A Useful Occupation

Most of us, at some time or another, wish we didn't have a job. Adam wished that as soon as weeds started to grow in Paradise, no doubt.

But consider what life would really be like if we had nothing that we HAD to do. What would happen to our time? Would we spend endless hours searching for amusement among each other, spend time making social calls and hosting dinner parties with no real purpose, other than to while away the long hours and keep boredom at bay?

Anna Karenina is one of my favourite books - not because of the horrors of the slow moral decay of a woman given to adultery, but because of the wealth of detail that Tolstoy uses to describe a privileged people. The noble Russians under the czars were apparently a nation of playboys, and girls, spending most of their time in useless wranglings over forms of entertainment, having nothing better to do than to see and speak of "some new thing", as the Greeks did at the Areopagus. These idle Russians spent hours on playing cards, seeing new theatrical stars, creating drama between each other (if there was no other form of amusement), visiting and comparing houses, taking lavish vacations to summer or winter homes, having affairs - and getting into luxurious debt. Sounds rather familiar, doesn't it?

Of course, Tolstoy doesn't shirk a candid look at the glorious peasants, either - who have a great deal of virtues and the same number of vices. They don't want to work hard at learning new tasks, are continually convinced that their masters are out to 'get them' even when fair wages are paid, break new tools because they're fearfully unfamiliar, and constantly excuse their shoddy work by saying that it's 'just the way things are' - using God as an excuse for their lack of effort. Their best faces show either at home, where they can be the lords and masters, or under pressure at harvest time - because it's been that way for many years, and there's comfort in peaceful stability. Sounds rather familiar, doesn't it?

Petsitting often reminds me that we were created for a purpose. Without the normal occupation of sheep-herding, bird-pointing or hunting down rabbits in wild fields, pet dogs often lead an uneventful and rather bored existence. They bark at everything passing the window because it's a break from routine, and because they have nothing to do. Going on a walk and eating are their favourite exercises - nearly their only exercises. Instead of being able to trail around with their masters on a farm (where they could chase cats or hunt rats in the barn without upsetting anyone), they get yelled at when they act up, because they are a form of amusement instead of a useful member of society with specified tasks.

Cats are the same - instead of being able to hunt down pests or spend hours in trees waiting to leap upon their prey, they sit at windows and stare at passers-by.....with unblinking feral eyes. They have fights with each other simply to have some excitement. They try to eat curtains, and make messes on rugs, nibble on your hair or lay on your computer keyboard, all to advertise: I'M BORED, PLAY WITH ME!!!! And they're cute for a while, chasing strings and getting themselves wrapped up in your laundry, and rustling in paper bags....but eventually they get to the stage where they just try to sit in the best sunny spots and snarl if you use their favourite cushion. Life would actually be more exciting for them if they had to stay one step ahead of their pursuers. Makes me think of a Simon & Garfunkel song about keeping the customers satisfied: "one step ahead of the shoe-shine, two steps away from the county line...."



There's an interesting warning in Jeremiah 17: "Cursed is the man who trusts in man, and makes flesh his strength, whose heart departs from the Lord. For he shall be like a shrub in the desert, and shall not see when good comes, but shall inhabit the parched places in the wilderness, in a salt land which is not inhabited...those who depart from me shall be written in the earth..."

The difference between people who are doing work to God's glory, and those who are merely filling up their days without purpose, has to do with whether or not they understand what's happening behind the seemingly meaningless tasks. God's character traits of order, cleanliness, beauty, generosity, creativity, magnificence....can all be seen in His created earth. And if we, His small reflections, are merely casting around for ways in which to waste time instead of use it, that seems a crime against His commands and our very natures. That's why people who fritter away existence with gossip and pleasure and 'busy nothings' seem shriveled in soul. If they want the earth that badly, they'll get it - and that's all they'll get. What a waste!

The Unwinnable Scenario

There are words in a woman's vocabulary, besides "we need to talk", that ought to send a thinking man screaming out the door. They are this: "I'm going on a diet."

At first glance, you would think that this would bring joy and delight into a man's heart. Yes, she has said it! And without him having to point out that she has blossomed past the blushing bride of yore! But no. As with most woman things, what is on the surface is farthest from the truth.

