tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20975358055823334292024-03-05T21:14:47.636-08:00[no subject]L. Janellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05677293669522644345noreply@blogger.comBlogger21125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2097535805582333429.post-37230065982172182372012-06-04T11:45:00.001-07:002012-06-04T11:45:33.858-07:00new homethis little blog is moving to wordpress. Very sorry if you were already following here, but I think we'll all be happier in the end.<br />
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Please join us there!<br />
<a href="http://ellejanelle.wordpress.com/">ellejanelle.wordpress.com</a><br />
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<br />L. Janellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05677293669522644345noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2097535805582333429.post-21357712014180896622012-06-02T21:31:00.001-07:002012-06-02T21:31:58.516-07:00disingenuous [what a fantastic word]<a href="http://ellejanelle.blogspot.com/2012/01/dear-preston-yancey.html" target="_blank">Another </a><a href="http://seeprestonblog.com/" target="_blank">blogger </a>pointed me to this little essay yesterday - <a href="http://blog.christianitytoday.com/women/2012/05/ann_voskamp_tim_challies_beth_1.html?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+christianitytoday%2Fblog%2Fwomen+%28Her.meneutics%29" target="_blank">In Defense of Earnestness</a> - which should be read by all.<br />
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Today I went to my neighborhood pool to swim laps - well, by "swim laps" I mostly mean, swim two laps, catch my breath, swim a lap, wait 30 seconds... I only halfway know what I'm doing and it's very, very hard. Which is why, when I approached the gate and saw a middle-aged couple enjoying the cool evening in those plastic-slatty lounge chairs, my first instinct was to flee. In coming to the pool, I meant to flounder about in peace (or as peacefully as trying desperately not to breathe water can be), as I've been doing this whole week. But it's a long walk to the pool, I thought, and eventually <i>someone</i> would have to witness my struggle, and if the unsuspecting neighbors became too embarrassed on my behalf they could leave just as well as I. So I waved at the people with my fresh-faced girl-smile and resolutely pretended to be a Swimmer. We exchanged comments about the temperature of the water.<br />
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So of course they were watching me, probably talking about me, and I tried to just focus on <i>left, right, breathe </i>so no one would feel too awkward. I wanted my audience to propel me to do better but that mostly didn't happen; I was my normal, slow, gaspy self. And so I was completely taken aback when on lap six I lost the rhythm (again), stood up sputtering and heard the sound of CHEERING. My unknown neighbors were totally impressed that I could swim at all; they <i>wanted</i> me to get to the other side even more than I did. "Keep going! You can do it!" So I did, just for them.<br />
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Their sheer<i> earnestness</i> was completely disarming. They didn't say to me later, as a conversation starter, "Not to be a creeper but I saw you are fairly competent at swimming". They didn't say, "Aw, come on, why'd you quit?". For whatever reason they became emotionally invested in my progress and took the risk of cheering me on, and they certainly didn't look any cooler but I think we were all happier. When I got out of the pool I even started a conversation with them, and I don't talk to strangers, but I just wanted to be their friend.<br />
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I was raised in a sarcastic family before sarcasm was cool. I satire for a hobby. I self-deprecate compulsively even though I honestly have a very high opinion of myself. I don't think I could ever eliminate the dry wit from my speech or the sarcasm from my thoughts (although I can filter fairly well). But I also think we could all use a reminder: the carefully studied indifference and backhanded compliments and sarcasm battles that define our generation's attitudes are, more often than not, simple cowardice. Sarcasm has become so pervasive that half the time it's not even funny, just a knee-jerk reaction. But to strip down to the simple, straightforward sentence, to be <i>disingenuous</i> - that is the real skill, the real <i>test,</i> not of how hip you are but how little you can bear to hide behind.<br />
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When was the last time you cheered someone on? When was the last time someone cheered you on?L. Janellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05677293669522644345noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2097535805582333429.post-30395538951731049142012-06-02T01:02:00.000-07:002012-06-02T01:02:17.594-07:00Body.What an emotionally charged word.<br />
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One of many themes that emerged throughout my degree program is the fact that Christianity is not Gnosticism - the belief that the material world was created by accident, through stupidity, or by evil, and (in all three cases) is itself evil and must be got rid of*. Christians had a terrible time resisting this religion and its influences, because its assumptions jived really well with Greek philosophy and Christianity, being based in Judaism and not philosophy, didn't. Since Christians didn't fit readily into a predefined category (people <i>need</i> their labels), the authors of the New Testament had to constantly explain how they were only kind of Jewish but <i>definitely</i> not Gnostic. This was really, really important to them, and as a result you can't spill coffee on your Bible without staining some sort of anti-Gnostic statement. For example, if you read something like "Jesus Christ, who came in the flesh", it's not just a phrase that rolls well off the tongue; it's a reminder that the Son of God had a real human body, and that was possible because God is good; creation is good; bodies are good.<br />
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So before Christians established very much at all about their theology, they took great pains to reaffirm this very Jewish idea that <i>he saw what he had made, and it was good. </i>But in the intervening years we have never gotten Greek philosophy quite out of our systems; we can't shake the suspicion that Christians should be striving to live on some higher plane, in our minds or our souls or our spirits where the dirt and goo and sweat don't touch us anymore. This heterodox position is everywhere in our church rhetoric.<br />
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<a href="http://www.ayurveddoctor.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/08/Seated-Forward-bend.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://www.ayurveddoctor.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/08/Seated-Forward-bend.jpg" /></a>I think this contributed, for the first 19 years of my life, to my perception of my body as a liability to be managed. I've never been athletic or even very healthy, and of course I won't be the right size or proportion until I <i>am</i> Scarlett Johansson. And I've always been a thinker - it's not really an exaggeration to say I spent my entire childhood reading. I've decided the main source of my clumsiness is that I can't really be bothered to keep track of all my limbs when I'm <i>analyzing.</i><br />
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But when I came to college I became close friends with several people who like to engage in something they called "voluntary exercise". Being surrounded by these people forced me to think about how I used the resource that was my body. And then came the summer of mono, when after waking from a four-week stupor I managed to convince my mother that "yoga isn't that hard"** and started doing it every day out of sheer boredom while I waited to fully recover.<br />
