9 posts tagged “god stuff”
1. I believe that people have souls.
2. I believe that there is a God.
3. I believe that there is a Creator.
4. I believe that, through service, we learn what it is like to become human.
5. "I still believe, despite everything, that people are really good at heart."
6. I believe that mankind is redeemable.
7. I believe that the good actions of some can redeem mankind as a whole from the evil actions of others.
8. I believe that moral codes can exist independently of religion.
9. I believe that moral codes must exist independently of religion.
10. I believe that some actions are unforgivable.
11. There are actions which I, personally, cannot forgive.
12. Compassion is more important to me than justice.
13. I find my greatest joy in the quiet moments when I witness unexpected kindness in my friends.
14. I believe people's souls are almost tangible when they sing.
15. I believe that rationality has no place in faith.
16. I consider myself Agnostic.
17. Their spiritual affiliation (for lack of a better term) is completely irrelevant to how I consider my friends.
18. I draw a large distinction between "religious" and "spiritual," and it
troubles me when people consider the two to be the same thing.
19. The church where I grew up makes me irrationally angry whenever I attend it.
20. I gave up something for Lent this year.
Twenty statements, fifteen truths!
1. I long for the freedom of being a mediocre student.
2. I read Momo over the last three days, and was amazed at how easy it is to polish off a book when you have one you like. It's been so long, and that makes me sad.
3. I'm happy being single.
4. I desperately want a boyfriend.
5. I feel chastised, patronised, and disliked when someone tells me to go to bed. Especially when I am trying to talk to them about something.
6. I am really quite happy with my life right now.
7. I don't consider myself flirtatious.
8. I recently discovered a deep love for Junior Mints.
9. My favorite article of clothing is a reddish-pinkish plaid flannel shirt cut for women. It was on clearance at KOHL'S, and it is amazing.
10. I have eight uneaten oranges sitting in a bowl in my room. They have been collected, one by one, from the cafeteria, but I never remember to eat them.
11. For most of this year, I've been keeping a nearly daily journal... hardcopy.
12. My twenty-first birthday is in less than a month.
13. I have never had a pet.
14. I love scary movies.
15. My Valentine's Day kicked some serious Hallmark-endorsed butt.
16. I'm taking twenty credits this semester.
17. Whenever I take time to talk to God, I feel better.
18. I am one class shy of finishing my German major.
19. I can't speak German.
20. I am thinking about auditing German 1002 or 1003 next semester, just for the sake of building my awful vocabulary.
No temptation has seized you except what is common to man. And God is faithful—he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can stand up under it.
-Romans 10:13
I opted not to attend my evening commitment last night, instead having dinner and carefully setting up a temporary drawing studio in the sink room. I listened to music and drew, shaped, erased, redrew the set up (jewelry hanging from metal bars) that I had arranged. The lights were out except for the little desktop lamp I had brought with me as a light source for the drawing, and the room was peaceful and dark. I spent a couple hours drawing, secluded but not really alone. Several people stopped by—some of them several times—to say hello, look at the drawing, give me a hug. It was very relaxing. (The drawing itself, I think, turned out very well, although much of the darker charcoal has already brushed off—so it looked good at one point, at least. I really do need to buy some fixative for all these charcoal drawings that I've been doing.)
After finishing the drawing (in all honesty, I didn't quite finish—I realised after I had packed up that I had forgotten to put in some final details, but decided that things were good enough), I brought the art-specific things downstairs to my room and moved the rest of my work for the night into the lounge. I had some homework for one of my German classes—it was kind of touch-and-go. Sometimes I could read exactly what it said, and sometimes I couldn't make heads nor tails of an entire paragraph. But I worked on that for a while, eventually resigning myself to the fact that I wasn't going to get any further than I had already gotten.
And to be honest, my mind wasn't entirely on my German homework (well, is it ever?). There were two very interesting discussions going on in the lounge—two friends talking about life, and two others, further away, talking about the nature of religion. The latter two eventually disappeared, but as the night went on, more and more people joined the first quiet discussion.
And people began talking about what they believe, and what they don't—the questions they have, the things they wonder about, their journeys toward and away from God. Why they believe—or don't any longer—what they were taught as children, and everyone's quiet, uncertain, personal thoughts on what they think they might believe someday, but don't quite yet.
