the 48th week

Monday. Eric and I opened, and Sarah, Brandon and I grabbed drinks at Rock Bottom before going our separate ways. When I got to my car in the garage, the driver's door was cracked open. I got inside and saw that the emergency brake had been pulled up and an unopened jug of industrial-strength silverware cleaner left in my passenger's seat. Underneath the jug was a stack of papers stapled together detailing the history and symptoms of pneumonic plague. Weird, right? After a trip to The Anchor I headed up past the Spring Grove Cemetery to John & Brandy's new house: it's a 19th century farmhouse and is super awesome. Andy and Blake showed up, and we played with Clover and watched the Browns vs. Packers game.

Tuesday. Miranda and I opened; she went home sick, and Chloe filled in. I did some cleaning around the house, drank coffee at The Anchor, and then Tori and I grabbed ice cream at the Graeter's on Fountain Square. She's a super cool chick; Eric's on a bender with good hires. I spent the evening at home, dwelling in the dark silence. I reopened my old OKCupid app, ruffled through some profiles, but I didn't want to send messages to anybody. The thing is, I don't want a girlfriend. I just want Mandy K. I'm okay with being single. If I wanted a girlfriend, I could get one. But what I want is a sort of thing most women my age aren't into, and I want it with no one but the Wisconsinite.

Wednesday. At 4:30 AM I was woken by a dream where I was standing outside the church where she was getting married, and her husband-to-be was telling me that she didn't want me to be there, that she didn't want to know me anymore. I woke with a searing, saddening jolt and couldn't get back to sleep, lost in a fury of disjointed thoughts and prayers till I had to leave for work at T.M. I thought about her a lot today, and I wanted to know how she was doing; it was her birthday, and consequently the birthday of her brother Josh. I hate not knowing how she's doing, but I pray for her daily, and especially today. 

Thursday. I worked till 1:30 with Ben and Jason and did some mulching at Gorman Heritage Farms. I spent much of the afternoon at The Anchor, and I went to bed early after a quiet evening reading and watching the latest episode of The Walking Dead. I took a hot bath in the glow of an oil lantern and went to bed pretty early. Also: Christmas music has been blowing up on two out of the three stations I can get in my ghetto car, and though Christmas music usually grinds my ears, this year I'm actually enjoying it. Carol of the Bells sends shivers down my spine every time.

Friday. Eric & I opened, and I went to The Anchor to do some writing and then swung by The Farmhouse (that's what I'm dubbing John & Brandy's new place) for an evening of video games, chicken on the grill, Christmas ales and laughter with John & Brandy, Amos, Ams, Frank & Rebecca, and even Sabrina came by. Ams and I headed north to Dayton and rounded out the evening watching Aziz Ansari's (?) standup on Netflix. He's hilarious, albeit wildly offensive at times. Mom & Dad are vacationing in Indiana (of all places) and so Ams and I are watching Skylar for the weekend.

Saturday. I woke early and went to the Centerville Starbucks for an iced soy caramel macchiato and to do some reading (Ephesians, to stay current with U.C.C.'s sermon series on the letter). Ams and I got China Cottage for lunch (oh, how I missed that place!) and we spent the afternoon watching Copper and hanging out with Skylar. I took her to North Park and we went romping about in the woods and in the creek; she was euphoric. I picked up my dad's old copy of Platt's Radical, finished in an hour or two, a pretty solid read. Ams went to Blake & Traci's, and I met up with my old Ridgeville friend Stephanie at the Centerville Starbucks for drinks, and then we went across the street to Archer's for a late-night dinner. It was good catching up; ironically, we stopped talking when the Wisconsinite messaged me out-of-the-blue. Another example of how my love for the Wisconsinite put a stop-gap in my life here. Not once have I prayed for God to reverse what happened, despite every desire for her to call me up and say she's changed her mind and wants to give "us" another shot. She won't change her mind, and I know that. To pray for such a thing would just be indulging a hope best left strangled. Besides, she admitted she "felt" something for him, and I can't ask God to put a halt in something that's good for her, because I care for her and want what's best for her. My prayer is only that God will bless me the same way he's blessed her, and that he'll heal my sadness over not getting to have with her what I've wanted for so long, and that he'll remove the nausea that comes every time I picture her with someone else.

