Saturday, December 31, 2005
Thursday, December 29, 2005
the 'captivating' second chapter
Title: "What Eve Alone Can Tell"
To be short and sweet, this chapter has two big points: 1) Eve was the crowning glory of creation -- she was the missing piece after man was created, and the piece that made everything complete; and 2) Beauty is the essence of a woman, which is an important reflection that beauty is the essence of God.
Immediate reactions to those two points: 1) You can't really dispute it, and in a way it's nice to think about. On the other hand, if woman had been created first, man would be the crowning glory. You could argue it was just the luck of the draw. 2) The Eldredges come close to arguing that beauty is the single most important aspect of God, and that's a big claim to be making. That's a whole book -- or whole volume -- in itself. But at base, I agree that yes, a woman's beauty can be a reflection of God's beauty. And a man's strength can be a reflection of God's strength.
There's another caution in just reading this book. It builds up why women are so wonderful and how they reflect God, but since it isn't about men, you could leave it with a subconscious attitude that women are more important than men, or some such notion.
I will spare you all a yard-long post and stick to what I wrote in the margins. After all, if you felt it enough to write it next to the author's words, you might as well say it out loud.
What would you expect the Queen of a kingdom and the Beauty of the realm to feel when she wakes to find herself a laundress in a foreign land? A woman's struggle with her sense of worth points to something glorious she was designed to be. The great emptiness we feel points to the great place we were created for.
Something in me is not reacting well to this. 1) Someone has to do the laundry. 2) Does Genesis say that Eve was beautiful? It really doesn't give all that much detail about the personalities of either human. 3) When we're doing mundane chores like the laundry, is it because something inside us knows we're supposed to be workless-beings up in heaven? The mundane reminds me of something I read this summer...that's another story.
Most women define themselves in terms of their relationships.
Mmm, largely yes. Is it fair to say women are generally thinking about people, whereas men may think of ideas (at least more than women)? Just throwing that out there.
Ooh, this was a big theology thing that caught my eye.
God wants to be loved. He wants to be a priority to someone. How could we have missed this? From cover to cover, from beginning to end, the cry of God's heart is, "Why won't you choose me?" It is amazing to me how humble, how vulnerable God is on this point. ... We seem him as strong and powerful, but not as needing us, vulnerable to us, yearning to be desired.
No, no we don't. I have problems with picturing God as vulnerable and certainly with him needing us. But I could be wrong.
(They quote from "Wild at Heart" a lot. It seems cheap to me to quote yourself very much.)
Well, I said I'd keep it shorter. I think there have been a few good points, but it still seems redundant -- like other Christian lit, it might make a more effective essay. But there's not much mass-market appeal for that. There's still the feeling that they're dramatizing a bit and suiting examples to fit their needs.
To be short and sweet, this chapter has two big points: 1) Eve was the crowning glory of creation -- she was the missing piece after man was created, and the piece that made everything complete; and 2) Beauty is the essence of a woman, which is an important reflection that beauty is the essence of God.
Immediate reactions to those two points: 1) You can't really dispute it, and in a way it's nice to think about. On the other hand, if woman had been created first, man would be the crowning glory. You could argue it was just the luck of the draw. 2) The Eldredges come close to arguing that beauty is the single most important aspect of God, and that's a big claim to be making. That's a whole book -- or whole volume -- in itself. But at base, I agree that yes, a woman's beauty can be a reflection of God's beauty. And a man's strength can be a reflection of God's strength.
There's another caution in just reading this book. It builds up why women are so wonderful and how they reflect God, but since it isn't about men, you could leave it with a subconscious attitude that women are more important than men, or some such notion.
I will spare you all a yard-long post and stick to what I wrote in the margins. After all, if you felt it enough to write it next to the author's words, you might as well say it out loud.
What would you expect the Queen of a kingdom and the Beauty of the realm to feel when she wakes to find herself a laundress in a foreign land? A woman's struggle with her sense of worth points to something glorious she was designed to be. The great emptiness we feel points to the great place we were created for.
Something in me is not reacting well to this. 1) Someone has to do the laundry. 2) Does Genesis say that Eve was beautiful? It really doesn't give all that much detail about the personalities of either human. 3) When we're doing mundane chores like the laundry, is it because something inside us knows we're supposed to be workless-beings up in heaven? The mundane reminds me of something I read this summer...that's another story.
Most women define themselves in terms of their relationships.
Mmm, largely yes. Is it fair to say women are generally thinking about people, whereas men may think of ideas (at least more than women)? Just throwing that out there.
Ooh, this was a big theology thing that caught my eye.
God wants to be loved. He wants to be a priority to someone. How could we have missed this? From cover to cover, from beginning to end, the cry of God's heart is, "Why won't you choose me?" It is amazing to me how humble, how vulnerable God is on this point. ... We seem him as strong and powerful, but not as needing us, vulnerable to us, yearning to be desired.
No, no we don't. I have problems with picturing God as vulnerable and certainly with him needing us. But I could be wrong.
(They quote from "Wild at Heart" a lot. It seems cheap to me to quote yourself very much.)