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The art of standing funny forced me to notice my body. I had to look at myself from strange angles whether they were flattering or not, and connect elbows to knees or chin to shoulder. But even more importantly, I stopped connecting fingers to ankles, and connected them to my toes, and then one magical day I reached out easy as falling and put the palm of my hand on the back of my heel. My body, it turns out, is a marvel of engineering, capable of changing and adapting and doing just the wildest things; the main reason it couldn't do things before is because... it had never done anything before. I had never had the discipline to go through the not-being-able.<br />
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Now I know how to like exercise; but the church still doesn't know how to talk about bodies. And that is not just a minor oversight; when we ignore or misuse our bodies, we are neglecting a glorious gift of God by which I mean <i>we are being bad stewards</i>. So very much of the Bible is trying to tell us what is indisputable in science - that the health of our bodies is inextricably related to the health of the rest of us - so why do we insist on believing our selves reside in our grey matter or in some spiritual dimension?<br />
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Here is what I want to see change: when someone says, "I don't know what to do with this emotional energy/insomnia/sexual temptation," we usually answer, "You should pray". The less spiritual, more Biblical answer? "Pray while you run."<br />
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*it can get more complicated. you don't want it to.<br />
** this was and is a lieL. Janellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05677293669522644345noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2097535805582333429.post-24611089411768640062012-05-29T23:47:00.000-07:002012-05-29T23:47:05.585-07:00Jesus. Now you're just being obnoxious.<br /><br />God thinks he is soooooooooooo funny, I know it. I know he is snickering somewhere, because this is like a bad practical joke, like when I was ten and I hid these tiny pull-string firecrackers behind all the doors for my grandma to find. <span style="font-size: x-small;">[that was mean.]</span> <br /> <br />But for real, I am a <i>victim </i>here. For the past <u>five months</u> he's been dropping this ONE passage back into my life <i>at least </i>once a week. Of all the things I want to hear from God, the thing I'm not interested in hearing is the one he chooses to throw all subtlety aside for. I stand unamused. <br /><br />So here it is: <br /> <br /> “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? 26 Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? 27 Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life? <br />28 “And why do you worry about clothes? See how the flowers of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. 29 Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. 30 If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you—you of little faith? 31 So do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ 32 For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. 33 But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. 34 Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own." <br /> -Matthew 6:25-34 <br /><br />This is not even one of those cool verses you can tell people about, like "me and the Holy Spirit <i>discovered </i>this verse in the middle of Joel last week". But the other normally-ubiquitous verses haven't been around much. Proverbs 3:5-6? Jeremiah 29:11? Off haunting someone else's every footstep, I suppose. <br /><br />There's just this one, mocking me, kindly and calmly exhorting me to do something which is literally not possible. I'm tired of it, especially when I keep rounding corners and it smacks me in the face like a low-hanging lamp at a trendy restaurant. And besides, I have some <i>great </i>excuses. After you graduate, unemployment isn't cute anymore - it's your job to worry.<br /><br />I'd like to transition here to a meek and humble self-response, about how God is really a patient and insistently wise father, not a cruel ten-year-old. But if I'm being honest [and I am, it's this new thing I'm trying out] then I can't write that. If I'm being honest, I'm just pissed. I don't care that Jesus' words are true and gentle and lovely but challenging, and it doesn't matter that I involuntarily memorized this passage doing a Greek project on it this semester so that it should be part of me now. <br /><br />If I'm being honest, I don't know what it means to seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, but I haven't tried very hard to find out. <br /><br />I'm not ready for this passage we all throw around like some kind of harmless fun bouncy ball. Because if I truly let its light shine any deeper into my life, the way it wants to, it's going to worm its way in there and start messing everything up and I ALREADY HAVE THINGS ARRANGED THE WAY I WANT THEM. <br /><br />[Because that's how I want them, that's why.] <br /><br />L. Janellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05677293669522644345noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2097535805582333429.post-54411254679812414892012-05-27T23:54:00.003-07:002012-05-28T00:14:43.265-07:00sorry, wrong blessingHumility, I'm pretty sure, is <i>the</i> worst thing to pray for. If you've never tried it, pick a day when you're feeling brave and extra Christian; ask sincerely and openly to be more humble; thereafter, wait for the cosmic smackdown with which life will soon pummel you.<br />
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That is why I have <i>not</i> prayed for humility recently. Having only a few months ago emerged from a long and terrible depression only very partially documented below, it would have seemed... morose. But it appears God is in the habit of dispensing unrequested blessings [we who hold B.A.'s in theology call this Grace], and so I am currently swallowing large chunks of Humility garnished with Dependence and I think there are supposed to be some Trust sprinkles on the top, but I tend to peel those off and not eat them. This extended food metaphor, because my feelings about this whole life situation are exactly like the time my wonderful beautiful friend made homemade moon cakes for Chinese New Year. She had worked so hard and been so kind to share with us, and I love trying new foods and wanted very badly to like them; however I could barely swallow a bite of moon cake but I just kept doing it anyway. [to recap: God = underappreciated Asian friend, moon cake = current life lessons, me ungratefully wanting to be somewhere else = identical in both situations].<br />
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Because everyone is asking me what my plans are now, and my only choice is to tell them I don't know. What I want to say is, "I worked very, very hard to do a lot of things well in college, and I worked very, very hard to apply for jobs that use those things, but it's a real tough Job Market as you may have heard. And I am not in Grad School because I thought I was supposed to do noble things this year instead but it turns out no one wants me to do noble things for them." But mostly all I have the opportunity to say is, "I don't know".<br />
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Looking people in the eye and saying "I don't know" is the hardest thing.<br />
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And it shouldn't be. Unemployment is happening to a lot of people, especially college grads. And I don't have to be ashamed that I don't understand the point of this calling right now. And the people asking the question care about me; they're not looking for reasons to secretly belittle me. It's just pride, just a lie that says if I was really good enough I'd have a purpose beyond following Christ for today.<br />
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But as I wait I am reminded that I think of myself more highly than I ought, that I do not deserve a job or a boyfriend or turn-by-turn life directions. I do not deserve anything, but God loves me and I am being absolutely lavished with his gifts, and the reasons for that have nothing to do with how I earn money for the next year. I am his daughter and he wants me still; he has not abandoned nor forgotten me. But neither does he need my approval before enacting his plans.<br />
