Monday, August 31, 2009
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
"There are people who read too much: bibliobibuli. I know some who are constantly drunk on books, as other men are drunk on whiskey or religion. They wander through this most diverting and stimulating of worlds in a haze, seeing nothing and hearing nothing."
I say, that's pretty badass.
I quite like the notion of being lost in the sea of formative words. I've lately been hungering to read a book that changes me - whose message does more than float across my eyeballs. I long to internalize and be moved by a story, by the poetry of someone else's take on this life and living it.
Eugene Peterson, in Eat This Book, talks about reading as an immense gift. He says, "but if only the wods are assimilated, taken into the soul --eaten, chewed, gnawed, received in unhurried delight. Words of men and women long dead, or separated by miles and/or years, come off the page and enter our lives freshly and precisely, conveying truth and beauty and goodness..."
That's what I want to be about. To slow down to feast on words that way. To, again, learn what it means to read because words are my nutrition.
My story, being written line by line, day by day is one of many loves coming together. In a few weeks, I'll go off to learn how to be on the back end of communication. I'll write and then, my friends, I'll put the muscle into pressing my/other's/any words onto paper. I'll mentally wrestle and then I'll physically labor.
All for words. All because I live and breathe them. All because I think there's still a place for them. Blogs, twitter, kindles... they're all fine and good.
But pen and paper.
The written word.
I'll crusade for them until I'm expired.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Monday, August 3, 2009
My thoughts today center on the pace at which I live my life. After several attempts to teach and train a faster speed, I resign. I am a walker. I will always prefer the more controllable, more relaxed, more-time-for-observation steadiness of a good walk.
I'm not just talking about my neighborhood walks, though this idea does hold up quite nicely to those as well. I'm speaking also on my mental, my spiritual, my relational journey. Some might call me a late bloomer. Some might say I'm behind the times.
I operate slower than most. I do declare that I never want to scurry to keep up. I do not want to be hasty in making the decisions that mean something.
Enough with the ambiguity.... Last night at church, we discussed our four pillars of covenant membership, the first of which is an emphasis on believer baptism. To be quite honest, until I texted my mother in a flurry of confusion, I wasn't even sure that I'd been sprinkled as a baby. You see, I was born into the Presbyterian church, mostly raised Methodist. I came to believe nearly 11 years ago, and never took part in a believer's baptism.
It wasn't really an issue I considered. Call me ignorant.
But, last night got me thinking. My initial reaction was comparison. It seems to me that others have already processed through this. They're chomping away on a meal, and I'm still slurping my milk.
It took a night's sleep and a good neighborhood walk + this podcast for me to conclude that in not obeying Jesus' command to be baptized that I am making a choice to not identify myself with him or the body to which I am undeniably a part of. And so, I pray my way through these next few weeks as I consider what it really means to make this declaration publicly.
I am a follower of Christ.
I identify with him in his death and resurrection.
While I am not saved by this act, it is a symbol.
While I am not required to be immersed to become a member of my church, I will.
While I do so with some questions, I will be obedient.
I'm a walker, I tell you. I'm taking slow steps. I pray simply that I will have restored to me the joy of my salvation as I consider what it is to be likened to believers everywhere --and Jesus himself-- in this act.