Well, I said I'd keep it shorter. I think there have been a few good points, but it still seems redundant -- like other Christian lit, it might make a more effective essay. But there's not much mass-market appeal for that. There's still the feeling that they're dramatizing a bit and suiting examples to fit their needs.
Wednesday, December 28, 2005
Let me tell you about one of my favorite people: Claire Kincaid.
Claire was an assistant district attorney for New York County from 1993 to 1996. She worked first with EADA Ben Stone, and later with EADA Jack McCoy.
She's slender and no-nonsense, and may or may not have been killed by a drunk driver in 1996 -- I prefer to think not. Her successors in the DA's office include Jamie, Abbie, Serena, and Alex. Everyone was glad to see Serena go, and she, along with Jamie, have been voted some of the least liked ADAs. Abbie was okay and Alex has promise, but Claire has not been matched. One of Dick Wolf's biggest regrets is Claire's death.
Some speculate that Claire is not dead, and that she was hidden away by federal authorities into witness protection following her work in an anti-mob case (I think the one about the tainted Russian baby food). Sixty-page Word documents and dozens of web pages are devoted to elaborating upon Claire's possible demise and her relationship with Jack.
Claire and I were recently re-united. We were initially separated when A&E stopped airing her, and later when my VCR croaked. Now Claire must be rationed out -- only one episode per day.
Claire was an assistant district attorney for New York County from 1993 to 1996. She worked first with EADA Ben Stone, and later with EADA Jack McCoy.
She's slender and no-nonsense, and may or may not have been killed by a drunk driver in 1996 -- I prefer to think not. Her successors in the DA's office include Jamie, Abbie, Serena, and Alex. Everyone was glad to see Serena go, and she, along with Jamie, have been voted some of the least liked ADAs. Abbie was okay and Alex has promise, but Claire has not been matched. One of Dick Wolf's biggest regrets is Claire's death.
Some speculate that Claire is not dead, and that she was hidden away by federal authorities into witness protection following her work in an anti-mob case (I think the one about the tainted Russian baby food). Sixty-page Word documents and dozens of web pages are devoted to elaborating upon Claire's possible demise and her relationship with Jack.
Claire and I were recently re-united. We were initially separated when A&E stopped airing her, and later when my VCR croaked. Now Claire must be rationed out -- only one episode per day.
Saturday, December 24, 2005
christmas
1) One skill I did not inherit from my mother is exquisite gift wrapping. You can look under the tree and know which ones she wrapped by sight -- and which she didn't. It doesn't help that she was a professional wrapper in a department store. I can put the paper on decently, but I just don't have that finesse with ribbon. I should, after years of decorating special order chocolate boxes.
2) The church my family goes to does a Christmas Eve service that has become pretty institutional among those frequenting the congregation. It's so popular that they've moved to two services in the last few years -- neither of which is actually in the evening, but that's okay. Actually, our service started at 3 p.m.
The pastor is someone I deeply respect, at the very least as a rhetorician, almost in a Garrison-Keilloresque style. He has a quieter sermon style that is very attractive (and very un-Baptist) and is, frankly, I think the reason at least half the people attend that church. It also helps that he is the father of a friend, one of those kind of friends who is the sunshine of your life, one of those people it's heartbreaking to see unhappy. It reminds you how cruel the world is.
Anyhow, the pastor brought up an anecdote he heard about a daycare in Cabrini-Green, a dangerous neighborhood in downtown Chicago, and one of the most dangerous in the U.S. (It especially resonated with me because I was in Cabrini-Green just about this time last year and saw these people and their homes.) A mission group of sometime was visiting the daycare, and they brought presents. One of the little boys said he didn't believe in Santa or didn't like Santa, because Santa hadn't brought him any presents the year before. One of the men from the group gave the boy a present and explained that the reason for Christmas is the birthday of Jesus, who was born long ago in one of the worst places in Bethlehem, and instead of a cradle he slept in a trough and lived in a barn because the world cared so little about him. And we know from that story that there is no place so terrible that God is not there.
Of course he was far more eloquent, but it was very powerful.
3) Christmas in Minnesota is picturesque not only for the snow but for the natural and abundant pines and spruces growing. We have five just in our yard. And directly across from our front yard is a young pine grove -- well, middle-aged. I remember before they were planted, but now they're almost full-grown and you can't see anything but a line of pines.
2) The church my family goes to does a Christmas Eve service that has become pretty institutional among those frequenting the congregation. It's so popular that they've moved to two services in the last few years -- neither of which is actually in the evening, but that's okay. Actually, our service started at 3 p.m.
The pastor is someone I deeply respect, at the very least as a rhetorician, almost in a Garrison-Keilloresque style. He has a quieter sermon style that is very attractive (and very un-Baptist) and is, frankly, I think the reason at least half the people attend that church. It also helps that he is the father of a friend, one of those kind of friends who is the sunshine of your life, one of those people it's heartbreaking to see unhappy. It reminds you how cruel the world is.