Sunday. I woke around 7:30 and ran to Speedway for coffee and sat in Dad's chair in his den reading Colossians (I'm plowing through the prison epistles). I want to have a den like his when I have my own place. "Like father, like son." I discovered with alarm that my moleskin journal disappeared, and after some investigation, it became apparent that I'd set it on top of my car before heading to Starbucks last night and had forgotten to put it in the passenger seat. So I drove up and down the roads to Starbucks, never did find it. *SIGH* That journal was filled with all sorts of things--notes on books I've been reading, meditations on various scriptures, story plot-lines, etc.--and it sucks that it's gone. Upon returning to Cincinnati, I met up with Andy, Mandy, Corey, Ams and Matt at the Bohemian Hookah Cafe in the Gaslight district before checking out Corey and Mandy's new place in Covington. It's only two streets from The Anchor! We climbed into the roof and watched the city traffic and the cold wind cut across our faces.

trending now!

I want to preface this post, in light of the title, by stating matter-of-factly that what's trending in my spheres of internet blogdom is in no way reflective of what's actually trending with most people. Here are three articles that I've really liked lately, with the links and a few snippets.

Marriage Isn't For You. 

"[Marriage] isn't for you. You don't marry to make yourself happy, you marry to make someone else happy. More than that, your marriage isn't for yourself, you're marrying for a family. Not just for the in-laws and all of that nonsense, but for your future children. Who do you want to help you raise them? Who do you want to influence them? Marriage isn't for you. It's not about you. Marriage is about the person you married."

A Response To: "Marriage Isn't For You".

"[Marriage] is definitely not about making yourself happy, but it's not always about making your spouse happy either. True love is focused on God, and that sometimes means making people unhappy in order to draw them closer to God. Marriage is not about making your spouse smile or laugh every day. Marriage is not about being nice, it's about loving your spouse as God loves them. Marriage is not only about making your spouse happy, it's about making them holy."

"Marriage isn't for you, but it's not only about your spouse either. Marriage is meant to symbolize the beauty of the human soul espoused to Christ. Marriage is ultimately to bring glory to God."

"God in Recovery" by Walter Brueggemann.

The article is truly thought-provoking, and I have this coming Tuesday off work to go and hear him speak at C.C.U. Apparently his lecture at C.C.U. is going to be in the same vein as the article above, but with different emphases. Here's what an old professor (and neighbor, ironically) had to say on the upcoming lecture:

* * *

Specifically, Brueggemann is invested in the text's priority over established theologies, insofar as he has a higher view of the text than he has of the various theologies that attempt to control/determine the text. His particular investment is in the text-as-revelation, and he finds ways to confront doctrinal interestedness that runs up against the text.

So in this piece he points to the text's statement in Ex 32.14 that God repented (nacham) and wonders what this might mean. The implicit critique is that if God "repents" then perhaps God changes. B's argument is that God allows dialogue with humanity and that the dialogue God allows is of such a nature that it is also permitted to change God. He cites other examples where, in dialogue with creation, God takes a different path than the one ostensibly laid out.

Some see this as an heretical notion, mainly due to the fact that they privilege a theological fragment over the text's actual claims. Specifically, they select a section of a theological system that references God's immutability. With that in view, they imagine that B's essay necessarily contradicts Scripture . . . even though he is specifically dealing with scriptural statements . . . . and this is the point of confrontation that is so valuable: on the one hand we have this theory about immutability on the other hand we have a set of texts that seem to undermine that theory.

However, B's point here is not that God's immutability is compromised, rather that it is a part of God's immutable nature to respond to human dialogue. Insofar as that is the case, B's essay is about the how incredible it is that we have a God that will listen to us.

I'd also note that probably most Christians think that God is open to human dialogue, and indeed they likely depend on it. For example, every single time someone prays to God that a person may be "healed," then that prayer assumes God can change an existing and even, if God is "always in control," a determined path. This dialogic feature of God's character is what B is pointing to as a way to confront assumptions about how our theology about God works.

meditations a la Kempis

Thomas a' Kempis' The Imitation of Christ is one of my favorite Christian works. Written hundreds of years ago by a monk in a monastery, Kempis writes about life in the monastery and life in Christ. In some places he writes as if the reader's in dialogue with Jesus, and it reads like a conversational prayer. I've been reading it a lot lately, and Kempis makes a big deal about how life isn't about us but about Christ and what Christ wants to do in us. In lieu of all that, here's a little "meditation" of sorts I've felt inclined to share.

