I have a long standing theory about a lot of things that is pretty much based on my own narrow line of thinking. It goes a little like this: unless bad things happen to you, you will probably be a pretty sorry sort of human person. I will share a few references to things that reveal that it probably is a bit more than just how I think, but the birth of this idea for me was basically dealing with a bunch of babies masquerading as adults and Christians who throw a fit if everything doesn't go their way. They wallow in self pity, they shout at the injustice of it all and cite the color of the grass on the other side of the fence in reference to their own, then in their grandest tantrum of all they manage to blame God and get really mad at him.
Somewhere in scripture (yes I could quote chapter and verse, but what would be the fun in that), a guy named James writes a letter and says something crazy about how we should find pure joy in our misadventures. It seems that when we are tested (and presumably ONLY when we are tested) we develop perseverance, which in turn leads to maturity. Crazy concept, right? Well, only when you don't think about its practical application. Makes me think about running. In high school I could run a long way, but now I can't. The difference? Back then I ran most days and even raced frequently. Those trials produced a bit of physical stamina. Now that I don't face the daily physical and mental trial of running for time, I am likely incapable of completing a 5K race.
It all reminds me of the boy in the bubble or, more accurately, the movie Bubble Boy. You should watch it, but know that out of nostalgia I probably remember it as being better than it was. The Keller quote reminded me about how they were constantly talking about "immunities" and how he didn't have any or something. He couldn't leave his bubble and experience life because of his crippling fear of immunities. As a result he was a silly man boy until he was freed from his bubble. Jake Gyllenhaal was in it...
In a book I didn't really like I read about how most major leaders in history went through significant trauma as a child that shaped them into great leaders. They were sickly, abused, and neglected. Oddly, most didn't become who they were as a result of great parenting, rather it was as a result of their response to poor parenting or even the loss of parents.
It isn't all about bad things not happening to you, it is all about how you respond when they do.
A person can't mope around hoping their life will improve so they can be happy. That doesn't work and you look like a petulant child the entire time. Learn to grow from hardship rather than continually seeing yourself as the martyr.
Speaking of martyr's, did you know that Christianity has experienced the most rapid growth historically when it is under great persecution? This is real persecution of course, not manufactured persecution like when we aren't allowed to pray in school (which we are, just not standing on the corner raising our hands and shouting which is, incidentally, also looked down on in scripture.)
One can't expect to grow to maturity as a result of all sorts of good things happening, living some sort of blessed life. When a bone breaks, it is stronger at that point when it heals. True story.
An awful lot of people fear their own doubts. They feel like bad people for even having them. Faith is not the absence of doubt, but rather its resolution. "Contending for the faith" is the hard work of study, prayer, conversation, thought, reading, and more to find the truth and try to ease doubts. Allowing doubt to linger is a lazy religion that leads to disillusionment, apathy, and listlessness.
I have found that my firmest convictions come not from reading something I fully agree with, but from reading something I find to be absolutely divergent from my line of thinking. If I agree with something I store it up in my memory to regurgitate and a later time, but if I disagree I am forced to find support for my stance in scripture and logic.
As a point of reference for you, know that this thought process governs my views (at least in part) on homeschooling, private school, allergies, Secret Garden Syndrome, binge drinking, divorce, racism, and maybe even sickle cell anemia.
Friday, May 28, 2010
Why did I bring that up? What were we talking about?
If you have talked to me for any extended period of time or say, for an entire conversation at all, then you know I have a problem. That amount of experience with my witty repartee would likely reveal a myriad of deep seeded issues, but I am talking about one directly relating to my style of dialogue.
Many ways to diagnose my issues exist: I get distracted easily, I go on tangents a bit too readily, I struggle to stay entirely on topic, etc. Let me explain what happens in my head as this happens. I think of a relevant anecdote to the story, but always feel like I need to fully explain what made me think of it or why, exactly, it is relevant. Oftentimes I feel the need to provide a full back story including my line of thinking. I wouldn't cite this tendency as the true root of the problem though, merely the causation. The trouble arises when I forget what the background story leads to, or how my little narrative fits into the current situation. To be fair to myself, the conversational complications aren't always totally my fault. I often start my side story and before I can fully tie it in and complete the thought, the person I am talking to starts a new conversational offshoot from my story and it is never completed. Before long we both realize we aren't talking about what we were and have no idea why.
I suppose this is a little bit ADD and a little bit OCD. A combination of my inability to sustain focus at times combined with my need to make everything fit in just right. The other day I brought back a stream of thought that had been interrupted probably a half hour earlier because I suddenly remembered why I had told the story in the first place.
The intended topic of this blog is kind of like one of my side stories. I have been laboring for days trying to remember what made me think to write about it, but still can't quite recall it. I was somewhere between scooping dog doo and mowing the lawn when the thought came to mind so I remember the environment in which it was born... but not much more. I remembered the gist of the idea and fortunately, I started reading a new book the other day that provided me a quote that brought a bit of clarity to my memory on the gist of my intended blog. Oddly, some of the wording in it brought about the remembrance of one of the more ridiculous references I planned to make.
Here is the quote from Timothy Kelly in "The Reason for God."
"A faith without some doubts is like a human body without any antibodies in it."
Now I have spent so many words recounting the background to this blog, that the background has become the blog itself. No, that wasn't intentional. I actually continued writing before realizing that was the case and returning to this point for my conclusion. This happens a lot.