Anyhow, the pastor brought up an anecdote he heard about a daycare in Cabrini-Green, a dangerous neighborhood in downtown Chicago, and one of the most dangerous in the U.S. (It especially resonated with me because I was in Cabrini-Green just about this time last year and saw these people and their homes.) A mission group of sometime was visiting the daycare, and they brought presents. One of the little boys said he didn't believe in Santa or didn't like Santa, because Santa hadn't brought him any presents the year before. One of the men from the group gave the boy a present and explained that the reason for Christmas is the birthday of Jesus, who was born long ago in one of the worst places in Bethlehem, and instead of a cradle he slept in a trough and lived in a barn because the world cared so little about him. And we know from that story that there is no place so terrible that God is not there.
Of course he was far more eloquent, but it was very powerful.
3) Christmas in Minnesota is picturesque not only for the snow but for the natural and abundant pines and spruces growing. We have five just in our yard. And directly across from our front yard is a young pine grove -- well, middle-aged. I remember before they were planted, but now they're almost full-grown and you can't see anything but a line of pines.
Monday, December 19, 2005
captivating, chapter 1
So, I said I would be objective. And I didn't try as hard as I could have for this first chapter.
One of my difficulties in reading popular Christian lit as a whole is the quality of the writing in itself. The entire genre has a tendency to be highly redundant. And, in the first chapter, I found one glaring typo and another that would be more negotiable.
And one last note on that before getting to the content: The quality of the writing is a serious concern of mine. Are we in danger of the dumbing-down of Evangelical America? (Well, probably not.) Bob Briner would not approve (read his "Roaring Lambs" -- though lambs do not roar, and the book itself is very debatable, and not incredibly well-written in itself) of the genre in the sense that it is not the highest-quality writing. Of course, not everything can be the highest-quality. But even I, knowing next to nothing, would make a few broad, simple editing suggestions that could make the whole first chapter stronger.
ANYWAY, the topic of (John and) Stasi Eldredge's book is the heart of a woman. (They) she says she will not be writing about what women should do or shouldn't do but, well, that's where it gets tricky. She writes "an invitation to become the woman you truly are." Is anyone else skeptical? That's a tall order. And vague. If you already are that woman...
If it's not a book about what women are failling to do, is it about what men are failing to do? The only thing left would be what society is failing to do, and I'm sick of books about that, regardless of their truth.
In the intro chapter, she gives the impression that women are victims of...well, femininity, society, something. Personally, I don't want to be a victim. I want someone to tell me what's wrong with me and how to fix it now.
And, it sounds like she might be bashing the "Proverbs 31" woman.
But, to add some positives (objectivity), some of the things she writes resonate with me. She says all women have three desires: "to be romanced; to play an irreplaceable role in a great adventure; and to unveil beauty." I'm still not so sure about the great adventure, but the irreplaceable role is a yes. Women "desire to be captivating in the depths of who you are." Yes. The compliment I will never forget was that I was "mesmerizing," regardless of whether it was true.
Far and wide, yes, those are three things that women want. But... so what? What do we do with that? Especially if we also feel these are three things we should not want? And selfishness and vanity come into the picture? And practicality?
And, John pipes in at the end of the chapter to recap the three things men want. I wish it wasn't three things at the cores of each gender. It makes me feel Christian-marketed, i.e. the three-point sermon. Like there might have been more or less things, but they really needed three to form a nice argument.
I guess I should shut up now -- it's only been one chapter.
One of my difficulties in reading popular Christian lit as a whole is the quality of the writing in itself. The entire genre has a tendency to be highly redundant. And, in the first chapter, I found one glaring typo and another that would be more negotiable.
And one last note on that before getting to the content: The quality of the writing is a serious concern of mine. Are we in danger of the dumbing-down of Evangelical America? (Well, probably not.) Bob Briner would not approve (read his "Roaring Lambs" -- though lambs do not roar, and the book itself is very debatable, and not incredibly well-written in itself) of the genre in the sense that it is not the highest-quality writing. Of course, not everything can be the highest-quality. But even I, knowing next to nothing, would make a few broad, simple editing suggestions that could make the whole first chapter stronger.
ANYWAY, the topic of (John and) Stasi Eldredge's book is the heart of a woman. (They) she says she will not be writing about what women should do or shouldn't do but, well, that's where it gets tricky. She writes "an invitation to become the woman you truly are." Is anyone else skeptical? That's a tall order. And vague. If you already are that woman...
If it's not a book about what women are failling to do, is it about what men are failing to do? The only thing left would be what society is failing to do, and I'm sick of books about that, regardless of their truth.
In the intro chapter, she gives the impression that women are victims of...well, femininity, society, something. Personally, I don't want to be a victim. I want someone to tell me what's wrong with me and how to fix it now.
And, it sounds like she might be bashing the "Proverbs 31" woman.
But, to add some positives (objectivity), some of the things she writes resonate with me. She says all women have three desires: "to be romanced; to play an irreplaceable role in a great adventure; and to unveil beauty." I'm still not so sure about the great adventure, but the irreplaceable role is a yes. Women "desire to be captivating in the depths of who you are." Yes. The compliment I will never forget was that I was "mesmerizing," regardless of whether it was true.
Far and wide, yes, those are three things that women want. But... so what? What do we do with that? Especially if we also feel these are three things we should not want? And selfishness and vanity come into the picture? And practicality?