It was strange, and sad, and beautiful—the little moments, the questions, the honest curiosity. Wonderful to watch and listen as these people talked about what they hold true in life—so strange to see the softer, uncertain, side of them—and sad, as they spoke about the things they don't believe, even though they wish they did. The gentleness in the conversation was...amazing.
I think people are beautiful.
Oh dear.
Do I really want to take this class, I wondered. It's late, four hours long. By the time it's done, I'll have had class for twelve hours today.
I really loathe drawing cylinders, I reminded myself. And that's all we're going to do, you know. Cylinders, and balls, and little chess pieces with shadows on the tablecloth.
I don't need to take a drawing class, I said. I hate drawing these things. I just want to doodle, to sketch. That's what I love to do. And that's not what this class is about. I'm going to hate it.
There was no place to sit, so I stood against the wall, waiting for the instructor to appear. It seemed she was late, but I didn't have a time piece.
Like all the other students, I waited.
And she came, and she took roll call, and she spent an hour talking to us. This is where you can rent lockers, she said. You need permission to stay in the building after eleven p.m., she said. These are the supplies you need to buy at Utrecht.
My stomach was twisting. I didn't want to be here.
Sometimes I'll come over and work directly on your drawing with you.
If that woman ever touches my drawings, I thought panickedly, I'll punch her in the gut.
If you can't work in charcoal, this isn't the class for you.
I could drop the class, I found myself thinking. Twelve-hour-long Wednesdays are ridiculous anyway.
If you can't work from a nude model, this isn't the class for you.
If I dropped this class, I would just need to find a two-credit class to take in its place.
If you think that this isn't the class for you, you should leave now, quietly.
My heart was racing, impossibly nervous. My eyes were brimming with tears. Why does the first day of class always do this to me?
If you don't leave, we're going to start drawing.
I very nearly walked out of the room. No, I told myself. It's just four hours. You can make it through four hours tonight. After class, at ten, I would go home. I would look for another class to take. Two credits—a two or three credit class would be easy to find.
And then, simply, I would not come back to this place.
This is how you work the easels, she explained. This is how you grey down the paper. Take your eraser and erase where it's supposed to be lightest. This shadow is connected to this shadow, she said. Erase around them.
Why did I even want to take an art class in the first place?
She set us loose to draw.
I wandered the tables, scanning the chess pieces and little rubber balls, looking for something to draw. No, no... No. Not that. Not this. Not those. No cylinders, no perfect little geometric shapes. My eyes lit upon a coil—black metal, heavy, twisted, misshapen.
I watched the coil's shadow as I walked around the table. Here—no, here. This is where I would draw. I claimed an easel, collected a drawing board, paper, masking tape. Taped the edges of the paper to the board, turned, rearranged.
Charcoal. Soft black across the paper, everywhere. Softened, blurred, blended down to grey. A glance back to the coil—how to begin? Outline, shape—slowly.
Eraser in hand, I began to work. Slowly, so slowly, we began to see.
The hint of an outline. A dirty white line, barely there against the soft grey page. Erase.
Again, further, shaping, more. Lighter here, taken back. The edge of the metal, curved just so. The transistion, so slight, between the metal and its dark reflection. The star-shaped brightnesses between the coil and its shadow.
Around the twisted grey shape, a tablecloth begins to appear.
More charcoal. Silky soft across the page. Darker, smoother, blended.
Darkened, deepened, drawn—erased again. Edges polished, blurred, reshaped.
A step back. For the first time, more than just the shapes and edges—a picture appeared.
The coil stood out like midnight against the paper, its shadow thrown crazily across the page.
Closer again. Darker, lighter, shadow fading. Erasing again: hints of reflected light here—here, here.
Fingers sooty, hands black, face smudged with charcoal. I brushed hair out of my face, again—another grey smudge across my cheek.
My fingers darkened the paper here, lighten the thick charcoal there, moving, softening, shaping.
A step back, then two—the image on the page is beautiful, like nothing I have ever seen.
The lights go on.
Four hours have passed.
I had forgotten what drawing, this kind of drawing, is to me.
The patience, the beauty, the stubborness and craftmanship and unknown result. The silent, steady work, the well of peace.
This is good. This is right.
It's like a prayer.
