Wednesday, September 29, 2004

Asherim

You, what do you treasure? What do you hold dear and cling to and depend on? If you didn’t immediately think “Christ,” then we have something in common, and work to do. There is room in your life for two things: God, and God. Did you know that “you are not your own; you were bought at a price.”? Funny thing how easy it is to forget that. God’s been showing me that he won’t abide my idols for much longer. After all, “God…is a jealous God.” “If you love something, let it go,” goes the saying, and that’s true for everything but Him. So what do you treasure? Yield it up to the Lord, before he requires it of you. And if He requires it of you, yield it up to Him. It’s better to leave something behind for His sake than to die by holding on to it. Besides, you may end up in Job’s position if you hold out. We’re way too short-sighted to know what God has in mind for us.

So basically it was revealed to me that I’ve been making an idol of someone. It’s primarily been an idol of fear; not so much fear of the person, but fear of the future. Then I read that unless we renounce everything in this world, not only will we never be able to be truly with Jesus, but he will press us until we let go. It was about then that I decided I’d better learn to let go freely before my stubbornness caused that person misfortune. But it’s difficult to kill the flesh. We can only do so much. In the end it’s the Spirit who has to do the real cleansing work in us. I’ve been praying for that, but I know it will take time. So then God said, “What have you done for my Kingdom recently?” And I realized, not much. Church was especially convicting of that this week and it led me to make a few decisions. (For those of you who pray for me, pray that I’ll follow through. I know God brought me here to do something awesome, but I haven’t figured out what yet. Hopefully I never will, but that it will be done anyway.) So renounce it, renounce that worry, and that fear, and that apprehension. “Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.” Let her go, let him go, let it go, and “seek you first the Kingdom of God, and all these things shall be added unto you.”

Lord, help me put my money where my mouf is.

Thursday, September 23, 2004

Holy matrimony, Batman! Everyone's getting married!

Let's see, since I moved into UCU, I've met a number of people who have gotten married. They are, in quasi-choronological order:
Micah Kurtz and Charissa Chi
Randy Flicker
Josh Melhorn
Jason Harkness
Ethan Beaudoin and Stacy Strunks
Kevin Curtiss and Kim Roberts
Zac Gleason and Holly Olds
Leila...uh, what WAS Leila's last name, anyway?
Laura Eastman
Jon Moore and Jamaica Stout (Thanks Kento, didn't know that.)

Soon-to-be married folks include:
Adam Wearn (Non-UCU, best friend of many years)
Holly Eroh (Non-UCU, an internet friend of many years)
Sarah Betz (Almost UCU but not quite.)

I'm starting to feel left out. But more waiting seems to be the forecast.
Well with any luck God will give me something good to do to keep my mind offa that.
And with any luck He'll let me marry the girl I wanna marry. We'll see I guess.
Just one more test of faith, right?

Sunday, September 19, 2004

Battlefield Schoolyard

I had the most heart-wrenching dream last night. I dreamt I had gotten engaged to a girl I love very much. Yet some time after this I decided to call it off because I felt I wasn’t quite ready for marriage even though she was. I did not own a house, I lived very far away, and her parents liked me, but were wary that my character was incomplete.

Now there was another man who asked the girl to marry him. He was more well-established locally and with her family. She loved him as well, but not nearly as much as she loved me. Yet because she was ready to marry, and her parents wanted her to do so, she accepted his proposal instead of waiting for me.

For some reason I was ok with this at the time. I was happy that she was going to build a life for herself with this man. They were married at some point although I don’t recall the ceremony.

It was only after this that I realized what a horrible mistake I had made in letting her go, but now there was nothing I could do about it. I saw her soon afterwards and broke down because she was now this man’s wife, never again accessible to me. The realization brought me to the floor in throes of agony such as I have not experienced in years, if at all in waking life. More than anything else in the dream I recall the velocity of my weeping.

It is hazy, but I seem to remember that she also was extremely distraught at the idea that we could never be together now, as though it had likewise not occurred to her. There were vague suggestions of annulment, but if only they had not already been on their honeymoon! She truly was gone, and I was utterly devastated.

Somehow in my dream I began to think to myself, “Nothing can be done now, so turn her over to the Lord.” It’s quite amazing to me that such a thing occurred to me in a dream state, but as my memory of the episode fades, I can recall that impression only becoming stronger and stronger in my mind.

