Thee, Thou, Thine: Dated Words in Modern Churches
28 Apr 2012 Leave a Comment
in Uncategorized Tags: Bible, God, Music
Sometimes I’m “sore afraid” that I’m misunderstanding the songs we sing in church. When I hear “old” words like “art,” “hallowed” and “thine,” my brain doesn’t compute the meaning. “Thine” currently has a red squiggly in this Microsoft Word document! Sometimes after we sing hymns in church I have to turn to my friends and ask what some of the words meant. It’s difficult to focus on Jesus and the meaning of the hymns when the words are difficult to interpret. So when I have this problem, I write my own translation. For example, here’s my personal version of the Lord’s Prayer:
God, Dude,
You rock.
Things are pretty cool in Heaven
And I hope that soon they’ll be cool here, too.
Thank you for water, Olive Garden breadsticks and gummy bears.
Please forgive me when I’m a jerk
And remind me to forgive other jerks.
Please help me resist temptation –
You know I’m not so good at that.
Please protect my soul from evil –
I know I can’t do it myself.
My home is with you in Heaven.
I praise your strength,
You’re really awesome.
Amen.
There are modern translations of the Bible, perhaps there need to be “translations” of the hymnals. Why? It’s human nature to feel frustrated when you don’t understand something. If that frustration occurs every Sunday in church then it could be associated with Christ, Himself. We don’t want people to avoid church because of that.
Honey, If You Love Me (or, Sexual Tension at Church Camp)
30 Mar 2012 Leave a Comment
in God, Humor Tags: Camp, Camping, Church, Growing Up
At Church Camp we played a game called “Honey, If You Love Me.” It was a teenage version of Duck-Duck-Goose now that I think about it. Everyone sat in a circle and the person in the center who was “It” tried to get someone to smile by asking, repeatedly, “Honey, if you love me, will you please, please smile?” If the victim’s lips curled in any direction, he / she became “It.”
To lure out a smile we could do anything but touch the other person. There were three traditional tactics:
1) The Clown: goofy faces, farting noises, funny accents, silly dances.
2) The Pathetic Puppy: protruding lower lips, starving eyes, lots of emphasis on “please.”
3) The Seduction: silly dances became sexy one. Girls leaned forward with their breasts right under the guys’ noses. High school seniors blew warm air across the virgin necks of girls who completed 8th grade just a week before. It was almost like speed dating.
I told myself that the boys targeted me because they, you know, “liked” me. They wanted to see me smile. They wanted to put their lips inches away from mine. Secretly they hoped that our lips would “accidentally” touch. It’s far more likely that they knew I was an easy win. Sometimes the cute ones just looked at me and I couldn’t help but blush and grin and check my hair in the closest reflective surface and imagine my wedding day.
I erupted in goose bumps when a boy I had a crush on whispered “please, please” right in my ear. I was 13! Not only was that the sexiest thing that had ever happened to me, it was the most attention I had ever gotten from an attractive male. It felt invigorating to be “chosen,” desired, even if it was just for ten seconds when the counselors were checking on lunch.
The camp counselors shouldn’t have been surprised when they caught young campers making out behind trees. They could’ve had us play Candyland but, no, watching the awkward sexual tension was more entertaining.
A friend of mine told me that he went to church camp because there were lots of hot girls. I’m not sure if he kept going to spend more time with blondes or with Jesus. Well, the girls got him into a pew. Being in the pew helped him get to know Jesus so…
Ta-da! Correlation.
God works in mysterious ways…
Scotoma 1: The Swedish Chef?
12 Nov 2011 Leave a Comment
in Uncategorized Tags: Psychology, School, Scotoma
One of my teachers in elementary school outlined this figure on a map on the classroom wall. Although I don’t remember what she said word for word, it was along the lines of “Americans are fat! Even the states look like overweight chefs!” Since then I’ve never been able to look at a map of the United States without seeing this image (and now you won’t either!).
By the way, ignore Tennessee.
Unsolicited Advice About Growing Up, Part 1: Clueless Liars
17 Oct 2011 2 Comments
in Personal Development Tags: Growing Up
Here is some unsolicited advice about growing up. I compiled it while trying on wedding gowns in front of a funhouse mirror in direct sunlight (by that I mean that I was in a fearless mood in a vulnerable place).
If you lie about knowing something you don’t, research it as soon as you can. Take your iPod into the bathroom of that upscale 5-forks restaurant and thank God for search engines.