The truth is that this woman who sits by him in the car, steely-eyed, vowing that she is by gum NOT going to give in like those other times, no, she really is going to hunker down and do it - get that nasty weight off - is now the Enemy of Fat. Being a new Crusader, she hunts it down and makes it scream for mercy - but not just in her own life. Now conversations with friends and neighbors will focus on this topic, and with herself in the mirror ("THINK before you eat that ice cream bar, for heaven's sake!!"). So instead of enjoying evenings of comfort with his wife on the couch, watching harmless re-runs of "CSI" or "The Ghost Weeper" to make her happy - no, he's got to hear huffing and puffing as she flings his favorite drinks and snacks out of cupboard and fridge. These are grunts of anger and war, and though she may say it tactfully (she is a good wife), there will be sideways comments for him as well. "Do you know how many calories are in that soda?" or the educational kiss of death: "Did you know that in some cultures, tofu is considered just as good as meat? I think we should go international today."

For women are never content to do anything just by themselves. Men comment on this when women go in a gaggle to the bathroom, or when they can't even go outside in a simple dress without hailing a passer-by for an opinion.....if they can't get it at home, that's always an option. "HEY! You there! Should I wear the red flats or the black sandals?" Somehow, men don't realize that this togetherness trend never ends.

Unlike when she gets pregnant, there will be no great advantage when the diet ends, because it never does. Instead of a pregnancy giving way to a bouncing happy child after nine months of labour, the diet never ends and never produces anything other than a thinner wife. But even then, the future fear of putting the weight back on is ever-present. The child is at least a form of entertainment, whereas diets often mean that entertainment and jollity must be put on hold for extra mood swings and black looks at Burger King signs. Not to mention crying. ("I STILL can't fit into that dress!!!")

And men, you already know that you can't stop her. Even if you try to tell her that she looks fine and doesn't NEED to diet, she will counter with feelings ("but I don't FEEL fine!"), personal projections ("I saw you looking at that thin girl in the mall!"), challenges ("Are you saying you don't think I can do it?") or silence while she thinks all these things but refuses to say them. So as a female, I release you to give a hearty "Amen" to your wife's project: "I think that's great, honey, you go ahead and do that."

But don't you dare say that in my presence. Man, have you NO sense?! I'm going on a diet.

Scales Hatred

"I hate the scales. They mock me."

So said a good friend of mine today, when we were discussing the issues of non-svelteness. We used to be skinny, and the moan of the world has now become our tune: If only.

If only we didn't have to spend time exercising that feels pointless anyway, continually read Scripture just so we can forget the best verses in conversation (those ones that would force others to change their view), or do the daily disciplines of deodorant and dish-washing, we'd have a lot more free time. Of course, every time that I DO get all virtuous and go exercising, and then hop on the scale to See My Progress, I'm horribly disappointed. The scale's monologue goes something like this:

'Haha! See if you can move me! It's impossible! Now go eat an ice cream bar out of resigned indifference!'

Oddly enough, the same voice pops up when I want to read Scripture or engage in prayer. Only, instead of ice cream bars, the carrot that is dangled (what an incentive, if you're a donkey) is more like the Necessity of Projects. When I have my teeth brushed and my face washed and I'm all tucked into a holy posture for prayer - that's when it 'suddenly' occurs to me that laundry has not been done, thank-you cards not written, and by gum I need to make sure that the bank has really taken care of the bills on BillPay. None of these things can possibly wait until after I speak with the Lord of the Universe, who has plenty of time for creating new species and sorting out issues of world hunger, but none at all for my piddly details of existence. Sure, He loves me and all, but as a good Reformed sort I'm firmly convinced in my heart of hearts that there are limits to His love. "After all", I reason, "it doesn't do to tick Him off. Perhaps when I go to pray, He's feeling like incinerating me for aiming swear words at the minister in my head on the Sabbath. While I do these chores, I shall ponder the paths of my feet, and restrain the Lord from turning me into a pile of salt. Obviously if I go talk to Him, I've got to be perfectly prepared."