Does this mean that I’ve truly given that woman over to the Lord? Does it mean that I am close enough to Him to let even the most precious person in my life belong to another man? I hope so, though I still dread anything like what I’ve described should ever happen for real, and pray it never ever ever will. This girl exists, by the way, and her identity and place in my life today makes this dream a thousand times more close to home than I can possibly express. The fact that I must yet wait a (long) while for her too compounds my anxiety, but I will try to give that over to the Lord as well. Wish me luck.

Now how’s this for irony: I went to a small non-denominational church in Santa Clara this morning and the sermon was on Matt. 6:25-34, the “Do not worry” section of the Sermon on the Mount. The focus, of course, was on not worrying about material things, but I’ve always thought it extends beyond that as well. The pastor put forth a very interesting quote from an anonymous elderly woman. She said, “I’ve had a lot of trouble [in my life], most of which never happened.” How familiar that is! I guess I’m a worrier; I must get it from my mother, who worries about everything all the time. But God is still in control in spite of all my worrying. This suggestion was made: When worrying about something, ask yourself, “What is true?” By so interrogating yourself, you shatter the defeating fantasy and reground yourself in reality. What is true about the situation? Anything beyond that steps out of God’s realm and into satan’s, where lies and deception breed.

In the most extreme case, worry is a self-fulfilling prophecy, and the thing you worry about most comes to pass because of your worries. Here’s an example: You love someone, and she loves you as well, but you worry she may fall in love with another. So you try as hard as you can to make sure she loves only you. You pin her down with questions about others, you restrict her access to friends, especially guy friends, and you make every effort to win her over again and again. Well aside from exhausting yourself and proving that you do not trust this woman, you will drive her away because you have put her in a cage and she will escape at first chance. This is a very common thing in our self-possessed, love-me-first society. You’re only looking out for your own interests, and that’s exactly what’s wrong. The rightful place for your own interests is in God’s command, who knows what you need better than you do.

Stay Earth Bound, Petite Balloon Maven!

Fall came. In one day. First overcast day since I moved here almost 2 months ago. Cold too, announcing his arrival. That particular chill, which hints at silence and the end of noteworthy experiences, lengthening the shadows until only fond memories remain, was present in full force as well. (I’ve written about Autumn before.)

I have two major experiences to share.

The first occurred last night. I was invited to a dinner concert by a coworker of mine. He is of Armenian descent and the musicians were friends of his. He happened to have an extra ticket and I expressed interest in going. The price was $30, but that included an 8 course dinner. Not bad, and I ended up leaving with a hefty box of leftovers. The atmosphere was warm and congenial, and Andy introduced me to a number of his friends, all of whom welcomed me in as though I were one of the family. That kind of thing makes me yearn for a heritage. My nearest European roots were my dad’s grandparents, immigrants from Germany and Sweden, none of whom I ever met. Any blood relations in those countries are now too obscured to be family. So I’m basically whitebred American, and even then, none of my family has strong ties to any particular geography or culture.

It’s sad, really, how disconnected we are from our roots these days. There are two reasons America has no “White Pride” or “Caucasian Heritage month.” The first is the obvious political argument that whitey already oppresses everyone else enough (by celebrating all their cultures and giving them preferential treatment in academia, public policy, and the workplace.) The second is that we don’t have a culture to celebrate. The term “American culture” would be laughed out of any serious sociological discussion. There is localized heritage in some parts of the country, but as a whole, we have no discernable roots that we can call distinctly our own.

On the other hand, this was no strictly Armenian event, as ticket sales were open to the general public. In fact, such an event could only take place in America: An Armenian, an Assyrian (by lineage), and a Mexican, playing Persian instruments, in a Chinese restaurant, with Arabic belly dancing. The musicians were phenomenal, especially the qanun player. A qanun is an Egyptian harp, played on its side by plucking with a finger-mounted quill on each hand. It’s an extremely difficult instrument to play and the man, Ishmael, deftly walked his hands about the strings with such nonchalant speed and accuracy that one wondered if he was even trying. The most interesting facet of the music was that a lot of it was improvisational, but its complexity belied that fact, especially on a 22 note scale. (I highly recommend you immerse yourself in some quarter-tonal repertoire, it will change your concept of what harmony is.)

