The breezeway is an easy place. A transition between cold and warm, depending on the month. A promise that what is next is better. The winter breezeway means that the cold is shed with your boots, hats, and gloves, in an exchange for a warm mug. The summer breezeway means iced tea and raspberries after sweltering corn fields. The transition anticipation soothes the senses.
Caught in the middle is a tricky place, depending on which way you’re exiting. A winter breezeway with the angry biting cold, riding sharp winds. A summer breezeway with heavy, ugly heat waiting with a club. The breezeway is a hard place.
I feel like I’m stuck in the breezeway. My emotions slip in and out of heat and cold, and I can’t make out where they should be. Should I feel a part of a global community, suffering the relationships around me. Perhaps I should tend that which is around me and trap myself away from the rest of the world. Balance-I don’t want to hear one more word about balance, even if I do need it.
Even when I sit in the middle of college, trying to figure out how to be all there, I look up and see signs that tell me there’s a world out there, and I don’t know what to do about it. I’m here aren’t I? I’m always going to be where I am, no matter what the flag is. The breezeway is a hard place.
The last week, maybe the last two weeks, I have been thinking a lot about how much people are connected to each other. It might have started when I began reading For Whom the Bell Tolls (a Hemingway book that was good and a Christmas break that was too short). The book starts out with the poem “No Man is an Island” by John Donne. I have been trying to see the world as if we truly were so dependent upon each other. My friend talked to our student body one day in chapel about this idea, about how the pain of people suffering in Africa and Haiti was our pain. I know that seeing myself as a part of a whole, and not complete as an individual will take time, because it seems “cleaner” to just be complete in myself. It would be easier to think that I am fine on my own, and that it’s okay to live independently. Unfortunately, if I take the bible seriously, I am a part of something much bigger than my puny existence. Right now, I just don’t know how to treat other people. I know I am supposed to rejoice with those who rejoice and mourn with those who mourn, and love my neighbor as myself, but I can’t get over the fact that each person is just as alive as I am. They feel as deeply as I do, they are scared about stupid stuff too, they want to be different like me, they sometimes just want to be alone but know they couldn’t survive that way.
One day, walking to the cafeteria I realized that every person I was about to see, has life come at them through eyes, just like me-and that there was an infinitely complex person behind those eyes, not to mention an eternal and fragile soul. All of a sudden I felt like I couldn’t take the pressure of interacting with them. I know how much difference one person can make in my life, and knowing that I could have that kind of influence was almost more than I could take. That night in the cafeteria, I ate my food barely saying three words, overwhelmed by the presence of other humans.
So, here I am, 17 minutes before my classes start and I am once again unsure how I am supposed to act around all of the people I am about to be thrown into interaction with, knowing that they are just like me, and in a way, a part of me…strange times.
No man is an island, Entire of itself. Each is a piece of the continent, A part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less. As well as if a promontory were. As well as if a manner of thine own Or of thine friend's were. Each man's death diminishes me, For I am involved in mankind. Therefore, send not to know For whom the bell tolls, It tolls for thee.
I feel like garbage for neglecting my blog for as long as I have. It was getting so that it had been so long since I had updated all I wanted to do was forget about it and somehow it would all clear up(which doesn’t make sense, but I do it all the time-like with messes that need cleaned up, or scholarships that need to completed…).
Man, oh man, it’s been a whirlwind being back at college. For the first time, my excited anticipation was not enough to get me over the hump of loving home, and I don’t know if I loved home more, or was excited for college less. I would give being back a 4.4/10, because nothing’s really pushed my time over being average, and the only thing bringing the time down is how tired I am. I think I just get exhausted from all the stuff I have to think about and remember-my mind is constantly making and remaking my daily schedule. Bes’ I kin figure is, the ol’ thinker’s jus’ gettin’ plum tuckered aut.
Which reminds me… I just, in the last 7 minutes discovered why I love bluegrass so stinkin’ much. Because it’s simple. The quick twang of a banjo, the shrill hum of a fiddle, the easy strum of a mandolin, and the dull thump of a bass-it doesn’t try to be any more complicated than that, and it doesn’t need to. The lyrics don’t try to be “deep” (whatever that means), the lyrics live and breathe with the humans. The wordds of a bluegrass song won’t stray into broad musings of all that is grey in the minds of men (like the last statement) but stick to the tangible. The things tasted, seen, and touched-these are what bluegrass sings about. This is what I love.
There are plenty of things to be unsure about-plenty of ideas floating around (especially in college where thinking is a topic of excess discussion), I will grab a fistfull of bluegrass in an attempt to keep my feet on the ground. I know a God who prizes the everyday, and injects His grand, creative goodness into the smallest of things-and I love Him for it. Life can get complicated-and it will. Luckily, I have a God like bluegrass, who is with me in the everyday.
