La-Ti-Dah

My surrender muscles are getting bootcamped lately - trying to keep them from seizing up like they do sometimes, all Gollum and Middle Earthy. It's ugly. I get the creepy "My Preeeecious" visual & sound byte sometimes when my conscience is trying to squeeze a laugh out of me, because, as all consciences know, the Id don't know how to laugh and the Will don't like a tight-ass.

So tonight, when I was walking home from the Eastern Market, I was listening to a Jonah sermon podcast by Shane Hipps up at Mars Hill Church. And it was bore-ing me. So I turned it off and reached for my cell phone. And immediately I felt like I was letting myself down. Like, "Take your introvert time. Finish the sermon. Be blessed." I played a little tug of war, and then rewarded my Jiminy Cricket for having made me laugh earlier in the day over the Gollum scene, shoved the earbuds back in, and smirked sheepishly at the rebuff.

Shortly after, I found myself laughing aloud the rest of the walk home. Apparently the book of Jonah is a joke. Or comedy rather. At Jonah's expense. I'm too tired to go terribly into it, but basically Jonah runs away, holes up in a whale, finally gives in & turns around, does a terrible job announcing doom to Ninevah in an attempt to prove he isn't fit to prophesy, and immediately the king and entire city "believe God" & repent - a response no other Old Testament prophet was fortunate enough to evoke. Joke's on Jonah. According to Hipps, the narrator weaves this subtle comic relief into the entire script. Who knew?

This is what I love about Mars Hill sermons. They make the neophiliac in me less sad that I grew up hearing Bible stories 1100 times each. There is STILL something fresh to gain from the text, the context, the subtext, the implications (of course there is, but rarely so much as when it comes from Mars. Haha. Mars.)

AND AGAIN, humor. Humor is the way to tickle the rebellious spirit out of me these days. (Though yesterday I definitely cussed it out & it worked. Got that tip from a friend at Intervarsity.) Whatever works. Submission is sublime.

From "Kingdom Leadership in the Postmodern Era"

This article thrilled me! These are a few chunks that seemed relevant to my online diary. 

http://nextreformation.com/wp-admin/resources/Leadership.pdf

"A good conductor does not merely tell everyone what to do; rather

he helps everyone to hear what is so. For this he is not primarily a telling but a listening individual: even while the orchestra is performing loudly he is listening inwardly to silent music. He is not so much commanding as he is obedient. He knows that music is not made people playing instruments, but rather by music playing people."

We can be managers or mystics.

Poets are non-utilitarian. They don’t accept the view of a congregation as a tool for impacting the world. Rather, they see the congregation as the location of God's work of redemption and the incipient presence of the future kingdom. 

In the deepest sense, distinction between leaders and followers is meaningless. In every moment of life, we are simultaneously leading and following. There is never a time when our knowledge, judgment and wisdom are not more useful and applicable than that of another. There is never a 

time when the knowledge, judgment and wisdom of another are not more useful and applicable than ours. At any time that "other" may be superior, subordinate, or peer. 

At a deeper level there exists the unspoken assumption that leaders have more to give than others, and that those who "follow" need us more than we need them.  In reality, the strong offer one gift, and the weak another.  Until we die to the idea that we are somehow "ahead of" or "above" the community of faith around us, we will continue to be frustrated in our attempts to have an authentic community that combines real relationships with real discipleship.  

Jean Vanier writes, We do not want two communities—the helpers and the helped; we want one. That is the theory, but in practice there is a tendency for the assistants to make their own community and be satisfied with that. Truly to make community with the poorest and identify with them is harder and demands a death to self.

All people dream, but not equally.  

Those who dream by night, 

in the dusty recesses of their minds,  

wake in the day to find that it was vanity.  

But the dreamers of the day are dangerous,  

for they may act their dreams with open eyes  

to make it possible. 

    T. E. Lawrence ("Lawrence of Arabia") 

Just What I Needed, Oswald Chambers!

The Most Delicate Mission On Earth

“The friend of the Bridegroom.” John 3:29

Goodness and purity ought never to attract attention to themselves, they ought simply to be magnets to draw to Jesus Christ. If my holiness is not drawing towards Him, it is not holiness of the right order, but an influence that will awaken inordinate affection and lead souls away into side-eddies. A beautiful saint may be a hindrance if he does not present Jesus Christ but only what Christ has done for him. He will leave the impression - "What a fine character that man is!" That is not being a true friend of the Bridegroom; I am increasing all the time, He is not.

