O Tannenbaum, you heavy-laden balm of tradition's art...

This year, for the first time in about 10 years, we have a tree in our living room. A green, slowly-dying 6-foot douglas fir that has been cruelly trained and chopped so as to be a perfect cone. It's pretty. And it smells good. and I like it, whatever the moral consequences are for utilizing nature in this way.

This has inspired several thoughts in my fertile head (fertile, in the sense that it seems to be apt at growing things... you'd understand if you saw a picture of me). One of them is that I could derive the equation for both the volume and the surface area of the cone inscribed by the tree. Calculus does things to you, dontcha know...

However, the more interesting thing that this festive time of year brings to mind is our purpose for having a Christmas Tree in the first place.

For my family, the tree has always been both a tradition and a storehouse of memories. We would always set up the tree, put on the record of Amy Grant's Christmas album, and string lights and hang ornaments long into the night. These memories are so strong, in fact, that during the latter half of my first semester of college, the mere sound of the song "Tennessee Christmas" was enough to bring tears to my eyes. (Well... it might have been that, or the finals and papers that were becoming overwhelming at that point. or a combination. take your pick)

The most significant part of our Christmas tree traditions is actually in the things we hang on it. Some of these ornaments are as much as 13 years older than I am, some are quite new, but most if not all represent an event or relationship that was important in our lives at some time.

Since we have more than one person in our family (sorta by definition :-P ), the ornaments we have more than fill our tree to overflowing. And each year, as I unwrap each ornament, I remember the story behind it. Sometimes, tears come with the thought of someone who has since died. Sometimes a smile comes, because of the unique nature of the person or the humor of the story behind it.

In any case, this long-standing family tradition could be likened to Scrooge's walk through "Christmas Past". Its like watching the history of your life, with all of its joy and heartbreak. I think this is important... Too often, I think I forget about how things were, about the things that have gone before, and the events that have shaped our lives. And Christmas is a time when we remember, lament, laugh, and learn.

So when you see our tree breaking under its heavy load of ornaments, know that we too are laden with the past, and remember.

The Freshman...16? (or) What is a soul? (part I)

I learned in tenth grade that the original meaning of the word "glory" had to do with heaviness.
Simple, right? The things that matter to us are "weighty". They have a sort of glory.

At college, everyone wants to be weighty. Especially the freshmen. We want to be noticed for our talents, respected for our knowledge, and liked for our personality. We desperately seek ways to be weightier in the sight of our friends. We need that affirmation.

Why? What is it about being human that makes us long for recognition?

I honestly believe, like C.S. Lewis, that it is the desire for glory...the glory that comes from God alone.

But that does so little to answer that question... :-)

Time flies...

I have been away from home for a month.  In a way, it seems like it's been longer than that...each day seems like it's twice as long as they were this summer...but it also feels like I just got here.

A MONTH!?!?  no way...

That means:
- I haven't had good waffles on a Saturday morning, made courtesy of my Dad...for a month
- I haven't had a decent PBJ sandwich...for a month (though I am enjoying having peanut butter with a spoon in my dorm room on occasion)
- I haven't hung out with my sister...in a month
- I haven't been to my youth group...in a month
- I haven't been a trial to my mother...in a month

But it does mean that I will see my girlfriend, hopefully, in less than a month. :-D

The Glory of Freedom

Nothing is as glorious as freedom.  No other gift is as wonderful, or as terrible.  The burden of freedom is greater than a boulder across your shoulders.  Envy Atlas, all who hear, for although his burden was great, you who are free have a greater.  Atlas was not free, doomed to support the earth forevermore, but he knew not the weight of self-determination.  Many who should feel this weight do not.  They have given their burden to others to carry, smooth-speaking, silver-tongued weasels who take, with their burden, a part of their humanity.  The steadfast freemen walk on, wearing their freedom as a badge of honor.

Frail Humanity, Where is Thy sting?

I recently quit my job, as most of you will know, that follow me on facebook, in person or by some other means of communication. And I've realized how amazing it is to work with someone (two someones, actually), who, in general, share your beliefs and priorities, and treat you at least somewhat as an equal. Heck, I'd have been satisfied if more people had treated me like a human being during my term in fast food.

But more importantly, I've discovered that working in fast food doesn't kill me. Even if there are persons who seem to begrudge my humanity, the brunt of their snubs and condescensions is taken, not by my self-esteem, but by my identity, which is based on my Faith, a stronger and more durable object than a flimsy self-image. It can stand against mistreatment, and hold its own against being ignored and degraded.

