A New Goal to Work Towards...

My goal for this year:

Memorize Ephesians. ALL of it.

I'm operating based on the school year, so I'm giving myself through next June. Starting now. So by the end of October, I will have Chapter One memorized. 

My goal for this week: verses 1-6:

"Paul, an apostle of Christ Jesus by the will of God,

To the saints in Ephesus, the faithful in Christ Jesus:

Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in the spiritual realms with every spiritual blessing in Christ. For he chose us in him before the creation of the world to be holy and blameless in his sight. In love he predestined us to be adopted as his sons through Jesus Christ, in accordance with his pleasure and will - to the praise of his glorious grace, which he has freely given us in the One he loves."

Think I can do it?

And this hope does not disappoint us.

A friend of mine recently told me about Wheatstone Academy, and their blog, The Examined Life. So now I am reading their articles, and they hit me squarely and encouragingly.

From the article "Maranatha Ministry," by Chad Glazener (http://examinedlife.wheatstoneacademy.com/2010/12/maranatha-ministry/):

"This is the lesson of Scripture: all of our acts of service must be directed toward “Maranatha.” Our continued obedience and faithfulness in our vocation is grounded and fueled by our hope that Jesus Christ is coming to reign as the one true king. As those who have been called to leadership in whatever context we find ourselves, we are to help our brothers and our sisters practice living lives that are blameless and holy in the presence of God. We are to expose that this world of shadows is not as it ought to be, but will soon be made right.

To minister in the hope that Christ will come again, our ministries must be marked by fortitude, zeal and joy. In the relentless onslaught of disappointment, frustration and confusion that Christian leaders inevitably face, we are able to rest in the knowledge that our efforts will bear fruit. Whether or not we see the result of this effort immediately, we are assured that our acts of service will continue to multiply into the kingdom. That word of encouragement, that truth shown, that love demonstrated, that grace freely given, will ripple into eternity. With this hope that all of our efforts to proclaim the gospel will be vindicated when Christ returns to His kingdom, we can minister now–right now– with passion and courage, rejoicing that even though our vocation may sometimes seem unnoticed or underappreciated, all of our efforts to love our neighbor are seen and will be used for the glory of God, for He wastes nothing."

Summer Sleeps

I chased sunset today. But I was late - or, rather, it keeps starting its flight earlier. So I only caught its footprints fading across the sky.

Over two hours later, I got home. While I was gone, sitting on a bench under pink cloud-fingers, this happened:

Summer has chosen rest,

and not even Autumn in all her splendour

can persuade him to linger.

He is too weary now

to dance,

to stay up late,

to start adventures -

even to make love.

Autumn touches him,

and he looks up, warming today,

then rolls back down to sleep.

On the day she can no longer awaken him,

Autumn will clothe herself

in fire

for her lonely dance,

then drop her robes,

let the wind carry them away,

lay herself down next to Summer,

and cry herself to sleep.

Friendship & (Mis)Communication

I've been thinking about friendship lately. And about communication. Turns out, the two are connected. Who would've thought?

Friend. What does it mean to be a friend? Why do some friendships last, and others fizzle, or still others break? How do two people end up on opposite ends of the seesaw regarding their friendship? I'm not thinking about this because of Facebook and its phenomenon of online 'friends' that we sometimes barely know. I'm thinking about this because of the friends that I have - and do not have - here, nearby.

I have friends with whom I (almost) immediately bonded - you know the ones, the ones with whom you had one crazy enthusiastic conversation that started your friendship with a fun bang. Then there are the friends that I sort-of, almost knew for two years before ever considering considering them a friend. There are ones with whom I have almost nothing in common; others seem an extension of myself.

What does it take to make a friend? To build a friendship? To keep a friend?

I'm still thinking through these questions. I'm forming hypotheses, and watching how they play out. But of one thing I am fairly certain: lasting, deep friendships require time. Time spent in communication - time talking, playing, laughing, walking, sharing an activity, or eating together. This is not to say that knowing someone over a long period of time automatically relates to an increased level of friendship, but simply that becoming and being good friends requires time.

