Yesterday's Quotes Revisited

The second quote that I posted a couple of days ago from Cornel West struck me, in part, because of some troubling things that have gone on recently at the church in Menard. A little over a week ago, one of the men got up and gave a sermon on how wonderful and godly (or godlike) he thought George Bush was. Even though I wasn't there, this bothered me a lot (there may have been a scene had I been there; I'm not always as patient with people as West suggests I should be). If you know me very well, you probably know that my political ideas are usually pretty different from Bush's. For starters, I'm close to being a socialist (this summer, I plan to do enough study to figure out if I actually am one) and am definitely a pacifist. These little things alone don't mesh with Bush's policies. The thing is, though, the political differences aren't really my biggest problem with this sermon. There are a lot of things that make me angry about the praise of Bush in church.

Primarily, I fear that the incident demonstrates all that West is warning about in these quotes. Praising Bush and the nation in church seems to me to clearly be idolatry. The church certainly isn't trying to question the worldly powers that be. This church is clearly not a countercultural one fighting with hope against "the deadly tides of wealth inequalities, group xenophobia, and personal despair." Caesar seems to be good enough for the church. And it's little wonder to me that a church that spends its time worshiping a guy who, among so many other things, has mocked Karla Fay Tucker at her death and revived the nuclear weapons program in the US has nothing but despair to offer the surrounding communities.

Of course, none of this is original. Menard's definitely not unique in this case. But it's awfully sad. It's particularly sad to see this hitting in Menard so hard right now. The local church has been improving in the last few years, but I fear that the unquestioning acceptance by the church (except for my parents) of this sermon bodes ill for the church's ability to grow much closer to the sort of Godly community it could and should be.

Quotes I Like

I've been a big Cornel West fan since I read his book Race Matters last summer, and I picked these quotes of his up from another blog that I occasionally read (bikehiker.blogspot.com). I may write a blog on what these quotes have made me think about in the near future, but at the moment, I'll just put them here for you to read.

"Hope is not the same as optimism. Optimism adopts the role of the spectator who surveys the evidence in order to infer that things are going to get better. Yet we know that the evidence does not look good. The dominant tendencies of our day are unregulated global capitalism, racial balkanization, social breakdown, and individual depression. Hope enacts the stance of the participant who actively struggles against the evidence in order to change the deadly tides of wealth inequalities, group xenophobia, and personal despair. Only a new wave of vision, courage, and hope can keep us sane and preserve the decency and dignity requisite to revitalize our organizational energy for the work to be done. To live is to wrestle with despair yet never to allow despair to have the last word."

"The country is in deep trouble. We've forgotten that a rich life consists fundamentally of serving others, trying to leave the world a little better than you found it. We need the courage to question the powers that be, the courage to be impatient with evil and patient with people, the courage to fight for social justice. In many instances we will be stepping out on nothing, and just hoping to land on something. But that's the struggle. To live is to wrestle with despair, yet never to allow despair to have the last word."

Just Something

I read this poem a few weeks ago in my poetry class on Robert Frost, and it really struck me. I've been meaning to put it on here since I read it. I read it as a beautiful little poem about doubt and the possibilities of faith. Here it is. It's worth reading.

Storm Fear

When the wind works against us in the dark,
And pelts with snow
The lower chamber window on the east,
And whispers with a sort of stifled bark,
The beast,
'Come out! Come out!'--
It costs no inward struggle not to go,
Ah, no!
I count our strength,
Two and a child,
Those of use not asleep subdued to mark
How the cold creeps as the fire dies at length,--
How drifts are piled,
Dooryard and road ungraded,
Till even the comforting barn grows far away,
And my heart owns a doubt
Whether 'tis in us to arise with day
And save ourselves unaided.

Ah, the simple things of life...

Well, I haven't updated this in a while. That's mainly because I have been so behind because of being sick last week, and I was working overtime trying to catch up (with a bit of xbox playing thrown in to keep myself sane (though "sane" may not be the most accurate word)). Anyway, I apologize to all of my massive readership out there who have been thrown into withdrawls because of the lack of updates. I'm back on track now, and I missed blogging. I really did. I'd say that about two or three times a day some thought crosses my mind that I think I should blog about. Most thoughts usually don't last until the end of the day when I get my blogs written, but I'm sure there were two or three worthy ones that are now forever lost because I haven't blogged for the last few days. I hope the world can cope with that.