This idea of Perfect Preparation works really well until you have a real issue, such as confronted David when on the run from Saul, or Solomon's insights into the folly of his own building efforts (Psalm 127), or the captives in Babylon. Then all the piddly details of existence can go hang while you go talk to your Father, pouring out your heart to Him - and when that's over, somehow everything gets allocated to its proper place. Sure, you're still a slave, but you can at least sing a song of Zion under your breath and keep hoping for the day of the Lord when your enemies get paid back in full. (Those Psalms are especially satisfying after listening to political news reports.)

My minister said something of profound import this Sabbath about scales. Two of our church visitors are professional musicians, and they still spend significant amounts of time on scales - boring, repetitive, finger-limbering scales. He equated it to our spiritual disciplines: praying, reading the Word, listening to the Pastor speak. (We all had a laugh at this last barb to the children, who get a little restless in lifting their longing eyes to the clock, from whence comes salvation from long sermons.)

Repeated actions seem like a completely inefficient time-swamp. You can throw in hours of laundry and car repair and mending of clothes, the Time Swamp will swallow them all and greedily open its maw for more. (The horse-leech hath four daughters, crying 'Give! Give!) God requires us to wend our way through the swamp, just like Frodo and Sam on their way to Mordor, occasionally staring at dead faces of those who got sucked into the swamp along the way. He requires us to throw tithe into the collection plate to pay for endless amounts of church supplies and salaries; He requires us to spend hours praying and reading His word, and for what? So that the wicked can keep merrily squashing us and then asking us "well, where is He?" And some of us sure feel like asking Him the same question, since He doesn't seem in a hurry to answer our neediest prayers.

But C.S. Lewis is right - pain is the gift that nobody wants - the pain of 'wasted time', the pain of year after year of weary playing of spiritual scales, the 'what's the use' feeling that we fight. After years of blows on our rock-hard forms like an artist's hammer-blows on marble, the things that hurt us so much (little or great) are those which turn our image to something resembling Christ. And that consummation is devoutly to be wished.

Poetry on Hope and Faith in Unlikely Places

Sometimes you can find poetic expression in the most unlikely places. Just as it's possible to find steamy marital references in Puritan town-hall records, it's possible to find poetry in John Calvin's commentaries:

[Re: Romans 4:18- 'Who against hope believed in hope, that he might become the father of many nations'] "And, doubtless, there is nothing more injurious to faith than to fasten our minds to tour eyes, that we may from what we see, seek a reason for our hope...for except faith flies upward on celestial wings, so as to look down on all the perceptions of the flesh as on things far below, it will stick fast in the mud of the world...for when he had no ground for hoping he yet in hope relied on the promise of God; and he thought it a sufficient reason for hoping, that the Lord had promised, however incredible the thing was in itself."

After a great explanation of how Abraham shuts his mind to the clamoring of the flesh (I can't possibly have a child at this age, with Sarah!), Calvin has this to say about Abraham 'being not weak in faith':
"..he vacillated not, nor fluctuated, as we usually do under difficult circumstances. There is indeed a twofold weakness of faith - one is that which, by succumbing to trying adversities, occasions a falling away from the supporting power of God - the other arises from imperfection, but does not extinguish faith itself: for the mind is never so illuminated, but that many relics of ignorance remain; the heart is never so strengthened, but that much doubting cleaves to it. Hence with these vices of the flesh, ignorance and doubt, the faithful have a continual conflict, and in this conflict their faith is often dreadfully shaken and distressed, but at length it comes forth victorious; so that they may be said to be strong even in weakness."

The Lord seems to love these paradoxes of comparison and contrast. Even in re-reading the account of Abraham and Sarah being given the most wonderful news of their life, it struck me that God was multitasking. He came down to encourage his child Abraham with a great word of promise about the coming Seed who was to crush the serpent, and also to crush some of the serpent's children in Sodom and Gomorrah. First to bless, then to curse - not only for an object lesson to Abraham regarding what would happen to rebellious covenant children who forgot their teaching "to do righteousness and justice", but also to rescue a covenant child (Lot) who had forgotten how to be salt and light. His wife became salt, and Sodom's darkness exploded from the power of the Light that visited it from on high. Little did Lot know that his prayers to God would be answered so drastically. (In God's kingdom, until we reach heaven, there is never blessing unalloyed.)