Scenario: My high school boyfriend’s favorite music group was the Dave Matthews Band. I guess I was trying to impress him (or maybe I was just desperate for something to talk about other than our English class) and I listened to every DMB album in existence. The topic came up when we were hanging out with “his” friends. With the overconfidence of an ignorant goody-two-shoe I announced that “Jimi Thing” was my favorite song. They all laughed and asked if I really knew what that song was about. I flipped my hair off my shoulder, rolled my eyes and said, “Of course I do!”
Liar, liar, pants on fire. At the time it was more important to fit in than to be honest (it might still be). We switched conversation topics soon after so I dodged the bullet. My face was saved. But as a rookie in dating and in life I didn’t follow the aforementioned advice. The embarrassment was ten-fold the next day when my boyfriend asked me – directly – what a “jimi thing” was.
Busted.
(By the way, if you don’t know what it is, you’re in luck because you’re reading this online and you can immediately implement this advice.)
Sidebar: Right now my favorite song is “Gravedigger” by Dave Matthews Band and yes, I know what it’s about.
Nora’s Perfect Day
24 Sep 2011 1 Comment
in Personal, Stories, Words, Writing Tags: Create, Fiction, Words, Writers Weekly, Writing
Check out my winning fiction entry on the Writers Weekly website:
Here’s a brief teaser:
“I had the record! For three thousand years I’ve been the only one to find my Soul’s perfect day on the very first try. But then you came along. Never satisfied. Lady, you were exhausting.”
Enjoy!
What Should I Feel on 9/11/11?
11 Sep 2011 1 Comment
I’m not sure what to do with today. I’m not sure how to spend my time. I’m not sure if I should sit here and reminisce or just get up and take a shower and eat breakfast. I’m not sure if today is supposed to be “normal.”
I remember 9/11/01 vividly. I was 17, a senior in high school. My biggest concerns were boys, college and auditioning for the fall play. Most people have pretty similar, relatively uneventful stories. Oh well. Every story is important, so here’s mine:
That morning, a friend of mine came to English class pale and shaking. He told us that there was something going on inNew Yorkand we convinced our teacher to turn on the news. I remember feeling nauseous when I saw the footage of people jumping out the windows, and the towers collapsing. I remember the newscasters estimating that 10,000 people were dead. I remember wondering if my aunt, who is a flight attendant, was on one of the planes. I remember my friends’ wide eyes. I remember the sensation of icicles under my feet. Shock, probably.
I remember that at lunchtime, half of the cafeteria didn’t know what was going on. I remember that one of my classmates was distraught because the local malls might be closed down and she had planned to shop that night. Somehow, that appalled me more than anything. What extraordinary selfishness! I remember another classmate asking me about the end of the world. She wanted to know if the book of Revelation mentioned the event. My profound response was, “Umm…”
I remember that it felt like it would never stop. One thing happened after another: first plane, second plane, Pentagon, first tower, second tower,Pennsylvania. I remember wondering if the attacks were going to last for days! I remember not giving a crap about math.
I remember when the newscasters announced that it was terrorism, not an accident. I remember one of my teachers pointing out that the date was “9/11” and it took a few minutes for me to connect that with “911.”
I remember another angry teacher shouting, “We’re going to turn their land of sand into glass!” I remember realizing that I was a pacifist.
I remember going home from school and watching the news all afternoon. I sat on the couch and imagined what I would do if I was in that situation. When my father came home he urged me to not let the terrorists scare me. He said that life would go on as usual, that tomorrow would be normal, that nothing would change. His response frustrated me because it seemed like he didn’t care. I felt that the least I could do was watch the news and muster as much empathy as possible, as if that would honor the dead.
I’m not sure what I “should” feel today. What’s the right thing to feel, the wrong thing? What’s the healthiest response? I struggle with this every year. There are over a dozen voices from over a dozen sources giving me over a dozen contradictory messages:
1) The event that morning changed the country, the world, history. You should live your life differently – better – because of it.
2) Don’t let the terrorists “win” by allowing that day to change you. They wanted to disrupt everything.
3) 9/11 is the reason to go to war.
4) 9/11 is a reason to not go to war.
5) That was a turning point, the beginning of a new era. Nothing has been the same since.
6) Bad stuff happens. Life moves on.
7) Spend the day – the whole week – in thought and mourning.
8) Ignore it. It’s too traumatizing. Thinking about it will make you depressed.
9) Be thankful for life.