I was somewhat concerned when Andy said to me, “Bring some dollar bills for the belly dancers.” That called to mind infuriatingly persistent ideas of lurid females, clad in the most minimal of garments, undulating erotically while lust-crazed men stuffed their raiment with cash a la the strip club. But I’d never seen belly dancing before so I didn’t know what to expect. Fortunately my flesh was severely let down. I was actually kind of surprised at the heavily artistic aspect of it. The dancers exhibit the utmost grace, utilizing the flowing qualities of their dress and the enormous shawl that accompanies it, as well as lots of expressive hand motions and a step like leaves falling upon water. I described to Tia as “Purple and pink and shiny and silky and jingly and flashy and flowing and whooshy all the same time.” I know she would have gone mad to have that dress. It’s no surprise to me now why she is drawn to it. Except for the deliberately sensual aspect of it (and maybe even that too, perhaps), it’s all Tia.

The other event, from which the title is drawn, was this evening’s trip to the Great Mall in Milpitas. Clad internally in a gaudy assortment of Skittles colors, it’s about as large as the Super Mall in Auburn, WA, and so took me a very long time to examine. It includes a multi-screen megatheater, and a skate park, which I thought interesting. At least they’re giving those kids some place to play, and probably making a killing at it, too. But first, I was greeted with a frustration. I drove the perimeter of the mall to see where the best parking was. This was a foolish pursuit from the outset because it’s Saturday, and near back-to-school time, so the mall was an absolute zoo. Anyway, ‘round the front I happened upon two black ladies preparing to depart from a space not 500 feet from the door. I thought, “Sweet, primo real estate.” They sure took their sweet time pulling out, mostly because of a family who had pulled into the adjacent space and were taking their sweet time getting out of the car. Can’t blame them for that. So they finally began to pull out of the space, quite unsuccessfully I might add; those spaces are too tightly packed. But just as they were coming out of the space, a self-important looking man in a luxury sports car zooms straight into the spot I had been waiting a good 5 minutes to occupy. It’s little, insignificant events like that that make me lose my temper the most. So, like any good road-rager, I angrily pounded on my horn and called him various unsavory names. I probably should have gotten out and explained the situation, but I doubt he would have cared, based on the haughty attitude I perceived from him. So as I drove by I made sure he saw me and flipped him off with the sourest of countenances.

*sigh* I guess it’s good that I don’t have a fish on my bumper. This is one of those things I really need to seek the Lord about. It’s those little fits of rage that will do me in when some larger frustration obstructs my happy little life and I say exceedingly hurtful words to someone and completely throw my witness out the window. Of course, I may not have noticed this incident so acutely if Tia hadn’t become very upset when I told her about it. Her reasons aside, to see it affecting someone else so strongly is clear evidence that it’s a problem. I’ve known I have some kind of anger issues for a long time, and it crops up every once in a while, but I think I want to take it seriously this time. I can tell already that it’s going to be one of those irritating issues that I cannot resolve myself, but must let God’s Spirit work it out within me. I guess the best I can do is to keep praying for him to keep me savvy of my state of mind and immediately turn to him in such instances of impatience.

Tuesday, September 07, 2004

I had a tomato for dinner (Diatribal Pontificaat)

I had originally intended to write a long dirge about the miserably corrupt state of not only our society, but also ourselves. Even the most saintly among us is, at heart, a miserable sinner. What sparked this outburst of ill disposition? Well, being what I just said, my "self" got the better of me and by and by made a wreck of something I thought I was getting past. Nope, that never happens...not in this life at least. These rotten shells, bodies of death, certainly do keep us humble before God's penetrating eye.

So what brought about my change of heart? Well I received a lengthy correspondence in the mail from my best friend which completely shattered my little self-inflicted world of introspective hatred. That girl has the remarkable ability to see the good in everybody, and it's essentially what her letter was about. Bear in mind she spontaneously decided to write it and refused to reveal the topic. To my knowledge I've done nothing to deserve praise.