Many ways to diagnose my issues exist: I get distracted easily, I go on tangents a bit too readily, I struggle to stay entirely on topic, etc. Let me explain what happens in my head as this happens. I think of a relevant anecdote to the story, but always feel like I need to fully explain what made me think of it or why, exactly, it is relevant. Oftentimes I feel the need to provide a full back story including my line of thinking. I wouldn't cite this tendency as the true root of the problem though, merely the causation. The trouble arises when I forget what the background story leads to, or how my little narrative fits into the current situation. To be fair to myself, the conversational complications aren't always totally my fault. I often start my side story and before I can fully tie it in and complete the thought, the person I am talking to starts a new conversational offshoot from my story and it is never completed. Before long we both realize we aren't talking about what we were and have no idea why.
I suppose this is a little bit ADD and a little bit OCD. A combination of my inability to sustain focus at times combined with my need to make everything fit in just right. The other day I brought back a stream of thought that had been interrupted probably a half hour earlier because I suddenly remembered why I had told the story in the first place.
The intended topic of this blog is kind of like one of my side stories. I have been laboring for days trying to remember what made me think to write about it, but still can't quite recall it. I was somewhere between scooping dog doo and mowing the lawn when the thought came to mind so I remember the environment in which it was born... but not much more. I remembered the gist of the idea and fortunately, I started reading a new book the other day that provided me a quote that brought a bit of clarity to my memory on the gist of my intended blog. Oddly, some of the wording in it brought about the remembrance of one of the more ridiculous references I planned to make.
Here is the quote from Timothy Kelly in "The Reason for God."
"A faith without some doubts is like a human body without any antibodies in it."
Now I have spent so many words recounting the background to this blog, that the background has become the blog itself. No, that wasn't intentional. I actually continued writing before realizing that was the case and returning to this point for my conclusion. This happens a lot.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Congratulations ma'am, it's a... small pumpkin!
My wife Sandy is pregnant with our second child and we have come across a strange and at times disturbing point of reference being used for the size of the baby as it (he, we think) grows. Each week, Sandy gets an email from babycenter.com that gives her all sorts of information about that week of fetal development and her pregnancy in general. This her 28th week, and the following is an excerpt from the email she got;
"By this week, your baby weighs two and a quarter pounds (like a Chinese cabbage) and measures 14.8 inches from the top of her head to her heels. She can blink her eyes, which now sport lashes. With her eyesight developing, she may be able to see the light that filters in through your womb. She's also developing billions of neurons in her brain and adding more body fat in preparation for life in the outside world."
It is kind of cool, right? That information was placed next to a drawing of what the child probably looks like. The following paragraph tells her she will probably start seeing her doctor every two weeks (which she will), explains some of the tests and shots she can expect around this time (she has already had them, and lets her know about some other things she may experience. Without me giving it away, you may not have noticed anything strange. Maybe you still didn't, in which case you probably ought to ask for a refund on your schooling to this point. Let me look back at some of the previous weeks to illustrate what I am talking about a bit more.
Week 27: This week your baby weighs almost 2 pounds (like a head of cauliflower)
Week 25: His weight — a pound and a half — isn't much more than an average rutabaga
Week 22: Your baby now looks like a miniature newborn, checking in at 10.9 inches (the length of a spaghetti squash)
Week 11: Your baby, just over 1 1/2 inches long and about the size of a fig,
I think you get the picture. So far the only time our child wasn't likened to a fruit or vegetable was in week 13 when he was roughly the size of a medium shrimp. It seems like they are running out of well known options to reference because a few weeks ago he was an English Hot House Cucumber...
I was curious so I looked ahead at the following weeks and my most interesting finding was that the common reference to childbirth being like "pooping a watermelon" is actually erroneous, unless you give birth a week early. If you give birth when you are actually due, you will be having the rough equivalent of a small pumpkin.
"By this week, your baby weighs two and a quarter pounds (like a Chinese cabbage) and measures 14.8 inches from the top of her head to her heels. She can blink her eyes, which now sport lashes. With her eyesight developing, she may be able to see the light that filters in through your womb. She's also developing billions of neurons in her brain and adding more body fat in preparation for life in the outside world."
It is kind of cool, right? That information was placed next to a drawing of what the child probably looks like. The following paragraph tells her she will probably start seeing her doctor every two weeks (which she will), explains some of the tests and shots she can expect around this time (she has already had them, and lets her know about some other things she may experience. Without me giving it away, you may not have noticed anything strange. Maybe you still didn't, in which case you probably ought to ask for a refund on your schooling to this point. Let me look back at some of the previous weeks to illustrate what I am talking about a bit more.
Week 27: This week your baby weighs almost 2 pounds (like a head of cauliflower)
Week 25: His weight — a pound and a half — isn't much more than an average rutabaga
Week 22: Your baby now looks like a miniature newborn, checking in at 10.9 inches (the length of a spaghetti squash)
Week 11: Your baby, just over 1 1/2 inches long and about the size of a fig,
I think you get the picture. So far the only time our child wasn't likened to a fruit or vegetable was in week 13 when he was roughly the size of a medium shrimp. It seems like they are running out of well known options to reference because a few weeks ago he was an English Hot House Cucumber...
I was curious so I looked ahead at the following weeks and my most interesting finding was that the common reference to childbirth being like "pooping a watermelon" is actually erroneous, unless you give birth a week early. If you give birth when you are actually due, you will be having the rough equivalent of a small pumpkin.
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