In order to maintain this friendship and loyalty to the Bridegroom, we have to be more careful of our moral and vital relationship to Him than of any other thing, even of obedience. Sometimes there is nothing to obey, the only thing to do is to maintain a vital connection with Jesus Christ, to see that nothing interferes with that. Only occasionally do we have to obey. When a crisis arises we have to find out what God's will is, but the greater part of the life is not conscious obedience but the maintenance of this relationship - the friend of the Bridegroom. Christian work may be a means of evading the soul's concentration on Jesus Christ. Instead of being friends of the Bridegroom, we may become amateur providences, and may work against Him whilst we use His weapons.

Cathartic

There comes a point when the whole alphabet and every number down the line raise their chins and mock me. This moment reminds me of the fever-induced delirium of childhood - one time, on Thanksgiving, when I was so disappointingly sick and missing turkey, I remember being haunted by multiplication tables doing themselves wrong in my head. No matter how hard I tried to correct the numbers, they wouldn't submit to math. 

The low points come (more sensically, less schizophrenically) from time to time, when every iota of matter seems hell-bent on making me feel invisible & insignificant. Loudly. And my instinct is to react emotionally to all the accusations cast by the walls and doorknobs and picture frames. But as I age I've begun to stop short of that. The emotion, like, asks permission to grip me... kind of diminishing its posture of authority and its power. Is this growing up? Getting to choose which emotions to feel?

The moment is strange, because, although I feel less vulnerable to the darkness, I don't quite know how to find all the light switches that light the place up enough to make me feel safe again. Crazy free and wild with carefree vitality. I know the simple answer is to shed all the shiny identities that promise to define me, and rediscover peace with the only One who can give me a name. 

Beloved. 

Beloved.

Beloved.

Everything fades with that name. With the grace of that word. And wow. Just like that, the lights are on. Part of me feels compelled to cover all the mouths trying to blow out this light. But I don't think I need to. I think I can just lean into the embrace of Truth, and allow gratitude to grip me.

What Not to Wear

I'm turning into a never-nude. These knee length black spendex "pants" go under everything! too bad winter is over...

old books and old bacon

Oh the thrill of researching... and discovering that some of the sources you are peeking @ in the library catalog are from the 1600's. No freakin way.

I found sooo many books thru inter-library loan. God bless Catholic University & their plethora of religious non-fiction. This will make my life easier & reduce my hours camping out w/ text at the Library of Congress. It's time to get my ars in gear and zoom over to that lovely building, though, to request a looksie-loo at the sources that have still managed to elude me.

Sidenote: The blackboard in my room is covered with scribbles from a Shane Claibourne podcast that blew my mind AND related to "My Topic"! I need more blackboards now.

Also, I recommend the vegetarian Chinese Noodle Soup at Teaism. Splendid ginger-flavored broth. Just delightful. Trying to stay strong, but I need someone to eat my bacon ASAP. It's only so long I can wait before I cook it and eat the entire pound by myself. It's taunting me. Come over for brunch, friends. Eat the bacon. Oh no, it's calling...

Commercialism and Faith Pt 2: Paradise Lost

Commercialism and Faith Pt 2: Paradise Lost

Nerd Alert

Casting my net wide as I explore my current research topic...


Civic Education in the Private Christian University: American Citizens, Global Citizens, or Kingdom Citizens


Been downloading Tony Campolo, Shane Claibourne, Rob Bell, Dallas Willard podcasts. Compiled a booklist from Amazon keyword searches (which I will need to peek through at the Library of Congress, since my online checkout would be an outrageous $906.48). Maybe I can request some of the books from Consortium schools... maybe. 


If you know any resources, individuals, universities, books, podcasts that might be of use - PLEASE share!  This is my favorite part- getting my hands dirty! (Wow. Yeah, research in no way involves dirty hands. Sad fact. Need to find time to make mudpies. Soon.)