The fight of faith is always obscured by what we see:

"All things around us are in opposition to the promises of God: He promises immortality; we are surrounded with mortality and corruption: He declares that he counts us just; we are covered with sins; He testifies that he is propitious and kind to us; outward judgments threaten his wrath. What then is to be done? We must with closed eyes pass by ourselves and all things connected with us, that nothing may hinder or prevent us from believing that God is true."

Amen to that, John! ....and now, wisdom from Icanhascheezburger:

Loving "The Silver Chair" All Over Again

Don't know about anyone else, but for some reason, parts of C.S. Lewis' "The Silver Chair" just didn't hit as hard as other books. In a fit of wakefulness on Sunday, after eight cups of coffee (they can really add up when you have them everywhere you go!), I re-read it. And found some gems.

Have always loved Puddleglum, but the appreciation is deeper now. My parents can sometimes seem to look on The Dark Side of Life in complete contrariness to the immortal Monty Python boys' advice ("always look on the bright side of life!"). And life is such, on this sin-saturated world of ours, that they're quite often right. However, they are the people that you lean on in times of real trouble, just like Jill and Eustace.

"Many have taken ship at the pale beaches," replied the Warden, "and -"
"Yes, I know," interrupted Puddleglum. "And few return to the sunlit lands. You needn't say it again. You are a chap of one idea, aren't you?"
The children huddled close together on either side of Puddleglum. They had thought him a wet blanket while they were still above ground, but down here he seemed the only comforting thing they had.

Puddleglum is one of those characters that you grow to love. First he's irritating with his constant string of 'what-ifs' that always tend to disaster. Then he's a solid rock on which to lean, though he tends to rub a bit raw. Then he's a rock in a tossing sea, and you can depend on him to do the hard things like put his foot in a magical fire in order to save his unappreciative friends from enchanted doom. He is loyal, he is steady, and the only time he really gets excited is when there's a test of his serious view of life.

The Prince has been harder to appreciate. Although I've read this book more than ten times, and have some passages memorized, he seems one of those characters that I ought to love and appreciate, and it just didn't quite hit the heart strings yet. He did strike me as more like Hamlet in character than appearance - overfond of soliloquy and his own voice, knowingly egotistical, and foolhardy in his acceptance of adventure. Some of that could be put down to enchantment of the green serpent, but he was foolhardy in his independence before he became enchanted. Altogether, he didn't seem like a proper replacement for his father, Prince Caspian the Seafarer.
Until today.

His speech to the Witch is a masterpiece of kingly courtesy - politely asking for good treatment at the hand of an oppressor takes a lot of courage. That kind of courage means that you are requiring of yourself the inability to sink to the level of the torturer; they will be given fair words until strong ones are required. They must prove themselves evil in the presence of other witnesses. "Please it you to grant me and my friends safe conduct and a guide through your dark realm." Rilian starts to take leadership naturally, and it is seamless, but these great words have escaped me til now.

[On his formerly enchanted shield, the Lion now figures brightly.] "Doubtless," said the Prince. "This signifies that Aslan will be our good lord, whether he means us to live or die. And all's one, for that. Now, by my counsel, we shall all kneel and kiss his likeness, and then all shake hands one with another, as true friends that may shortly be parted. And then, let us descend into the city and take the adventure that is set us."

By this cheerful acceptance that his life is in Aslan's hands, the Prince is more than saying that he is just as able to live or die at Aslan's command. What he's really saying is that whether he is buried alive (and no one hears of him ever again), or gets out and rules Narnia, his life is not wasted. It is hard, sometimes, to believe that your continued life will be of any use if no one knows the sacrifices you made, or if your goals were not met - what would be the point of a life that no one sees? Rilian is affirming an ancient Christian principle: whether one dies or lives, in poverty or in great blessing, it is good that the Lord do with you what He wishes. Hamlet struggled long with the idea that a life cut short by his own hand ("to die! To sleep! no more") would be better than living in pain. Rilian accepts that Aslan might have called three noble people out of their own lives to wander about the countryside, beset by cannibalistic giants and serpents disguised as beautiful enchantresses, just for all four of them to perish underground in an attempt at freedom. (Yes, insert Braveheart music here.) And here is an end of the matter:

"Friends," said the Prince, "when once a man is launched on such an adventure as this, he must bid farewell to hopes and fears, otherwise death or deliverance will both come too late to save his honour and his reason."