* * *

Adoption into God’s family involves both gifts and discipline from the hand of God. Those who aren’t God’s children have been “given up,” and since they aren’t his children, they experience neither his staff nor his rod. As a child of God I experience both, and sometimes I don’t like it.

I’m God’s child, and a selfish one: I want God to give me what I want, when I want it, and in the manner I want it given to me. I want him to hand me my dreams and take away my problems. It isn’t that God doesn’t want his children to be happy and fulfilled; it’s that he wants more than that for us. He’s not a kindergarten teacher trying to placate hordes of annoying kids but a loving father who wishes and wills his children to “grow up” and become who they’re meant to be. His primary concern isn’t our feelings but the kind of people we’re becoming.

Our father wants us to be freed from all that ensnares us, all that chains us to the wall and keeps us from moving forward. He wants to break those bonds that keep us from ourselves; he wants to deliver us from all that enslaves us so that we can move boldly into our inheritance. Our father wants us to be whole; he wants us to be fully-flourishing human beings in a corrupt and fallen world. God’s ultimate goal isn’t the fulfillment of our dreams, ambitions, and selfish hopes; his ultimate goal is our conformity to Christ. He wants us to be who we are created to be, and we who are his children have not the burden but the privilege of experiencing not only the comfort of his staff but the sharp sting of his rod. While my priority inclines to my own happiness and self-fulfillment, my own vindication and experience of life, God’s priority is my conformity to the image of his Son, conformity to genuine humanness. I may want my father to remove all the trials of my life; but precisely because he is my father, and because he cares about me as a person, he would rather use these trials and difficulties to fashion me into who I truly am: a redeemed human being, a different sort of person in a world curled in on itself.

Something I struggle with in my faith is my expectations of God: I’ve grown up and been conditioned to think that the closer you are to God, the more holier you are, the better God will make your life. This is why it stuns me so much when I see God-fearing and God-loving people suffer tragedy and misfortune. I want to ask, “Where is God?”, the classic wail of the prophets, and I want to know why a loving father could allow such things to happen. I must remind myself that we live in the present evil age, and we’re not left here simply to enjoy life and survive as we wait for Kingdom Come. God’s promised to take care of us, but that doesn’t mean he makes our lives a rose garden experience. A good father doesn’t take care of his children by isolating them from the wider world; rather, a good father goes out into the world with his children, standing by their side as the world throws all it has at them, supporting them and encouraging them and helping them in the midst of it all, so that his children will grow into decent, functioning adults. God doesn’t allow his children to be overwhelmed, even if it feels like that at times; he’s with us in our trials, teaching us and transforming us inside-out. When death strikes too soon, it’s my inclination to ask why God has allowed such a thing to happen when he’s loving. My assumption is something along the lines that a loving God wouldn’t allow such a tragedy to befall his children; but tragedy this side of paradise is a blessing on the other, and I believe that on the other side of death, we who are God’s children will find that he has taken care of us far more than we ever assumed, and “paradise” is just a foretaste of what lies beyond the Consummation. This life is a mere breath; in lieu of eternity, it is but a moment. If every early death is a testament to the unfaithfulness of God, then God has been faithless to all those throughout history who have put their faith in him and died. The kingdom has come but not yet, and until this present evil age is eradicated, death will stalk—but for those who are in Christ, death has lost its sting.

This life isn’t a “vale of tears” to be endured. We who are saved in the present will be saved fully and finally in the future, and the time we’re given by our father isn’t given so that we can enjoy life as much as we can before we die, but so that we can begin the work we will continue the other side of Judgment Day. Life from conversion to glorification is training for the world to come. History doesn’t end in the Consummation; rather, a new story begins in a new age in the story of the cosmos, a story in which we will be rulers gardening the universe for the glory of God. All that I experience is to be used to train myself for the role God has for me. Conformity to Christ isn’t conformity for its own sake, but conformity to the pattern of genuine human living which is appropriate for God’s image-bearers, those called and ordained to advance his loving care and rule through the universe.