Globalization, Cellular Terrorism, and Whispers of Utopia

It's been a while since I began and ended a relationship with a book in one day. But Fear of Small Numbers (only 150pgs) screamingly taunted me from the shelf with its conceptual complexity... and I figured, if I didn't consume it whole, I'd get lost in the brain-draining days between chapters. Think I was right. I feel in touch with the contexts and conclusions of Dr. Appadurai... These random phrases from this "Essay on the Geography of Anger" struck me as posti-it worthy:

Modern nation states... like the last dinosaurs, see that they are in a desperate struggle for survival as a global formation (21).

Terror... blurring the bounds between the spaces and times of war and peace.... violence as the central regulative principle of everyday life (32).

... worldwide genocidal impulse toward minorities... (40)

... United States, as an occupying power in Iraq, faces the fear that the small numbers who are continuing to torment and kill its soldiers are true representatives of the Iraqi people, who were originally scripted to greet the Americans as liberators and unfold the spectacle of a civil society underneath the carcass of the dictator (81).

... fearful symmetry between the fear of small numbers and the power of small numbers (113).

... spatialized fantasies that led George Bush and his advisors to try to localize Al-Qaeda in Afghanistan and decimate a cell by erasing a landmass (116).

These cellular organizations.... a full scale alternative global polity.... (130)

SatHereDay

Not quite up for the intellectual catwalk of a coffee shop today... Considering an afternoon reading Fear of Small Numbers in Union Station. Nostalgic for that travelley feeling. And the cavernous anonymity of those highly vaulted ceilings. If I could choose a venue for a Flying Dream, Union Station would do.

Daylight Savings is going to rape me.

oh the irony of posting this

A Film More Glaringly Self-Conscious Than a Dostoevsky-Salinger Hybrid Character

Memoirs of a Pathological Liar

So, when I work in the Gelman Library computer lab, there is a desk to the left when you walk in. Kind of a private cubicle that seems designed for a friendly but hushed receptionist. Instead of sitting in the barracks & typing next to dozens of people who are mostly surfing youtube & facebook & blogger (damn them all), I sit at the perpetually-vacant reception desk. This means green freshmen often wander up to me awkwardly & ask tech-questions. In the beginning, I would cut them off & explain "I don't work here." The way you must if you oops-a-daisically wear a red t-shirt & khakis to Target. But now, after months staking out this cubicle, I answer their questions. I fake it. I often direct them to tech services. But never do I let on that I. Do. Not. Work. Here. This is my fake work gig. My chance to be a librarian - a childhood dream. And like most of my jobs, the pay & benefits suck. But seeing the relief on faces of aimless young people brings me joy. That and deceiving an entire population of people.

Periods

They call us "bleeding hearts." And tonight I was reminded that the image of extreme pain is so accurate. Sometimes, I can't help but "feel the sadness of the world," as Mallie & I call it. (Honestly, maybe I could turn a switch and stop Feeling. Could I? Maybe. But then I would morph into a different person, and that is not in my agenda. My name is Tasha.)

We discussed patriotism v. cosmopolitanism in class tonight, and believe it or not - that is a topic that had me teary & sniffling half the time. Researching global citizenship education has had the same effect. The magnitude of The World, the enormous network of humanity, the constant failure of people groups to respect their counterparts in other parts - these things overwhelm me. I taste them, and like bitter berries they leak dark stains in my mouth and I force myself to swallow their juice. The acid gives me heartburn. A "bleeding heart." And that is how it feels to study.

I couldn't love my program more. A program couldn't demand more of my sensibilities. Couldn't leave me feeling more wrecked at the end of a unit. But why am I such a masochistic student. Why do I value this process. Is it the safety I find in uncovering all the scary evil things and naming them. Turning the lights on. Feeling the horror once so completely - does it free me from ever being asked to feel it again. Does my sacrifice of grief alleviate an ounce of the cosmic harm an atrocity has caused. Or compound it. I can't even bring myself to use question marks on these questions. I'm too tired to see those challenging little squiggles, reaching their fingers out to me, "Answer. Figure it out. Well?" Don't ask me to answer. Don't even ask me to question, Punctuation. You have no right. Leave me alone. To my periods.

Hey Asia, Wassup?