10) Be angry.
11) Take it more seriously!
12) Don’t take it so seriously!
13) 9/11 proves that God doesn’t care.
14) If there wasn’t organized religion, 9/11 wouldn’t have happened.
15) Be a patriot. Be proud to be an American.
16) Be afraid. The world isn’t safe. The attacks could have been stopped.
17) There are reasons why some people hate Americans.
18) Christians = automatically good, Muslims = automatically bad.
19) Osama Bin Laden is dead. Celebrate!
20) A life was taken. That’s never something to celebrate, no matter the reason.
21) Nationalism is dangerous.
22) God has blessedAmerica.
23) Peace. Jesus. Grace. Forgiveness.
24) Light a candle.
25) Eat McDonalds. Buy cars. Watch “American Idol.”
When it comes down to it, you can’t decide to feel or not feel something. All I know for sure is that I feel like today is significant.
What should we do with this day? What is it meant to be? Is there a right or wrong way to live it?
What do you feel?
A Bit of Fiction: The Boy and the Ghost
06 Sep 2011 Leave a Comment
in Uncategorized Tags: Fiction, Jesus, Writing
There once was a young boy who was convinced that he was being haunted by a ghost.
Sometimes, when he was really happy, he felt a grip on his shoulder—a weight perched there like a pirate’s parrot. Sometimes, when he was really sad, he felt something nudge him. The pressure was soft, like the back of his mother’s hand pressed to his forehead, checking to see if he had a fever. And sometimes, when he lay in bed, half-awake and half in some fuzzy elsewhere, he felt the strangest sensation on his chest. It was as if a tiny kitten, weighing no more than a few Legos, had curled up in a warm fist directly above his heart.
After a few weeks of these odd grips and nudges and kittens, the boy decided to tell his father about the ghost’s touch.
“I don’t think ghosts feel like kittens,” Father said after he heard his son’s story. “But that sensation sounds familiar. I think I’ve felt a ghost on my chest before.”
“You have?” the boy asked. “What did you do? Did you talk to him? Did he hurt you?”
“Oh no, not at all,” Father said, shaking his head. “But yes, I did talk to him. That’s what he wanted. He wanted my attention.”
“Is that what I should do?” the boy asked. He’d entertained thoughts of hanging Ziploc bags of sage and garlic from his neck, but talking to the ghost would be far less stinky.
Father stretched his legs out in front of him and linked his ankles. His face was scrunched, and his eyes were on the ceiling. “The next time you feel that ghost,” he said slowly, “try opening your heart.”
The boy clutched at the fabric of his t-shirt where it covered his chest, his eyes wide. “Open my heart? Like – like with a knife?” He really had seen too many scary movies!
Father raised his hands as if to a firing squad. “I mean the heart within your heart. The part of you that’s…you.” He pointed to his chest, then his head, then his chest again, not really knowing where to point. “When you feel that weight, try imagining that each rib in your chest has a hinge and a keyhole. Imagine that the ghost is unlocking you and slowly tugging you open.”
“Does it hurt? Does it hurt when you open your heart?”
“Hurt?” Father was about to say “no,” then clutched at the word like a kite string that had escaped his fingers. “Sometimes, yes, if the hinges are rusty…but mostly it’s frightening. An open heart is like leaving your window ajar while you sleep. It makes you feel…exposed, vulnerable. A spider might crawl over the windowsill and up your neck.” Father reached out and tickled the soft skin beneath the boy’s chin.
“But the ghost won’t let the spider in?” the boy asked.
“No, he won’t. He protects your heart, even when you can’t feel him there. And even if a spider slips in when you’re not being careful, if you ask him, he’ll pluck it back out.”
The boy stopped trying to hide his relief, and sighed. “So he’s a nice ghost. Like Casper.”
Father unhooked his ankles and leaned his elbows against his knees. “Not a ghost!” he revealed, his forefinger raised. “The Holy Ghost. Son, it’s God Himself trying to get your attention.”
The boy cocked first one eyebrow and then the pair. “God? But He talks to people through angels and burning shrubs!”
“Yes.” Father grinned. “But, if you pay very close attention, He also whispers from books, through the rhythm of a song, the beat of an ocean’s waves. He wants you to know Him, that’s why He’s nudging you. So next time you feel Him, open your heart and listen. You might hear exactly what you need to hear.”
As the boy considered his father’s words, a memory floated up from deep within his head. Sky flowed into it until the memory was buoyant on his mind.
