Comfortable Church

I appreciated this post by my friend Danielle. Partly, I grant, because it affirms what I already think; supporting opinions always sound reasonable. But she ably illustrates her point: that if a church tries too hard to bring in unbelievers and make sure they're not uncomfortable, it succeeds all too well.

Christianity is a weird story, just like all religions. It's mystical, illogical, and ancient. Trying to update it (is "relevate" a word? Shouldn't it be?) by minimizing the odd parts leaves it dry. It becomes unable to quench the very thirst it claims we all have.

Thanks, Danielle.

-- SJ

Dirty Snowballs

I suggested a great name for Darren's car. He didn't like it much, but I explained the rich history behind it.

As I was growing up, we always had a large number of mongrel cats around the homeplace. Perhaps unsurprisingly, I felt compelled to name all of them. There was one kitten whom I christened a perfect "cat name" -- Snowball. I was so proud of that name that I made a fatal mistake: I told my brothers.

Neil and Matt seized upon the completely irrelevant fact that the cat was black and white, with more black than white. "Snowball? Why did you name that cat Snowball?"

"Because I like that name."

"More like Dirty Snowball."

"It's NOT Dirty Snowball! It's Snowball, and I just put her in the shed."

"You threw a dirty snowball in the shed?"

"It's NOT Dirty Snowball!"

"Hey, Sara's throwing dirty snowballs in the shed."

"WAAAHHHHH!!"

It's a little piece of my childhood, and I shared it with Darren. He appreciated it. But he refuses to name his car Dirty Snowball. I guess I can't blame him.

-- SJ

A Small Happy

Last week, after the new pope had been announced, I decided to go read his "controversial" document, Domine Iesus, that came out a few years ago. While there are some parts of it that I don't agree with (specifically, that the Church "subsists" in the Roman Catholic Church), it's an excellent denunciation of those who claim that all religions are equally valid.

However, there was one part of it that struck me as important. When then-Cardinal Ratzinger was setting forth the basics of the Christian faith, he used the Nicene Creed. A good way to go about it, in my opinion. However, the version of the Creed he used was the original Nicene-Constantinopolian version, without the Western addition of the Holy Spirit proceeding "from the Son." It was highly inspiring to me to see that the man God has set over the Catholic Church is concerned enough about reconciliation with the Orthodox to extend this olive branch. It gives me hope for a similar openness in his dealings with us "separated brethren" in the West.

I didn't know that anyone else had noticed this. But today I came across an article in Christianity Today Magazine, Anselm, Pope Benedict XVI, and Us, that mentioned this precise issue. I'd commend the article for your perusal, especially if you're unfamiliar with the East-West split over the Creed.

--DJ

Names

For once, a post about names that isn't by Sara!

We are now the possessors of a black 1996 Honda Civic, due to the demise of White Car. It has been suggested that possibly this car should have a name more creative than Black Car. I'm not good at naming objects (unlike my son, who could probably come up with a dozen on the spot), so if you have suggestions, I'll take them.

The license plate will be X-ELEISN, if you want to try to fit that into the theme.

I look forward to hearing ideas!

--DJ

Scheduling Conflict

It was a simple and workable plan, at least between the covers of the book.

The author was once an overwhelmed, unhappy, disorganized homeschooling mom of four. Then she developed a "rule" for living, in which she built her day around accomplishing her priorities. This rule didn't just include schoolwork and housework, but spiritual disciplines, downtime, and set-aside time for her husband. It wasn't just a schedule, it was a way of life, and anybody could do it and benefit from it.

Okay, Darren and I were up for it. He'd read more of the book than I had, but we started with the chapters we'd both read. We wrote down everything we needed to accomplish. We prioritized them and assigned time slots for everything. Then, feeling accomplished, we went to bed.

That night I had nightmares about getting up at 4AM every day, or going out to do important things and forgetting to get someone to watch the children. I woke up absolutely exhausted. The following day was completely out of routine, so that 9:00 time slot to pray and read my Bible simply didn't exist. Ditto for the rest of the day.

In fact, ever since I wrote down that assigned time for Bible reading, I've resisted doing it. Maybe it's my latent passive rebellion, but I was much better at getting it done when it wasn't written in ink.

Darren simply felt weighed down by responsibility. Written out on paper, the list of Things To Accomplish looked massive. By the end of the first week, we were both depressed.

I don't know where Darren's priority list is now. Mine is crumpled under Stuart's ball tower where I've not gotten around to picking it up. I think the author's idea is adaptable, but halfway through the book (which, I confess, is as far as I got) I realized that her approach to life is not the same as mine. What was energizing to her was oppressive to me.

So I'll just structure my life according to my own style. Unfortunately, I'm not likely to see many books written for that style. Those authors never get their notes in enough order to type up that first draft.

-- SJ

Overheard

Between an affectionate wife and a sensitive husband:

"Hey! I'm trying to kiss your neck! Stay still!"

"But it tickles!"