I've been going for walks a lot this semester, and recently it's become a more-or-less daily thing. The reasons vary—sometimes I'm feeling down, sometimes I can't sleep, sometimes I'm on a quest to take picures, sometimes it's just a beautiful day, and I'm craving sunshine. What it all comes down to is that I do a lot of walking.
I usually invite someone to come along with me—so far this semester, only one person has taken me up on the offer, but it doesn't hurt to throw it out there, I guess. And I do enjoy walking by myself. (Sometimes I could use the company, I admit.)
I've really come to rely on my daily walk. I didn't realise this until this week, when several school-related things crashed down on me, and I had to spend two pretty solid days studying and doing homework (and passing out, exhausted, between classes). Result: no walk for Sara, two days in a row. Further result: A very sad, stressed, angry, exhausted, overwhelmed Sara. And not just stressed and overwhelmed by the homework itself, but by the fact that I hadn't had my daily downtime.
Walking destresses me. (Note: destresses, not distresses.) I've mentioned before that I go walking when I'm upset, and that's true—it's about the only physical outlet I have, and all the reasons that it helps are listed in the post linked above. But even when I'm not specifically upset, walking helps me. Being outside, moving around, having time to think about things—and oh, the things we think about. A little bit of time to clear my head, to stop concentrating on ancient dead languages; a little while to appreciate the beauty around me, to relax. To try to sort out the plethora of personal concerns and problems I don't have time to deal with otherwise. To talk, a little—hesitantly—with God.
When I don't have time for this, it shows. A lot. I spent several hours outside last night trying to get a grip on things, and it didn't really help. I feel like a walking disaster right now.
Oh, life.
I've been having a hard time of things lately, and I've also been having a hard time pinning down exactly why. Last week went very well for me—I can't fully describe the sense of relief I feel now that I've dropped one of my classes. I feel on top of things, happier, less stressed, and just generally glad to be alive. It's wonderful. I feel like myself again.
So that aspect of things is unquestionably good. Other aspects of things, maybe not so much. There are a lot of things I'm really struggling with right now, and it turns out that I don't know how to deal with them by myself. It further turns out that I'm really bad at asking for help.
Cidade de Deus left me feeling very troubled this weekend, and I think that's still been affecting how I act. It's such a grim movie, and so many people are hurt and killed, just because of the circumstances they're thrown into. It really bothers me that the lives of so many people are like that. There's nothing I can do to fix or change it—where would I even start? My career choice (specifics unknown) falls into the vague category of helping people and making their lives better somehow. And to think about this is overwhelming. What can I possibly do, when so many people work to support and endorse the violent, hopeless status quo? I know this isn't the way I should be looking at things, but I feel like there's no point in even trying to do anything. The whole situation is disheartening, and even when I try to argue with myself ("Some good is better than no good,") I've been having a tough time dealing with it. It's hard to be idealistic in the face of human cruelty. The basic premise of my idealogy is that People are good at heart. That given the chance, they'll do the right thing. And it's not true. You can't change the facts of the world by spouting messages from inspirational posters. "You can make a difference!" Well, yeah, I'd like to think so. But it's a lot harder to believe now than it was when I was in second grade.
Further troubling me (okay, mostly troubling me) is the state of my relationship (or lack thereof) with God. Those of you who have faithfully followed me from blog to blog over the last five years are aware that it's been a rocky road. I'm at another teetering point, and I guess I feel like I'm still not sure which way things are going to fall. It's hard to look at my life over the last seven years and see what I mixed up kid I've been....and still am, really—that's the reason why I even bring it up.
So I've been at a loss on that end of things, and it's really been affecting my life. Even when hanging out and having fun, there's a dark undercurrent to my thoughts that never goes away. (And it's funny, because when I'm completely on the wrong side of the tracks, God-wise, any worry is just put out of my mind and doesn't bother me at all. It's only when I'm trying to get back to some level of faith that the lack of it bothers me. And by "it's funny," I mean "it sucks and is utterly discouraging.") After two and a half years in the Cities, I still haven't found a church to which I really feel I belong, and that bothers me. ('Bothers' isn't really a strong enough word in this situation, but it'll do.) This is a problem, because I know that I need some level of fellowship. I know that I need the support of others, and I know that I need to have a regular contact with people where the basis of interaction is the fact that we are both/all Christians.