* * *

Sometimes I fall into the trap of an egocentric faith: "What I want from God vs. What God wants from me." It's easy to do when the American church takes the most challenging statements of Jesus and bleeds them of their sting by turning them into metaphorical principles. The reality is that God has promised those who follow Jesus nothing but suffering this side of the eschaton and reward on the other side. Jesus said that those who followed him had to give up everything--their families, their careers, their hopes and aspirations, their gods and even the roofs over their head--and so when life doesn't pan out the way I want it to, I'm wrong to expect God to "make it all better."

I often wonder about the extent and scope of God's involvement in our lives. As a Christian theist, I believe he's involved, and there have been moments in my life, and in the lives of those I know, where God's hand has been evident. Miracles and such like that. They're few and far between, and that's nothing new--even in the Old and New Testaments, miracles were actually pretty rare events (except in the ministry of Jesus), and anyone who says "life in the Spirit" is marked by miracles everywhere you look hasn't practiced a simple chronology. Inherent in my pondering his involvement in our lives (or, even, lack thereof) is an assumption that God's involvement will be seen only within a certain set of parameters. That is to say, I assume God will only be involved in a loving capacity, and that his hand will be seen only in acts of love. Here I'm at fault: the bible is chocked full of God's hand being involved in peoples' lives not in love but in wrath and/or discipline. The scope of God's involvement includes both those things we'd like God to do and those things we don't want God to do. The extent of it--"How often does God actually insert himself into the world around us and 'work his stuff'?"--is something I'm pretty clueless on. What I will say is that I believe the extent of his involvement factors in prayer: I believe God is more apt to act (and/or change his disposition or intent) in lieu of prayers made by those who belong to him.

[Victory]

John introduced me to a folksy-bluegrass band called Trampled by Turtles, and I've been devouring their stuff. They're kinda like a bluegrass version of Mumford & Sons. Here's their song Victory. I like the lyrics.

All of us lonely, it ain’t a sin

To want something better than the shape you’re in.

The rain came at the break of day,

Your light in the windowpane said, Come on In.

It’s a broken heart babe, I know the sound.

Feels like your hand are nailed to the ground.

But it’ll pass just like everything else.

You won’t let it get to me, the next time around.

It’s a hard-earn victory.

The life that came from you to me

could never be wrong.

Grown from a moment and a million miles,

Here lies the stardust and it slowly dies,

Borrowed from nothing, come back half alive,

And the stars, they whisper blessings as you walk by.

the 47th week

Ams and her Long Island at Rooster's

Monday. A rough day. I threw out my back, and Amos was kind and covered the second half of my shift. After The Anchor I went to the Loth House for a bit, and Ams and I got Penn Station for dinner.

Tuesday. Miranda and I opened, and I went to The Anchor after work and then hung out with Amos for a while before enjoying some Hoos-delivered Adriatico’s pizza. I was sad all day; I didn’t go to The Anchor because I wanted to but because it was ritual. I spent most of my time staring numbly at the lighthouse mural. Even eating takes too much work; over the last three days I’ve eaten only about 1500 calories altogether.

Wednesday. I went to The Anchor when I woke up, tried to listen to a lecture on American Independence but just couldn’t find the motivation; I sat there wasting time with nothing but my thoughts and pen. My shift with W.O.J. was cancelled, so I went to Ams’ and we watched TV and ordered La’Rosa’s. “I really wish our lives weren’t so shitty,” she quipped; “I hate how we’re always synced in hating life.” It helps us bear one another’s burdens, at the least.

Thursday. I woke stunned with sadness. I pass out in the hope of forgetting about her only to dream about her and wake up sadder than when I went to bed. The dreams sap all my energy, and I woke dreading the day: a long shift with W.O.J. (enjoyable, but still with the ever-present shadow clouding everything). The shift requires lots of energy on my own part, and I feel like I barely have enough energy to function myself. I wanted to try out U.C.C.’s Thursday night Young Adult group, and I made it as far as the café, and I just couldn’t do it. I just didn’t have the energy: I was drained, and forcing myself into a crowd thick with people I don’t know and having to be social and put on a friendly face while really feeling nothing but miserable would only drain me all the more. So I drove home and was in bed by 9:00 (8:00 Wisconsin time; I hate how I still do that).