"My country is the world. To do good is my religion." -Thomas Paine

also

"To cause someone to lose face" is a something we talk about in my cross-cultural training class (particularly as it applies to Asian cultures). And earlier this week I believe I caused someone to lose face publicly - not intentionally at all. I was just trying to share my experience & warn this person. But maybe the context was unfortunate. Maybe he's a man who doesn't like to be corrected by a woman. Maybe I said my piece (peace?) abrasively. Not sure. But it was a vivid enactment of this concept we discuss in such faraway language. It wasn't fun, but it also wasn't a big deal.

Sea Monkey Podcasts

There is little that excites me more than an iPod full of fresh podcasts. It's like a stocking stuffed with little tiny treasures (so tiny you can't even SEE them! no, they are like those little PILLS that you toss into a bucket of water & watch them grow into a spongey sea monkey, a t-shirt, a village right in front of your eyes! ALSO the same, because you move the podcasts into the trash bin the day after you us them, just like the incredible sponge creatures!)

I have an iPod full of new podcasts. Off I go!

But I'm Not Dead Yet! Put Me Back!

Began my morning half-asleep, thinking through the logistics of an assignment that's been troubling me.

The important thing: For at least ten minutes, I was completely unaware I had a body. Then came the  moment I was drawn back into the realization - Oh, I'm lying on my side. Oh, my eyes are full of sleep. My hair is in my face. These are normal waking up thoughts for me.

I can't remember ever having the experience of being in such contemplative conversation with myself for SUCH a long time before remembering my mind is encased in this body & not a stand-alone creature.

It felt almost like an insult, once the realization struck. A surprise if nothing else. Like my mind was floating out above my bed and was suddenly sucked without warning down into me. I wondered for a moment if that's what it'd be like to be dead & disembodied. But decided no. My mind was much too restless & frustrated. I like to imagine it would be more soulful and and at peace if I were dead & floaty.

Now I have to go about dealing with the morning realities of this body. I admit, although my mind felt annoyed to remember its post, the rest of me is rather pleased to know I'm embodied. I can listen to the melodies of Balmorhea, and drink lovely water, and feel the tug of a brush on my hair. It's kind of pleasant to be human, in command of six senses.

Blonde Moments

Wow, I sound so uptight in my last post. Haha. I think I was hungover from my academic writing of the morning.

It's time for Three Stupid Things:

1. The maintenance guy taped up a wet paint sign in the lobby. To the freshly painted wall. Yeah, that's not gonna come off well.

2. I have started leaving full glasses of water in strategic places around my apartment so that whenever I get thirsty one will be in arms length. Like 5 of them. Now, this is either extreme ambition or extreme laziness in action. Maybe both.

3. This morning I woke up with a Tylenol PM in my hand. I fell asleep before I could take it so that I could fall asleep. Guess I was more tired than I thought.

Facebook Fatty

Unsettled by this new Facebook Abstinence. For Lent.

Living alone was less lonely when there were several hundred people I could communicate with indirectly at any hour of the day or night. My blog network is smaller, but it serves a similar hunger. So I'm over-blogging. Which I'm okay with.

I know I'm developing a reputation as a Facebook Fatty, struggling with yo-yo dieting and binge cycles. I've even been compared to Brett Farve - retiring only to make a comeback. Over and over. But what's the alternative? To quit completely? Don't want to completely cut myself out of social networking. In fact, I will need to do some F-booking for work. Grace.

I would love to find balance. Of course. But this is me trying - repeatedly rediscovering what lies beneath my ravenous appetite for human connection. Often, I believe, Facebook frittering (etc.) is (for me) a high-calorie substitute for connecting with my Self. And with my God. A repellant against stillness and silence and peace. A manifestation of restlessness and unease. TV has a similar function, I expect. And now that I've finished "In Therapy: Season 1" I may limit my TV intake too. Maybe.

Can You Buy Me An Flatscreen? Thanks.

(excerpt from my Cross-Cultural Training reflection)

There few ways to kill a friendship quicker than to start asking for loans and gifts. In the U.S. that is. In Malawi, financially successful individuals often linger in lower-class living conditions because of family members and friends we might consider “leeches.” These relatives, who can’t/don’t find work, live off of the prosperity of whoever does. It is traditionally unthinkable to progress into a life of moderate luxury when your sister’s family is going hungry or your cousin has hurt his leg and can’t work. So, in a culture where it is natural to assume your success should trickle into the pockets of needy people in your circle, Malawians believe “it can’t hurt to ask. The worst that could happen is they say no.” Well unfortunately that’s not the worst that can happen – an ethnocentric Westerner might feel targeted and actually cut off the relationship in self-defense.