And, John pipes in at the end of the chapter to recap the three things men want. I wish it wasn't three things at the cores of each gender. It makes me feel Christian-marketed, i.e. the three-point sermon. Like there might have been more or less things, but they really needed three to form a nice argument.
I guess I should shut up now -- it's only been one chapter.
Sunday, December 18, 2005
Saturday, December 17, 2005
lies parents tell
(Did I already write this?)
When Meg and I were little, we would watch "The Sound of Music" on tape at our grandma's house after supper. After 90 minutes (after the wedding) my mom would come up and turn it off and say, "Okay, the movie's over, it's time for bed." And we went -- I was 10 or 12 before I found out there's more to the movie after the wedding.
Another lie: When we were little, my mom told us our aunt's name was Betty Lyn. (Our relatives live relatively far away.) So we called her Betty Lyn. Sometimes people would talk about someone named Debi, and we'd just brush it off -- they talked about lots of people we'd never heard of. I was 10 or 12 before I found out my aunt's name wasn't Betty Lyn -- Betty Lyn is the real name of Thelma Lou (Barney's girlfriend) on the Andy Griffith Show. But I've never gotten used to calling her Debi, so I don't.
When Meg and I were little, we would watch "The Sound of Music" on tape at our grandma's house after supper. After 90 minutes (after the wedding) my mom would come up and turn it off and say, "Okay, the movie's over, it's time for bed." And we went -- I was 10 or 12 before I found out there's more to the movie after the wedding.
Another lie: When we were little, my mom told us our aunt's name was Betty Lyn. (Our relatives live relatively far away.) So we called her Betty Lyn. Sometimes people would talk about someone named Debi, and we'd just brush it off -- they talked about lots of people we'd never heard of. I was 10 or 12 before I found out my aunt's name wasn't Betty Lyn -- Betty Lyn is the real name of Thelma Lou (Barney's girlfriend) on the Andy Griffith Show. But I've never gotten used to calling her Debi, so I don't.
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
- I woke up cozy in my bed thinking about the expression "too much of a good thing." Goodness knows why. Is it a biblical principle?
- When God sent the coming king as the most vulnerable of humans (a baby), he knew there was great risk of the child being killed or harmed, as it had to be almost fully entrusted to other humans for a decade or more. Jesus' life makes me think more about predestination. God wouldn't have sent Jesus then and there and that way if he didn't know he'd make it through life to be crucified. So, God either knew that others' lives wouldn't harm Jesus, or else he kept his "angels" or protection around Jesus.
- I'm reading the Chronicles of Narnia. (However, I don't plan to see the movie, probably because it is marketed to mainstream Christians, and because I am too skeptical I'd be disappointed anyway.) It reiterates this idea coming up more and more that God is everything we don't expect. At Christmas, who would expect the King of Kings to come as a completely helpless baby lodged in a barn and a food trough, with unwed parents? (Well, except that the prophesies said as much.) Why be the opposite of what we expect? On the one hand, it seems cruel, like God is making it more difficult for us to find him. And on the other, it sets him completely apart from the world. Or, the world has gone the opposite way from him.
Sunday, December 11, 2005
and God said, "Let there be lefse"
And there was.
First, Great-aunt Verna's recipe was mixed up, chilled, rolled, and sliced into small cakes.
Then, the rolling canvas had to have flour rubbed into it. "More flour!" says Mom.
Next, each cake is rolled out paper thin. It takes some muscle to do.
One of the trickiest things is handling the paper-thin lefse. You left them with a special stick, keeping it parallel to the table and going through the middle. Pray it doesn't stick to the canvas! Add more flour to the canvas before you roll out the next cake.
A rolled-out lefse is placed on a special grill. Once it's baked through the center on one side, you slip the stick under the center again and turn it over. Be careful nothing sticks to the grill, either, or all the others after it will stick, too. 
When you can see it's browned on the bottom,
you let it cool. If it stuck to the grill, put some flour on that spot, and wipe it off.
But be careful if someone tries to feed you this.
It might look pretty, but julekage is hazardous to your health.
First, Great-aunt Verna's recipe was mixed up, chilled, rolled, and sliced into small cakes.
Then, the rolling canvas had to have flour rubbed into it. "More flour!" says Mom.
Next, each cake is rolled out paper thin. It takes some muscle to do.
One of the trickiest things is handling the paper-thin lefse. You left them with a special stick, keeping it parallel to the table and going through the middle. Pray it doesn't stick to the canvas! Add more flour to the canvas before you roll out the next cake.
A rolled-out lefse is placed on a special grill. Once it's baked through the center on one side, you slip the stick under the center again and turn it over. Be careful nothing sticks to the grill, either, or all the others after it will stick, too. When you can see it's browned on the bottom,
you let it cool. If it stuck to the grill, put some flour on that spot, and wipe it off.
But be careful if someone tries to feed you this.
It might look pretty, but julekage is hazardous to your health.
Friday, December 09, 2005
(The weather guy is freaking out because the current temperature is in the double digits above zero.)
What if one of your loved ones passed away,
and they left behind their entire wardrobe.