I know and acknowledge that I need this. But I feel like I'm ready to give up on finding it. It isn't that I don't know any Christians here—I do, and am friends with several of them. But it's very hard to broach the subject, because I don't actually know what I want to say. I want to talk with them, but I don't have a specific purpose in mind—just conversation for the sake of conversation. It seems like no one else really wants that.I long to see you so that I may impart to you some spiritual gift to make you strong—that is, that you and I may be mutually encouraged by each other's faith. (Paul to the Church at Rome, Romans 1: 11-12.)
I just need support. I need to feel like I'm not in this alone. I need friends. I need people to pray for me.
I don't have a specific question, or a specific issue, or a specific request. When you ask me "What's wrong," I don't know what to say. A lot of things are wrong...a lot of things are also right. But when you ask me what is bothering me, and I give you an example, I don't want you to think that this one issue is the sum total of everything that is troubling me. It's really, really not...but I also don't want to try and give you a run-down of every single thing that is on my mind, because doing that is equally ridiculous.
You ask me "What's wrong," and I don't know what to say. The things that deeply trouble me are hard to admit to, hard to bring up. The smaller things are easier to talk about, but not really what I need help with. So how do I answer?
Lots of times, I don't answer. Is that the best solution? Well, of course not. It's not even an active decision. I don't think so myself, "Gee, if I just keep quiet, maybe the question will go away. Maybe I won't have to deal with this." I don't say anything because I'm scared. Because I'm torn. Because I want to tell you what's really bothering me, and I want to ask for you help, but I don't know how to do it. Because I'm fighting myself, trying to find the right words to start a conversation, and it takes a long time—often, it takes too long. I feel frustrated or embarrassed, and I just want the situation to be over. I leave, or change the subject. Does that help me? Well, no.
But it's hard. I still (despite all of the above) consider myself a pretty cheerful person. I love hanging out, goofing off, making things, cheering people, being silly, watching movies, going for walks, etc., etc., etc. It's hard talking to people about the things that bother me, because that a side of myself that I´m not always thrilled with. Everyone has problems—goodness, I know that. And everyone has rough days. It's normal. It's life. But sometimes, I feel like all I do is complain. I feel like the only side of me that people see is the troubled, stressed-out, "I have to translate three pages of Old Norse tonight" Sara. I feel like all that my friends see of me is sad, stressed, nervous wreck. And then I feel like the only reason people are friends with me is so they can try to fix me. I don't want my friends to think of me as broken in the first place.
So that, then, is the trifecta of things that have been troubling me. I feel like the purpose to which I´ve been called is a hopeless situation. I´m at a loss when it comes to God, and I need help and support. And I don´t know how to begin to talk to anyone about the first two, which substantially compounds the situation.
It seems a little strange that I am posting so much about God at another stage of uncertainty in my life. My spiritual life is on the upswing—far from whole, but growing once again. It's a good feeling, if a little...overwhelming? So I post these things, because they are on my mind. Not because I am sure in my faith, but because I am uncertain and lost, and these are the things that help me find peace. And, tentatively, I offer them out to you.
One of these things that I turn to is a prayer taken from the book of Ephesians. In it, Paul is speaking to the Church at Ephesus, and he says this:
I keep asking that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the glorious Father, may give you the Spirit of wisdom and revelation, so that you may know him better. I pray also that the eyes of your heart may be enlightened in order than you may know the hope to which he has called you, the riches of his glorious inheritance in the saints, and his incomparably great power for us who believe.
For this reason, I kneel before the Father, from whom his whole family in heaven and on earth derives its name. I pray that out of his glorious riches he may strengthen you with power through his Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith. And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the saints, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.
The above verses are from Ephesians 1: 17-19 and Ephesians 3: 14-19. The reason I bring it up, is because it's a beautiful prayer to pray for someone (anyone) in your life. When I feel that someone in my life needs a spiritual boost (not infrequently, this person is myself), I turn to this page in my Bible and read these verses, subsituting his or her name (or the appropriate pronoun) for the bolded, underlined words above.
It is a simple, powerful prayer if you want to help someone but don't know where to begin or how to find the words. If I know you are reading this, I guarantee that I have placed your name in the lines above. I tell you so that you can (if you so wish) do the same for yourself, or those dear to you.