He remembered when another kid in school had told him that nobody liked him. But instead of surrendering, nodding in agreement, digesting the insult, like he usually did, where it would reside inside him, wearing him, hissing at him, another thought intercepted his own.
“That’s not true,” he had thought. “I’m not stupid, I am loved. I am loved.”
At the time, the boy hadn’t known where the thought had come from. But now, now the boy knew that it wasn’t from “where,” but from “who.” Not only did his ghost have a touch, He had a voice.
“But what if I open my heart and I don’t hear anything?” the boy asked. His voice was back down to a whisper as though he was still picturing a gallows ghost.
“That is when God wants to hear you,” said Father. “That’s when you pray.”
News From Auschwitz
14 Jul 2011 5 Comments
in God, Travel Tags: Auschwitz, Poland, WW2, WWII
Six years ago I went, alone, to Auschwitz, the imfamous Nazi concentration camp in Poland. Since then I’ve been trying to find the perfect words to describe what I experienced. I can’t find them, so I’ve decided to just type up the exact scrambled thoughts I scribbled in my journal that day. I’m just going to copy it and not worry about sounding sophisticated, fancy, even competent.
Although I don’t expect that sharing this will give me closure, I hope it will.
The gate at Auschwitz. The sign says, in German, "Work Makes Free."
“There was a picture of a little girl smiling for the camera, right before she was taken to a gas chamber. I stared at it forever. Did she know what was happening? Was she scared? Did she have someone to hold her hand? Did she die quickly? What was her name – I bet it was beautiful. I bet her mother loved her very much.”
Formational Prayer 4: The Pew and the Hamburglar
29 May 2011 Leave a Comment
in God Tags: Christianity, God, Jesus
My fourth formational prayer was interrupted by the Hamburglar. Remember him? I bet it’s been ten years, minimum, since I’ve thought about those old McDonalds characters. It was a good marketing move to replace Grimace with Justin Timberlake.
Kris and I were sitting on her couch. When she asked me to go to a safe place I leaned my cheek against the back of the couch, closed my eyes, and went to the front pew at my church. The sanctuary was empty but normal – no stars or sharks this time. When I invited Jesus to join me I found myself leaning against His shoulder. When I asked “What do You want me to hear?” He said nothing. I asked again, and a third time. I got frustrated that He wouldn’t answer. That was when the Hamburglar entered the church.
He didn’t do anything but run around, distracting me. Kris theorized that he represented my restlessness. I tried to ignore him. When Jesus still wouldn’t speak I took out an offering envelope and wrote my question down instead of speaking it aloud, “What do You want me to hear?” I handed the pencil and paper to Jesus and waited.
He wrote one word: “Go.”
I wrote “Go where? Go how? Go why? Go when? Go with who?”
He wrote: “Here.”
I tried to grab the paper to write back but He crumpled it up and tossed it aside. Then He smiled and gestured back to His shoulder. I laid my cheek back down. I think He just wanted me to be there in the present and relax.
Formational Prayer 3: The Apple Tree
29 May 2011 1 Comment
in God, Uncategorized Tags: Christianity, God, Jesus
My third attempt was an accident. It was 2am and I was kneeling on my bedroom floor with a plumeria-scented candle lighting the room. I was angry and far from polite and humble in my prayers. Know what I mean? Instead of praying “My Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name” I was praying, “Listen up, dude, you better fix x, y and z pronto, or else!” I wanted Him to show me an exact path complete with arrows and billboards and neon lights. After I got all of that yelling out of my system, I felt peaceful. I sighed and relaxed in God’s presence.
A few minutes later, an image popped into my head. I was running across this field behind my grandmother’s old house. There was an apple tree in the back corner that my brother and I used to climb. I felt the leaves crinkle under my feet and smelled the apples. Ants crawled along the rough bark. I started to climb.
Half way up I made the mistake of looking down. The height scared me. I hugged the tree, pressing my nose against the bark. When I looked up I saw that all of the branches were gone. There was just a straight, thin tree trunk and a thick layer of gray clouds above it. I was terrified because I couldn’t go up or down. I prayed for Jesus to help me.
I looked down and I looked up but I didn’t see Him. But then I started to climb anyway. I reached up and, to my surprise, my hand wrapped around a branch. I reached again and there was another one. Whenever I looked up I didn’t see any branches but when I reached, God gave me one.
The message from Jesus? “Keep climbing.”
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