Tree with the lights in it.

Untitled

2009-02-05T11:15:00.000-08:00

What greater love can be found?

Creator for his creation.
Seeing the beauty in every sunrise and equally in sunsets.
Seeing the pines rise above the surface of the earth stretching their arms out towards the divine.
Father for his children.
Hearing the laughter of a child dance across the summer's air.
Hearing the father's comforting song run as a cool river from soul to soul.
Lover for his lover.
Feeling the embrace continuously overwhelm the heart as the waves upon the shore.
Feeling the look in his eyes that explains more than a rush of words...like the silence of the morning sun.

Oh, what love arises from these combined in one. Creator, Father, Lover.

Out of My Senses

2009-01-21T15:57:00.000-08:00

As of late, I have felt very distracted, unable to focus, and, for lack of a better term, "blah". Even now, my mind is straining to write something worth reading and think about dinner, the conversation going on in the other room, and music. Is there anything wrong with this? Not necessarily, I suppose. I think where distraction goes wrong is when it affects daily life. When it slows you down and makes hours seem like years and responsibility a unwanted tonic.

I think I will end this short thought with a journal entry from Henry David Thoreau, one of my favorite writers:

Out of My Senses

I feel a little alarmed when it happens that I have walked a mile into the woods bodily, without getting there in spirit. I would fain forget all my morning's occupation - my obligation to society. But sometimes it happens that I cannot easily shake off the village - the thought of some work - some surveying will run in my head and I am not where my body is - I am out of my senses. In my walks I would return to my senses like a bird or a beast. What business have I in the woods if I am thinking of something out of the woods.

25 November 1850, Journal 3: 150

God in the Doorway

2008-12-24T12:48:00.000-08:00

I recently finished a book by Annie Dillard: Teaching a Stone to Talk. Really, it is a collection of fictional essays of experiences and the thoughts that followed minutes, and sometimes, years after. A particular essay entitled "God in the Doorway" earned a position as one of my favorites.

Dillard describes an experience as a young child. During the Christmas season, Dillard's neighbor, Miss White, would dress up as Santa Claus and come to her family's front doorway. "Like everyone in his right mind, I feared Santa Claus, thinking he was God" she recalls. Consequently, Dillard in her young mind saw a "vulnerable trinity": God, Miss White, and Santa Claus. During the other seasons Miss White would have Annie over for there mere pleasure of company. The summer following the "Santa visit" Miss White and Annie were outside with a magnifying glass. Then, Miss White lifted Annie's hand to focus a ray of sunshine on her palm. It burned, and Annie ran away crying.

It is the last two paragraphs that grabbed my attention the most, and I cannot paraphrase them accurately so I must write them out. They are the following, read carefully:

Even now I wonder: if I meet God, will he take and hold my bare hand in his, and focus his eye on my palm, and kindle that spot and let me burn?

But no. It is I who misunderstood everything and let everybody down. Miss White, God, I am sorry I ran from you. I am still running, running from that knowledge, that eye, that love from which there is no refuge. For you meant only love, and love, and I felt only fear, and pain. So once in Israel love came to us incarnate, stood in the doorway between two worlds, and we were all afraid.

As I learned in the oddest of places, amongst elementary aged children, Christmas is the time to celebrate the arrival of Christ. I have never thought of it that way. What I mean is, not that I have not thought about the birth of Christ and arrival in that sense, but arrival as in God...coming to earth. I don't know if that makes sense, or if there is a distinct difference between the two thoughts. God is complex, if you do not know. I could go into why he came, and what not, but I am neither adequate, nor patient, enough to keep going. Although, I believe we are still afraid. Making Christmas about presents, which can be linked to the "gift" of Christ I suppose, but really...is that why we give? New ideas always turn up in the holiday season and new distractions as well. Afraid? I believe King Herod, in the bible, was afraid. I believe that's why he created genocide for those under the age of two. He did not want to be "burned".

I now realize where the misunderstanding begins. "For you meant only love, and love, and I felt only fear, and pain." Too many times, Christ's love is overcome by the thought of God's judgment. In Colossians, Paul reminds Christians that what ties together the virtues of Christian living in perfect unity is judgment. No, sorry, not judgment, LOVE. Are those who are afraid, afraid because of Christians? Now, I've hit another point where I could go on about Christians in the 21st Century and how we should be living, but, again, I am neither adiquate, nor patient.

In closing, if I can call it that, I want to encourage you not to be afraid, and not to make others afraid of the season of Christ's arrival...of Love's arrival.

Resent Ramblings

2008-11-28T16:06:00.000-08:00

I did not spell check this blog so forgive me:

November 4th of this year was a stressful night for some. Anxiously awaiting the results of a "historic" election can take its toll on emotions (whether those emotions are driven by excitement or horror). I, personally, wasn't too caught up in the race because the past months had made me resent the news-media. I was "politically burned out".

Just around 7:30pm in the heat of the process a wonderful thing happened: the power went out in my house. At first, like any normal person, I thought that a serial killer had cut the power and now waited in the shadows to...well...kill my mom and myself. Once I regained my head and put down my Nerf gun I came up with a brilliant idea: poetry reading by candle light! After illuminating the living room with the haze of candle light I eagerly read aloud "A Tell Tale Heart" by Edgar Allen Poe to my mom. Following the reading was more reading, this time to myself.