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That is humility for me, now.<br />
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A few months ago my brother convinced me that it was important to jump in freezing cold water at least once in one's life. He said you can't understand until you've done it, but you simply must do it. I remembered his wise 19-year-old words while at the beach in New Hampshire last week, and determined to run into the 51-degree ocean until in over my head. By the time the water came above my knees, I couldn't breathe; everything in my body was revolting against this torture and the only thing I could think was <i>keep running, keep running, this is important somehow</i>. And he was right. I got in over my head, ran back out, toweled off my icy salty skin and felt like a better, newer person. There is something exhilarating about the cold when you have endured it through sheer willpower and the defiance of being alive.<br />
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Experience has taught me that this is what the cosmic smackdown is like. Everything in you says you can't and you won't endure. You gasp and thrash about in alternate anger and confusion. But you simply must do it, and when it is over you realize that you are different even if you don't understand how or why.<br />
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But dear GOD, am I humble enough yet?<br />
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<i> "Not by might, nor by power, but by my Spirit, says the Lord of hosts. What are you, O great mountain? Before Zerubbabel you shall become a plain; he will bring out the top stone amid shouts of 'grace, grace to it!'...<b> He who has despised the day of small things will rejoice</b>." Zechariah 4:6,7,10</i>L. Janellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05677293669522644345noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2097535805582333429.post-11107894938933744242012-05-25T23:46:00.000-07:002012-05-25T23:46:14.293-07:00What I do when no one is lookingFor two weeks I've been adventuring in New England with John and Diff. Here they are looking rugged:<br />
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<img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvolPDdkMHPT1zRY78ZOch_rqHDxZG-e5sySpz2wOnz8r67P7U2Ni5gj1XiO4pUsnA8ay1tA67t0lf97SH-BEBaahSEanlkqjUIYs9W7aJzFjffuYvo3QobW7ycx5y-sa2YKn1AEqTj8Y/s320/%5B000388%5D.jpg" width="212" /> </div>
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We are back now, but while I was in New England, my parents went to Real England and my brother left for his job at camp. I will have the house to myself for ten days and so, after I said goodbye to my two dear friends, the thought crossed my mind -</div>
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<i>i am more alone than i've ever been.</i></div>
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Not even in a sad way, really. Alone and lonely are not the same thing. Just, the fact of the matter is, I've never lived alone for so long without a friend or boyfriend constantly available. I've <i>especially</i> never lived alone with 100% unstructured free time - there are things to be done, but no schedules or deadlines.</div>
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So far (as in, for the past 36 hours) being totally unattached, uncommitted, unlooked-for, is as freeing as you'd imagine. I thought about continuing my travels on to North Carolina or Argentina without telling anyone, just because I could. </div>
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(maybe... after I do my laundry).</div>
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I settled, mid-return-journey, on just going hiking.</div>
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So I did...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY83fbJEikcJc7WYyAQv-A5ju0zwKM_UKh_DyO5qihT85oG3shdBBCHoFys86-hRCr0QQoU9XRckoRnzdN4mmNqY8u0Uej3lAfPJVLX_qhn67T2doa0fenaMNXXUzU5g5mmSatMepUXF0/s1600/DSC_0014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY83fbJEikcJc7WYyAQv-A5ju0zwKM_UKh_DyO5qihT85oG3shdBBCHoFys86-hRCr0QQoU9XRckoRnzdN4mmNqY8u0Uej3lAfPJVLX_qhn67T2doa0fenaMNXXUzU5g5mmSatMepUXF0/s640/DSC_0014.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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And I walked across this log on a dare from myself, and no one had to worry about me...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgui6j2EMPtK73DHA08MFmn9MaIOBzQkB3ORWD8zoaWM5pTtefWndHRvIHr4wco_MvmKHPC9svMtjAgyqvHVwR2gOeiPGqX2imnUmFUt7_tfGYqTv3lluKOsNt-VLKhgBYvn81fwD9Nt-Q/s1600/DSC_0029.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgui6j2EMPtK73DHA08MFmn9MaIOBzQkB3ORWD8zoaWM5pTtefWndHRvIHr4wco_MvmKHPC9svMtjAgyqvHVwR2gOeiPGqX2imnUmFUt7_tfGYqTv3lluKOsNt-VLKhgBYvn81fwD9Nt-Q/s640/DSC_0029.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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And I climbed on rocks and sat in places and thought about things for a very long time before trekking back.<br />
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On the drive home I explored a couple of the places I've always wanted to stop at, but never had the time for. This abandoned house was locked:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ4UFKI5lFKvhtku3xhC4kP6v8slew10rCYwYHlaIEMcAndI_Adn5SkzVPfbLI9tD3kPpYOYVxVEWJOGkyYJ398csYdZD8H2eL3IvwBF2v0h-ednLa-0RhVoKDcBzc6JIGdmXNdDK_omI/s1600/DSC_0072.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ4UFKI5lFKvhtku3xhC4kP6v8slew10rCYwYHlaIEMcAndI_Adn5SkzVPfbLI9tD3kPpYOYVxVEWJOGkyYJ398csYdZD8H2eL3IvwBF2v0h-ednLa-0RhVoKDcBzc6JIGdmXNdDK_omI/s640/DSC_0072.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4kyUSOtGvMtG962VnxQquHyY6jZLVP9tG46z_7Vsf6_cXYCJDxM9Jko8r5Ho5_DKVmLUnQcEbfZACRbkJnL7lFRkg9ySy_2RQmpWNfaSzjUrLmaZeSiU_Td5eNWeh-jee-x2g0ZyfJpA/s1600/DSC_0090.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4kyUSOtGvMtG962VnxQquHyY6jZLVP9tG46z_7Vsf6_cXYCJDxM9Jko8r5Ho5_DKVmLUnQcEbfZACRbkJnL7lFRkg9ySy_2RQmpWNfaSzjUrLmaZeSiU_Td5eNWeh-jee-x2g0ZyfJpA/s400/DSC_0090.JPG" width="265" /></a></div>
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This church...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv9pOjjBlkB1oWC5yP8vUZ3_DWeK2vuhFufbWLMvLtyF-KTsaGplxSPiY9OcF0KqYuH0oIkrNtmwNa4zyHHID_Knjn3WOtbUFRx15yl8Drt__O1EKllPN6uIpA4w_xFO56xtSVMBwNRhI/s1600/IMAG0044.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="382" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv9pOjjBlkB1oWC5yP8vUZ3_DWeK2vuhFufbWLMvLtyF-KTsaGplxSPiY9OcF0KqYuH0oIkrNtmwNa4zyHHID_Knjn3WOtbUFRx15yl8Drt__O1EKllPN6uIpA4w_xFO56xtSVMBwNRhI/s640/IMAG0044.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
Was not...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfJZGGvxAfJ1P0bantOpnEJ6wnRwFCjyThX0qEeyOg3LgGMyIT0ppMLdKRst2VAPmsCkw5O24mpCv-P2gTiqTQWH8wBEZMI1a-ogXiztThSimbOAVepqk4dP6xMDWBqJDi6r8jzXU3RCs/s1600/IMAG0047.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfJZGGvxAfJ1P0bantOpnEJ6wnRwFCjyThX0qEeyOg3LgGMyIT0ppMLdKRst2VAPmsCkw5O24mpCv-P2gTiqTQWH8wBEZMI1a-ogXiztThSimbOAVepqk4dP6xMDWBqJDi6r8jzXU3RCs/s400/IMAG0047.jpg" width="237" /></a></div>
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...Although it was somewhat protected by a very scary gravel road between that sign and the chapel to which it points. This is quite literally the entire building; I was standing in the doorway, about three feet behind that last pew. </div>
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All these photos and blather to say, so far I've demonstrated that left to my own devices, I go exploring. I also:</div>
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- talk to myself</div>
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- turn my computer on and off many times a day</div>
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- do lots of things at once </div>
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- am fairly responsible (so far)</div>