Ok, so being ignored and degraded is a little strong for what actually happens at fast food, and mistreatment, taken literally, is also a bit of an exaggeration. However, in broader sense, wherever I encounter these things, the knowledge that I am a person, and the knowledge of what exactly that means, is enough to sustain me.

It seems to me that this is the one true solution to so many problems, knowing what it means to be human, what it means to have a soul. And I believe that Christianity is the one true source of that knowledge.

What don't I see?

Blogging: An online conversation with no one and everyone

I must confess a certain dislike of instances when people blog for the sake of blogging, or even when they blog about blogging.
Actually, what aggravates me most is when someone posts simply to say that they have nothing to say. Not only is it patently not true, it's also rather pointless...
(This is why there are often such long times between posting on this blog and the other...I simply have nothing to say that I don't mind sharing with the entire cyber-world.)
Only slightly less disliked are the posts that discuss why someone blogs. If you write a post about why you write about your life on your blog, wouldn't your time be better spent writing about your life?
This disclaimer comes, now, to the ironic point of saying that this is almost, I repeat, almost one of those sorts of posts. I am deeply sorry if anyone reading this is anything like me.


I was thinking today about why some people think that they can't write. Most often, their excuse is that they lack subject matter. I believe this is hogwash. Anyone with a decent brain and an operable set of five sense (or maybe even four or three, depends on what they are) is capable of writing.  I seems to me that subject matter is all around us.  In a way, there is enough subject matter between my hairy toes and my hairy head to make for a lifetime of inspiration for a blog.  Please don't think I'm just being conceited, either.  Every human is living a story that is worth telling, because it is a true story.

Equally often heard is, "I don't have time." This is a more valid complaint, but still, pretty lame.  We have time for what we make time for.  More simply, in the words of some wise housewife, "Where there's a will, there's a way."  Simple enough, right?  But when there are so many other things to do, so many things that take up our time... why should we worry about telling our story to the five people who might eventually read our blog?  

Now this is the main point...  From my point of view, blogging, at least  the kind of blogging that I do (meaning, non-political, non-societal, and really mostly unimportant to all but those who know me), really isn't for an audience.  I mean, it does make it more fun when you know that people read what you write, and when they respond to it, but really, blogging is like a conversation with no one, and with everyone.  (Just now the thought crossed my mind that this post really couldn't make less sense...)  For me, it's a way of processing my thoughts and feelings in public without having to worry about interruptions.  Essentially, I'm telling my story, and because I'm putting it in writing, I have the time to figure out some of the plot and foreshadowing, and maybe, once in a while, the moral.

So...tell your story to yourself, and the world, so you can figure out what it means, so you can be so excited that you can't wait for the next episode.

How's that for a moral?  :-)

"And in spite of this, we call this Friday good..."

Without having a deep background in a liturgical church, I have little space and few words with which to expound on the attitude of deep, sacramental sadness that pervades my thoughts.

The best language that I can muster, in terms of the weight of this day, are ones of  a sinking feeling of monumental loss.  You can see them in every successful portrayal of the story of the Passion.  In the faces of the apostate apostles-to-be, who have now been robbed of their one and only hope.  In the manner of the confused onlookers, who followed Him out of curiosity, now overwhelmed that their charismatic leader could come to such a sad end.  In the demeanor of those who rashly demanded his death, knowing not that the one that they condemned was the judge of the world, you see the emptiness that comes with rejecting their creator.  You feel it in the soul of Peter, having betrayed his master, and having watched Him die.

It has been said that we must train our sentiments.  Let us, this one week, these three days of the year, feel the depth of pain that bought redemption for our errors.

I find it appropriate to first mourn the death of Christ before celebrating His Resurrection.

All is vanity, vanity, vanity...

I am impressed (depressed, maybe?) with the utter temporality of what I just got done doing.

Writing essays for college applications, which probably will only get looked at once, and even if they do get me scholarships (which is doubtful, but possible), It will be money, and nothing more.

Maybe the only thing you can really get out of this sort of thing is learning. I could get all the scholarships in the world, and blow an Oxford education partying in the pubs.
It's really kinda lousy when you turn 18 and suddenly realize,
"Shoot, I have to be responsible for myself now..." It isn't all it was cracked up to be, y'know.

Maybe learning is all you can really get out of life, I don't know...

Learn to Love learning, for those two are all that really counts.
(nice catch phrase for a personal motto, eh?)

Now Abideth Faith, Hope, and Love, but the Greatest of these is Love.
(now THERE's a motto for ya'... :-P)