Welcome to the world of an English graduate student
This weekend our four-year-old nephew went in for emergency surgery to remove an infected lymph node in his throat between his jugular and spinal chord. We flew up to be with family early Saturday morning and are still here, watching our younger nephew, Levi and supporting family as best we can. Please be praying for Isaiah’s full recovery. He’s still in the hospital in a lot of pain and there’s still some questions about what kind of infection he has.
One book that:
1. Changed my life:Seeing Past Z: Nurturing the Imagination in a Fast-Forward World (I wouldn’t necessarily say that the ground shook when I read this but it changed the way I want to raise my kids and the way I view the world so I think that counts)
2. I’ve read more than once: The Night Trilogy by Elie Wiesel
3. I’d want on a desert island: Henry James (you have to read slow which would help if I’m trapped somewhere for ages)
4. Made me laugh: Eat Pray Love
5. Made me cry: The Sparrow
6. I wish had been written: too many to count but I’m working on this one (I intend to write them myself)
7. I wish had never been written: are there any of these?
8. I am currently reading: Starbucked and The Gathering
9. Been meaning to read: Inkspell
Yesterday someone broke into our office and stole my laptop. In broad daylight.
Although Bryan and I have both experienced theft before, multiple times actually, this was different. In this world of technology our entire lives are encapsulated on something like a laptop. It felt like a violation of my personal, physical self that someone would steal every record I have of who I am. All my photography, my design work, my papers for grad school, my poetry. Unfortunately, much of it is lost forever because my last back up to an external source was more than year ago.
I don’t really care about the laptop itself, or the large screen, or the keyboard that were stolen. Mostly I just want someone to give me back the pieces of my life that I’ve ritualistically kept track of on that machine. This feeling of being crippled came as a bit of a shock and surprise. I mean, after all, it’s just a laptop. No big deal. We move on. There’s grace enough for all things. So when I felt as if someone had reached out and physically hurt me, I was stunned. Last night I curled up on the couch and watched We are Marshall, a story of tragedy and heroism on a much grander scale than what I’d just experienced and I sought refuge in the face of what felt like great personal loss.
No, not a loss of faith in God.
More a crisis of faith in my abilities as a scholar. Faith in the knowledge that I hold so dearly. I feel like I am losing what little information I am able to keep stored away in the recesses of my mind. Words, ideas, and important thoughts seem to slip out unannounced when I clean my ears with a Q-tip after showering or spill into the recycle bin when I bend over to throw away that empty cereal box. This has been one of the most challenging quarters, apropos I suppose since I’m nearing the end. Perhaps Henry James propels all of his readers into this state of agitation, or it could just be me. Either way, I’m reminded of a poem by Billy Collins about forgetting and it seems very fitting for the moment I find myself in.
Forgetfulness
The name of the author is the first to go
followed obediently by the title, the plot,
the heartbreaking conclusion, the entire novel
which suddenly becomes one you have never read,
never even heard of,
as if, one by one, the memories you used to harbor
decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the brain,
to a little fishing village where there are no phones.
Long ago you kissed the names of the nine Muses goodbye
and watched the quadratic equation pack its bag,
and even now as you memorize the order of the planets,
something else is slipping away, a state flower perhaps,
the address of an uncle, the capital of Paraguay.
Whatever it is you are struggling to remember,
it is not poised on the tip of your tongue,
not even lurking in some obscure corner of your spleen.
It has floated away down a dark mythological river
whose name begins with an L as far as you can recall,
well on your own way to oblivion where you will join those
who have even forgotten how to swim and how to ride a bicycle.
No wonder you rise in the middle of the night
to look up the date of a famous battle in a book on war.
No wonder the moon in the window seems to have drifted
out of a love poem that you used to know by heart.
Billy Collins
Party affiliations are like lines drawn in the sand with opponents poised on either side, ready for war.
I was talking with a colleague the other day about the choice of animals to represent the Republicans and Democrats and even though we both support opposite parties, we managed to get a good laugh out of the symbolic implications. Republicans have a reputation for being sticks-in-the-mud who are grumpy, stodgy, and stubborn and refuse to give an inch. They are often stereotyped as having stuck their heads in the sand and rather than see the error of their ways, they have dug their heels in and refused to move. A large, awkward animal like the elephant pretty much sums all that up. Old, insensitive, and willing to walk right over every one. On the other hand, Democrats don’t have a much better image. While they are much more adept at the speechifying and “messages of hope”, their behavior often contradicts their words, making them real, ummm “donkeys” to deal with. Plus, they can be extremely arrogant and presumptuous, strong-willed and vocal. Ever heard a real donkey making a fuss about stuff, I have. They can get on your nerves.
That was a complete tangent, so thanks for indulging me. I just had to share the gist of that conversation since it’s probably one of the best I’ve had about anything political in a long time. On another note, I’m saddened by what appears to be a very stark binary between the parties. On the one hand you have a party that, for the most part, supports environmental issues and the “green” movement but at the cost of our standard of living and future growth. On the other hand, you have a party that downplays or completely ignores anything that has to do with caring for the earth while vigorously promoting economic growth. As a believer it’s so important to me that even in the face of our prosperity, we humbly return to God’s first calling on mankind, stewardship. Surely there can be a balance between fostering potential growth and promoting sustainability.
