Saved (from stupidity, by grace)

This isn't about salvation-type saved, just regular I'm-not-dead saved, just so we're clear, though I'm very thankful to be Saved-saved.

The other day I was at the store buying bouncy balls, and walking across the parking lot with my purchases I was nearly hit by a car. Thankfully, a quick-thinking friend honked and made me look, which, in turn, caused me to jump, which, in turn, stopped me from being run over. It made me thankful to be alive, and without full-body bruises.

It's not so much like I think I would have really died that day (though I would have liked to see the bouncy balls bounce all over the parking lot), but it made me consider how many times I've been spared from something terrible. I can think of multiple times, off the top of my head, where I've come close to death. But even more, what about the times when I was close to death and didn't know it? What about the times when the Lord put a wall of protection around me and held off the danger, and I carried obliviously on?

Those are the times that make me bow my head and thank the Lord. I'm spared from so much, and most of it goes unnoticed as I spend my time wondering about visible problems. How blind I feel, but how thankful!

The music in me

I couldn't sleep on Sunday night. Very well, at any rate. I'd had sort of an emotional weekend, and I was just sort of decompressing, and instead of getting much-needed rest, my brain went wild. The weird part, though, is that it wasn't going wild with World-Problem-Solving problems, like usual (no, really, I have education reform plans all up in this pretty little head of mine, but only late at night, and it never makes sense in the morning), but something far, far, less sensible.

I was thinking about words. How if words are just comprised of letters--and we all know letters are just marks we're trained to recognize--then why does it have to be words? If we assigned a musical note to each of the 26 letters, could we learn, over time, to listen to language as if it were a song? We could play each word as if it were part of the grand symphony of life, and we'd know (because our ears would be trained in this manner) what the music was saying.

This is what I laid in bed and thought about for about an hour. There are a lot of issues with this thought pattern, of course, first and foremost that it really doesn't make sense and wouldn't work, due to octaves only having eight keys. I'm sure something could work though.

But I got on this whole thing about what these proposed musical words would sound like. Would mean-sounding words sound... mean? Like you know how the word "harsh" sounds sort of, well, harsh? And grating really does bring to mind a grating feeling? I mean, because we haven't grown up with musical words, we don't even really know how our brains would interpret something like that.

While I miss the sleep (yes, I still miss it), I don't really regret that hour of puzzled thought I put towards the harebrained scheme. I knew that morning couldn't be that bad. After all, my Good Mornings still sound like words, not like angry feeling expressed through music.

Something to be thankful for, yes?

Yes, I've been busy

I haven't been neglecting my blog for no good reason, trust me. Things have been a tad hectic in my corner of the world.

But, on the plus side, I found this nifty little poem the other day!

Whatever you are working on,
Engage in it with zest,
Because your work is for the Lord
And He expects your best!

I thought it was good, especially since I felt like I was working on too many things to engage fully in any of them, so it was a good reminder. Plus, I like the word "zest." It's one of those words that make you sort of sparkle your eyes, yes?

And that, my friends, is all I have time for.

Poety, poety

When I was little I used to "quote poetry" by starting a poem with the line, "Poety, poety" and carry forth. I couldn't frame my words properly, in case you're wondering what a poety is, much the way those one guys from the Bible couldn't say Shibboleth.

But I just found an embarrassing poem the other day, that I wrote within the last year, in an attempt to get some creative juices flowing. I don't have it with me, but it went something like this--

Everyone always talks about hope,
The butcher, the baker, the pope,

And it goes from there. Worse, if you'd believe it. But it made me laugh, because poetry is some of the easiest stuff to mess up. I did a poetry course in school once (best one ever: my textbook was Poetry for Dummies) and it didn't help. I think poetry is something you're either good at, or not. Me? I'm in the not-so-good category. Not at all good, in fact.

I do like poetry, though. I used to read poetry all the time--I have these old volumes of Walt Whitman and Emily Dickinson and obscure Japanese poets--and I'd read them out on the roof in the evening time, right after dishes were done, and in the twilight it was practically magical.

But I don't have time for poetry any longer. When I have a spare moment or two, I read books with actual stories. But sometimes, when my window is open and the twilight and fresh air blow in my room, I wish I would make a little more time for whimsical things like poetry.

But... not writing it. Just reading. It's official.

Spread it with a little margin

I love reading the margins in my Bible. I'd guess I've read very nearly every footnote my Bible has to offer, on account of reading the marginal notes along with the actual text when I read. But I recently came across a good one in Numbers 4. The verse (23, for starters, in case you want to look it up, though actually, several verses in this chapter use this same word) was about entering in to perform the service, to do the work in the tabernacle of the congregation.

Well, instead of just being "service" right there, it's really the Hebrew root word for going out to war. And it sort of makes sense, since now-a-days it's not uncommon to hear someone say, "I was in the Service for six years back in the fifties." We call the military the Service these days, so I guess it makes sense that it all stems from each other.

But I just thought it was hilarious that the word was the same. I'm not typically one to grouse about work, but the point is, work is work. You may be in charge of animal sacrifices (like in this chapter), or you may be the person who checks the chlorine levels at the neighbourhood pool. Either way, sometimes crazy stuff can happen. Half the time it's like organized warfare.

The other thing I was thinking was this: you know how the Levites just did the tabernacle stuff, and didn't go out to war? Well, if this is sort of like war, then did they get to skip out of work for a year after they got married? Because the rest of the tribes got a get-out-of-war-free pass for a year after they tied the knot, so why not the Levites? Their version of war was service in the tabernacle, but hey, no fair that those young dudes from the tribe of Simeon got time off for finding a wife, and the Levites didn't, you know?