Anyway, do you want to know the most interesting thing that's happened in the last several days? Well, on Wednesday I did some laundry. Basic stuff, a few wash rags, some towels, some socks, and boxers. As usual, I forgot for a few hours to put the load of wash into the dryer (something I think I've done a few times in my life before), but it really wasn't too long. I wasn't even worried at all about the clothes being soured. It had only been 4 or 5 hours. Anyway, the clothes were soured. I washed them again, put them in the dryer, and I stuck another load in to wash. I totally forgot about this load. They sat in the dryer through Wednesday night, all of Thursday, and until about 8 o'clock on Friday. I had no hope for these clothes. They should have soured two days before. Of course, these clothes hadn't soured at all. They had sat in that washer for two full days (and the weather hadn't even been that different), and they smelt great. I stuck them in the dryer (though finishing their drying wasn't going to take long) and laughed about it quite a bit. It's amazing how little about this life I understand.

I know; it probably seems pretty sad that that's the most interesting thing that's happened to me recently. However, that's what grad school seems to do to a person. Anyway, I'm trying take this as a sort of blessing. If I'm as fascinated by this as I truly am (though growing up in a place like Menard, things like laundry have always entertained me--you can ask either the President of the Hangers or the President of the Clothespins), it's not really such a bad thing. My family may have to lock me up someday in an asylum somewhere, but anywhere where there's a laundry, I think I'll be happy.

Get Goin'

Well, I'm feeling somewhat better than I was when I wrote last. I stayed in bed all day Tuesday and Wednesday, and I crawled to class last Thursday. Over the weekend, I still didn't feel all that well, and I probably needed to rest. I didn't want to, though. Kalyn (my sister) and Emerald (my friend) came up to visit from ACU, and no matter how bad I felt or how much homework I needed to do, I was going to spend my time with them. I did that, and I don't regret it. It was a great weekend. We mainly sat around and talked, though we also ate some good food and watched a few good shows.

It's left awfully behind, though. So it goes. I finally caught up on some sleep last night (though not enough) which has made me feel better. Catching up on homework, however, is another story. I have a paper due on Wednesday and another one due on Thursday. And I just can't make myself do them. I have felt no motivation to really do much of anything for my classes this semester, and the illness didn't help. I'm just tired of grad school, and I can't seem to make myself get interested in these classes at all. This has never happened to me. Usually, I would be freaking out, but right now, I am just apathetic.

I guess I'll just have to persevere. Maybe something will get interesting before long, but for now, I just have to get these papers done without being interested in them. I don't know how the grades will end up (I feel my first "B"s coming on), but I don't really care right now.

I Want My Mommy.

I wonder if they've done a study on the healing effects of chicken noodle soup. It sure seems to help. I was needing to eat something tonight, and none of the stuff in the house seemed at all appealing to me; the only thing that sounded good was chicken noodle soup. So, I decided to get dressed and make a short trip to the United right down the street. I was feeling pretty good, and I thought it would be a pretty good test to see if I could go to class tomorrow. I didn't really pass the test. Once I got in the store, I started feeling achey again, and I had some short dizzy spells. I got the soup (and candy) as quickly as I could and got back to the house.

The chicken soup made me feel better again. Along with my Mommy (kind of). When I ate the soup, I just imagined that it was my Mommy who had peeled open the can and heated it up in the microwave. Then, I felt ok. Maybe they should do a study on the healing powers of Moms.

In short, I am at the end of this day feeling better. I don't know if I'll go to class tomorrow. The prospect of standing in the cold waiting for the bus sounds not at all appealing, and I'm afraid my fever will go back up in class. I hate to miss another day, but I don't know if I really have another choice. And I really don't want to get anyone else sick.

One of those days.

For that last few nights, I had been sleeping really restlessly and had been alternating between hot and cold during the night. It was pretty evident that I was getting sick, but I tried to head it off with extra sleep. It didn't work. Last night, I became absolutely miserable. My fever sky-rocketed, I had chills, I had aches, my throat hurt a bit, and I had the worst headache I've ever had (I rarely have them, but when I do...). Anyway, when I woke up, it was evident that I couldn't go to school, even if my professors' attendence policies on their syllabuses (syllabi?) literally state, "Don't miss class." I slept as long as I could, and then, I got up to try to find a walk-in clinic in Lubbock. The ones in the phone book were either too far away (I was too dizzy to drive far) or weren't actually called walk-in clinics (which confused me). I finally found a clinic on the Internet (it wasn't in the yellow pages) that was close enough for me to drive to. I drank some water and walked around until I wasn't dizzy, and then I left.

That's when I found the slowest clinic I've ever seen and the slowest pharmacy. It took about thirty minutes for me to fill out the paperwork (that was normal). Then, it took thirty minutes to get into the doctors office (even though the place wasn't busy at all). Then, the nurse (a really sweet lady) came and did all the normal stuff. Then, the doctor came in for less than 3 minutes. Then, they left me in the room for 30 minutes. I don't know what they were doing, but I was in the patient's room for about and hour and twenty minutes. Eventually, the nurse came back to tell me that I had strep throat. She gave me a superdose of Tylenol to break my (nearly 103) fever. Then, I got my presciptions, school notes, and I left. I went over to Wal-Mart to fill the prescription. The doctor had told me to eat, so while I was waiting the 30 minutes for my prescription to be filled, I ate. Eventually, I went back to pick up the prescription, about 10 minutes after they guaranteed it would be ready. It wasn't ready. Neither were the prescriptions of the other 10 customers that I saw them wait on. It took them an hour and fifteen minutes to fill my prescription (and there were people still waiting who had dropped off the prescription before I had). During that time, my fever had broken, and so I just stood there drenched for about 40 minutes.