Recently there has been a good deal of attention focused on SE Portland and living a “missional” life. What does this mean though? Obviously I don’t have all the answers and neither do any of the folks involved in this conversation but we’re all feeling called to explore this idea together and we’ve defined a few things along the way.
First, missional living is local. It’s about the neighborhood you live in, the place(s) you work, the people you see on your commute (hopefully by bus or bike 
), and those you come in contact with when you purchase a latte or go grocery shopping. This is not to say that global missions have less value, they absolutely do not. However, this is simply an attempt to refocus individual hearts to be living intentionally and interacting with the lives that they come in contact with in every day life.
Secondly, it’s communal. You don’t run after Christ alone. There are other believers coming alongside you. This is about the church being family. Living in community can be a stretch for those of us who happen to be more introverted ( say, me on occasion) because it challenges individuals to not only be available to others but to pursue relationships. Be proactive.
The most challenging aspect of this heart attitude is that it happens every day. I am reminded of a sermon Rick McKinley preached a little over two years ago entitled “Cross-shaped Devotions” where he points out that Jesus calls us to pick up our cross and follow Him daily. This means seeking the face of God, being obedient, being faithful every day. The most convicting part for me is when he mentions how often the believer’s mindset is to lay down the cross “temporarily”. I’m going on vacation to the Bahamas for two weeks so I’m going to lay down my cross and I’ll pick it back up as soon as I get back. I’m choosing to sin and in that moment I’m laying down my cross. I don’t feel like it today so I’ll stow it away in my laundry room for another day. That kind of a mindset. And I am so guilty of this. I tend to embrace the first two, living in local communion but I do so sporadically. There are days when I don’t want to live missionally. The conviction for myself is that bearing that cross everyday does not mean giving up a 2-week trip to the Bahamas (heck no, I’d never turn that down) but it does mean living intentionally, seeking God even there. I believe God blesses each of us in different ways. In America, those blessings are pretty luxurious, like long trips to foreign countries and lots of fun perks in life that more than a third of the world couldn’t even imagine. I don’t think that cross-shaped devotion means we become monks and abstain from any of the “fun stuff”. It’s harder than that. It’s about relishing the gifts we’re given while not becoming distracted by the pleasures of this world and slipping God into our back pocket until we need him again.
A few parting thoughts. Living missionally is not a new “fad”, or at least it shouldn’t be. And it shouldn’t be happening just in SE Portland. God is EVERYWHERE. He has shown up and is working all over the place. We’ve been invited to join Him where He’s already at. Therefore, missional living, is more about joining God in His work then being “sent out”. I recommend listening to Michael Frost for a paradigm shift on that subject. Being missional doesn’t mean that we do an activity or volunteer in a program so that we can go home at night and check off the mission box on the list of “Christianity’s To-Does”, it means actively engaging the heart to love God and love people in all areas of life.
There is so much more to this conversation and to the working out of our faith as believers that this barely holds a candle to it all so please don’t take my few comments as the authority on what it means to “live missionally”. I am simply a fellow journeyer on the path to becoming more like Christ and welcome dialog that will help me be transformed.
“I wanted a perfect ending…
Now, I’ve learned the hard way that some poems
don’t rhyme, and some stories don’t have a clear
beginning, middle and end. Life is about not knowing,
having to change, taking the moment and
making the best of it,
without knowing what’s going to happen next.
Delicious ambiguity.”
Gilda Radner, 1946-1989
These days one season tends to blend into another. I find myself mulling over hopes, dreams, aspirations, callings, feelings without ever arriving at that moment of stark revelation when, with a sharp intake of breathe, the world seems to pause for a moment, doff it’s hat at you for discovering some great, true meaning and leave you stunned and elated. I remember experiencing moments like that in high school and college and perhaps there are some still in my future but for now, it feels more like I am gently floating on a wide river where the rhythm of the water changes and there are still storms but everything is continual, nothing too abrupt.
Perhaps I am simply waxing sentimental as my last quarter of full time classes at Portland State wraps up and I prepare to move into a new stage. I am not, however, being launched but simply placing one foot in front of the other until I find myself someplace that I was meant to go, without even knowing it.
So here’s to a summer of possibilities, a new season of hope and restoration, and the chance to chase a few more dreams.
This morning during a writing class we practiced what happened when you write with your non-dominate hand. The topic was, Childhood Home, and here’s what I came up with.
There are so many memories associated with living in the Mohave Dessert.
Cool tile floor under bare feet in the morning
Sunburnt afternoons in the sand pits of constructed forts
Hours spent swinging from tree branches in the sultry weather of an early spring day
The waning summer captured in an evening of piano tinkling, my long hair trailing over the keys, candlelight flickering in the distance. The vision of my parents waltzing gently in the background as the stars began to poke their heads out of the giant velvet blanket of the sky.
Sorry to all of you who have searched for me in the past week or two and haven’t been able to find my site. Apparently due to some server issues and other technical (and thus geeky) problems mandrinduck.com went undercover for awhile. But we’re back and hopefully to stay….
I’ve been exploring some new food options in Portland. After long months of watching myself and my friends and family suffer from numerous bouts of the flu, colds, and other ailments I decided to do a little research and find ways to help prevent getting sick. Where did I turn first? Food, of course. Check out my Food Scene page for cool sites and tips that should help you in your own search for healthier (and I think tastier) edible options.