Monday, October 10, 2011
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
There ya go. The previous two were from my Writing and Literacy class, so I'll probably be posting more of the same in the future. But I'll try not to use them as my weekly post.
Fingers crossed.
I also wanted to make it clear that, although I haven't mentioned specific anecdotes in which my mother plays a role, she was indescribably important in my spiritual and literacy growth. That is all.
Fingers crossed.
I also wanted to make it clear that, although I haven't mentioned specific anecdotes in which my mother plays a role, she was indescribably important in my spiritual and literacy growth. That is all.
Food Court Philosophy
My seventh grade year, I had just returned to Christ is King, my small,
private, christian school, after three years of homeschooling. Our
principal and Bible teacher was a short, stocky, and vivacious Filipino
man named Raul. As a function of the Bible class, he sequestered the top
three grades at our school (7th - 9th grades), whom he called
"forerunners" and formed a book club, among other things. Every
Wednesday, instead of getting a packed lunch, we got money to go to the
food court at the mall. There we would scootch the tables into a shape
that fit us all, and disperse to purchase food. There was a dull roar
that accompanied our discussion after we had all eaten. Being a slow
eater, I was forced to listen to the first part of the discussion with
my mouth full of some salty, greasy staple of fast food. We usually sat
right next to the arcade, which was frequently a distraction. It had
completely clear windows that offered a perfect view of a character on
the side of one of the consoles whom my friend Lewis dubbed "steroid
man". That was also back in the days when Runza used to give away free
balloons, so I started getting them just to suck the helium and make my
voice sound funny.
Overall it turned out to be a hit, though. The book we were assigned was called "The Crimson Tapestry" and it combined the vocabulary of a grad student in linguistics with the plot line and dialog of a horny adolescent. It remains one of my favorite books, and the conversations we had about it were revolutionary to me. Raul was a very passionate and influential man. He was constantly challenging us, especially the boys, in our thinking and worshiping habits. In every function he was involved in at the school, he called for a higher standard of maturity. To this day the seventh grade is one I point to as the one in which I grew up the most, and that primarily because of Raul.
Overall it turned out to be a hit, though. The book we were assigned was called "The Crimson Tapestry" and it combined the vocabulary of a grad student in linguistics with the plot line and dialog of a horny adolescent. It remains one of my favorite books, and the conversations we had about it were revolutionary to me. Raul was a very passionate and influential man. He was constantly challenging us, especially the boys, in our thinking and worshiping habits. In every function he was involved in at the school, he called for a higher standard of maturity. To this day the seventh grade is one I point to as the one in which I grew up the most, and that primarily because of Raul.
Flags and Hot Wheels
One of the most revelatory and pivotal experiences in my life where
literacy is concerned took place when I was probably around seven years
old. What seemed like once a week, my dad would take my brother and me
into the computer room where we had a big world map on the wall. There,
we would sit and read the "Flags" section of the World Book and
memorize, putting each stripe and emblem from the encyclopedia next to a
shape on the map. Every week there would be a recital of the flags we
were expected to know, and for every five new
flags we could name, we would get a brand new Hot Wheels car. Combined
with the atlases and picture books from National Geographic, our
unofficial geography lessons became a color-spangled foundation that
grew into a great desire to experience all the places the world has to
offer. It didn't bother us in the slightest that the scheduled time
meant we couldn't play outside or on the computer, because it was just
plain fun. We learned we could count on that time every week to explore
and get some sweet-action toys. The combination of structure and
creativity became a quality I look for in most all further discourses I
encounter and plays a great role in my dissatisfaction with and
under-performance in a university setting.
Scholasticism
Since it's entirely improbable that I will be able to muster two more of those posts before Friday, I'll give myself a break and post autobiographical snippets that I've been writing for class.
Aren't I kind?
Aren't I kind?
Growthiness
As expected, my resolution's first deadline came and went without so
much as a haiku to show for it. Since the second deadline was eclipsed
by the first Husker football game, I now have three posts to write by
Friday. My tardiness has one perk however. Namely, I have an easy choice
for a perfect first topic: Personal Deadlines. Here we go.