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- introspect like it's a legitimate hobby</div>
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Which is what this post was meant to be about - all those great thoughts- but it seems to have turned into a captain's log. Wind NNW at 3 knots, hope to sight whale on the morrow...</div>
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Thoughts to come.</div>
</div>L. Janellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05677293669522644345noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2097535805582333429.post-22174832085748243532012-03-29T23:42:00.003-07:002012-03-30T10:46:49.787-07:00reflecting<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinOG5af_gzMSwUxO56P3zGzKE2TgiNruYkyNA4d55eyugQkZA27z-pnhA8WqelEbA0Ui2U6pHxG-LdXyvI2sJd3k0XNrCh5Dn50DoVPO8CePScrPIvgtiGANzCCBMrZWh2SpmcpduGg_A/s1600/DSC_0076.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinOG5af_gzMSwUxO56P3zGzKE2TgiNruYkyNA4d55eyugQkZA27z-pnhA8WqelEbA0Ui2U6pHxG-LdXyvI2sJd3k0XNrCh5Dn50DoVPO8CePScrPIvgtiGANzCCBMrZWh2SpmcpduGg_A/s320/DSC_0076.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5725748032017297570" /></a><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%"></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in"></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">It’s not that I don’t have enough thoughts about Havenplace. It’s that there are too many, and I’m worried I’ll accidentally write a book and then where would we be? I’m worried I’ll misrepresent myself or other people; I’m worried I won’t make sense.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"> Because if I’ve learned anything, it’s that everything is too complicated. People talk about poverty, abuse, evangelism and love like they are simple things but they are not. They occur in patterns, cycles, probabilities, it’s true, but no one who proves the rule is not also an exception to it. These are not problems or solutions, they are people – beautiful shattered people whose strength I’ll never know because I’ve never felt their pain. All unique, all valuable, all absolutely infinite and so how could I presume to fill their needs?</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"> I can’t. It is a thing too wonderful for me when the Spirit translates my pitiful efforts into the spark I sometimes see – the light of recognition: <i>this is love.</i> Too often I look into the eyes of the neglected, the forgotten, the scarred, and I worry they’ve lost the ability to recognize grace where it’s found. And so the glancing connection of spirit to Spirit to spirit in that moment makes me able to trudge back again even when the weight of unrecognized sacrifice reminds me how unworthy I am to carry my Savior’s cross. I suppose on that road, step after step, he remembered the laughter of his brothers amidst the breaking of bread, but also the tear-lined face mirroring the fissured heart of one begging only that her story be heard. These are the things worth dying for; this road the crucible where life is truly lived. <i>Left foot, joy </i>– a joke, a hug, the begrudgingly-offered friendship of a longtime pool competitor. <i>Right foot, pain – </i>drugs. incest. the twins are in state care and their father’s up on drug charges. Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world, but not like a magic hat takes away your quarter. Like your grandmother takes away your hunger, trapping it inside herself and hiding it as it grows. <i>Eat your bread and go play</i>.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"> And yet somehow I feel richer, fuller than I was before I started losing every Tuesday to eat Little Debbies for dinner. It was a good bet, on the whole, the smaller version of how mothering is a good investment. I could never say they had nothing to give me, nothing to teach me, that they didn’t change me gallons more than I changed them. These are my friends and I love them and they love me in their ways. They are my mirror, poverty the magnifying glass to blow up sin writ large, and yet they shame me with their generosity, their strength and the ease with which they tell me who they are. In a room full of food stamp recipients, paranoid schizophrenics, felons and sex abuse victims, artifice is the most laughable fault of all; and so my precious friends remind me: the pretense of perfection is the most idiotic of upper-middle-class luxuries, a damn expensive waste of all our time. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"> So here is the grace in it all: that I could have set out on a noble course toward Service or Justice and found myself, in the end, blessed beyond measure, served and justified by those the world would abuse and judge. That I could blithely go about “changing the world” when all along I alone was being changed; that somehow I will only begin to become set apart if I burrow down deep into the middle of the darkness.That love is not a shining deed done at the play’s crisis but the mundane repetition of putting out snacks and yielding a thousandfold harvest of trash strewn about and then I wonder what gifts I, too, have diligently ignored and yet my Father still gives, always gives. The grace in it all is that the command was the gift all along, that the faith and obedience by which I thought I offered so much were only the instruments by which God blessed me. That the anger I once felt at the stubbornly gluttonous church has burned away, leaving only an ardent longing that she would behold with me the face of our King hidden there in the ashes.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><o:p> </o:p></p><p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><p></p>L. Janellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05677293669522644345noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2097535805582333429.post-84558138471503114442012-01-21T13:43:00.000-08:002012-02-09T20:50:17.110-08:00As the world fills up with words and soundbites and opinions<div>Maybe a certain quietness is demanded if we are to be heard.</div><div>Steady still confidence and integrity are their own apologists in a crowded frantic pixelated bustle.</div><div>Living different means sharing space and time and food, because we know those are sacred things</div><div>And this world longs to be consecrated.</div>L. Janellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05677293669522644345noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2097535805582333429.post-33935350884394627362012-01-14T10:42:00.000-08:002012-01-14T11:26:53.678-08:00dear preston yanceydear preston yancey.<div><br /></div><div>i am writing to you to confess some sins i have sinned against you. You don't know me and i don't know you, so it will probably be awkward if you ever read this, but we both know that the blogosphere is a strange strange place where people <i>routinely </i>spill their secrets across the world wide web of strangers. it's the hip new thing, like planking and feeling vaguely concerned about africa.</div><div><br /></div><div>So anyway, i thought you should know that i am extremely jealous of you, especially since you rejected my submission for your guest post series. Here is what you said: "At 49 posts in 25 days, I had to draw the line somewhere". This made me feel as bad as i felt in ninth grade when only three people put me in their myspace top eight, because you literally just told me i wasn't in your top 49. </div><div><br /></div><div>Maybe next time, you could send me an email that just says, </div><div><br /></div><div><span >NO.</span></div><div><span >-preston yancey.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>But i'm not angry. it's really not your fault that i have an extreme sensitivity to rejection. i think i have a chemical imbalance. i read about it in a book one time.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>No, i'm not angry, but envious. terribly envious. i want what you have and i don't want you to have it. i am jealous of your ability to invent poetic compound hyphen-words to express exactly what you are feeling. i am jealous of your friends who like to cook with you. i am even jealous of your giant thesis paper because you will come out of your undergraduate career feeling like you accomplished something.