What do you do with it?
There's no reason to keep it
and it would feel strange to wear it
but wrong to just throw it away.
Do you donate it?
Any way about it, it's jarring they've left these things behind: a toothbrush, a hairbrush, maybe a car, a jug of milk, a bed, glasses, shoes.
What if one of your loved ones passed away,
and they left behind their entire wardrobe.
What do you do with it?
There's no reason to keep it
and it would feel strange to wear it
but wrong to just throw it away.
Do you donate it?
Any way about it, it's jarring they've left these things behind: a toothbrush, a hairbrush, maybe a car, a jug of milk, a bed, glasses, shoes.
This "This week in history" from the Onion should be viewed for two reasons:
1) The crazy column layout on the top half -- I wish I could get away with something like that.
2) The morbid (but, resultingly, funny) story about Stalin's five-year death plan.
1) The crazy column layout on the top half -- I wish I could get away with something like that.
2) The morbid (but, resultingly, funny) story about Stalin's five-year death plan.
Thursday, December 08, 2005
Immaculate Conception
Today is the observance in the Catholic church of the Immaculate Conception of the Virgin Mary. It's easy for us Protestants (and why don't we protest such a label?) to misunderstand just what's being celebrated. Until recently I'd thought they were simply recognizing that Jesus was conceived by the Holy Sprit. But it's really something else entirely. I don't claim to understand it, but it's more to the degree that Mary herself was conceived without original sin.
From today's liturgy:
Our Saviour permitted himself to be born of the Virgin Mary. Now, as we celebrate his coming, let us pray to him saying:
- May your mother intercede for us, O Lord.
You are the Sun of justice, and the immaculate Virgin is the dawn that heralded your rising: grant that we may always walk in the daylight of your coming.
You are the saviour of the world, and by your redeeming power you kept your mother free from original sin: make us too free of the stain of sin.
You are the redeemer of mankind, and you made the immaculate Virgin Mary into your dwelling-place and the treasury of the Holy Spirit: make us too into temples of your Spirit.
You are the King of kings, and you raised up your mother, body and soul, into heaven:
|keep our minds always on the things that are above.
Thoughts?
From today's liturgy:
Our Saviour permitted himself to be born of the Virgin Mary. Now, as we celebrate his coming, let us pray to him saying:
- May your mother intercede for us, O Lord.
You are the Sun of justice, and the immaculate Virgin is the dawn that heralded your rising: grant that we may always walk in the daylight of your coming.
You are the saviour of the world, and by your redeeming power you kept your mother free from original sin: make us too free of the stain of sin.
You are the redeemer of mankind, and you made the immaculate Virgin Mary into your dwelling-place and the treasury of the Holy Spirit: make us too into temples of your Spirit.
You are the King of kings, and you raised up your mother, body and soul, into heaven:
|keep our minds always on the things that are above.
Thoughts?
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
I love HEL
One of the "funnest" classes ever was the History of the English Language, aka Linguistics. Every day a couple of people had to do "word stories," or etymologies. I'm not sure why I find them so fascinating.
One HELish site is www.word-detective.com. Here's what he says about the phrase "skin of my teeth."
"Dear Word Detective: I know that the origin of "By the skin of my teeth" is (supposedly) in the Book of Job, where the poor guy indicates that he has survived by the skin of his teeth. I tend to think of this phrase loosely meaning a "narrow escape," but I'm not really sure what that means as a literal translation. One version I heard was that the skin of your teeth are your gums and that poor Job had come so close to death that he had even lost all of his teeth. Can you shed any light on this? -- William Lewis, via the Internet."
I generally try to avoid answering questions about metaphors having to do with teeth, but since I'm trying to confront and overcome my most stubborn phobias this week (I've just returned from lunch with a lawyer, and I have an appointment to watch a Meryl Streep movie this afternoon), I'll give this one a shot.
The source of the phrase "by the skin of one's teeth" is indeed the Book of Job, although the precise phrase Job used was "My bone cleaveth to my skin, and to my flesh, and I am escaped with the skin of my teeth" (not "by"). Just what the "skin" of one's teeth might be is a bit unclear, but it probably refers to the thin porcelain exterior of the tooth, not the gums. Job evidently kept his teeth, but just barely. It is also possible that he was saying that the margin of his escape was as narrow as the "skin" of a tooth is shallow -- the equivalent of a "hair's breadth." In any case, Job clearly meant that he'd had a very hard time of it, and the phrase has been used ever since to mean a very narrow or arduous escape.
One HELish site is www.word-detective.com. Here's what he says about the phrase "skin of my teeth."
"Dear Word Detective: I know that the origin of "By the skin of my teeth" is (supposedly) in the Book of Job, where the poor guy indicates that he has survived by the skin of his teeth. I tend to think of this phrase loosely meaning a "narrow escape," but I'm not really sure what that means as a literal translation. One version I heard was that the skin of your teeth are your gums and that poor Job had come so close to death that he had even lost all of his teeth. Can you shed any light on this? -- William Lewis, via the Internet."