I went home, and I slept all afternoon. I now feel better than I did. I'm still not going to school tomorrow.

Good Food & Good Company

Today after my first class, I walked up the six steep flights of stairs to my office, and once I got there, I realized that it was lunchtime and that I had once again forgotten to pack a lunch. I decided to go down to the first floor (my office is on the fourth floor) to the vending maching and get a bag of chips and a coke to hold me over until I got home around 4:00. So, I went back down the stairs. I only had a five and a one, but the snack machine claims in large letters that it accepts fives. It doesn't. That meant I only had the money for either a bag of chips or a coke. I chose the chips and decided I would drink water out of the water fountain. I got me some chile-cheese fritos, and went back up the stairs.

On the way up, however, I started digging in my pockets, and I found that I had nine dimes in my coat. I was ten cents short. But when I got to my office, I did a quick search in my back-pack, and loe and behold, I found a dime. The dime was caked in a bunch of really old, and now black, gum, but it was a dime. It's kind of pathetic how happy finding that dime made me. I felt like that lady who finds a coin in that parable and then throws a party. The only difference was that I wasn't going to throw much of a party with my dollar. I was, however, going to have a coke, and that's not bad.

So, I went back down the stairs. Evidently, the vending machine doesn't accept dimes either (even though I had scraped the gum off). Or rather, it accepts nine dimes, but the tenth one doesn't count, and that left me ten cents short again. I tried to get my money back, but I was out-witted me again. It made these clicking sounds as if it were releasing my dimes one by one. Yeah...I got one dime back. And in a nice touch, a cloud of dust flew out of the coin return slot (I'm not lying about this; dust really did fly out of it).

And that's when I realized what was going on. That God guy was playing a joke on me again. That Guy's a riot sometimes. And I cried out, in mutual laughter, at the top of my lungs, "As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods!!!!" I looked around to make sure no one had heard me. They had, but even though they had no clue to Whom I was speaking (and probably couldn't have cared less), they thought I was cool because I was in the English building and had just quoted Shakespeare.

I walked back up the stairs, and that's when the joke started coming toward its all-around satisfying ending. Lizz was in my office, and when I told her my story, she laughed and loaned me a dollar. One more trip down and up the stairs, and I had my lunch of chile-cheese fritos and a coke. I was tired, but the meal was pretty delicious.

Sorry I write this crap.

There's a large mirror on the closet door directly in front of my bed. I usually don't notice it because I'm too lazy to shut my closet door. However, at the moment, the door is shut, and I'm staring at myself. It's totally dark except for the computer screen shining back on my face. My face is obviously this pale white. And then there are my glasses which produce these two perfect circles of cold whiteness. And then there's my beard--the only color of the scene--red.

So there's basically this irradescent, bodiless head floating in the darkness, with two large lifeless, austere, all-seeing eyes disturbingly focused right on me, even when I'm not looking at them. And there's that red beard.

I'm pretty dang scarey looking at the moment. I don't think I'll be able to get to sleep for a while.

Aren't We All?

The last two cds I have bought (both of which are wonderful):

"Appalachian Spring Suite: A Ballet" by Aaron Copland as performed by Bernstein and the New York Philharmonic

and

"Wave of Mutilation" by The Pixies


My movie shelf currently has these movies sitting in the following order (left to right):

1. Babe
2. Beauty and the Beast
3. Kill Bill Vols. 1&2


Today, I was reading someone else's blog, and they had one of those quizzes that told what kind of "soul" you were--an "old soul," a "seeker soul," a "peacemaker soul," a "warrior soul," or a few other kinds of souls. It was a short quiz, so I took it to see what kind of person I am (and to hopefully get a laugh). It told me I was a "seeker soul." But there were links to all of the other personality types, and so, I read what a few of them said. They pretty much all sounded like me. So, not only am I a "seeker soul," I am also an "old soul," a "prophet soul," a "hunter soul," and a "newborn soul." Thankfully, I'm not a "warrior soul" (despite having movies like the Kill Bills, Braveheart, and Rob Roy on my movie shelf, I prefer to be more of a lover than a fighter (though I'm not all that successful at that one either)) or a "bright star" soul (at least I hope not--I didn't look at this one for fear I might actually be a "bright star soul").