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>Clearly, i am insane. No one envies other people's homework.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>Anyway, now that i've gotten that off my chest, i hope you will forgive me so we can get back to our normal non-relationship without any bad feelings between us. And i will try not to be jealous of you any more, because what you have isn't actually any better than what i have. You only wish you were the Spades champion of Lee University. You only wish you had a cool improv team to hang out with. You only wish you had something better to do than google your own name.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>(don't worry. we all do it from time to time.)</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>And good luck with all your things. I will continue to read your beautiful blog, and you are welcome to continue reading my vindictive-sounding, fragmented one. </span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>But i took you off my top eight. </span></div><div><span><br /></span></div>L. Janellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05677293669522644345noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2097535805582333429.post-86482420525179671472011-12-16T21:12:00.000-08:002011-12-16T21:19:28.730-08:00a hard thing.a hard thing is when you can't remember why you believed some things. you wait and you try to sort it out but the answers you would've given someone else don't make sense any more. you thought they would, you didn't mean them to be silly and small answers, you expected they'd be real and comforting and true and wide enough. but things you thought impossible keep happening, and you wonder if grace is any more impossible or any bigger than everything hurtful in this impossible big world. sometimes the beauty is only barely staving off a lot of ugliness, like when your jacket's too thin for the cold and no one offers you theirs.L. Janellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05677293669522644345noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2097535805582333429.post-29436755399417276702011-12-04T21:18:00.000-08:002011-12-04T21:39:36.073-08:00frustration: take it out on people you don't know"Blessing never ceases to follow obedience". Actually, random high school facebook friend, it does. Unless you have some weird definition of "blessing" that i don't want to hear about. Sometimes, obedience leads to crappiness and not much else. Is it ok if we all agree on that? Can we stop with the platitudes?<div><br /></div><div>Who decided "platitude" was a good word? It always distracts me from my self-righteous indignation when i think of this word because it sounds like "platypus" and "attitude" stuck together, but obviously it has nothing to do with those. </div><div><br /></div><div>Someone should tell God that he is seriously messing with my theodicy right now, because he doesn't appear to be listening to me.</div><div>[ok, God, that was a potshot, and you're not even a person i don't know... but, well, i'm whining, and there's a long tradition of that in the Bible, so there. THERE. </div><div>maybe you should come in a thundercloud and yell at me like you did to Job. i would definitely deserve that. </div><div>one time my new testament teacher declared that Jesus should have just magically made the widow of Nain happier instead of actually raising her son from the dead. if you're not going to fix things, you could just make everyone magically happy.</div><div>oh, that's one of the stupidest things you've ever heard? i thought so too.]</div>L. Janellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05677293669522644345noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2097535805582333429.post-82412930968486397252011-11-28T20:24:00.000-08:002011-11-28T20:42:44.019-08:00unmooredHonesty has something to do with faith. I don't know what.<div><br /></div><div>I am tired of answers. Most of the answers I ever had have failed me, and I am young and lucky. These days I simply live between near-despair and wild-flying hope, holding both inside me as a prayer for the world and also for me. I think that hope wins out where there is laughter.</div><div><br /></div><div>Faith is a thing you do one day at a time, I do know this, but when I say it to myself it is hollow and the child inside me cries and rails against the thought. It is especially when I find myself unexpectedly alone, and fear settles in the deep pit between my stomach and my spine. <i>No one will love you, </i>says fear, and grace seems a distant happening for other people. </div><div><br /></div><div>Something like faith continues out of habit, and I hope it is something like good enough.</div>L. Janellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05677293669522644345noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2097535805582333429.post-56446375573451784892011-11-25T11:18:00.000-08:002011-11-25T11:59:54.311-08:00"It seemed like you sort of found your identity in him."<div><br /></div><div>My friend's words nearly knocked the wind out of me. I had worked hard, for two and a half years, to keep my identity separate from his, to do what I wanted and not to get subsumed into the relationship bubble that has sucked friend after friend out of my life. I have <i>always</i> had my own identity, thank you. </div><div><br /></div><div>And yet, now that I've left, where have I gone? </div><div><br /></div><div>There's something about knowing someone else finds you beautiful to the core, something that makes it easy to believe. But then it's not your own faith. </div><div><br /></div><div>It turns out there is surprisingly little I know about myself. I'm an idealist and a cynic; I have no patience for small talk; I take charge of things because I can't stand to see them done "wrong". I like gummy bears and chicken fingers of all kinds, but only the best chocolate and coffee will do. I want the best from myself, every day and at all times; I'm awfully self-conscious and I think that's silly. I depend on my friends more than most people do and I am terrified, absolutely terrified, to leave them and make new ones, then leave <i>them</i> and make new ones.</div><div><br /></div><div>I want to take big risks and I'm passionate about too many things to "just do it". Just do <i>what</i>? Travel the whole entire world or stay in Cleveland, at Havenplace? Start teaching improv to inner city teenagers or open a vintage clothing store? Peace Corps? Or one of a thousand really neat nonprofits that will let me work for them if I'll just do them the favor of begging my own airfare and living costs off of my friends and family?</div><div><br /></div><div>For right now, exams and papers and responsibilities galore, plenty to do while the back half of my brain fills itself with a million little fears and doubts, possibilities and impossible desires, always whispering <i>six months to May</i>...</div>L. Janellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05677293669522644345noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2097535805582333429.post-31604305954986536802011-10-03T17:09:00.000-07:002011-10-03T17:36:53.902-07:00Questions I Ask Myself when Considering the FutureA world much like Earth, from a cloistered monk's perspective: "The work that people did had been broken down into jobs that were the same every day, in organizations where people were interchangeable parts. All of the story had been bled out of their lives. That was how it had to be; it was how you got a productive economy. But it would be easy to see a will at work behind this: not exactly an evil will, but a selfish will. The people who'd made the system thus were jealous, not of money and not of power but of story. If their employees came home at day's end with interesting stories to tell, it meant that something had gone wrong: a blackout, a strike, a spree killing. The Powers That Be would not suffer others to be in stories of their own unless they were fake stories that had been made up to motivate them." - Neal Stephenson, <i>Anathem</i><div><i><br /></i></div><div>On Earth, the real Earth, might not there Be Powers that are jealous of story, but not for the sake of anyone's safety? Perhaps a selfish will <i>is </i>an evil will; perhaps an evil will is working every day to convince us to accept safety, productivity, prosperity as barely adequate substitutes for adventure, joy, and real contentment. Couldn't every act of submission to the status quo count for a small victory on the side of the hopeless, and shouldn't we who have hope be the most outrageously daring of any?