I generally try to avoid answering questions about metaphors having to do with teeth, but since I'm trying to confront and overcome my most stubborn phobias this week (I've just returned from lunch with a lawyer, and I have an appointment to watch a Meryl Streep movie this afternoon), I'll give this one a shot.
The source of the phrase "by the skin of one's teeth" is indeed the Book of Job, although the precise phrase Job used was "My bone cleaveth to my skin, and to my flesh, and I am escaped with the skin of my teeth" (not "by"). Just what the "skin" of one's teeth might be is a bit unclear, but it probably refers to the thin porcelain exterior of the tooth, not the gums. Job evidently kept his teeth, but just barely. It is also possible that he was saying that the margin of his escape was as narrow as the "skin" of a tooth is shallow -- the equivalent of a "hair's breadth." In any case, Job clearly meant that he'd had a very hard time of it, and the phrase has been used ever since to mean a very narrow or arduous escape.
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
in case you were wondering...
• There is a stage of coldness after snot-freezing cold. It is hair-freezing cold. In such a stage, your (dry) eyebrows and eyelashes and any exposed hair are so covered with frost that they appear to be covered with snow. But don't worry -- it has to get even colder than this (this being 12-15 below) for that to happen.
• It occured to me yesterday that Dec. 5 was a significant day, but it took a minute to remember why. And in the end it was rather trivial. It was one month before my good friend's 23rd birthday. And as logic would have it, that means today is one month from my 23rd birthday (and the 12th day of Christmas, Epiphany), as she is 24 hours and 20 minutes older than me. (Try planning a birthday party as a kid when your three best friends' birthdays are all within ten days of yours, and you all want to invite the same people, and none of you can go before New Years', and half of your parties will probably be snowed out, anyway.) 23 is a strange number...prime, and I'm not so sure I'd like to own it. It seems an awkward age. It is not 18-22, and it is not 25-33. It's just...23. Like you got too big for 22 and they kicked you out, but you're too shrimpy for 25.
• What kinds of things freeze at 12 below zero? Power steering fluid.
• When it's 12 below zero, steam appears to be coming out of the storm sewer because it's warmer underground.
• It occured to me yesterday that Dec. 5 was a significant day, but it took a minute to remember why. And in the end it was rather trivial. It was one month before my good friend's 23rd birthday. And as logic would have it, that means today is one month from my 23rd birthday (and the 12th day of Christmas, Epiphany), as she is 24 hours and 20 minutes older than me. (Try planning a birthday party as a kid when your three best friends' birthdays are all within ten days of yours, and you all want to invite the same people, and none of you can go before New Years', and half of your parties will probably be snowed out, anyway.) 23 is a strange number...prime, and I'm not so sure I'd like to own it. It seems an awkward age. It is not 18-22, and it is not 25-33. It's just...23. Like you got too big for 22 and they kicked you out, but you're too shrimpy for 25.
• What kinds of things freeze at 12 below zero? Power steering fluid.
• When it's 12 below zero, steam appears to be coming out of the storm sewer because it's warmer underground.
Sunday, December 04, 2005
diary of a church hopper, pt. 15 or 16 or 17
The moment you've all been waiting for: my visit to St. George's. (Episcopal)
The trip started with a couple of bad omens:
1) Couldn't find the church (looking for the wrong street)
2) Couldn't get into the church (the whole push/pull dilemma)
And then I was late as ususal.
But only good things followed.
The congregation was very small - much smaller than I expected. When I finally got in, the first person I saw was Kugler. He saw a person (me) walk in and looked around immediately, in the middle of a hymn, to make sure I could find a hymnal and prayer book and knew which page we were on. So, friendliness, right away. The woman next to me in the pew smiled. (I always think she's Joan Anderson but she's Margo Vanderhill.)
Settled in, I looked around at the building. The church is old, a registered building, but it wasn't as "beautiful" as St. Thomas's. It did look extremely friendly, though. I could picture myself becoming familiar with the nooks and crannies and bizarre architectural intricacies of a church, like when I was little. There were old iron heating registers in the floor, and they made me feel very much at home. (We lived in an old Victorian house when I was little, and we'd fight over who got to stand on top of it, or dry our mittens and scarves on it. And we had a porch swing, but that's beside the point.)
The pastor was a woman. That was new to me, and, looking back, in a really good way. As with all things I am highly skeptical of pastors. This may sound bad, but because I wasn't expecting her to be perfect, I liked her more. I think her role is different than my master and commander picture of pastoral care. But, St. George's isn't your typical congregation.
For it seemed at least 1/3 of the parishioners were NW professors/staff. And most of the rest were their families, or their students. Indeed, it seemed highly logical to transport the whole building to Orange City, where it would be more convenient for almost everyone. On the other hand, the travel to worship, setting aside everyday life, makes it more appealing. And, if it was in OC, more people would know about it, and there would probably be a need for stronger leadership, and then there would be dissension and crowds and maybe less community...anyway.
Back to the parishioners -- because it must be given at least one criticism, I would point out that all the parishioners have IQs of at least...something really high. Not that that's a bad thing, but it could maybe possibly someday somehow be an obstacle to those less gifted. And, because everyone does live in OC, I wonder if the church has much of a life except Sundays, or even beyond the service.