I am, however, extremely thankful, indescribably thankful, thankful beyond any of the juciest English words for her presence in my life. I hope that never changes. I eagerly await the day when God declares us ready as individuals to live in proximity again, if it seems good to Him. Oh how I will rejoice in those days, but for now I still praise God even for the distance, knowing that He is accomplishing something excellent in both of us. Lord, please raise us up as standards of your Love and Power to heal others. May we grow to love only you more and more so that your Love spills out of us all over the place and to everyone we meet.

Isn't it funny how often it takes some external event to rattle us out of whatever stupor we've managed to dupe ourselves into? And it seems to go both ways in that we sometimes need to be shaken by a bad event to reveal our need for Christ, and sometimes we need to be shaken by a good event to reveal our blessings in Him. It's a good thing He's in charge! Disappointingly difficult though it is to admit, God has a much better handle on the situation than we ever could. Praise the Name of Jesus Christ!

Presumptiously: Finis.

Saturday, September 04, 2004

Tourismo Virtual

This will be short since I'm heading off to my cousin's house soon and it's a 2.5 hour drive if traffic is good. Anyway, I would like to invite you people out there as much as I can into the place I hang my hat. I say "as much as I can" because I'm currently limited to the 9ft radius of my webcam's cable. When I get some kind of mobile photography device I will update the post to include rooms you can't see here. So stay tuned. On to the demonstration:


I have a kitchen


A dining room
Yes, that is my fountain on the left and those are my Escher prints on the wall. The table and chairs were graciously donated to me by my dad's friend Larry.


I have a big deck with nice trees outside.
...although I've yet to actually go out and sit on it. I think I need a table first.


I have a fireplace.
The picture is incredibly bright because of the daylight streaming in from the door, and that's with the blinds shut!


Moreover, I've got vaulted ceilings.
Classy.

To further furnish my domicile,

I bought this nifty computer desk.


And this spiffy couch was delivered today.
Yup, that's real leather, and it's real comfy too. I may throw a cover over it when I don't have company to keep it looking fresh, and so I don't get all sticky/cold from taking naps on it. But it's leather and should last many years, well worth the money I paid for it, I think.

Well that's it for now. Go do something productive with your time now instead of wishing you were hanging out with me at my bachelor pad of doom.

Friday, September 03, 2004

The Dark Room

A man sits in a darkened room. There are no windows, no doors that he knows of, only a single 1/2 watt reading bulb for him to see by. On each wall of the room are shelves of objects. Little statuettes and figurines and models of things. Each is made of glass and very reflective. Some have minerals mixed in or other types of glass and so appear colorful and wonderful in the hot spark of that reading bulb.

The man treasures these silicate wonders he has stacked up on these shelves. One by one he takes them down from their places and turns them over and over in his hands, examining every facet by that tiny light. However, as the man ogles these marvelous objects, he becomes increasingly excited and so starts to quiver and giggle as he fondles them. Eventually he gibbers so much that the glass idol slips from his fingers and crashes to the floor, breaking into jagged fragments.

Regaining his composure he reaches for another sculpture, but the same thing happens again. His excitement grows to such a fervor that the glass flies from his sweating hands and shatters like the one before. In desperation he grabs another, hoping to maintain the euphoria of his excitement, but it too falls to the ground and disintegrates.

With the breaking of each object the satisfaction he longs for moves further from his grasp and fills him with anger. No longer placated by the beauty of his collection, he begins to feel pleasure only in destroying them. One by one the objects fly off the shelves and crash against the floor, or the walls, or against the man's fists. He batters the heavier ones against others, he crushes the delicate ones with his fingers. His hands are bruised and bloody, but his happiness continues to wane despite his fevered efforts.

Finally, when all is said and done, the man lies upon a twinkling landscape of debris and gouging shards, exhausted, cut up, in pain, and bottomlessly miserable. In one final fit of rage he reaches up, and, burning his marred palm, snuffs the tiny bulb which provided the only illumination of his once majestic and now tragic collection, hoping that in the darkness he can forget everything he ever saw in that cruel light. After a lengthy moment of silence he weeps.