Friday. All week long at Tazza Mia, customers and co-workers have been asking, “What’s wrong?” The sadness, it’s engraved on my face and reflected darkly in my eyes. I blame it on my back (which is mostly better but still a bit achy). Usually my façade is air-tight, but the grief is too strong this time, and pretending to the world that everything is okay while the opposite happens to be the case just takes too much effort I simply don’t have. I met up with Ams at her place, and we hung out with Lane for a while and she cut my hair. Dinner with my dad’s side of the family in New Carlisle went well, and Ams and I drove back to Cincinnati and then hung out in her room with Lane for a couple hours.

Saturday. Jennifer and I met up at Tazza Mia to catch up and drink coffee, and we grabbed beers at Rock Bottom and walked around Fountain Square. Later in the afternoon I went to the Apple Festival Washington Park with one of my guys. They had a petting zoo with a 15-pound rabbit and a tortoise wearing a dinosaur-themed canvas over its shell. I was exhausted when I got home and passed out for a bit, then woke up feeling sick with hunger. Four cups of coffee and a beer do not a satisfactory meal make. Andy swung by since he was in the area, and we went to Habit’s Café in Oakley and sat at the bar. I had a chicken quesadilla and he had their fish & chips, and he ordered a beer and I had a diet coke. We talked about zombies, literature, “prehistory,” and the sacred art of journaling.

Sunday. I went to The Anchor before meeting up with Ams for church at U.C.C. Anthony preached on “spiritual gifts” from Ephesians 4 (part of their Ephesians series; I love how they employ “exegetical” sermons). I went downtown for a “meeting” with Tibbles at Tazza Mia, and then I scrambled north to make in time for Indian buffet in Oakley with Andy, Ams, and Mandy. I spent my evening hanging out with Ams: dinner and drinks at Rooster’s (I got a quesadilla and potato skins!) and Monsters University.

an [app]ropriate post

Blogger has an app for the IPhone and this is me trying it out. I wanted to make sure I captured autumn before winter sweeps her away, and this was taken out our kitchen window. 

Corey and Mandy moved out today.

The house will be creepily quiet.

A foretaste of the next year of my life.

Amanda's trying to figure out a way for us to watch The Walking Dead and the Mario Kart theme is playing in the background. It's been a quiet evening hanging out with her, a nice end to a rather busy and draining week. 

She came with me to church today and that was nice. Andy, Mandy, Ams and I enjoyed the Indian buffet near our house for lunch, and Mandy asked how church was and I quipped, "I really enjoyed it, cause I'm a Christian!" Haha. UCC was indeed good; I really like the associate pastor's exegetical manner of teaching, and today was on spiritual gifts, a twist that I hadn't yet considered but which makes sense and is coherent. I really love those sermons that make you approach things differently. 

[to a poet]

And you said,

“Don’t give me nothing you don’t want to lose.”

I said,

“Darling, I’ll give you everything I got,

If I want them to choose.”

Then I got on a plane and flew far away from you.

Though unwillingly I left, 

and it was so, so hard to do.

The streets here at home had rapidly filled up

With the whitest of snow.

And they don’t make no excuse for themselves,

And there’s no need, I know.

Now I miss you more than I can take, and I will surely break.

And every morning that I wake, God, it’s the same.

There’s nothing more to it, I just get through it.

Oh, there’s nothing more to it, I just get through it.

It always takes me by surprise,

How dark it gets this time of the year,

And how apparent it all becomes,

That you’re not close, not even near.

No matter how many times I tell myself I have to be sincere,

I have a hard time standing up and facing those fears.

But Frank put it best when he said, “You can’t plan the heart.”

Those words keep me on my feet

When I think I might just fall apart.

Now I miss you more than I can take, and I will surely break.

And every morning that I wake, God, it’s the same.

There’s nothing more to it, I just get through it.

Oh, there’s nothing more to it, I just get through it.

And so I ask, “Where are you now?”

Just when I needed you.

I won’t ask again, because I know

There’s nothing we can do.

Not now, Darling, and you know it’s true.