I'll begin exploring the topic of deadlines using a situation I find congruent and helpful. Growing up in a Christian home, school, and church, we were often encouraged to assess our personal habits and choices to test whether or not we were "living what we believed". It didn't take long for me to notice the discrepancy, and I became very discouraged with the observation that I couldn't live up the the standard of religious living expected by my elders. There were so many ideas for applied principles that seemed like life-changing formulas for excellence after an evening in a group of like-minded folks, but far from practical in the morning or when I was alone.
Then I came across a different perspective on the matter that seems like a downer at first glance, but actually gave me a great deal of hope. I believe it was my dad who first introduced me to the concept and then it was reenforced through the various christian political functions in which I was involved. They posited that not only was it acceptable to legislate morality, it was impossible not to do so. This led to a more personal application of the postulate whose primary change was semantic, but revolutionary to me: It's impossible not to live what you believe, because your beliefs necessarily dictate your choices. The truth was naturally much more demanding than the hypothesis I grew up with. Now, there's still a bit of the old mentality that remains. It is possible to know and know about other beliefs that would be more wholesome and glorifying to God without actually believing them. It is also possible to use that knowledge to slowly change what you believe. The fundamental change for me came to a head in the difference between choices on a whim provoked by people and atmosphere, and those formed by habits and the product of consistent, deliberate exercise of will power.
This is where that situation really merges with the topic of deadlines, and where of course an excuse is required on my part. Since what one believes steers the choices he makes, the choice not to make my weekly blogging enough a priority not to forget it, it belies a baser belief that personal reflection and practice writing really isn't as important as I "know" in my head that it is. Personal deadlines, goals, and habits and the active responses that result ultimately make up one's discipline; discipline to a large extent defines maturity, and maturity leads to and is a form of excellence. Does that mean that my lack of response at first necessarily means that I'm immature? Yes. But my resolve to finish this post and catch up to the originally scheduled deadline represents growth, which leads me to the bright side of my above discovery.
Learning about the nature and definition of "belief" sparked a potent course of development in my spiritual development above everything else. Operating simultaneously on this new knowledge and the knowledge that without the actual, visible work of the gospel I would care nothing for a more perfect belief system, I began to notice that "living what I believed", which was called for by the christian culture at large, was primarily a call to respond to an emotional high. While there is nothing wrong with responding to one's feelings, or using them to perform otherwise difficult tasks, that pressure nearly overlooked the power of effecting an entire lifestyle and worldview that allows me to even sort through these emotions.
In closing, and in light of the above information, there are three things that have risen above the rest in my life as being beacons of God's work for me:
In ascending order,
3) My home church's devotion to world missions
2) The patience and loyalty of my friends
1) My parents' and their parents' lasting marriages
I'll begin exploring the topic of deadlines using a situation I find congruent and helpful. Growing up in a Christian home, school, and church, we were often encouraged to assess our personal habits and choices to test whether or not we were "living what we believed". It didn't take long for me to notice the discrepancy, and I became very discouraged with the observation that I couldn't live up the the standard of religious living expected by my elders. There were so many ideas for applied principles that seemed like life-changing formulas for excellence after an evening in a group of like-minded folks, but far from practical in the morning or when I was alone.
Then I came across a different perspective on the matter that seems like a downer at first glance, but actually gave me a great deal of hope. I believe it was my dad who first introduced me to the concept and then it was reenforced through the various christian political functions in which I was involved. They posited that not only was it acceptable to legislate morality, it was impossible not to do so. This led to a more personal application of the postulate whose primary change was semantic, but revolutionary to me: It's impossible not to live what you believe, because your beliefs necessarily dictate your choices. The truth was naturally much more demanding than the hypothesis I grew up with. Now, there's still a bit of the old mentality that remains. It is possible to know and know about other beliefs that would be more wholesome and glorifying to God without actually believing them. It is also possible to use that knowledge to slowly change what you believe. The fundamental change for me came to a head in the difference between choices on a whim provoked by people and atmosphere, and those formed by habits and the product of consistent, deliberate exercise of will power.