"Oh, stop hunching up like that. Are you a man or a turtle?"

"A turtle. Thanks for asking, though."

-- SJ

That's Okay

Some people reach for chocolate, some for drugs. I'm fortunate to have a natural remedy to keep me afloat when life looks too grey. I'm married to it.

Darren is a thorough optimist. He doesn't even try -- it's just reflex. I remember lying in bed one Tuesday night, looking over what promised to be a hard week. Darren sympathized with me: "Yes, tomorrow's going to be a long day." Then he continued, "But Thursday the kids will get back on schedule, and the next day is Friday, and then it's the weekend!" A man who can stand at Tuesday night and see the weekend is, by definition, optimistic.

One weekend he wasn't looking forward to a meeting waiting for him at work on Monday morning. I said, "I'm really sorry tomorrow's looming over you so much."

"So am I. But that's okay. It'll get here and then it will be over."

He's spent two weeks frantically busy at work, plus two out-of-town trips two weekends in a row, and today found out his carpool partner has to stay later so he's stuck at the office. "Blah that you don't get to come home on time!" I yelped.

"I agree. Very blah. But that's okay..." Here I started laughing, and he sheepishly finished, "because this way I'll get more time to get stuff done."

As someone who sees the glass half-empty (assuming anybody remembered to fill it), I don't understand Darren's knack for seeing silver linings. But that's okay. That knack is what makes my world a brighter place.

-- SJ

Unity

I process things slowly. For instance, Darren has learned that a movie night is a rare treat now that he's married, because I re-live movies for three days after watching them, so I have to be in the right mood for the right movie. (Men are supposed to expect this "right mood" problem, but it generally doesn't refer to films. I guess Darren's luckier in that respect.) Likewise for conversations, and especially for debates. Long after everyone else has moved on, I'm still going over what was said, what the other person actually meant, and what -- drat it! -- I should have said.

Those who followed the Jones flare-up after Amy posted about the Pope (forgive me for not linking, but it's a pain with this browser) probably raised an eyebrow or two, said, "Hunh!" and have forgotten it. I haven't. Of course, my entire point... nestled somewhere in the middle of long comments... had little to do with the Pope, but more to do with the lack of unity in the Church.

Amy repeated an idea familiar to me. I don't mention it as a slap against her; I remember hearing it a few years ago and agreeing. Since then my opinion has changed. It's the idea that different denominations are actually a glory to God, because each one emphasizes a different aspect of God. I suppose the line of reasoning follows that because of denominations, the Christian world doesn't forget the Father (liturgical and high-church denominations); the Son (evangelical); and the Holy Spirit (charismatic). So why shed any tears over lack of unity?

Why indeed? Why has that idea stuck in my head all these years, never settling down comfortably? I was puzzling over it, and thought: What if we cast it in the picture of a large family?

"That's an amazing family! I mean, they're all related, but they're so diverse! Some of them are engineers and scientists. Some of them are artists. Some manage businesses and some organize charities. It's just breathtaking to watch all those gifts in action.

"Of course, the entire family is squabbling. The engineers look down on the managers, and the artists think everybody should feel the muse. Some members don't even consider the others as actually part of the family at all. Every few years or so, another branch will break off and form their own core family and concentrate on some little area that's important to them.

"It's a pretty amazing family, all right. But a little sad, really."

So what does my picture of a unified church look like? I have no idea. The concept is foreign to me; the only picture is the Roman Catholic church, which I'm too Protestant wish as the ideal universal church. However, I don't think that denominations, with each one interpreting Scripture as it sees best and separating from all others who disagree, are really a glory to God.

But thanks be to God that He is bigger than our petty little squabbles, and that His works are so far above us that we can't even imagine what He will do.

-- SJ

Befriending a Stereotype

I've mentioned Jennifer once before.

She dropped out of our playgroup because Bryanna has ballet (or is it gymnastics? Soccer? Abstract Art?) on the same day. But since we're both in the MOMS Club, our paths cross relatively frequently. Jennifer is the person who wanted some sort of activity during playgroup so it wouldn't be two solid hours of unstructured play. She informed me once that peppermint patties are Bryanna's favorite candy -- "Of course, that's the only kind I allow her to have." She always asked me if I'd found a preschool for Addie yet. Every time I talked to her, she confirmed her own stereotype: the overstructured, overachieving mom. It is not a personality I seek out for companionship.

However, I realized that I'd never see her as a real person if I wedged her into a category -- especially a category I don't like. So I made an effort to speak to her at meetings and outings, met her halfway in her conversations, and discovered something surprising: She still confirms my stereotype.

She really is the busy, achieving, results-oriented personality I thought she was. But more than a personality, she's a person. I've gotten over my snit about the certification conversation; and Jennifer evidently doesn't remember any deficiency on my part. She often asks about my homeschooling plans, thinks my activities with the kids are great, and was impressed that I took the kids on a "field trip" to the other side of the neighborhood to watch ants. I, in turn, am impressed with her articulate and socially-competent four-year-old, who invites people in and offers them something to drink. And we both acknowledge that mothering -- especially those early stages -- is a big adjustment, whether you live by an agenda or not.

