Today I am truly thankful for my God, my family, my friends, my home, and all the rest of the usual things that people are thankful for.
But the truth is, today specifically I am most thankful for kindness. The kindness shown by others, and the fact that we are able to choose kindness, and in so choosing, are blessed beyond measure.
As my parents are away this Thanksgiving (and the rest of my family is in Canada and celebrated last month) I was going to be alone for Thanksgiving. I probably would have spent it with the folks at BBC while eating jam on toast. But instead I got an invite to dinner from some folks at the church I just started attending. Without hesitation or question, they showed me the kindness of inviting me to spend time with their family on this day that is usually all about family. And that's just it, they see me as family.
Kindness tends to do that. It transforms a stranger into a friend. And it doesn't have to be a big show of anything; it's just simple, quiet kindness. But it moves me beyond what I can express. And I'm grateful.
I hope and pray that each and every one of you will reach out to someone who is alone this Thanksgiving. Even if it's just a kind word or gesture, a small gift, or an invite to a family dinner, make someone who is alone feel loved. It is worth more than anything in the world. And I trust that when the time comes, I will open my home to someone in need.
Matthew 25:35-40
"for I was hungry and you gave Me food; I was thirsty and you gave Me drink; I was a stranger and you took Me in...assuredly, I say to you, inasmuch as you did it to one of the least of these My brethren, you did it to Me."
Thursday, November 22, 2012
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
Oh, for the love of watermelon
Over the years, I've noticed how in any debate between two or more individuals, people often perceive differences in opinion as purposeful personal offences. The Democrat finds the Republican offensive, simply because he's a Republican, and vice versa. Or the Baptist finds the Pentecostal offensive, and vice versa, and so on and so forth.
So I shouldn't be surprised that those who love watermelons find me incredibly offensive. I just hate watermelons. And I am always met with the same reaction: "You don't like watermelons? What is wrong with you?!"
But what is it about watermelons that draws out such powerful emotions, that makes people so defensive? I've never heard anyone defend an apple with the same zeal, or a banana or a strawberry, or any other kind of fruit, for that matter. Watermelon-lovers just seem incredibly passionate about watermelons, and they all seem to believe that everyone should love watermelons with the same intense loyalty. It never occurs to them that anyone would not love watermelons. They go through life believing that they live in a perfect world in which everyone understands that watermelons are wonderful, until one day someone just slaps them in the face for no reason.
I don't suppose I'll ever understand. It's a melon thing, I guess.
Note: similarities have been found between the watermelon-lover and the salmon-lover. Watermelon-lovers are simply more common, but salmon-lovers seem to possess the same propensity for vehement defenses.
So I shouldn't be surprised that those who love watermelons find me incredibly offensive. I just hate watermelons. And I am always met with the same reaction: "You don't like watermelons? What is wrong with you?!"
But what is it about watermelons that draws out such powerful emotions, that makes people so defensive? I've never heard anyone defend an apple with the same zeal, or a banana or a strawberry, or any other kind of fruit, for that matter. Watermelon-lovers just seem incredibly passionate about watermelons, and they all seem to believe that everyone should love watermelons with the same intense loyalty. It never occurs to them that anyone would not love watermelons. They go through life believing that they live in a perfect world in which everyone understands that watermelons are wonderful, until one day someone just slaps them in the face for no reason.
I don't suppose I'll ever understand. It's a melon thing, I guess.
Note: similarities have been found between the watermelon-lover and the salmon-lover. Watermelon-lovers are simply more common, but salmon-lovers seem to possess the same propensity for vehement defenses.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
As We Delight
I have, in the past, written on the nature of suffering, my love of novels and how these two tie together. I think there are various forms of literary concessions. Some take the form of delicate necessity, others take the form of pure delight.
When I refer to suffering, I am speaking of both the emotional and the physical, however, there will be little distinction made here in any examples provided. Both can be acute and crippling. But at this moment my concern is for the depiction of suffering in a literary sense, or more so, the uses of language in describing it. What motivates that language, and to what end.
I previously referred to transcendence as it relates to suffering in the novel Island of the World by Michael D. O'Brien. The story takes place in the Balkans during WWII, and the main character suffers immensely throughout. More than once, he falls victim to unthinkable cruelty, knows love and loses love, touches faith but is too overwhelmed by his own agony to continue in his pursuit of God. And though I was often weeping at injustices or enraged at atrocities, I found myself continuously hoping that the hero would find peace in the end, that God's redemptive power would prevail. I wasn't disappointed. The author never intended to leave the reader feeling empty, devoid of any emotion but a weak indignation at being led by false hope or to a sappy ending; rather, he intended to depict delicately and eloquently the true nature of suffering in order for the reader to, at the end of the novel, feel the full impact of God's grace and mercy in the midst of sorrow.