This is where that situation really merges with the topic of deadlines, and where of course an excuse is required on my part. Since what one believes steers the choices he makes, the choice not to make my weekly blogging enough a priority not to forget it, it belies a baser belief that personal reflection and practice writing really isn't as important as I "know" in my head that it is. Personal deadlines, goals, and habits and the active responses that result ultimately make up one's discipline; discipline to a large extent defines maturity, and maturity leads to and is a form of excellence. Does that mean that my lack of response at first necessarily means that I'm immature? Yes. But my resolve to finish this post and catch up to the originally scheduled deadline represents growth, which leads me to the bright side of my above discovery.
Learning about the nature and definition of "belief" sparked a potent course of development in my spiritual development above everything else. Operating simultaneously on this new knowledge and the knowledge that without the actual, visible work of the gospel I would care nothing for a more perfect belief system, I began to notice that "living what I believed", which was called for by the christian culture at large, was primarily a call to respond to an emotional high. While there is nothing wrong with responding to one's feelings, or using them to perform otherwise difficult tasks, that pressure nearly overlooked the power of effecting an entire lifestyle and worldview that allows me to even sort through these emotions.
In closing, and in light of the above information, there are three things that have risen above the rest in my life as being beacons of God's work for me:
In ascending order,
3) My home church's devotion to world missions
2) The patience and loyalty of my friends
1) My parents' and their parents' lasting marriages
Friday, August 19, 2011
A Quick One
Dear diary,
I'm resolving this semester to write on my blog at least once a week. I might put a minimum word limit just to make sure I don't cheat. The first post is due Friday, August 26th. (The night of Jared and Jenna's rehearsal dinner.)
Boom!
kent
I'm resolving this semester to write on my blog at least once a week. I might put a minimum word limit just to make sure I don't cheat. The first post is due Friday, August 26th. (The night of Jared and Jenna's rehearsal dinner.)
Boom!
kent
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Ein Schritt
I have been thinking a lot lately about graduation. I have made the hard decision to let that be an ends in itself. The tough thing about this is that I don't hold any of its value as intrinsic. There's nothing about the nature of putting in the endless hours of tedium in order for the University to give me a gilt sheet of paper that says I'm a Bachelor of Arts. What does that even mean?
Without going into the ridiculous blind worshiping of college degrees that is clear in our culture, I want to go into my decision-making process. This is more for my benefit than anyone else's, but here is my reason: It's hard.
I had never struggled until school until college, being blessed with a healthy intellect, a knack for befriending teachers and parents who were immeasurably helpful with schoolwork. But in college I encountered a problem I didn't expect would be my downfall. Life unfolded itself before my eyes, and I saw paths besides the ones that funneled through a college degree. Like an electron seeking the path of least resistance, I found that not only were there ways around the load that was school's tepid busywork, but that, in my unambitious 360° view of what I expected from life, it was literally the only one there.
I shirked for a year, took off school wanting to prove that I could make a life without the cushion a Bachelor's Degree offered. But after a while of trying to swim upstream, I realized I was swimming in a lake. I expected the adults in my life, having grown up in a generation that viewed school as a necessity, to capitulate to my second-rate choice with forgiveness in their eyes assuring me that I had had good intentions. This was not at all my experience. They ensured me that they felt the same way, and were proud that I was standing firm in my beliefs. Not a soul uttered a contrary word. So it was that I again found myself on a plane extending in every direction, the only obstacle in view my degree.
I first wandered back to the University literally because it was the only significant direction. I didn't care about grades. I could play intramural soccer and live the life of a student with all the subsidies and none of the ambition. I lived here for another three semesters, trying to find a major that would spark some sort of desire to create, to find a field I could become an expert in and not resent. There were definitely bright spots, but nothing that really took, and I drove myself to the point where I wanted to drop out again in December, never really having hoped to complete school.
