In which Sarah gets religious

I was listening to a very good sermon yesterday about the servant-hood of Christ as a reflection of his being fully God. And in this sermon, Pastor Josh used the Trinity as an example of God being God by serving. The Trinity (for those of you who did not grow up in Sunday School) is...difficult to explain. It's a way that Christians think of God, where he is three complete person-hoods (Father, Son, and Holy Spirit) that together are one complete God (God). I'm not going to try to explain it because I don't fully understand it myself. But Pastor Josh was pointing out how each person of the Trinity serves or "submits" to the others. Jesus is always doing things because he knows they will please the Father, and the Holy Spirit is often described as submitting to both the Father and Son (Jesus).

So here's the thought that came to me: whom does the Father submit to? God the Father is indeed part of the Trinity, but I couldn't for the life of me think of a time when God the Father submits to the other two, at least not in the Bible. He is the head honcho, the source of everything, the creative will that started it all, and the final judge as to how it will all end. Whom would He put Himself under?

And here's the answering thought:
Us. God submits to us. Now before you start throwing things at your computer and deleting me from your 'friend' list, let me explain. According to the Bible, God created people with the ability and responsibility to decide what to do with themselves. In fact, a significant portion (if not all) of that blessed book concerns choices. God seems always to be commanding, warning, cajoling, encouraging, even begging people to choose one thing over another, and then responding to choices made. Now I know that there are times (like with the Pharaoh in Exodus) when it looks like God has rigged the system, but the overwhelming majority of the story of God the Father and his children (us) is one of paths presented, directions taken, relationships formed, trust given, trust broken, waywardness forgiven, love shared. Love can not exist without the ability to choose, and sacrificial love (like the love of Jesus on the cross) would just be stupid if it did not preserve this freedom of the beloved's. Inasmuch as God gives us this will to spend ourselves and our times as we see fit, he abides by our choices, and in abiding, he submits. To us.

Kind of a scary thought, isn't it? Cool, but scary.

Anyway, that's what occurred to me during the sermon at church yesterday. I hope I didn't make your head hurt.

Next time I shall try to come with a modest joke or something fun like that. Not that deep thoughts aren't fun, but it's the sort of fun one associates with climbing mountains--worthwhile, but not particularly comfortable.

:)

Well, faithful followers, it is time for your monthly dose of Sarah.
To tell the truth, I have been putting off this post because most of my blogworthy thoughts occur at decidedly un-blogworthy moments...you know, like when I'm driving somewhere, or in the middle of church, or when I'm showering (see last month's post), or otherwise incapacitated (is that too strong a word?).

So anyway, I thought I'd just write what's floating around in my head right now because if I wait for inspiration to coincide with convenience we might as well just pack up and go home.

I'm going to be twenty-seven in a few weeks, an age that is significant because of its resounding insignificance. There's nothing new I get to do. My last milestone (25) is now more than a year gone, and there is now no use even pretending I'm anywhere close to being a kid anymore. My coming-of-age seems to have come already--my 'self' has been good and discovered--and I face my life with that same feeling of surreptitious and somewhat emberassing disappointment that one feels at 10 o'clock on Christmas morning when one's pile of gifts lies, naked and small, among shards of discarded wrapping paper. It's not that I'm ungrateful. Far from it! I have one of the sweetest deals ever: a freakin' awesome job, amazing family, marvelous friends, and an almost indecent amount of freedom and opportunity. I think I'm just feeling the loss of all the sheer possibility that I got so accustomed to growing up. We're always being told as kids that we can do anything, that someday the world will belong to us and who knows what we'll make of it or of ourselves. But hardly anyone talks about the fact that being one thing necessarily negates being everything else. It's not that I couldn't drop everything and join the circus, it's that I can't do that and continue teaching music at Conway. So now I've arrived at my future. I've unwrapped the gift, as it were, which like Schroedinger's cat, no longer exists in multiple states, but presents a single concrete reality. I really shouldn't whine. I could have unwrapped a dead cat.

So much for my birthday. Living is really quite complicated, you know? I hadn't really expected that. In other news, I have a new apartment. It is a beautiful place, a converted attic that combines the charming secrecy of my last place with the even greater charm of having windows I can look out of and an entire hallway to call my own. You know you've made it when you've got your own hallway! Also, I have begun to try my hand at growing things. (Wish me luck--you are reading the blog of someone who has killed a cactus). My wonderful downstairs neighbor brought me some pretty little flowers (they look like pansies, but they're not) and a great big pot full of carrots (which I shall be eating as soon as they're big enough--fun!). Soon I would like to add a small herb garden to my little balcony-at-the-top-of-the-world, and who knows what else.

Well the day, like me, is no longer young, and I have "miles to go before I sleep." So I shall sign off now.

Maybe I'll start carrying a notebook around so as to catch those mocking little blog-thoughts before they flutter away. Hmm...

June contribution

I read poetry in the bathroom. (TMI, I know. But it's my blog.)
I do this because poems, most poem, are shorter than novels, and nobody likes ring-butt.

So anyway, this morning I was reading poetry, and then I took a shower. Everyone knows that the best thoughts come to us in the shower, and this poem came to me there.
(Incidentally, this is why I take long showers. I like to think.)

For Alisha, Adrienne, SHS, and me
(upon our turning twenty-seven)

I was old when I was younger
I'll be young when I am old.
I do not think I'll ever match my age,
if truth be told.
I'm always pushing forward
or else I'm looking back.
I don't know what to do with all this
mental bric-a-brac.
Experience collected
doesn't add up very well,
and where the heck I'm s'posed to go from here
I can not tell.
True living is a secret
that all good grown-ups keep--
You fill the day as best you can,
and then you go to sleep.