</div><div><br /></div><div>What have you done lately that would have been impossible, absent the power of Christ? How have you reimagined the "story" scripted for you by those who do not love you? </div>L. Janellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05677293669522644345noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2097535805582333429.post-23790480577896459632011-09-08T13:06:00.001-07:002011-09-08T13:37:07.997-07:00Does conviction require coercion?The same conversation, three times in one day:<div>Religion and Culture - what makes religions come into such violent conflict?</div><div>Systematic Theology - how do you do apologetics in a postmodern world?</div><div>Stuff Christians Like - what does "redeeming culture" mean? how is that connected to evangelism?<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Religions spawn violence because they are non-negotiable. The whole point of religion is to tell you what things are most important. The best way to avoid violence is to compromise, and a deeply-held religion brooks no compromise. </div><div><br /></div><div>Apologetics in a postmodern world has to abandon the idea that truth is the best thing we have to offer the world. Postmoderns are not looking for truth; they are looking for individual freedom and fulfillment. The best thing we have to offer them is respect for their individuality, and the opportunity, when sought, to escape the tyranny of self.</div><div><br /></div><div>Redeeming culture literally means to "buy it back." It doesn't mean replacing or ignoring or accepting culture. It means transforming culture. We all contribute to the world in different ways; our contributions must bear Christ's image.</div><div><br /></div><div>The reason these questions seem so puzzling is because, as Christians, we have a terribly difficult time seeing anything from outside of our perspective, so that often we never even consider that someone else's priorities and assumptions may differ from ours. We like to talk about Christ "meeting us where we are." We don't like to talk about meeting <i>others</i> where they are. We talk about "culture wars" when really, the vast majority of non-Christians aren't trying to fight anyone; so we try to drag people over to our side when what they need is someone to tend their wounds. This is simply another manifestation of religious violence borne out of an inability to allow others their choices. Instead, we must prayerfully and patiently exhibit Christ's love to the world with such beauty and strength and calm conviction that our lives become the final, undeniable proof of His supernatural grace.</div>L. Janellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05677293669522644345noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2097535805582333429.post-17977006931684766442011-09-05T10:33:00.001-07:002011-09-05T10:42:48.270-07:00Changing the world and suchMe and my blog went through a bit of a crisis.<div><br /></div><div>Yes, it is early in our relationship, but I have already been spending the last several weeks reevaluating. I started the blog because I was bored, and I like to write, but also I think somewhere deep in my mind there was a desire to be this famous blogger, shaping the thoughts and opinions of the world.</div><div><br /></div><div>That's super ridiculous, right? </div><div><br /></div><div>It can become a narcissistic thing so quickly. Assuming the world wants to read your thoughts, but especially expecting the world to respond. So I needed to give it a break. I needed to not really care about it, so that I could care about it in the right way.</div><div><br /></div><div>All that to say, I still want to write and I still want to put it somewhere for people to see. But I'm not going to be that blog guy on facebook. I'm not going to watch my stats five or six times a day. I'm not a blogger. I'm a writer with an occasional need for an outlet. And you're welcome to participate.</div>L. Janellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05677293669522644345noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2097535805582333429.post-14679986681835443582011-07-17T12:04:00.000-07:002011-07-17T15:31:25.678-07:00My, My (How the Tables Have Turned)<span class="Apple-style-span">Amidst my aimless wanderings about the internet, I came across <a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.pinterest.com">this website</a>, which was part of the inspiration for my last post. What you do if you have an account is, you "pin" things to your "board," which is to say, you post pictures of things you like </span>on your page<span class="Apple-style-span">.</span><br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span">At its best, the site is a big bulletin board of inspiration for DIY ideas and blog posts about how happy you are <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:78%;">(see below)</span>. <strike><span class="Apple-style-span">At worst</span></strike> Most of the time, it is a whole entire website devoted to <b>coveting</b> things. </span>Apparently everyone on this site is an American female, so almost everything falls into one of these categories: clothes, baby animals, food, home decorating ideas, having a perfect body, beautiful men.<br /><br />But it's so insidious. "ooh, chocolate cake"; "maybe I could make that dress"; "that sunset makes me want to get out <i>my </i>camera"... somehow turns into, "wow, not fair"; "I <b>have</b> to have that"; "how come <i>I'm</i> not that creative?", and you <i>never even notice.</i> The other night I was just passing some time scrolling down the page, oblivious to the fact that I was soaking up all the covetousness and self-indulgence and <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:78%;">desire for things of the world</span> that were ever-so-stealthily being promoted here. Something reminded me of a<a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.pearlandgray.com"> vintage website I love</a>, and all of a sudden this post was on facebook:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGqpMoVc4UuAHU8i_IkOvOVk9-DaI7DLq3JpIcTiLMwG6hEqOZsWUVtFRhB4o2wNDZq24K01qpU_wPhHLZbM708zW-L8nRihIHDvw2-NcSm2kX2G5bqKBCsbVlt53jBtGbJX0K3j9Iws8/s1600/trexear1.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 239px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5630408020068726066" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGqpMoVc4UuAHU8i_IkOvOVk9-DaI7DLq3JpIcTiLMwG6hEqOZsWUVtFRhB4o2wNDZq24K01qpU_wPhHLZbM708zW-L8nRihIHDvw2-NcSm2kX2G5bqKBCsbVlt53jBtGbJX0K3j9Iws8/s320/trexear1.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center">"if someone buys these earrings before i think of a good excuse...<br />[yes, they're really cheap. no, i don't have ANY money.]"<br /></div><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left">Can we talk about this? I mean, apart from the fact that these T-rex earrings are <span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:78%;">[still]</span> </span>fantastic<b>.</b> But what really honestly <b>scares</b> me is how quickly I turned into an awful, grasping, whining child pulling Oreos off the grocery store shelves even though there are already cookies in the cart.<br /></div><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left">No one likes those kids. And I don't like <b><i>me</i> </b>when I'm threatening unknown virtual shoppers for "stealing" my potential purchase, and whining about how "poor" I am when actually I own at least 30 pairs of earrings, and doing so all over facebook as if other people should <i>care</i> how much I want to own T-rex earrings.<br /></div><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:78%;">[it's still a lot.]