Anyway, I guess there's a fairly simple point to all of this---I'm kind of a messed-up person. At least there's one way that I'm like everyone else.

The Moviegoers, A Metaphor

Today, my roommate and I went to watch Million Dollar Baby (an excellent movie and my pick for the Oscar). The commercials played, and then the previews began, and pretty close to their beginning (thirty seconds or so), the projector stopped, and the advertisements that had been playing while everyone had been being seated began to play again. My roommate rather loudly commented "That was a good movie!" Since were were sitting right in the middle of the theater surrounded by people, a lot of people heard him, and there was a pretty quiet laughter throughout the crowd. Anyway, since there were a lot of people still trying to sit down and since I was sitting right in the middle of the theater, I decided to not go tell the theater personel that the movie had stopped running. On my left, I would have had to crawl across four or five old people, and on my right, I would have had to crawl across about six rather obese people. The theater was filled (well over a hundred people) and since getting out of the aisle was easier for just about everyone else in the theater, I expected someone else would go to inform the theater people that the film wasn't running. In fact, I expected that somebody had already gone. Most people in the theater were sitting behind me, and so, I couldn't have known if one of them had already gone. I expected that as soon as I got out the door, the movie would start, and I wouldn't be able to find my way back to my seat.

Anyway, I was wrong. The conversation started up in the crowd, and we sat there for over five minutes. Then, I started looking around, and after a while, it just felt ridiculous. It didn't seem as if anyone had left. Certainly, no one was up working on the projector. I finally got up, and I went and told one of the three three people working in the theater this afternoon. He hollered to the other two, and none of the three had known that the movie wasn't running.

The thing that struck me about this little episode was the obvious. The crowd, including myself, had just all sat in that theater for over ten minutes expecting someone else to fix the problem. We could see that there was a problem. We knew that one of us just had to get up and ask for help. But for ten minutes, we just sat there. We were there to be observers, not actors.

Anyway, one of the three theater workers went and fixed the film. Then, we (the crowd) sat there for two hours more and watched the movie.

My Longest and Most Depressing Blog Entry Yet

A couple of nights ago, a little event happened that I haven't really known what to write about. I still don't totally know what to think about it, but I decided to just write anyway.

Anyway, two nights ago the doorbell rings. So, I go to the door, and I see the back of a woman's hood, and I think it's probably my roommate's sister, and I open the door. It's not Will's sister. It's two noticably poor women in their late thirties, and when I open the door, one of the woman begins telling me a story about having run out of gas. She's requesting a gas can (or milk cartons to put gas in) and some money to buy gas. Her story didn't really make sense to me. She claimed to have run out of gas around 19th and the Interstate, and a Tech student had given her a ride to my residential district (a good bit further north) to ask for money there. Nevertheless, those words saying that love "believes all things" were ringing in my ears. Even though I didn't believe her, I didn't feel that my doubt was good reason to not help her out. I knew I had a gas can filled with gas in the garage. It was freezing out so I invited the women into the living room, and I went and got the gas can. When I gave it to the woman, she said that the gas wouldn't get them to Amarillo (though I'm pretty sure it would have), and she requested some money. I gave her what cash I had (only seven bucks). She then requested a ride down to her car on 19th street. That's when the survival instinct kicked in. If she were telling the truth, the walk that night all of those blocks would have been bad. Nevertheless, I was afraid to take these women down there in my car. I told them "no." They thanked me and left. And I felt guilty and safe.

The next morning, I woke up, and I went to the store. On my way out, a woman was walking in the parking lot. She approached me and told me that she and her husband (he wasn't there) had run out of gas and were stranded in the Burger King parking lot. She asked me if the two of them could have a ride down to fiftieth street (she didn't say why). I wondered if this was perhaps a second chance for me to make right what I had done wrong the night before. It was again a situation where I could either help somebody I didn't believe or leave this somebody out in the cold and feel safe. I made the same decision as the night before. I told her I had a meeting to go to (which I did-though it wasn't a mandatory one), and I left.

At the moment, neither of these encounters sits very easily on my mind...

Matthew 25:41-46: "Then He will also say to those on His left, 'Depart from Me, accursed ones, into the eternal fire which has been prepared for the devil and his angels; for I was hungry, and you gave Me nothing to eat; I was thirsty, and you gave Me nothing to drink; I was a stranger, and you did not invite Me in; naked, and you did not clothe Me; sick, and in prison, and you did not visit Me.' Then they themselves also will answer, 'Lord, when did we see You hungry, or thirsty, or a stranger, or naked, or sick, or in prison, and did not take care of You?' Then He will answer them, 'Truly I say to you, to the extent that you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to Me.' These will go away into eternal punishment, but the righteous into eternal life."

I'm sure that every once in a while, He needs a car ride, too.