I feel I may have posted about this on one of my (many) previous blogs, but here it is again—for those of you who are newly my friends, for those of you whom it would not hurt to read again, for those of you whom I do not know who stumbled across this whilst VOXing.
• Life goes on. Unbelievable sometimes, but true.
• The people who really matter will never lose touch. And sometimes that is up to you.
• Except sometimes they will. And sometimes that is up to you.
• I adore my family. Every once in a while I realise again just how awesome they are.
• You don't really know your limits until you've exceeded them. Oops.
• You learn more from your mistakes than your sucesses, but you have to be willing to admit that they were mistakes in order to accept the lesson. I nearly ran myself into the ground last semester, but managed to scrape by. For some insane reason, I thought I would be able to do it again this semester. I learned otherwise, and hopefully I won't do that again.
• Even people who claim to hate dancing love to see someone dance. And sometimes you can take them by the hand and spin them around until they forget to be embarrassed.
• Orange spit stains. Shout wipes help.
• Life is hard when your friends are hurting. No witty commentary here, I'm afraid. My heart aches.
• Hugs are amazing. I could hang on to my friends for hours and be the most contented girl on this green earth.
• God is faithful. This deserves a post in and of itself. Perhaps after I finish my paper. And on that note...
• Papers are ridiculous. I'm sure that my professors want to read thirty papers about the same topic even less than those thirty students want to write about the topic. Oh, college.
• It's not worth your health. Nothing is. No, not even that.
• I love watching movies with geeks. Hanging out on the IT floor is like high school friday movie nights all over again. Amazing. I feel so at home here.
• These are my joys in life: Dancing. Singing. Acting. Sculpting. Volunteering. Helping. Healing. I feel like I am doing none of the first four things right now, and I can only hope and pray that I am helping and healing someone.
I long for human contact.
And for those who have yet to hear the update, yes. I dropped the class. I cannot describe the sense of relief I feel from that. And life goes on.
Live in peace with each other. Warn those who are idle; encourage the timid; help the weak.
Be patient with everyone! Make sure that nobody pays back wrong for wrong, but always try to be kind to each other—and to everyone else.Be joyful always! Pray continually. Give thanks in all circumstances.
Do not put out the spirit's fire. Do no treat prophecies with contempt. Test everything. Hold on to the good.
Avoid every kind of evil.May God himself, the God of peace, sanctify you through and through. The one who calls you is faithful, and he will do it.
Pray for us.
The above is a passage from 1 Thessalonians, some of the last verses of the book. (The section heading, if you can believe it, is titled "Final Instructions.") When I'm having trouble with life, faith, or just surviving, one of the best places to go for help is the closing remarks of the epistles. The epistles are the "letter books" of the Bible—letters written from the apostles to teach, encourage, reprimand their friends. Most end with a section called "final remarks" or "final greetings." It's the end of a letter, the last words from a friend—a blessing, and a final exhortation to be strong. They're often incredibly comforting.
The Thessalonians verses above (chapter five, starting with verse twelve) have been a great comfort to me recently. In particular the bolded phrase above: Test everything. Hold on to the good. It's become something of a mantra for me these past few days. It's hard to explain why it strikes such a chord, but of course I'm here to try.
Part of it, I think, is the context. Set in the middle of other commands, other instructions for living, other advice for life. That it is positive—do this!—in the middle of three negatives (don't do this, don't do that, avoid the other thing) helps it to stand out. But I think perhaps the greatest reason why I've grabbed on to the phrase is because it's so tangible. Do not put out the spirit's fire? Well, hopefully not, but how do I know? Do not treat prophecies with contempt? What do I know about prophecies? Avoid evil? Well, I try...
Test everything. Hold on to the good.
Okay, I can do that.
This, this applies to my life. Test—test what? Everything. In what way? To see if it is good. And if it is, hold on to it.
This says to me, hang in there. There's a lot of everything going on, I know, but hang in there. Do what you can. No, not everything in your life is good. Not everything you're taught is good. Not everything you do, everything you see, everyone you know, is good.
But some of it is good. Find it. Identify it. Hold on to it. Cling to it. Learn from it.
Don't let it slip away.