“For judgment I came into this world, that those who do not see may see, and those who see may become blind… If you were blind, you would have no guilt; but now that you say, ‘We see,’ your guilt remains.”
God, I’m so scared of myself. Right now, I doubt that anything can save me. What a horrifying feeling to be shown that the very center of your existence is rotten to the core. What’s more terrifying is to see that all of the work you’ve done to paint over the scars you’ve had from birth can all be undone in one moment of misguided passion. One lapse-one slip of the foot and the tightwire is steadily flying upward.
The worst part is that you can’t adapt to it, like you can adapt to external situations. The condition of your soul cannot be adapted to, because it is what defines you. Despite what the existentialists say, acting differently cannot change your soul-at least not all of the time. People go to great lengths to do things that will make them better people. If we had not all grown up with this phenomenon, we would find it amazingly strange how much people do out of guilty obligation, or frantic penance.
I might venture as far as to say that people spend 90% of their time trying to make up for the stuff they did during the other 10. Most of this is for personal reasons-because most “good deeds” feel even better to the doer.
In my case, being the “good kid” feels good because it is comfortable-it has been my role in most of my social and family groups. This makes “good deeds” especially easy for me-I’ve always done “the right thing”, which often makes them especially automatic, and insincere. Sincere good will is hard to find. Almost as hard to find as consistency. Why is consistency so hard?
Lately, despair has visited often, closely following obligation. I vaguely know what I could do to help most of the people I know, but knowledge seems to only make action that much more difficult, especially when I realize that all of life runs together. I’m faced with an onslaught of people and tasks that need both love and discipline and as I look at the forever growing hoard, the more people and places I see the harder it is to summon the strength to even move. I’m tired, with no hope of rest without sacrificing someone I know.
I am not being self-centered, just trying not to look away while opportunities for good slip away forever. There is definitely a seriousness about life that many are better not even knowing about. It’s the oblivious who are envied-the children and those who act like children, because they are not burdened by knowing that there is far more work to be done than strength to do it all. Not to mention, men are incapable of selfless love necessary for most of the work needed to be done.
I feel like there is an infinite amount of love and work to give and do, and I am incapable of even the smallest of tasks-I can’t even come to terms with my own rottenness. I’m a car, broken down in the night with long days of traveling ahead of me.
Why do I write so hopelessly?
Because I am without hope. And so is every other human being.
your move
One of my problems is that I am chronically passive. The latest form my passivity has taken concerns this blog. I have neglected finding my computer to jot down some of my thoughts long enough. Now my mind is so crowded with different trains of thought that I’m as useful as someone who has no thoughts at all. Luckily, that won’t stop me now…
This was Christmas for the Morningstars. It was pretty great. We all got pajamas in honor of the unwritten tradition of practically every family. It’s hard for our family to be together without the boys affectionately pounding each other into the carpet. I had hoped that while I described this picture I would have been divinely inspired to draw some thoughtful insight from the plaid tangle of legs…well that didn’t happen.
I’m rather surprised, because lately I have been struck by the spirituality of the everyday. Ironically, my life has not reflected this idea in the least. I have thought some about eternity, and what can be learned from the simplest of human interactions (like brothers wrestling)-but really have done nothing that would reflect those thoughts. I was prepared to blog about some of my great insights on life that I have had, but what’s the point? Thoughts that yield no action are worthless one way or another. Sometimes I wonder if it is even right to precede action with thought, especially in times where my thoughts have so little power.
That is, of course, unless the issue is not what I do with my thoughts, but what my thoughts are. Instead of lacking power to enact what goes on in my head, perhaps the issue is controlling what I think. I don’t really know what the issue is, I guess. All I know is, some good thinking is amazingly unsatisfying. It can sound good, and maybe even be good to some, but in the end, the thinker will be left feeling empty and being alone until he does.
Grace meets Grandpa Morningstars solution for loose teeth with a nervous smile
My friend Jesse Roberts told me that I wouldn’t keep this blog up after returning to America, and so from here out each post is in defiance of Jesse’s skepticism and doubt. HA!
Now that that is out of the way…. Being back home in snowy Iowa has been marvelous-I really like real winter, especially when I only have it for three weeks. I really missed my family, and even the familiar and manageable feeling of being in the house that I have lived in most of my life. The picture is of our kitchen(yellow room) looking into the family room (green room). My grandparents came over on Sunday for a great afternoon feast. Before-hand, Grandpa Morningstar proposed plucking Grace’s lose teeth with pliers (classic) and she didn’t really know what to do about that.