Today I called her to see how she was doing, as I haven't seen her in a while. In the course of the conversation, she said, "I just think you're a wonderful mother. I admire the way you know your kids and work with them."

And that's the type of certification I'll take any day.

-- SJ

Of Andromeda

My mother-in-law called tonight with a Final Jepoardy question for Darren. Only Darren is out looking for a new car, as PEN-GAVL has been diagnosed with a terminal head gasket, so he wasn't in. So she asked me instead. Question as follows:

"What colorful name is given to galaxies which are moving toward the earth, such as Andromeda?"

I dredged up half an answer, which turned out to be wrong. But I got points for being in the right neighborhood. Darren isn't home so I haven't had to endure his offhand, immediate correct answer yet.

But, random-tangently speaking, the question reminded me of the plastic caterpillar Darren keeps on top of his computer at work. I won this caterpillar, among an assortment of other worthless plastic trinkets, with tickets from Skee-ball during our very first date. I named it Andromeda for reasons mysterious, and before I left for home I snuck it onto his law books with a note (from Andromeda herself) saying that she wanted to stay with him and make sure he studied for the Bar. She did, he did... and yes, I suppose you could say I was, even though I didn't think so at the time.

-- SJ

Return to Sender

Stuart is into assigning identities nowadays, mostly from among Bob the Builder characters. I'm sometimes Mama, but more often Lofty. Darren is usually Lofty, too. When we're together, Stuart calls us "Two Lofties." Dizzy, Roly, and Muck make frequent appearances also. Conversations are now complicated:

"Addie, come here."

"Not Addie. She's Roly."

"I can call her Addie if I want to, Stuart."

"I not Stuart. I Dizzy."

-- SJ

Weight Muse, #1

Lately I've been pondering the subject of weight. It's an understandable preoccupation, seeing as I'm an American female who is twenty-five to thirty pounds heavier than her medically-decided "ideal weight." Probably because I've never had to "mind my waist" before and was a little vain about it, I'm honestly struggling against the tendency to consider my weight a major moral flaw. Naturally what does a blogger do, but take inward reflections and publicize them? I'll periodically post an unorganized collection of musings... none of them created during a daily 30-minute routine of moderate exercise:

Musing #1: In our culture, thinness is a mark of character. It proves that you exercise, watch what you eat, and have the self-discipline to maintain your weight. In the more family-friendly magazines like Better Homes and Gardens, obsession with thinness is remarketed as "health-conscious." And America is frantically "health conscious," to the point that we assume anyone in less than good health must be unhappy.

-- SJ

Nerves of Steel: Discovering Spiders

We've entered a new era in our household. Alphabet books, picture books, and even Dr. Seuss are passe: what we want now are books with Facts. More specifically, facts about spiders.

At ages three and two, Addie and Stuart have no reason to dislike spiders. They're too young to recognize the inherent horror of a creature with multiple legs and eyes, who traps prey by devious means, stuns them with poison, and turns their insides into juice, afterward leaving only a dry shell. (Note to Lindsay: You might want to skip that paragraph.)

So we read books about spiders, with lots of color photographs. We talk about spiders, how they eat bugs and sometimes small animals (did you know some spiders eat fish?), and how we never, ever touch spiders. This is a topic of inexhaustible interest at present.

But even better, our backyard is full of grass spiders. To my South-Mississippian eyes, they're pretty puny critters: I grew up in a house well-stocked with spiders visible across the room in dim lighting. (Lindsay, skip that sentence. You stayed in that house, too.) Still, it's unnerving to stand in one spot and see four different tiny spiders, and know that if you step to the right, you'll probably see three more.

Unnerving, did I say? Addie and Stuart were delighted. They giggled every time they saw another one, jostled each other to get a good view, shouted when they saw a web. Stuart grew quite fond of a yellow-and-black striped one which he called a cricket. "Silly cricket spider! What's it doin', Mama? It's runnin'! Silly cricket spider!"

I remained calm and interested, pointing out new spiders and discussing them with the kids. But all of a sudden it was too much for me: I was surrounded by creatures whose entire purpose for living was to kill by violence. I started feeling imaginary spider bites on my legs. I yelped at the sight of a pin-sized spider on Addie's pants. When a spider sailed past us on a string of web, I announced that it was time for Quiet Play, and we went inside.

I have every hope that this particular fascination will play out pretty soon. New topic, new books. After all, Addie asked just today,

"What do worms eat?"

-- SJ

(Note to Lindsay: Turns out that granddaddy longlegs aren't really poisonous; it's just an urban legend. So I no longer have to worry that one day I'll come across the one mutant granddaddy longlegs with a mouth big enough to bite. You know, maybe you'd be happier if you just didn't read this whole post.)