</span><br /></div><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left">Maybe this is why the Bible talks about being "<u>always on your guard</u>," and "shrewd as snakes but gentle as doves," and "in the world but not <i>of</i> the world." Tall orders, Paul. and <b>Jesus</b>. Tall orders. I never meant to absorb others' patterns of discontentment and general brattiness. It just kind of... <em>happened.</em><br /></div><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left">T-rex earrings: super cool. Oreo-grubbing toddler-Lyndsey: still working on the whole "discipleship" thing.</div><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"></div><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left">Have you ever forgotten to influence the world around you... because you were busy being influenced by <u>it</u>?</div>L. Janellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05677293669522644345noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2097535805582333429.post-83800565719497189392011-07-15T12:03:00.000-07:002011-07-15T13:54:49.615-07:00Beautiful<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMeGMDOwDqRApK4OQeJkG3_CuoslS28DaMwtEQV5GY1rKQlp8QM5n-wPiW6EBw40vMF06X4f1AVkEgqVKH7I1WTPWvPtEEeITgQBlZqOyQOxrzX4UUQaCW6gxlWLYA4QU02NhWm-4_J9A/s1600/DSC_0329.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBavJLE-pKGD1juH1igjAMDvWxTkgOeUPr5sfULqlYq-VwOo5pL2TTA422j3LFYHTRSBEMGdu_oh5RY5GAiA_J6Cj5ziKKOygUzWJN3E_pm4oBOiN7KibPTCU3hEEE0s_oCQ-TyK6jjNw/s1600/DSC_0134.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a><br />Having been at home doing glorious amounts of nothing this week, I've spent a lot of time surfing blogs in complete aimlessness, looking for craft ideas and lovely old things on etsy, knitting, and playing around with crafty things and hot glue (adventurous, yes? I could sustain a minor burn at <i>any moment</i>). <div><br /></div><div>And with friends' engagement pictures going up on facebook, pretty things lovingly made waiting to be found on etsy, rain outside and coffee inside, I am struck by the <i>beauty</i> of the world rediscovered, things well-created, people surprised by joy. There is life and grace and art here, now, and the only proper thing to do in response is to be inspired by these things to create them ourselves.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://www.etsy.com/listing/62537194/hydrangea-blossom-diamond-stacking-ring?ref=sr_gallery_1&ga_search_submit=&ga_search_query=diamond+ring+flower&ga_search_type=handmade&ga_facet=handmade"><img src="http://ny-image2.etsy.com/il_570xN.195281774.jpg" alt="Hydrangea Blossom, Diamond Stacking Ring, Sterling Silver, 18k Gold Flower, Made to order" /></a></div><div>[ring that took my breath away]</div><div><br /></div><div><img src="http://ny-image1.etsy.com/il_570xN.254336981.jpg" alt="1950's Floral Cotton Garden Party Mad Men Summer Dress S" /></div><div>[why don't i live in the 50's?]</div><div><br /></div><div><div><img src="http://images.instagram.com/media/2011/07/15/be445a0d7cd841a9bbf38bfad648545b_7.jpg" /></div><div>[a friend's photo]</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>"We do things well out of duty.</div></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span> We do them beautifully out of love."</div><div><br /></div><div>May I live life beautifully.</div><div><i><br /></i></div>L. Janellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05677293669522644345noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2097535805582333429.post-20510367951820324142011-07-11T10:09:00.000-07:002011-07-11T11:50:42.083-07:00Helping PeopleI have been closely following the comments on <a href="theveryworstmissionary.com">Jamie the Very Worst Missionary's</a> last two blog posts, which raise the question: can short-term missions trips do more harm than good?<div><br /></div><div>Only a couple weeks before this was posted, I had told someone: "I think there's a right way and a wrong way to do short-term missions, and I want to be involved in doing it the right way." When I was sitting around a few months ago asking God and myself what a 21-year-old girl with a bunch of random theology knowledge was good for (if not grad school), that is what caught my attention. My dream job (as in, 1-2 year assignment) is to live with a team of missionaries in Latin America and be the short-term point person, helping teams do their jobs and process what they've experienced.</div><div><br /></div><div>But the right way and the wrong way to do missions is not very easily defined. Actually, that's not entirely true. For instance, when Charlemagne instituted the death penalty for idolatry and enforced mass baptisms upon the barbarians in his realm, that was the wrong way to do missions. And the prosperity gospel - oversimplified, watered-down, self-centered borderline heresy - wrong way to do missions.</div><div><br /></div><div>So what if your short-term team leaves all their swords at home, and never even quotes Jeremiah 29:11, let alone misinterprets it? The problem is, we can bring other things with us to the mission field, and no TSA agent is going to catch them before we get on the plane (Sir, could you pull your superior attitude and cultural insensitivity out of your pockets and put them in this bin of scissors?). These things are hard to catch, and even harder to fix, and so we just keep sending teams of shiny Americans to faraway places to Help People but they don't know what they're doing, and they don't even know enough to know that. But too often, when you try to point out that good intentions don't <i>actually</i> change the world, you become an easy target (how DARE you call these kind, caring individuals to a higher standard of stewardship and love?).</div><div><br /></div><div>(OK, that might have been sort of bitter, but witness reactions to Jamie's posts [above] and <a href="http://leeclarion.com/opinions/2010/11/21/who-needs-toms/">this</a>, which earned me a place right next to Tiger Woods in the rankings of people-getting-hated-on-via-social-media.)</div><div><br /></div><div>I could make a list of problems with short-term missions done the "wrong way" as I see it, but I actually have a couple of solutions that might be more helpful and fit better in a blog post of [somewhat] reasonable length. So here is one of them.</div><div><br /></div><div>As far as I can tell, the best thing a short-term leader could do for their team, the trip, their long-term hosts, and the People they're going to Help is months - literally months - of preparation. You spend that much time fundraising. Why in the world aren't we spending that much time preparing to use our neighbors' money well? Here are some things people should understand <u>before</u> setting foot on the mission field:</div><div><br /></div><div><b>1. "Getting people saved" is not the same as "making disciples."</b> "Getting people saved" is not in the Bible. Making disciples (Matthew 28:19) takes years, lifetimes, and it's hard, and it's not a three-step process. You might be involved in it on your trip, but <i>please</i> acknowledge that some things just can't be done in the ten days you'll be there.</div><div><b>2. You are still you when you get there.</b> Whatever crap you're carrying around before you leave will still be with you when you arrive, except it will probably be amplified by jet lag and culture shock. If you are arrogant or insecure or fearful, you will not turn humble or self-assured or courageous because you went to another country. Missionaries are not a magical people; effective Christians are in a process of constantly growing no matter where they are.</div><div><b>3. No culture is better than another.</b> "Falling in love with Honduras" or wherever is a good thing, but please recognize that you won't be there long enough to fall back out of love with it. So don't patronize the country by believing it's inherently better than yours. And just because you don't like black beans doesn't mean that your country is better than theirs, either.</div><div><b>4. God is honored by love and humility, not by construction projects.</b> You're not special because you put a roof on a school. But if you did it out of love, in order to glorify God, with genuine concern for the people using the school, <i>then</i> it's quite possible someone saw Jesus in you. Becoming more like Christ is the real point of your trip. And your life.