Tis the Season

And one little facebook status change ushered in the second wave of engagements among my friends. I think this season may be longer than the last one…

 

Wild Thing

It is no secret that my family are huge fans of children’s literature. These books are routinely exchanged as gifts, still read aloud  at family functions, and discussed around the dinner table.

We are correspondingly skeptical of film adaptations of our beloved books. So I was cautiously optimistic as I approached the new Where the Wild Things Are film.

The book is now nearly a half-century old. It contains just 10 sentences and glorious illustrations. A tough battle for a screenwriter.

To be fair, the film took some liberties. For example, I was not expecting the Wild Things to speak. I’m not sure why. In the book, it seemed like Max understood them simply because they were both “wild”. Language wasn’t necessary. But, it’s hard to make a silent movie popular these days, so the Wild Things had voices. I will allow it.

I was also not expecting the film to handle issues deeper than the surface of the book. But here, I was pleasantly surprised. It is subtle, but throughout the film, the characters grapple with the idea of fatherlessness, broken homes, and ones we love leaving us. I was struck again, by the film’s treatment of the subject, how impactful fathers are in the lives of young boys. Boys are supposed to be wild. They need men to encourage them in this in healthy, productive way; not stifling it and creating a society of empty, well-behaved men.

Go see the film with thoughtful people. Go to a coffee shop afterwards and talk honestly about your impressions of the film. Then, call me and tell me about them.

I would also recommend this article by RELEVANT magazine. It’s a thoughtful review of some of the more nuanced themes in the book.

Red.

Oh Macy’s. How I love hate you.

We used to be friends. You were like the cool stylish girl who was slightly more fashionable than me, but close enough to be a legitimate inspiration, if only i had a bit more money. Clearly we were on the same page on this, as evidenced by your thought that I wanted to put a $14,900 credit on my account. Brilliant.

Who knew that a simple $151.19 bill could turn into such a disaster? I mean, it was just two extra zeros. Just two. And a whole lot of red in my checking account.

Bank of America also gets a special shout out for thinking that spending $15,000 at Macy’s is in keeping with my credit history. Well done team. I salute you.

Six phone calls, 3 e-mails, 1 piece of mail and a full week later, it appears that my checking account has been restored to it’s normal meager (but black) amount and Macy’s has repented by allowing me to pay them what I actually owe, instead of more money than I’ve seen in my life.

Hopefully I’ll forgive you by Thanksgiving. I’d hate to rain on your parade.

Thanks for all who have tolerated my lack of cash and refrained from making fun of me for charging $3.50 for a cup of coffee. You are true friends.

day.dreamer.

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, The Seven Pillars of Wisdom

A Devoted Fan’s Agony

My father is a huge Buffalo Bills fan.  A lifetime Buffalo Bills fan. For those of you who have been lifetime fans of other teams, like the Red Sox, or the Patriots, you will have no comprehension of what his fanhood really means. The Buffalo Bills have been disappointing my father for almost my whole life. And yet he continues to passionately support them, even hosting a Monday night football party for nearly every man in my town when the Bills play.

The following is an excerpt from an e-mail he sent out following last night’s defeat to the Patriots. I leave it here because 1. it is good writing; 2. as much as my father loves the Buffalo Bills, he loves other things, like his family, much more, and this e-mail gives you a glimpse into what that must means; 3. it made me smile.

Last night was a perfect example of a team snatching defeat from the jaws of victory.  Ah, but for us long time Bills fans, this is nothing new.  I have been following my hometown Bills since the early 1960s (Jack Kemp & Cookie Gilchrest era) and recall the joy in our household when they won the AFL Championships in 1964 and 1965.  The dark years of the 1970s included 20 consecutive losses to the hated Miami Dolphins – a decade of futility that still ranks as the longest professional losing streak to one team.  Many of those games were reminiscent of last night:  Buffalo would be leading the Fish, but a late turnover shifted momentum and Miami would prevail.  Bills would be driving for a go ahead FG, and a holding call would push them out of range.  And then there was their loss to Tennessee in the Titans’ MUSIC CITY MIRACLE, a January 2000 wild card playoff game (Doug Flutie era in Buffalo but Rob Johnson was starting QB that day) when Bills hit late FG to lead 16-15 with less than half a minute remaining.  On ensuing kickoff Titans lateraled ball across width of field (to this day I still think it looks like a forward lateral!) and Kevin Dyson ran untouched 75 yards for the winning score.  Last night some of you were gracious in your comments on the Bills’ 4 successive Super Bowl appearances, but who can ever forget (forgive?) Frank Norwood’s WIDE RIGHT from 47 yards in Super Bowl XXV in January 1991, giving the Giants the win, propelling Bill Belichik to the top of the Cleveland Browns’ coaching wish list and propelling the Browns’ exit from Cleveland several years later (see? If Norwood had MADE the kick, all of Buffalo would have been ecstatic for the next 50 years, the Browns would have picked a DIFFERENT coach, Art Modell would have had more success at the gate and the Browns would never have left town in the first place!!)?

glorious debris

Every one of us is called upon, probably many times, to start a new life. A frightening diagnosis, a marriage, a move, loss of a job…And onward full tilt we go, pitched and wrecked and absurdly resolute, driven in spite of everything to make good on a new shore. To be hopeful, to embrace one possibility after another – that is surely the basic instinct….Crying out: High tide! Time to move out into the glorious debris. Time to take this life for what it is.”