Many of the long-term “American-Malawians” had developed personal financial boundaries that helped them gracefully negotiate the terms of their relationships with their indigenous neighbors. However, most confessed that this dynamic limited the depth and quality of their cross-cultural relationships. “The white man’s burden,” so it seems in this scenario, must be compounded by the fact that these development workers lived in extremely luxurious and spacious homes compared to the average Malawian. Malawians were constantly exposed to their Western friends’ high standard of living, and perceived them to be immensely wealthy (though many were paying only $200/month for 4-bedroom houses). 

I am...

• A recent convert to instant Italian Roast coffee.
• Relieved to be rid of the "crick" in my neck. 
• (Definition of Crick: A painful cramp or muscle spasm, as in the back or neck.)
• Listening to...

The Show by Lenka

I'm just a little bit caught in the middle
Life is a maze and love is a riddle
I don't know where to go I can't do it alone I've tried
And I don't know why

Slow it down
Make it stop
Or else my heart is going to pop
'Cause it's too much
Yeah, it's a lot
To be something I'm not

I'm a fool
Out of love
'Cause I just can't get enough

I'm just a little girl lost in the moment
I'm so scared but I don't show it
I can't figure it out
It's bringing me down I know
I've got to let it go
And just enjoy the show

The sun is hot
In the sky
Just like a giant spotlight
The people follow the sign
And synchronize in time
It's a joke
Nobody knows
They've got a ticket to that show
Yeah

I'm just a little bit caught in the middle
Life is a maze and love is a riddle
I dont know where to go I can't do it alone I've tried
And I don't know why

I'm just a little girl lost in the moment
I'm so scared but I don't show it
I can't figure it out
It's bringing me down I know
I've got to let it go
And just enjoy the show

I want my money back
I want my money back
I want my money back
Just enjoy the show

you're still the one I kiss goodnight

"The moment" happened - the sudden feeling that everything I want in the world is Here. (Not everyONE I want, but a lot of ones I want. EveryONE I want will never be in one place. Real life tragedy, but unavoidable nonetheless. [I like the word nonetheless - how often do we get to combine three wordsinone?]) The breeze was blowing my now-long hair as I sped past Union Stn on foot. I was on my way to "the office." And that weightless feeling hit. I love my life hereandnow. So much grace. So much opportunity. Those kindreds I wondered if I'd ever find in this city. Fireworks inside my organs kind of gratitude. 

So tonight I re-read my first blog entry - September 23rd, 2008. Fresh meat in DC. Homesick and shell-shocked. It made me grateful for the efforts my prior self expended, so that my current self could be "living the dream" these days. Professionally, socially, and spiritually. I am constantly amazed at the beauty of conversation with past and future selves. It's almost trinitarian (little "t"). That sense of community within ones self in three different manifestations, yet a persistent unity in Being.

Anywho, this is my heart on a page those many months ago:

I am TRYING here. Okay? 

I'm making friends. I go to Irish Times and Carolina's for happy hour Friday nights. I laugh. I tell secrets. I brush my teeth and wear deoderant. 

My eating habits are sub-par, though, I admit. And my sleep schedule is practically religious. I watch at least an hour of... TeeeeVeeee everyday, damnit. And the best part of ANY evening is a phone call or a text from The Sunshine State. 

I'm faltering. Wavering. Teeeetertottering. This is not good enough. ROOTS, I say! I need to extend ROOTS. Deep down into the concrete soil of this city- Washington, DC- if I am ever going to last. 

But I am tryyying. I promise. Kinda.

Last Night

"For a woman to dream that her hair is falling out, and baldness is apparent, she will have to earn her own livelihood, as fortune has passed her by."


Could this be my lot? OH NO!!!

Magic Words

In anthropology, psychology, and cognitive science, the term magical thinking is used to describe causal reasoning that accords unwarranted weight to correlation or coincidence. It often includes such ideas as the ability of the mind to affect the physical world (see the philosophical problem of mental causation). Associative thinking may be brought into play, as well as the power of magical symbols, synchronicity, metaphor and metonym.