But, away from the required criticisms, St. George's was one of the "best" services I have been to in...I don't even know how long. We may be talking decades. It had a huge advantage, though, in that it 1) was not contemporary, 2) was comprised of only people I deeply respected and admired prior to the service; and 3) I wanted to like it.
Other random things I enjoyed:
1) The discussion of the sermon and/or theology in general immediately following the sermon, right in the middle of the service.
2) Communion wine. Seriously -- the burn of the blood of Christ down your throat for a minute after you've drank helps you to remember.
3) Everyone clearly wanted to be there, with maybe the exception of a sixth grade boy. But you could hardly blame him.
4) The pastor commenting to Prof. Anderson while she's breaking up the body of Christ.
5) The statuette of St. George slaying a dragon.
6) People looking me in the eye while they said "peace be with you."
7) Big, big hugs (from friends) instead of handshakes.
8) Seeing and saying the text of the service. Seeing the words especially is a big thing for me.
9) The overall old country church feel.
10) Some people had their own prayer books.
11) Kneeling and holding out my hands to receive the body. I felt like a British beggar child begging the pastor to let me have some of the body. But in a good way.
So, now there are these problems. And I anticipated them. I think that's why it took me so long to visit.
1) I liked the service a lot. Anything else will pale in comparison, esp. going back to P&W and PowerPoint.
2) The church is there and I am here. (However, when you get down to it, it's not that much farther than the RCA megachurch because it's so irritatingly tricky to get there.)
3) Going there regularly strikes me as cheating, like sneaking back into chapel after you've graduated. It is an extension of NW, really, and if I'm going to it because of NW, then in a sense I do not belong there now. Try to make sense of that one.
4) Going there regularly would not aid my problem of not knowing anyone here.
5) Repeat 1-4.
So, survey says: You all were right. St. George's is a great place!
The trip started with a couple of bad omens:
1) Couldn't find the church (looking for the wrong street)
2) Couldn't get into the church (the whole push/pull dilemma)
And then I was late as ususal.
But only good things followed.
The congregation was very small - much smaller than I expected. When I finally got in, the first person I saw was Kugler. He saw a person (me) walk in and looked around immediately, in the middle of a hymn, to make sure I could find a hymnal and prayer book and knew which page we were on. So, friendliness, right away. The woman next to me in the pew smiled. (I always think she's Joan Anderson but she's Margo Vanderhill.)
Settled in, I looked around at the building. The church is old, a registered building, but it wasn't as "beautiful" as St. Thomas's. It did look extremely friendly, though. I could picture myself becoming familiar with the nooks and crannies and bizarre architectural intricacies of a church, like when I was little. There were old iron heating registers in the floor, and they made me feel very much at home. (We lived in an old Victorian house when I was little, and we'd fight over who got to stand on top of it, or dry our mittens and scarves on it. And we had a porch swing, but that's beside the point.)
The pastor was a woman. That was new to me, and, looking back, in a really good way. As with all things I am highly skeptical of pastors. This may sound bad, but because I wasn't expecting her to be perfect, I liked her more. I think her role is different than my master and commander picture of pastoral care. But, St. George's isn't your typical congregation.
For it seemed at least 1/3 of the parishioners were NW professors/staff. And most of the rest were their families, or their students. Indeed, it seemed highly logical to transport the whole building to Orange City, where it would be more convenient for almost everyone. On the other hand, the travel to worship, setting aside everyday life, makes it more appealing. And, if it was in OC, more people would know about it, and there would probably be a need for stronger leadership, and then there would be dissension and crowds and maybe less community...anyway.
Back to the parishioners -- because it must be given at least one criticism, I would point out that all the parishioners have IQs of at least...something really high. Not that that's a bad thing, but it could maybe possibly someday somehow be an obstacle to those less gifted. And, because everyone does live in OC, I wonder if the church has much of a life except Sundays, or even beyond the service.
But, away from the required criticisms, St. George's was one of the "best" services I have been to in...I don't even know how long. We may be talking decades. It had a huge advantage, though, in that it 1) was not contemporary, 2) was comprised of only people I deeply respected and admired prior to the service; and 3) I wanted to like it.
Other random things I enjoyed:
1) The discussion of the sermon and/or theology in general immediately following the sermon, right in the middle of the service.
2) Communion wine. Seriously -- the burn of the blood of Christ down your throat for a minute after you've drank helps you to remember.
3) Everyone clearly wanted to be there, with maybe the exception of a sixth grade boy. But you could hardly blame him.
4) The pastor commenting to Prof. Anderson while she's breaking up the body of Christ.
5) The statuette of St. George slaying a dragon.
6) People looking me in the eye while they said "peace be with you."
7) Big, big hugs (from friends) instead of handshakes.
8) Seeing and saying the text of the service. Seeing the words especially is a big thing for me.
9) The overall old country church feel.
10) Some people had their own prayer books.
11) Kneeling and holding out my hands to receive the body. I felt like a British beggar child begging the pastor to let me have some of the body. But in a good way.
So, now there are these problems. And I anticipated them. I think that's why it took me so long to visit.