This post is dedicated to my mum and my sisters, the bravest women I know. :)

Aaaaaah, I Can Feel The Burn- In My Fingertips

So I read an article on Helium that made me desire to walk outside in the muggy Arizona weather (anything over 10% humidity is muggy)for an hour, just because I was so pumped. Proper motivation comes by reading, and reading by the preachers of the Internet.

Well, not quite true. I had been wondering why my exercise 'regime' (mostly 20-30 minute walks under duress and in a bad attitude, 2-3 times per week) wasn't working. I'm not gaining, but I'm not losing anything either. Just like the turtle, I plod along, get a bit of satisfaction on crossing something off the list, get a little hungry and whammo - my jeans size hasn't changed. And, there's That Pair Of Jeans that I'm stashing away at the back of one of my drawers, in a deep dark corner. Occasionally, I take it out and look at it longingly, as if to say, "some day darling - some day we shall be together, no matter what the cost". But just like a man and his mistress in all those period films like "Dr. Zhivago" or most recently "Becoming Jane", circumstances and society have cruelly gotten in my way. Specifically, circumstances of ice cream and pizza still being in this world, and the society that I run with still liking them. Therefore, I could not help but be drawn to them like a moth to a flame, and tragically, get burned on the scales every time. And yet - and yet the fascination remains. (Doesn't this just sound like one of those books that attempt to appeal to your worst instincts and then call it a Poignant Exploration of Art? Hogwash.)

So now I've decided to take some Drastic Measures and stride out to the forest and End It All, sacrificing my desires of artichoke dip and cheesecake to the higher call of Health and Wellness, although not in that order, and die of pneumonia in the rain to preserve my honour. (Actually, this is lightly akin to Rufus Sewell's character in the Thomas Hardy adaptation film "The Woodlanders". And just like Sir Ulrich Lichtensteihn in "A Knight's Tale", he spends his ill-starred passion on THE WRONG GIRL. Why on earth these good-looking Tools of Fate don't see that the stunning beauty by their side isn't the one they want to chase, I don't know - I tell them enough when I'm watching that they're being muppets.)

Anyway. So the same rules apply to writing. I may THINK that I have done All There Is To Do, coming up with creative ideas and worrying about grammatical structure and misplaced commas, but the only thing that will bump me up into earning more than $3/article on Helium is writing every morning, scribbling at night, and generally making a nuisance of myself until someone is impressed and notices. Stubbornness - it's got to pay off somehow! So back to the drawing board - or, writing pages - more creative exercises in The Artist's Way.
And someday, when I've added ten pounds to my diaries but not to my frame, I shall count all the calluses on my fingers and be proud. Right now, I need some coffee to get started. :)

Waiting for Redbox

It's a fairly typical night at the Reyburn house - Mum's raptly watching the Les Miserables musical (no doubt we'll hear its merits and demerits tomorrow), Dad got bored with Marius' histrionics and went to bed, and I'm writing articles on Helium because I'm waiting for Redbox.

Redbox offers these addictive texting deals, where you can save the stunning amount of a whole dollar if they get to advertise to you. No doubt Satan used the same sort of argument with Eve when debating the various merits and demerits of the Tree of Good and Evil system. "Yes, Eve, I do hear you on that. Yes, yes, it's good to know your limits - but surely one can explore just the possibility that maybe it doesn't matter? I know you have a spiritual budget that doesn't include consequences for forbidden things, but how do you know that you've hit that limit yet?"

Perhaps Marius' histrionics are having an effect on me, and this link between Satan and Redbox is farfetched. Perhaps they have nothing in common but a certain medieval link to the colour of ripe pomegranates. But I know human nature.

I know that I shall TELL myself that all will be well, I'll run down to the Redbox dispenser at precisely 11:49 pm and will be back in plenty of time tomorrow so that my card doesn't get charged. It's a foolproof plan, except for the nature of the card holder; she tends to forget things, get caught up in the moment, crawl into bed with a sleepy smile and have the Redbox DVD smirking at her in the morning. I am tired; I ought to just pay the $1 fee and be happy for affordable entertainment. Why won't that happen? Because, just like Eve, I always think there is something better that the universe is holding back from me.

Oh, wretched consumer that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death?!