-Barbara Kingsolver, High Tide in Tucson

I don’t like change. I avoid it until, at the last possible second, it embraces me and there is no turning back.

This is going to be a new year. Perhaps better, perhaps worse. I imagine that only time will tell. But it will be different. New.

So I am pressing onward into the “glorious debris”, unsure of what I will find, but determined nevertheless, that the only path to follow is the one right ahead of me.

Well That’s a Change

Really?! I mean, really?!

That was my reaction to this article.

Apparently, the Lutheran church has decided that sex outside of marriage is really fine, after all. In a decision that dramatically if not completely reverses the church’s prior stance on sexuality, the convention ruled that sex is an appropriate expression in relationships that are ”loving,” “life-giving,” “fulfilling,” “nurturing,” and “committed.” They removed the language which previously advises that relationships were “best served through binding commitment, legal protections, and the public accountability of marriage.”

Interestingly, during the time of the vote on Wednesday, a tornado struck the area, knocking the cross off the steeple of Central Lutheran Church, just across the street from the convention center.

Summer Days

Historically (or at least as historically as my 24 years can be) August has always been my most favorite month of the summer. Living in NoVA with 90 degree weather and almost 100% humidity, I can see that changing in the near future, but for now, there is enough nostalgia to hold me over.

Growing up, August meant anticipation. It meant newness and expectation. I was one of those kids who loved going back to school. I loved back to school shopping, and racing over to the library or the elementary school to see which friends were in my classes. I loved going into the school to meet my teacher before school actually started. It felt more magical then; like I was treading on sacred ground.

In high school, I would be at school for most of August, either at volleyball practice or band camp; living in the gym or the parking lot in the sweltering August heat. And even then, it felt odd. The same halls that I had walked for years and that would fill my schedule for the following months seemed more mysterious; the pending school year seemed full of possibilities.

My home town starts school today. I can picture the kids getting dropped off, riding their bikes, waiting for buses. And I hope that they have that same sense of anticipation. The same sense of awe about the possibilities that could lie ahead.

Here in the land of the grown-ups, there is not the same sense of excitement. Summer is ending, but there is no force pulling me forward into the next thing. Life continues, rather as it did before. So perhaps this fall, I must make my own excitement, construct my own sense of awe and anticipation for an equally unknown future, full of possibility.

Grownup

Do you ever feel like you’re just playing grownup? That one day soon, you’ll be spotted and everyone will realize that you have no idea what you’re doing? You’ll be politely asked to resign your post, but no one will really be mad at you, because they have now realized that you should never have been given so much responsibility in the first place.

I feel like that a lot.

Vocation vs. Occupation

The year after college graduation, I moved to our nation’s capital to participate in the first year of the Capital Fellows Program, a program that operates under the umbrella of the National Fellows Initiative, and seeks to prepare the next generation to live cohesive and coherent lives for Christ.

As a part of this program, we spent a lot of time talking and thinking the concept of vocation and our own individual callings, with the belief that our faith is not merely lived out on Sundays but that we are also meant to work “for the sake of doing a thing that is well that which is well worth doing” (Sayers).

During the fellows year, I decided that I had a pretty decent handle on what that meant, and that it would be relatively easy to go into the work force and demonstrate my passions and my giftings and spend each day really living in Paul’s command in Colossians 3 to work for God.

Like most notions as they transition from abstract to reality, my ideas of vocation became a lot harder to sustain once I actually was faced with the opportunity to implement them.

Today, I came across an article at RELEVANT magazine which expressed my thoughts about living in this tension of calling and reality:

A few years ago, I was struggling with the two—occupation and vocation. I sensed my heart was leading me to live with reckless abandon, to pursue my dreams and passions, while my mind was telling me to live with careful reservation, pursuing a responsible and stable life in preparation for marriage. I was worried I was facing a crossroads in my life, and I was, quite frankly, anxious about “selling out.”

…Maybe it’s not a bad thing to struggle with the concepts of occupation and vocation. Maybe the real tragedy is in not struggling at all—in flaking out on your responsibilities for the sake of your “calling” or compromising your dream for the sake of security. Maybe those of us who don’t lose sleep over the idea of calling and living responsibly are indeed missing out.