When I was sitting in church earlier that day, I was thinking about how I thought when I was younger. I was glorying in my 6 year old logic, particularly my brilliant theory of the stomach. In response to my mother’s accusations of pretending to be full during supper and then miraculously finding an appetite for dessert, I realized what was truly going on. My stomach actually had different compartments for different foods, and I just so happened to have a really small broccoli section, where sections for cake and pizza were substantially larger. I was completely satisfied, and even a little proud of my discovery, unfortunately my parents’ conservative scientific beliefs left little room for negotiation.
I still really like the idea of a compartmentalized stomach, however, on Sunday I realized how dangerous it is to compartmentalize. I was trying to jazz up “Go Tell it on the Mountain” with some enthusiastic snapping, and had the thought, “I’m not acting like I’m in church” and started a whole stream of thought that I’m still processing. I’ve been thinking about how all of life runs together, despite the disguises we place on the things we mistakenly call “different aspects of life.” How is my church life in any way separate from the way I interact with my family, study, or work. I don’t think there are different parts of life-it’s all life, and the more I live like it, the better.
This post is too long, and it’s too late, so I’ll let these thoughts ferment a little bit.
I just like this one
I hope that I have something to say after a week of silence. In reality this week has been anything but silent. I’ve been immersed back into a culture that I have been away from for 7 months with virtually nothing to do except talk and hang out with my college friends. In my campus wanderings I found myself at the Candlelight Service listening to the amazing choir. One of the highlights of the night was hearing the women’s choir sing Mary Did You Know. I had always liked the song but it wasn’t until that night that I knew why.
Apart from reminding me of my mom, the song extends beyond just Christmas. Overall I get kind of sick of Christmas songs pretty quick. I get called scrooge, but a lot of times I don’t see what’s so particularly amazing about the whole holiday besides great food and gathering for family time and getting or giving stuff. There really doesn’t seem to be a whole lot of substance to a lot of Christmas, and maybe people don’t even know why they like it so much.
However, Mary Did You Know has salvaged some of my Christmas spirit. The song keeps asking if Mary knew who she was caring for when she raised her first son. “Mary did you know, that you’re baby boy, would one day walk on water…” and it goes on. I love thinking that Mary didn’t realize who this babe would grow to be, or that she had the image of the invisible God in her arms when he was tired or hurt. I’d like to think that all she knew was that she was going to love this baby, no matter what happened to either of them.
Later in life Jesus would say to his followers, “What ever you do for the least of these, you do for me.” I feel like this epitomizes Mary’s love, and many mothers’ love for their children. Unselfish, conscious, and active-that is how I am supposed to love. I think about the line, “When you kissed your little baby, you have kissed the face of God,” and apply it to myself. I don’t often realize that Jesus said He would be in the lowly, and that the way I treat others is a reflection of how I treat Him. The way Mary treated her son (who really was God) is, I feel, a picture of how loving others is truly loving our Lord.
I am going to try to see Jesus in the eyes of people, and treat them like I actually believe they are created in God’s image. Jesus, help me.
Ok, I guess I have one more post from Ireland in me. At church today, I saw Jesus.
There is a platform for the speakers, and then below it, and to the side there is a woman who sits. The whole service she sits there and signs the songs, announcements, bad jokes, and teaching for one old man sitting in the second row. I confess that I really missed most of the talking during church because I was watching the woman. She was Jesus to that one old man, who needs her to “hear” the Word of God being taught. This woman worked all morning just to ensure that one old man could be included. For some reason, this spoke volumes to me. At one point, she signed “Jesus is more near to us now that the Spirit of God has come, than he was when he was with his disciples.”
How true! I saw Him two rows ahead of me, and felt His Spirit move inside of me when I saw Him in other people. This realization that every believer has the same Spirit is amazing. It is also startling that we are all very human while remain on this earth, meaning we have a giant caacity for evil despite having God’s Spirit. From this stems every single frustration in a Christian’s life.
So, let those who profess Jesus Christ as Lord cling tightly to that which binds us together, and forgive each other when we act out of our evil desires. Nothing is easier than pointing out what’s wrong, look for Jesus in people. (I might just be talking to myself now…)
The sun is set in Belfast
My time here in Ireland is closing. I don’t think I’m very good at closing anything, but who really is. There is excitement in opening and that is the only consolation for times like this. It’s strange to think that the only way I can handle leaving somewhere is to let where I’m going next strangle thoughts of how I’m going to miss where I’ve been.
Belfast, you’ve been a beautiful city. I’ll miss you, but not nearly as much as your people. I don’t want to try to list all of the people I don’t want to leave. Many of them I will at least see again in the new earth, but somehow that still doesn’t quite cut it (I guess it’ll have to). Even on this stupid blog I can’t say goodbye to anything. I think I romanticize understated farewells, and this-as impersonal as it is, qualifies as a farewell. This could very well be the last time I blog in Ireland, or even about Ireland, so here it is.
A journey closes, and an uncertain mist surrounds the next.