So there it is.
(I hope you like it, Alisha. You inspired it. Well, you and a book of children's poems...and a nice warm shower.)

Bye everyone,
I'm off to Kaua'i!

Thoughts on a breezy walk by the tall grass.

It's so much more fun being me than trying to be impressively acceptable.

Proof #347 why I believe there is a God: in the quietest of quiet moments, when I ought to feel the loneliest, that's when I'm most aware that I'm not alone.*

I have a treacherous heart, a slippery little thing.

It feels good to want things, deep and meaningful things. It's a sign of life and a byproduct of having hope for one's future.

I like hearing the wind through the trees/really tall grass.

I'm glad there are no poisonous snakes (or feral lions) in western Washington.

Someday, I'm going to have a baby (in wedlock--hence the "someday").

I'm 85% sure that someday I'll get a tattoo. Or maybe God will be my tattoo.*

I am kind of like Piglet (from the Winnie-the-Pooh books): small, somewhat intelligent, painfully sensitive, a little bit vain, a little bit in awe/jealous of the Poohs in my life, and always having to "be brave."

If Mary Poppins really did love every child she had to say goodbye to, then she must have had a very rich life.

I'm rich like that.

I don't mind not knowing how I'm going to turn out...actually, I kind of like the suspense.

Reason # 28 why I don't think I'll ever get drunk: thinking clearly and noticing things seems like alot more fun when your discoveries still make sense the next day (and you don't have a headache).

I would love to be able to identify and imitate bird songs. It's on my list...right under learning French and playing the piano well enough not to disgrace myself in public.

God is kind of like dark matter in that without Him, the math of life doesn't add up. If you reverse-engineer a soul, you find a sort of thirst or gravity that implies something very, very big.**

Okay, I really should be doing homework right now. There's always homework.

Happy Weekend!

Bye.




*disclaimer: These thoughts have not been proofread (that much) for grammar or the unabashed hokiness of naked sincerity. Yes, I did just say naked. This post is now rated PG.

**That one would make alot more sense if you could see the video in my head, complete with impressive whooshing "gravity" sound effects.

Amusing words update

Remember that blog entry I wrote about words and phrases that make me smirk? (Just scroll down a bit if you don't--It's embarassing how little I've written since December!) Well, I've just thought of another one to add to the list.

You know how people sometimes call each other "Hon," as an abbreviation of the endearment "Honey"? Well, whenever I hear somebody using that word, I like to pretend that they've actually said "Hun," as in "Attila the Hun," and that the meek, unassuming wife/husband/small child/patron of the greasy-spoon eatery to whom the term has been applied is actually a fearsome barbarian, clothed in bloodied armor and animal hides.

*I chuckle*

It's almost better than all those furions in the underverse.

Oh! and also...
Yesterday I watched the Classic Trek episode where the beautiful (and scantily clad) alien-lady steals Spock's brain (!), and Kirk and Bones (et. al) have to beam down to the alien planet to find it and somehow put it back in Spock's inexplicably not-yet-dead body (!!), which they manipulate by means of a handy little remote control device (!!!)--because really, who wants to schlepp a full-grown vulcan (sans brain) through the tunnels of the pretty alien ladies' underground paradise?-- And then, to top it off, when Bones gets all nervous about not hooking up all Spock's neurons correctly into their respective brain outlets, Kirk just tells him to fix the vocal chords first so that Spock can walk him through the rest of his own brain-restoration surgery(!!!!) which he does (!!!!!). Talk about hardcore.

Honestly! How did they ever film it with straight faces?

Very Micro Economics

Where has all the money gone?
It strikes me as strange that everyone all over the globe has suddenly run out of cash. How can we all be hurting for cash? The money we all don't have has to have ended up somewhere, right?
It seems pretty fishy to me.

Actually, here's what I think has really happened: We all got used to pretending that enough money exists for us to do whatever it is we want to do, until we finally got to the point where that no longer works. Either we can't pretend anymore, or for some reason we're no longer willing to. It's a puzzler. But even though this gives me the same unsettled feeling I used to get when guest preachers would discuss the end of the world, I'm honestly not that upset. I know things will have to change--but things have always been changing. And good things can happen when people are forced to depend on each other. I just hope I can be graceful when my life gets uncomfortable.

I can't tell you how freeing it is to know that happiness and comfort are not the whole point of my being here (as in here on this Earth) in the first place. It's good to have a purpose, and to have to make sacrifices for something bigger than me. I'm so glad that I can embrace the harder aspects of being me without feeling vaguely ashamed of the fact that I am not happy and comfortable all the time.

"And that's all I have to say about that."

poem

Here's a little poem I wrote (you might want to read it note by note..)

This little bit of poesy came to me last summer. It reminds me of my Grandma Cherie, who died a couple years ago. Although I miss her terribly, I can't complain because just knowing her added a richness to my life that not everybody gets to begin with-- it's like complaining about having to go home after a day at Disneyland. Anyway, here it is.

Poem:
7-10-2008
Her garden is a hidden bowl of sunlight.
Raucous colors dance around her as she grubs.
There are no barbs, no weapons, no defenses.
She doesn't know how beautiful she is.



I didn't say it was going to be a long poem (and yes, I know it doesn't rhyme. I sound like Dr. Suess when I try to rhyme). Just think of it as a little verbal sketch.
"As drawn by a true an' lovin' hand"*
If you don't like it, I don't want to know.

Happy March.
*yet another movie line. No fair using google this time!