Here, I was given a providential shove I didn't want, and certainly didn't deserve: I passed a class I should and thought I would have failed. It was from then to now that I realized that I had missed the purpose of the one blip on my radar. I thought it was insignificant. I grew surer by the semester that the academic accomplishment I would achieve from overcoming it would offer me no lasting satisfaction or skill. Honestly, to this day, I doubt that it will. What came to me since the New Year is that the challenge was far more than scholastic. Since my graduation in 2006, I have heaped all my apathy and disdain upon the education system and its flaws. Now I see that that pile, the only blemish on my otherwise spotless plane of potential, itself is the very challenge that my perfectionism in decision-making can latch onto. This has more benefits than just the personal accomplishment or even the ability to look past frivolity in tasks I will need to do to provide for myself; I now discover its relevance in an array of relationships in which performing annoying tasks show patience and care, and supply its very building blocks. Surmounting my own loathing to do a task I find needless at best, suddenly offers a meaningful destination and a transferable skill.
In actually living this out, I have compiled a semester of classes that will be very trying on me. After this battery, however, I will have a semester of reprieve before I will have the required amount of hours to graduate. To that end I have both a plan and a wish. Now I can begin to climb the berg, made greater for the emotional weight, greater still for the years I built habits upon laziness and whimsy. I plod on knowing that I'm single-handedly responsible for my own annoyance, but believing in the joy I will find on the other side of the mountain.
Without going into the ridiculous blind worshiping of college degrees that is clear in our culture, I want to go into my decision-making process. This is more for my benefit than anyone else's, but here is my reason: It's hard.
I had never struggled until school until college, being blessed with a healthy intellect, a knack for befriending teachers and parents who were immeasurably helpful with schoolwork. But in college I encountered a problem I didn't expect would be my downfall. Life unfolded itself before my eyes, and I saw paths besides the ones that funneled through a college degree. Like an electron seeking the path of least resistance, I found that not only were there ways around the load that was school's tepid busywork, but that, in my unambitious 360° view of what I expected from life, it was literally the only one there.
I shirked for a year, took off school wanting to prove that I could make a life without the cushion a Bachelor's Degree offered. But after a while of trying to swim upstream, I realized I was swimming in a lake. I expected the adults in my life, having grown up in a generation that viewed school as a necessity, to capitulate to my second-rate choice with forgiveness in their eyes assuring me that I had had good intentions. This was not at all my experience. They ensured me that they felt the same way, and were proud that I was standing firm in my beliefs. Not a soul uttered a contrary word. So it was that I again found myself on a plane extending in every direction, the only obstacle in view my degree.
I first wandered back to the University literally because it was the only significant direction. I didn't care about grades. I could play intramural soccer and live the life of a student with all the subsidies and none of the ambition. I lived here for another three semesters, trying to find a major that would spark some sort of desire to create, to find a field I could become an expert in and not resent. There were definitely bright spots, but nothing that really took, and I drove myself to the point where I wanted to drop out again in December, never really having hoped to complete school.
Here, I was given a providential shove I didn't want, and certainly didn't deserve: I passed a class I should and thought I would have failed. It was from then to now that I realized that I had missed the purpose of the one blip on my radar. I thought it was insignificant. I grew surer by the semester that the academic accomplishment I would achieve from overcoming it would offer me no lasting satisfaction or skill. Honestly, to this day, I doubt that it will. What came to me since the New Year is that the challenge was far more than scholastic. Since my graduation in 2006, I have heaped all my apathy and disdain upon the education system and its flaws. Now I see that that pile, the only blemish on my otherwise spotless plane of potential, itself is the very challenge that my perfectionism in decision-making can latch onto. This has more benefits than just the personal accomplishment or even the ability to look past frivolity in tasks I will need to do to provide for myself; I now discover its relevance in an array of relationships in which performing annoying tasks show patience and care, and supply its very building blocks. Surmounting my own loathing to do a task I find needless at best, suddenly offers a meaningful destination and a transferable skill.
In actually living this out, I have compiled a semester of classes that will be very trying on me. After this battery, however, I will have a semester of reprieve before I will have the required amount of hours to graduate. To that end I have both a plan and a wish. Now I can begin to climb the berg, made greater for the emotional weight, greater still for the years I built habits upon laziness and whimsy. I plod on knowing that I'm single-handedly responsible for my own annoyance, but believing in the joy I will find on the other side of the mountain.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Snow is a catalyst
I was inspired by my friend, Lori Taylor, to write a sentiment that I've long felt, but never expressed in writing. I've noticed an astonishingly parallel plot line as I've grown older. It's faint and seldom visible, but follows me diligently, a Gollum with no aim beyond curiosity about how I will react to it. Many large themes in the Venn diagram of my life have begun to appear within that portion of my experience labeled "Snow".