1) I liked the service a lot. Anything else will pale in comparison, esp. going back to P&W and PowerPoint.
2) The church is there and I am here. (However, when you get down to it, it's not that much farther than the RCA megachurch because it's so irritatingly tricky to get there.)
3) Going there regularly strikes me as cheating, like sneaking back into chapel after you've graduated. It is an extension of NW, really, and if I'm going to it because of NW, then in a sense I do not belong there now. Try to make sense of that one.
4) Going there regularly would not aid my problem of not knowing anyone here.
5) Repeat 1-4.
So, survey says: You all were right. St. George's is a great place!
Saturday, December 03, 2005
story of my life
If I had become a Pulitzer Prize-winning reporter and died at a ripe old age, I know how my biography would begin.
One afternoon when I was four, I learned how to draw question marks. I found it life-changing as a skill -- there were such possibilities for writing when you could communicate a question. (Maybe this would be good if I were a famous copy editor, too.)
I cut up a sheet of paper into tiny pieces, took out my markers, and put the new skill to good use. When all was said and done, the scraps were covered with question marks. Logically, my young mind thought, there are people out there who need questions. And I can sell them to them.
So, the story goes, I went out to the street and asked passersby if they wanted to buy a question. (We lived on a somewhat busy road then, on the side with the sidewalk.) And then I chased a professor on a bicycle up the street, advertising my wares. And he chuckled and gave me a quarter.
I've also thought of a way to start that next pesky cover letter when I apply for copy editing positions:
Before going in to my college roommate's flute recital, I couldn't help but sneak in a pen into my pocket to proofread the program.
One afternoon when I was four, I learned how to draw question marks. I found it life-changing as a skill -- there were such possibilities for writing when you could communicate a question. (Maybe this would be good if I were a famous copy editor, too.)
I cut up a sheet of paper into tiny pieces, took out my markers, and put the new skill to good use. When all was said and done, the scraps were covered with question marks. Logically, my young mind thought, there are people out there who need questions. And I can sell them to them.
So, the story goes, I went out to the street and asked passersby if they wanted to buy a question. (We lived on a somewhat busy road then, on the side with the sidewalk.) And then I chased a professor on a bicycle up the street, advertising my wares. And he chuckled and gave me a quarter.
I've also thought of a way to start that next pesky cover letter when I apply for copy editing positions:
Before going in to my college roommate's flute recital, I couldn't help but sneak in a pen into my pocket to proofread the program.
"Don't you think it was bad luck to meet so many lions?" said Shasta.
"There was only one lion," said the Voice.
"What on earth do you mean? I've just told you there were at least two the first night, and --"
"There was only one: but he was swift of foot."
"How do you know?"
"I was the lion." And as Shasta gaped with open mouth and said nothing, the Voice continued. "I was the lion who forced you to join with Aravis. I was the cat who comforted you among the houses of the dead. I was the lion who drove the jackals from you while you slept. I was the lion who gave the Horses the new strength of fear for the last mile so that you should reach King Lune in time. And I was the lion you do not remember who pushed the boat in which you lay, a child near death, so that it came to shore where a mat sat, wakeful at midnight, to receive you."
"There was only one lion," said the Voice.
"What on earth do you mean? I've just told you there were at least two the first night, and --"
"There was only one: but he was swift of foot."
"How do you know?"
"I was the lion." And as Shasta gaped with open mouth and said nothing, the Voice continued. "I was the lion who forced you to join with Aravis. I was the cat who comforted you among the houses of the dead. I was the lion who drove the jackals from you while you slept. I was the lion who gave the Horses the new strength of fear for the last mile so that you should reach King Lune in time. And I was the lion you do not remember who pushed the boat in which you lay, a child near death, so that it came to shore where a mat sat, wakeful at midnight, to receive you."
Friday, December 02, 2005
Thursday, December 01, 2005
"Aslan as a man!" said Mr. Beaver sternly. "Certainly not. I tell you he is the King of the wood and the son of the great Emperor-beyond-the-Sea. Don't you know who is the King of the Beasts? Aslan is a lion -- THE Lion, the great Lion."
"Ooh, said Susan. "I'd thought he was a man. Is he -- quite safe? I shall feel rather nervous about meeting a lion."
"That you will, dearie, and no mistake," said Mrs. Beaver; "if there's anyone who can appear before Aslan without their knees knocking, they're either braver than most or else just silly."
"Then he isn't safe?" said Lucy.
"Safe?" said Mr. Beaver; "don't you hear what Mrs. Beaver tells you? Who said anything about safe? 'Course he isn't safe. But he's good. He's the King, I tell you."
"Ooh, said Susan. "I'd thought he was a man. Is he -- quite safe? I shall feel rather nervous about meeting a lion."
"That you will, dearie, and no mistake," said Mrs. Beaver; "if there's anyone who can appear before Aslan without their knees knocking, they're either braver than most or else just silly."
"Then he isn't safe?" said Lucy.
"Safe?" said Mr. Beaver; "don't you hear what Mrs. Beaver tells you? Who said anything about safe? 'Course he isn't safe. But he's good. He's the King, I tell you."
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