It requires input - effort. You can't put nothing into your relationship with someone and expect it to be something or go anywhere. Some friendships seem to come naturally, easily, but guess what? Once you're in an environment where you don't see that person every single day, you have to make an effort to maintain connection. You have to call them, make plans, follow through on plans. Your schedules will conflict, and you'll have to make that friendship a priority. Sometimes you can see someone once a year and still have an amazing time together - I don't mean to devalue those friendships. They are wonderful miracles. But when it comes to the dirty living, you've got to make an effort. So you really like hanging out with that person? Call them. Make plans during that one time a week you see them at church.

Dang it. It's hard to do all this. At least it's hard for me. I'm not an initiator - I'd rather other people call me. But the reality is this: if I consider you my friend; if I enjoy spending time with you, talking with you; if I think you're a really awesome amazing person; if I think all this, but I never reach out to you, how is our friendship going to flourish? So I'm working on spending more time with people. And I'm working on figuring out what this friend thing looks like.

Communication. Mostly I've just been realizing - again - how extremely important communication is. This should be obvious, right? And perhaps its necessity is obvious. But how do we do it well? How do people who think completely differently communicate? And in a community, how do we help each other communicate well and honestly and lovingly?

I've been noticing a lot of miscommunications. And I've been noticing that I notice them. I'm in a group of people, and Person A makes a comment. Persons B and C don't get why they said it. There's a pause. Person C says something else. This drives me bonkers. I catch the disconnect - I can tell that some people didn't understand why or what was said. I can tell what the person meant, and also why it wasn't understood. Sometimes I can tell how it could be made understandable.

I wish we talked more about the responsibility of the speaker to try to make themselves understood. But again, it's easier to just blame the hearer - just say they just don't understand. It's crazy to me - how little we're willing to try to change what we say to help others. Maybe, though, it's just crazy to me because I've spent the last year learning - against my expectation - to be able to communicate with people who are drastically different than I. They think differently, hear and interpret differently, yet I can say what I mean in such a way that they understand me.

This surprises me - how I notice the miscommunications - how I can tell why - how I feel like I know how to reword things, get past the interpretive distortion. But what do I do? It feels an impressive thing, heavy with potential. And with responsibility.

But it's important. I know it is. I've watched friendships fail because of a lack of understanding. I've watched discontent grow, spread. I've heard of worse problems. It makes me sad. It makes me want to do something, anything, to alleviate this. I just don't know how.

And, of course, there are still so many questions. I'm pretty sure there are times I think I get it when I really don't. But I can tell I'm getting better at understanding people. I still can't see all this in my own conversations. Not yet. But. Slowly, the light rises.

Answers take some form. They aren't clear, but it's enough to continue. And more will come. Of that I'm sure: things will continue to make more sense.

A Poem From A Master

'Hurrahing in Harvest'
by Gerard Manley Hopkins

Summer ends now; now, barbarous in beauty, the stooks rise
Around; up above, what wind-walks! what lovely behaviour
Of silk-sack clouds! has wilder, wilful-wavier
Meal-drift moulded ever and melted across skies?

I walk, I lift up, I lift up heart, eyes,
Down all that glory in the heavens to glean our Saviour;
And eyes, heart, what looks, what lips yet gave you a
Rapturous love's greeting of realer, of rounder replies?

And the azurous hung hills are his world-wielding shoulder
Majestic--as a stallion stalwart, very violet-sweet!--
These things, these things were here and but the beholder
Wanting; which two when they once meet,
The heart rears wings bold and bolder
And hurls for him, O half hurls earth for him off under his feet.

Looking At

And fall stumbles in again, knocking leaves down as he follows the geese south, fleeing winter.

A strung-out, emaciated Wesley teeters down the sidewalk. Left arm propped on a bicycle, his right dangles across a large shoulderbag. When did he last wash his black shirt, and when did it start looking sketchy instead of swashbuckling?

More bike clusters. Sleek, colorful, hard-headed and beetle-eyed, they string along to dodge parked cars, but pay no attention to driving ones. Slowing behind them, I wonder what they do for exercise the rest of the year. And why they travel in packs

Four purple balloons bounce and bend. This street funnels wind, and they spend much of their lives talking to the flowerbox. Today, none of them pop. A group of boys stands by them, bopping them. We watch, hoping they don't steal our balloons. They don't. We sit back down.

Glinting sun catches geese settled on the water. Land curves around them and the solid blue surface. Leaves appear prematurely red in the light. All is shining and still. My breath slows.