Not like life is fair. Or that it was "fair" for the Levites to be the only ones to be consecrated to the work of the Lord. They were just stand-ins, so to speak, for all the firstborn from all the tribes, after all.

So now, in my head, whenever the Levites got married, they were off work duty for a year. I'll get confirmation (or deconfirmation) of it when I get to Heaven, I'm sure, but the thought amused me. Quite frankly, I'd never noticed that verse before.

Isn't reading the Bible grand? Something new every day. I love it!

Sarcasm

I was once in a Sunday School class where the teacher asked for an example of sin. My smart-aleck friend replied (with a pointed glance in my direction), "Sarcasm!"

The Sunday School Teacher, by the way, was his dad, and thought it was simultaneously hilarious and correct. Fair enough.

But sometimes I think back and smack myself because of my overly-sarcastic tendencies. I've made a concerted effort over the last several years (thanks to this friend) to not tear down others through my sarcasm, but that doesn't help my other snide remarks. For instance, when someone asks me where I was for the past ten minutes, instead of pointing out that I was probably in the restroom and didn't want to announce it for the whole world to know, I'll say something like, "Oh, you know, Aruba. Had to run and grab a bag of sugar."

It's not an attempt to be funny (because, as you can well see, it wouldn't really qualify anyhow), but rather it's an attempt to bring hum-drum conversations a little levity. Obviously, if someone's pet lobster died, I wouldn't sarcastically remark that it was a shame, since it was such a furry, comforting pet. I don't like to accentuate people's sorrow or weaknesses. As a matter of fact, when I'm sarcastic I try to bring the light back of my own inadequacies. I don't have illustrations for all of these (I ran out of awesome ones after the lobster one, obviously), but it's something that I've been pondering for the last few days.

I made a joke about a building burning down, and it didn't come off well. That's all I'll say, but it made me realize that I just can't act as if I'm taking life lightly. Because trust me, I know full well that life is full of icky situations and unfortunate consequences. We all dislike how real life is, and I think that's why I'm especially partial to lightening up situations.

I remember reading a book once that had a quote that struck me as particularly on-target. The book was about a dismal time in Russia, where most people expected to be killed or starve any minute. The narrator of the book made a comment, something along the lines of, "When there was trouble all around us, we retreated to the trouble within books, which always went away when the pages were closed."

Not an exact quote, just so we're clear.

But I remember reading that and realizing that that's what we love so well about books, and jokes, and fireworks. They channel our attention away from the matters that bog us down, and remind us that life is fleeting, and really, it's not the end of the world. Once, after a particularly bad accident with some friends where our vehicle flipped a few times yet we didn't die (praise the Lord!), a friend and I just stood around in the pouring rain, right by our wrinkled van, laughing like it was the funniest thing that ever happened to us. Why? Because we were alive. Because the sun would come out eventually, and it wouldn't seem so bad.

Plus, it was pretty much the funniest thing that had happened to us in a long time. We were just acknowledging the hilarity.

PS, happy Cinco de Mayo!

Bosom Buddies

My friend Firefly and I think freakishly alike. Just so we're all clear.

Here's what I was pondering the other day. Jonathan seemed like a pretty cool guy, and pretty fine with the fact that David was (one day) going to have the kingdom instead of his father, Saul. We are discussing the Biblical Jonathans and Davids, by the way, in case I jumped into this story too swiftly for some.

So Jonathan straight-up told David, "You'll be King, I'll be second in command, we'll be cool." Right. And he could have. Jonathan and his armour-bearer slew a ton of Philistines that time in 1 Samuel 13, after all. Jonathan was clearly an excellent soldier as well as an inspirer of the people.

But... Jonathan died. In a tragic twist, Jonathan was slain among his father's people, fighting a battle he knew he'd lose. David was left with a kingdom in the absence of Saul, but without a right-hand man. Now it was David in the place of authority, trying to keep afloat without his confidante.

But David needed a chief captain. Jonathan was no longer an option, and David needed someone else. I Chronicles 11 tells that David set up sort of a contest for the position. And the man who won was none other than Joab, David's nephew, trouble-maker extraordinaire.

David encountered so many problems with Joab at the helm of his battles. Joab was many things, but a peacemaker was not one of them. Sometimes, when I read this account, I get so sad just thinking about all the things that could have gone better had Jonathan not died during the chaos of the battlefield.

And what stops me every time is the thought, "Did Jonathan really even have to die?" What if, instead of going back to his father, Jonathan had stayed with David? What if he'd given up those years in the seat of the kingdom for the rest of his life at David's right hand?

I, for one, tend to think that David's kingdom would have gone more smoothly, not just on account of Jonathan being a superior captain, but because Jonathan, being Saul's son, could have promoted peace in a fractured kingdom. I know we all like to think that we'd do better--chosen the life with David instead of the comfortable palace bed--but Jonathan seemed to be doing his part by keeping his ears to the wall, so to speak, to listen to what his father was saying, and simultaneously being able to keep alongside David in spirit and encourage him.

But it wasn't enough. When the battle was over, Jonathan fought and died on the wrong side. David was left without a friend; Israel without a stable captain. David's kingdom was less than it could have been, because Jonathan remained in the comfort of his father's kingdom, unwilling to suffer the rejection of David's daily walk.