The night was relaxing until 10:00pm when the electricity was restored. I was honestly disappointed. I was ready to live my life without electricity, television, and facebook and resort to the imaginative and beautiful world created by books. I was ready to rest in the arms of an unplugged lifestyle.

____________________________

Wouldn't that be nice? Living "unplugged"? Our society now requires us to be connected through technology. I want to say "Yes! I will live unplugged!" but the truth is, I could not make it. Although, what I can do is this: live in a way that does not require to me to lean on technology, but use it for what it is - a tool to connect, not lifestyle to live out.

I'm tired, are you?

Replacing Reality

2008-11-01T19:11:00.000-07:00

My apologies to anyone who anxiously follows this blog. Recovering from a homecoming week and reuniting with the normal deluge of home work has no room for blogs. Except tonight.

A common theme I have seen in my life, and possibly the culture at large, is a replacement of reality. Taking what is real, genuine, or authentic and putting a legitimate fake in its place. An example could be an infomercial I saw today for a "Turbo" something or other. Mr. T was the guest manipulator so I was enthralled. It replaced grilling. No more must I slave over a fire or charcoal and cook hamburgers or hot dogs. No, all I had to do was place the uncooked meat in the Turbo...and be amazed. Get this, I could even take it outside and pretend like I am grilling.
Where is the fun in that? Think about it. If everyone got one of the contraptions, grilling would be vanquished. The sweat and tears over under cooked or charred meat would be no more. We would be released! The real grilling would be replaced by fake grilling.

Let me put in a more personal example. Conversing over the internet. Many-a-teenager has had a three hour conversation with one or more people in their life time. Maybe even adults if the "real-time conversing" was apart of their generation. It is so much easier to say "Oh, look person A is online, I will talk to them...because they are online." Then three hours later, and 567 mindless questions including "What's you favorite color bird?" and "How many steps are on your house's stair case?" later you say goodnight...or morning. That is a real conversation.

To quote one of my favorite television characters: "false".

Real has nothing between its components. Take away the computer screen or phone screen and replace it with the face of person then talk. I am guilty of the crime of replacing real conversation and connection with the fake. Seeing the person face-to-face was awkward, and I had nothing to say. Why? Because we never really connected. We spoke, not talked.

We are missing it if our best friends live inside a computer. I love talking to a person face-to-face now. I encourage you to do the same if you're guilty of what I have been set free from. You will find life in your conversations, and you will move forward. Gain a real friend and stretch your limits.

Let us replace was fake with what is real, and never stop the progression of real community.

It is only fitting...

2008-10-07T12:50:00.000-07:00

I have found it only fitting, since fall has finally revealed itself in North Texas today, to welcome it with a poem:

If I had one last day to live,
I would spend it in Autumn's arms.
She would wrap me in her serene blanket,
Made of the benign colors of her charm.
I would lose myself in her firm scent,
Of leaves so damp and of the coming cold.
Her eyes of gray, of orange and of red,
Would move me and cause me to un-fold.
The trees would rustle and sway,
As birds flee from her soft song.
My heart would settle and be at rest,
As she and I would walk along.

- Layne Hilyer

I have nothing to write: two books.

2008-09-28T12:04:00.000-07:00

Apparently, this past week either I have been walking around with my eyes closed, or G-d was playing "hide-and-go-seek" with me. As I thought this weekend about what to put in a post, I ran reels of memories of the past days through my cranial projector. Nothing stuck out. Nothing out of the ordinary or magical happened. But, as I write this, I understand what the problem was/is. I look for the extraordinary while it sits in the ordinary.
Let me explain.
Around 7:20am every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday I drive to Lucas (about 17 miles from my home) for school. The cityscape sometimes becomes dull so I take a slightly longer way to school through the "country". The sun has just jumped above the horizon and is not quite bright enough to cause me to look away. As I top a certain hill (well, "hill" in North Texas means...a slight elevation) I can look to my left and see a "valley" still holding morning fog in the palm of its hands. The sun hits the white mist in a way that makes it glow. I pass this picturesque scene in a mere 4 seconds.
This morning at Bent Tree the teaching revolved around the question "do science and the bible contradict each other?" An interesting and difficult topic to cover, to say the least. Within the discussion, a phrase from Galileo Galilee was used: G-d wrote two books - Nature and Scripture. Brilliant.
Though my week was not as "miraculous" as most would wish, my ordinary ride to school provide an extraordinary encounter.
Slow down. Read G-d's second book.

Premier - Tree with the lights in it

2008-09-22T15:51:00.000-07:00

The display name of my blog comes from the mind of Annie Dillard in her brilliant book Pilgrim at Tinker Creek. The "tree with the lights in it" is an observation she made while walking along side Tinker Creek near her home in Virginia. Contrary to simple thought, it was not a Christmas tree wound with electrical bulbs, but a beautiful tree whose leaves let the sunlight seep through in a way to give her mind the illusion of having millions of lights burning among its branches.

The way Dillard writes of this tree, and a multitude of other observations, is created by one action: slowing down. She can craft a mental impression through her writing by first watching, listening, and soaking in her surroundings. What wonderful and awesome things we could see if we, in twenty-first century America, would slow down and watch creation. That is what the "tree with the lights in it" represents to me and hopefully will be a thematic element in my future posts.

I hope to present what I see when I slow down or when I do not slow down. Not just the natural, but the spiritual. I will put it into words as best I can. John Adams wrote to his wife, Abigail, once: "I want to hear you think, or to see your thoughts." For you, the reader, and myself, I want to be able to "see my thoughts."