Suddenly a knock issues from the wall before him, startling the man greatly. Was there someone outside? Was there an outside? A moment's reflection brings bewilderment as to how he had entered the room to begin with. He had always just taken it for granted that he was there. The knock rings out again, causing the entire structure to throb. "Who is it?" the man shouts. "Will you open the door to me?" comes the reply from without. What a strange reply. "Tell me who you are," the man says. "Behold, I knock. Will you open the door to me?" gently answers the voice with such power that the man's heart jumps into his throat. Who could it be? It could be a friend, or it could be some malevolent force seeking to do him even greater harm. He winces as the sting of his wounds begins to set in.

"Come with me and I will heal your wounds," states the guest. How did he know the man was injured? Perhaps he had heard glass breaking and come to help. "Will you open the door to me?" and another knocking, so crushing and universal that the man fears he may be destroyed by it. With a trembling hand he reaches forward saying, "I don't know how!" Mysteriously, his hand rests upon the cold firmness of a brass doorknob and he winces in agony and terror as he turns it.

A seam of brilliant light frames a rectangle in the wall and punishing radiance floods in as the door opens, overwhelming his eyes. A stream of cool air rushes to fill the space and fragrant smells waft in upon it. His saturated senses at first rebel against this new stimulation and he cries out, but gradually latent memories return and ancient knowledge brings recognition to it. A moment later he opens his eyes to see the frame of another man standing in the doorway, reaching his hand out to him. This new man seems to be just like him in every way men are a like, and yet somehow more.

Looking closely, he sees scars on his hands and feet, and somehow knows other scars exist. The scars indicate to the man that he is there to help, and so he takes the outstretched hand and lifts himself to his feet, nearly collapsing in weakness. The other man supports him and leads him out into the brilliance from which he came.

Every step brings a sensation of recovery and new life. Soon the man no longer needs the other's support, but continues to rest on him, finding increased strength in his embrace. The other man leads him down a hallway of increasing size that bends around a corner. As they walk out of the passageway the man finds himself bathed in sunlight. This feels familiar, this feels right. He stands in a grassy area filled with trees. He recognizes the fruits hanging from some of them, he had glass figures of them back in the room. Only these were not made of glass, but some other substance. He picks one; it falls easily into his hand. His hand! The wounds are gone! The shards extracted! The flesh even shows no scars! He lets the fruit drop away and takes a bewildered step forward, squishing it beneath his foot. He jumps back in surprise; it is soft and malleable and emits a wondrous aroma. He plucks another and pokes it with his finger. Juice runs onto his knuckles and he tastes. Slendid! It's a peach! He had a glass peach with flecks of orange and goldenrod buried beneath the surface, but this is a real peach! Ecstatic, he takes a bite, then another, then quickly consumes the rest, sucking the juice from his fingertips.

Turning about he is approached by a woman whom he immediately recognizes. It is the same woman as that golden statue, the one that had first slipped from his hands. His knees weaken when he sees her true form: she is very beautiful and though the glass statue was beautiful also, it could not begin to compare with the reality. He joyfully embraces her and she returns his embrace as one who has not seen her dearest friend in many years. She says to him amid tears, "Welcome back. We're all waiting for you at home. Please come soon." Home! He only had the dim image of the glass house and made the connection with this new place: there would be a real home, made of wood and stone, with all his familiar people and things really inside. The woman looks toward the sky and seems to be thanking someone. Then begins to walk and motions for him to follow.

The other man is still standing with him. The man looks at him and said, "Who are you, sir? And how have you done this?" He replies, "I am the Resurrection and the Life. When you put your trust in me, I brought you from death to life, from darkness to light. Behold where you have been." He points at the ground to the left. The man looks in that direction and pales. What he sees lying upon the ground is a tiny wooden box, no more than an inch high, with a small horn attached to it. "How did you get down...but how did we come..." the man stammers. "Your faith has made you well. Now go and tell others what the Lord has done for you."

He embraces the man heartily and thanks him repeatedly, promising never to forget the deeds of this remarkable person. He takes a step after the woman, then turns to ask if he can return the favor, but the man is gone. In his place is a vagrant who has picked up the box with a horn and is looking deep inside it. He smells bad, but the man knows what lies within the box and approaches the pauper. "You do not want to know what is in there. Are you hungry?" The vagrant nods assent. "Would you like to come to my house and have dinner? I have a feeling there is a wonderful feast waiting for us, the likes of which neith of us have experienced in a long time."

------

I would have liked to add more about his wonder at the reality of real life, but the well ran dry. Comments, questions?