</div><div><b>5. There are poor people here, too.</b> Short-term teams need to have long, complicated discussions about poverty, and then they need to go to a homeless shelter, and then they need to come back to church and realize how much more complicated their discussion just got. Hopefully when they go overseas, they'll be able to put their experiences with poverty from both countries into a larger context. Helping People in other countries gets weirdly romanticized while serving soup to the poor in America is a task relegated to people with the sadly unglamorous "spiritual gift of helps." Whatever that means.</div><div><b>6. In fact, we are all poor.</b> Some people have unmet physical needs. Some people have emotional or relational or spiritual needs. But I really believe that recognizing your own poverty - and God's provision - is the only way to understand true humility. The guy in Nicaragua needs a house, but more importantly he needs a job, and more importantly than <i>that</i> he needs to understand his own value as a human being, made in the image of God. That's what he has in common with the borderline-anorexic girl in your youth group, and that's something only God can give them. </div><div><br /></div><div>Short-term missions can be an incredibly valuable experience in the spiritual development of individuals and groups. They're often an encouragement to long-term hosts and lead participants to more involvement with long-term missions, as supporters or even as long-term missionaries. But the same principles that should be in effect for any other ministry <i>have</i> to be in place for short-term missions, and without them the whole enterprise can turn harmful, just like any other "ministry" done without proper preparation, prayer, humility, and grace.</div>L. Janellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05677293669522644345noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2097535805582333429.post-15714868069608154732011-07-03T18:55:00.000-07:002011-07-03T20:01:05.340-07:00Foot-in-Mouth, Much?<span class="Apple-style-span" >I am in this class where we are working through the gospel of John, and last night when I was reading my textbook I remembered why I am a disciple of Jesus.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >In John 1:43, Jesus calls Phillip to be his disciple, and then Phillip goes to get his friend Nathanael, whom we soon learn is a huge jerk. Here is how I know: Phillip goes, "We have found the one Moses wrote about in the Law, and about whom the prophets also wrote -<b> Jesus of Nazareth</b>, the son of Joseph." And then Nathanael doesn't say, like, "Way to go!" or, "I believe you because that's what friends are for!". Instead he goes, "Nazareth! Can anything good come from there?"</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><b><span class="Apple-style-span">YES</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span">,</span> Nathanael, actually it can, in fact the <u>best thing ever</u> is from Nazareth, and while you're busy being a flippant snob your buddy Phillip is trying to let you in on it. What an <span class="Apple-style-span"><i>idiot</i></span>.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >At least that's what I'm thinking; apparently Phillip is just excited or he is a very longsuffering friend or he's filled with the Holy Ghost or something, because instead of punching Nathanael in the stomach and leaving him there to wallow in his useless superiority complex, he just says, "<i>Come and see</i>."</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >So if I were Jesus, I would be really <u>holy</u> of course, so I would do something like sit Nathanael down and give him a firm, well-reasoned lecture about how regional prejudices are oppressive and we don't do things that way here in the <i>kingdom of God</i>. But the real Jesus, who is not me, has been expecting Nathanael and when he sees him he goes, "An Israelite indeed, <b>in whom there is no guile</b>!"</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Like he's <i>proud</i> or something. Like Nathanael's apparent inability to FILTER is somehow an asset, or charming, or sincere, or honest or transparent or even sort of vulnerable...</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Oh. Hmm. Those last three? <span class="Apple-style-span">[Major deficiencies of mine]</span>. Things I've been trying to be when I'm with my closest friends. Things Nathanael could probably teach me if he was here and I wasn't wallowing in my own judgment-free superiority complex. And they're things Jesus saw and loved in Nathanael <i>before</i> he saw the idiot who had insulted the eternal Word of God become flesh. He wasn't disappointed. He was thrilled to finally meet his guileless disciple.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><b>Jesus of</b> <b>Nazareth</b>: seein' the potential in stuck-up jerks <span class="Apple-style-span">like me</span>.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Ever learned anything from an idiot disciple?</span></div>L. Janellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05677293669522644345noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2097535805582333429.post-23638016151879196952011-07-02T23:16:00.000-07:002011-07-02T23:21:54.771-07:00I have been sitting here for ten minutes...<div>... trying to decide what to put for the <em>title</em> of this post. This is because I am terrified of starting a[nother] blog.</div><div><br /></div><div>The blog I faithfully updated every couple of days for nine weeks last summer was one of the best and most fun projects I've ever worked on, but that was when I was in Thailand and when I was in Thailand I was <strong>interesting.</strong></div><div><br /></div><div>So here are some reasons I am afraid of writing about my normal life:</div><div><br /></div><div>1. I am <em>not</em> a mom.</div><div>I am always looking for new blogs to read and I have determined that the only well-written ones are by people with tiny adorable children.</div><div><br /></div><div>2. I <em>am</em> in college.</div><div>I'm going to get too busy to update, and disappoint my <del>mom</del> faithful readers, and be mad that I stopped doing something I liked.</div><div><br /></div><div>3. Blogging is like asking people to judge you. Hard.</div><div>All bloggers know that assuming people want to read the crap you write about your freaking <strong>self</strong> is super narcissistic. And what if I write something horrible, or I write about the time I <span style="text-decoration:underline;">bleached a grasshopper</span> <span style="font-size:x-small;"">[this morning]</span> and suddenly all the people I love know that I am a horrible cruel monster?</div><div><br /></div><div>4. I don't have a twitter account.</div><div>Actually, I think I do, but... <span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" >I just don't like twitter</span>. There I said it.</span></div><div><br /></div><div>5. No one will read it.</div><div>What if I start out with 4 readers, and then the number goes <em>down?</em> What if people read my blog and make a new bookmarks folder called <strong>web pages to never ever visit again</strong>?</div><div><br /></div><div>6. I don't have a cool banner.</div><div>Or a sweet hipster color scheme.</div><div>Or any polka dots anywhere on this whole layout.</div><div><br /></div><div>7. A couple days ago my good friend called me desperate... <em>What does that mean</em>? In general? I am <strong>not</strong> desperate for anything in particular.</div><div>... OK, this doesn't have anything to do with blogging, it just seemed appropriate as long as I was listing my insecurities.</div><div><br /></div><div>But I like to write.</div><div>Maybe you like to read <del>the ramblings of an overly self-conscious twenty-year-old</del>.</div><div>Maybe?</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >[was that desperate?]</span></div><div><br /></div><div>Maybe you could leave me some blogging advice.</div>L. Janellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05677293669522644345noreply@blogger.com1