Then there is another kind of literature. I was recently enamored with the series A Song of Ice and Fire by George R. R. Martin. I've always loved fantasy writing, but the fact that this was a type of fantasy series made for adults that focused on the very real human condition in the midst of a fascinating other world and time, made it that much more appealing. It didn't, however, take long for me to realize that the literature lacked any sense of morality, but I was so engrossed in the story that I couldn't stop reading, or so I told myself. Some days I would spend 5 or 6 hours immersed in the pages. But the further into the series I ventured, the more I realized that the heroes of the story were almost as morally repugnant as the villains. The line between good and evil was nearly invisible. But in the end, this wasn't what most disturbed me. I can't quite say when I realized it, but I began to sense that the author simply delighted in portraying each scenario in the foulest language, illustrating the most perverse human encounters with the most brutal violence imaginable. We tell ourselves that "for the sake of a good story" we'll read on. But one night as I was ready to open volume 5, I felt uneasy, almost physically ill. At first I wasn't sure why, but then I began to realize that what I was feeling was actual dread. It struck me that the emotional, mental and spiritual atmosphere that had been created by the novels themselves had begun to permeate every aspect of my life. I carried the book out of my room, and when I went back in empty handed, I felt relieved, at peace, almost joyous.
We are told to hate what is evil and cling to what is good. If a film or a novel cannot identify true evil, or if it delights in a hypocritical love, it is a danger. For as we delight, so shall we live.
James 4:5 Or do you think Scripture says without reason that He jealously longs for the spirit He has caused to dwell in us?
Colossians 3:1 Therefore if you have been raised up with Christ, keep seeking the things above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God.
When I refer to suffering, I am speaking of both the emotional and the physical, however, there will be little distinction made here in any examples provided. Both can be acute and crippling. But at this moment my concern is for the depiction of suffering in a literary sense, or more so, the uses of language in describing it. What motivates that language, and to what end.
I previously referred to transcendence as it relates to suffering in the novel Island of the World by Michael D. O'Brien. The story takes place in the Balkans during WWII, and the main character suffers immensely throughout. More than once, he falls victim to unthinkable cruelty, knows love and loses love, touches faith but is too overwhelmed by his own agony to continue in his pursuit of God. And though I was often weeping at injustices or enraged at atrocities, I found myself continuously hoping that the hero would find peace in the end, that God's redemptive power would prevail. I wasn't disappointed. The author never intended to leave the reader feeling empty, devoid of any emotion but a weak indignation at being led by false hope or to a sappy ending; rather, he intended to depict delicately and eloquently the true nature of suffering in order for the reader to, at the end of the novel, feel the full impact of God's grace and mercy in the midst of sorrow.
Then there is another kind of literature. I was recently enamored with the series A Song of Ice and Fire by George R. R. Martin. I've always loved fantasy writing, but the fact that this was a type of fantasy series made for adults that focused on the very real human condition in the midst of a fascinating other world and time, made it that much more appealing. It didn't, however, take long for me to realize that the literature lacked any sense of morality, but I was so engrossed in the story that I couldn't stop reading, or so I told myself. Some days I would spend 5 or 6 hours immersed in the pages. But the further into the series I ventured, the more I realized that the heroes of the story were almost as morally repugnant as the villains. The line between good and evil was nearly invisible. But in the end, this wasn't what most disturbed me. I can't quite say when I realized it, but I began to sense that the author simply delighted in portraying each scenario in the foulest language, illustrating the most perverse human encounters with the most brutal violence imaginable. We tell ourselves that "for the sake of a good story" we'll read on. But one night as I was ready to open volume 5, I felt uneasy, almost physically ill. At first I wasn't sure why, but then I began to realize that what I was feeling was actual dread. It struck me that the emotional, mental and spiritual atmosphere that had been created by the novels themselves had begun to permeate every aspect of my life. I carried the book out of my room, and when I went back in empty handed, I felt relieved, at peace, almost joyous.
We are told to hate what is evil and cling to what is good. If a film or a novel cannot identify true evil, or if it delights in a hypocritical love, it is a danger. For as we delight, so shall we live.
James 4:5 Or do you think Scripture says without reason that He jealously longs for the spirit He has caused to dwell in us?
Colossians 3:1 Therefore if you have been raised up with Christ, keep seeking the things above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God.
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