• metaphor: changing a word from its literal meaning to one not properly applicable but analogous to it; assertion of identity rather than, as with simile, likeness.
• metonymy: substitution of cause for effect, proper name for one of its qualities, etc.
• synecdoche: substitution of a part for whole, species for genus, etc
• "White hair" for an elderly person
• "Fingers" or "Legs" as a nickname
• "Wheels" referring to a car
• "A pair of hands" referring to a worker
• "Old Blue Eyes" to refer to Frank Sinatra
• "The White House" referring to the executive branch of the United States government

St. Brendan's

When I Was a Young Warthoggggg!

It's official. My relationship with St. Brendan's Anglican Church in DC is official. No more dating around. Or being ecclesiastically celibate. I'm done being the hen in my relationship with church & ready to be the sow. (That's a Grey's Anatomy Reference. In case you missed that episode, I've imported the script:


George: You and me: We're like ham and eggs. I was the chicken, I just want you to know that, I know that I was the chicken. You put yourself out there, you were committed and I was just puttin' the eggs on the plate. Not the ham because you were the pig. (this catches Callies attentions and she glares at him) I was just involved, but now I'm committed.


Callie: Did you just call me a pig?


George: No...as a metaphor.


Callie: Calling me a pig?


George: No, the point is that you're not the pig anymore. Now I am the pig. I'm the pig. I am the pig. (Callie glares at him and walks away) I...am the pig.


End scene.)


So, context provided, I am ready to begin the transformation process. Into "the pig." It's been (hmmm...?) 2.5 years since I've been a pig at church. Guess I didn't like how that last go turned out. That was the case for many of us exiting that community, and I worry about the others sometimes. How nice it would be to have an art therapy session together someday. In the meantime, I have caught a glimpse of something beautiful in the community at St. Brendan's. Rich & reflective teaching. Can I use the word dialogic? Songs of worship boasting lyrics directly from Scripture & a posture of engaged reverence for a Holy God. Participants diverse in ethnicities, socioeconomic statuses, levels of education, careers, life stages, etc. But uniform in hospitality and acceptance. 


I haven't felt such ease at a church in four years. It probably helps that St. Brendan's meets at a homeless shelter off U St. And given, we've only had four dates. But I have a good feeling. First impressions are telling. As a new friend so eloquently wrote, "a luminous countenance needs little buttressing." True dat, I say. Let's see how the interaction plays out, but I am brimming with gratitude for this first advance. Flowers smell sweeter. (Who am I kidding. DC is flower-less.) Coffee tastes better?

My Mind's (Crossed) Eye

Hunger may have been the reason my brains started falling out my ears tonight, after 5 hrs in the GWU computer lab, but I suspect it is something else. My recent struggle to synthesize and crystallize vast amounts of information has been causing me to question my intelligence. If I can't make sense of all these courses in International Education - then why the H am I wasting my time?

Then it struck me, my strength is "Connectedness." And my strength (though the Strengths Finders assessment failed to confirm it) is "Ideation."

Ideation: My brain postures itself like a butterfly catcher. Hyper-vigilant, all senses attuned to catch a glimpse of a brightly colored wing - and then POUNCE! That's how I feel about ideas. Every day, the hope of snatching a new specimen for my collection sets me on the edge of my bus seat & keeps me a little breathless. Today. Today I felt the thrill. Uncovered the most unbelievable concept. Rushed to tell my Male & Female "Creative Partners" & they validated my twitching excitement. My brain LIVES to excrete lovely ideas. But this activity often distracts me from synthesizing ideas, because instead of building up I reach out...

Connectedness: My brain builds bridges from new information to old information, problems to solvers, needs to givers, etc. etc. etc. Any one thing I know is connected to every other thing I know (or is blindly reaching out to be). So instead of being like a file cabinet, sorted and orderly, it's like a blind spider building a Guinness Book of World Records size spider web using only its sense of touch. And while the threads all cross each other, they don't build something strong and sturdy. Just a fragile ever expanding network.


I'm not going to give up on my education. Thinking is generally a very pleasant task for me. But today just exhausting. At least I've reached some conclusions about why. May new ways of learning & synthesizing reveal themselves to me, so I can add them to my mental toolbox before I graduate! Fingers crossed.