When I was a kid, I needed no excuse (and used every one I could muster) to play in snow. We had some remarkable snowfalls in my youth, and I love making snow caves and forts and men and having snowball fights. The lack of responsibilities made loving snow impossibly easy in those days. As I grew up and began to be exposed to media expressing more adult viewpoints, I began to notice a bitterness among responsible, productive members of society regarding snow. It seemed to be a great standby in conversation that if nothing better came to mind, relaying the degree to which one detests snow would invariably find some inkling of common ground in the relationship. Again, in stark parallel to this idea other things that I took for granted, things I had no reason to question were suddenly called childish. There was erected a great framework of rules, roles and expectations that became the definition of my breeding, success and, to some extent, value to society. And this is not to understate the purpose of this structure; there is certainly great influence and beauty to be shared striving toward a life full of order and discipline. However, as I began to be instructed and participate in the rituals of our culture, I was profoundly blessed by a lesson that seems to elude many people. In the midst of the whirlwind of adolescence and the discovery of my place in the community, one of my teachers gave me a key that I will never forget. He taught us to "take play seriously". It was somewhat of a revelation to my young adult mind that the truss-work of discipline that I had warmed to and finally accepted wasn't the end-all in life. There is another vital part that consists of what looks like selfish indulgence in comparison to the hard work and productivity that are so necessary to provide for one's self. It struck a chord with me only because there was an undeniable longing for the innocent energy that was so commonplace in my youth. This principal taught me that these two desires weren't mutually exclusive, but each was necessary to the other to realize their relative fruition. Snow, like innocence, is a structure in and of itself. It takes regularly setting aside time to practice the transfer from one mindset to another.
To this day I can use snow as a barometer for my attitude toward life. It should set off a red flag for me if the tedium of scooping snow ruins my unadulterated love of the way it completely transforms the world around me. Beyond that snow is the perfect play material, the still, muffled quiet of a recent snow lit by streetlamps never fails to take my breath away.
I'm sure there will be snow in heaven.
When I was a kid, I needed no excuse (and used every one I could muster) to play in snow. We had some remarkable snowfalls in my youth, and I love making snow caves and forts and men and having snowball fights. The lack of responsibilities made loving snow impossibly easy in those days. As I grew up and began to be exposed to media expressing more adult viewpoints, I began to notice a bitterness among responsible, productive members of society regarding snow. It seemed to be a great standby in conversation that if nothing better came to mind, relaying the degree to which one detests snow would invariably find some inkling of common ground in the relationship. Again, in stark parallel to this idea other things that I took for granted, things I had no reason to question were suddenly called childish. There was erected a great framework of rules, roles and expectations that became the definition of my breeding, success and, to some extent, value to society. And this is not to understate the purpose of this structure; there is certainly great influence and beauty to be shared striving toward a life full of order and discipline. However, as I began to be instructed and participate in the rituals of our culture, I was profoundly blessed by a lesson that seems to elude many people. In the midst of the whirlwind of adolescence and the discovery of my place in the community, one of my teachers gave me a key that I will never forget. He taught us to "take play seriously". It was somewhat of a revelation to my young adult mind that the truss-work of discipline that I had warmed to and finally accepted wasn't the end-all in life. There is another vital part that consists of what looks like selfish indulgence in comparison to the hard work and productivity that are so necessary to provide for one's self. It struck a chord with me only because there was an undeniable longing for the innocent energy that was so commonplace in my youth. This principal taught me that these two desires weren't mutually exclusive, but each was necessary to the other to realize their relative fruition. Snow, like innocence, is a structure in and of itself. It takes regularly setting aside time to practice the transfer from one mindset to another.
To this day I can use snow as a barometer for my attitude toward life. It should set off a red flag for me if the tedium of scooping snow ruins my unadulterated love of the way it completely transforms the world around me. Beyond that snow is the perfect play material, the still, muffled quiet of a recent snow lit by streetlamps never fails to take my breath away.
I'm sure there will be snow in heaven.
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