Too bad I have no clue what kind of modernity problems Muslims in Turkey are facing today.

I mean, there's the presentation of religion in the book. It's ubiquitous. The people who aren't especially moral pray to Allah in times of crisis, like some other people I know, and the people who have killed other people still go to evening prayers like nothing's wrong. Yes, there's bashing of extremists (or maybe they're not extreme... I could have read that wrong) but there's no hating on religious people of every kind. And there's tongue-in-cheek secularist references (here's where I get in trouble with my TA because I don't have the space in a two page paper to include multiple, supportive examples of my arguments and still have it sound decent) but he's not pushing an agenda. The author says early on (when the corpse is talking, actually) that he's not talking about everyone's religious views, only his own. And I respect the kid for that. I guess I should respect him for his Nobel Prize, too.

So what have we got? A depiction of Ottoman Istanbul: check. A commentary on how the Ottomans are remembered: Not so checked. If I'm reading between the lines, they're at war, they like art and architecture (EPIC architecture), and they, like every other nation in the world, have to confront new ideas and decide how to make them their own, without losing all of their history. Oh, and they're Muslim. For the most part. There's a Jewish lady in the book. And a commentary on how social issues are foiled in the book: mildly checked. I think there's a lot to be said for how every religion must grow up into the world it's in or be left behind. No one worships Marduk anymore. Can I put that in my paper? No.

On the bright side, I can now spell miniature without having to check spell check. Mission accomplished.

Out There

Disney Lyrics Day! Out There from The Hunchback of Notre Dame
I think, though, that if we all had the patience and contentment of Quasimodo, our prayers would be much shortened.

Quasimodo:
Safe behind these windows and these parapets of stone
Gazing at the people down below me
All my life I watch them as I hide up here alone
Hungry for the histories they show me
All my life I memorize their faces
Knowing them as they will never know me
All my life I wonder how it feels to pass a day
Not above them
But part of them

And out there
Living in the sun
Give me one day out there
All I ask is one
To hold forever

Out there
Where they all live unaware
What I'd give
What I'd dare
Just to live one day out there

Out there among the millers and the weavers and their wives
Through the roofs and gables I can see them
Ev'ry day they shout and scold and go about their lives
Heedless of the gift it is to be them
If I was in their skin
I'd treasure ev'ry instant

Out there
Strolling by the Seine
Taste a morning out there
Like ordinary men
Who freely walk about there
Just one day and then
I swear I'll be content
With my share
Won't resent
Won't despair
Old and bent
I won't care
I'll have spent
One day
Out there

Breaking News!

Blah, sorry with all the links, I have three posts in my head and none on the computer screen. However, as this article is a definition of my life (the next to last paragraph about women hitting the library, that's the story of my life), and as it sets up well the disgusting and pathetic endeavor that having a nice day on single's awareness day always is, I figured I'd share with the world. I can't say enjoy, but read away!

Thanks, NY Times, I needed someone to tell me this.


"Where are all the single, attractive, straight guys hiding?
In Narnia!
Isn't that in a closet?"

"Cold Snap"

Dear Adam Lucas,
I want your job even when the team is bottom in the ACC and losing frustrating games. If this is not devotion, I don't know what is. Please continue to be awesome, and one day, let me know how you got to where you are.
Love,
Addie Jo


70-74.