• goodbadi

    Personal Day of Irony

    May 4, 2012

    As yesterday was the National Day of Prayer if you were at the moment a U.S. citizen and the National Day of Reason if you were a Humanist, NPR reported that at least some Humanists were celebrating by doing good deeds like giving blood, thereby essentially turning themselves Christian.

    Later in the day I rose to an occasion in a way I’ve long longed to do: Usually when a telemarketer calls, I annoyedly say something like, “No thank you, I’m not interested,” and hang up; before yesterday I had never successfully emulated the model of discourse I heard presented years ago by one of my church denomination’s stewardship gurus, who said that he tells such callers, “I’m already happy, and I don’t think your such-and-such will make me any happier.”
    As I was working last evening, I for the umpteenth time received a call from John of Home Protection offering me a free burglar alarm system if I would just place their sign in their yard (and pay a monthly service fee, I’m sure). 
    “Well,” I said. “Thanks for calling, but I feel pretty safe here at my house, and I don’t know that I have anything anyone would want to steal anyway, so I don’t think I need that.”
    “Alright, thank you,” he said hanging up.
    I went back to my task–putting locks* on our doors.

    *So maybe they were just screen door hook-and-eye latches to prevent H from heading out on her own, but if I don’t say that part, it’s a better story.
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    A Resurrection Connection

    April 27, 2012

    Occasionally people boil faith down to requisite belief in strange events that as actual happenings perhaps bear no more relevance than might they as merely metaphorical stories.

    Jesus was on to something when he taught in parables, which invite not belief in a certain historical account as much as an interest in learning from a story. Parables allow for active reading, finding ourselves in the text, making the stories’ lessons relevant to our lives–without the encumbrance of “I believe this actually happened” discussion. It makes no difference whether or not the rich man’s barns actually existed or the misguided steward actually buried the money; the points of the stories are applicable to our lives today anyway.

    We pick and choose, of course, which parts of the Bible to understand literally or parable-y. No one in my discussion group the other Sunday seemed to take seriously the idea that we’re all gods, even though Jesus says quite plainly in John 10 that we are, but when Jesus’ resurrection in John 20 rolls around, we’re all textbook.

    As is the case with any historical, religious and/or spiritual event, whether or not I claim the resurrection story’s literal factuality makes absolutely no difference when it comes to what really took place. What’s more, maybe such claims–to either effect–don’t even affect the praxis element of my faith.

    On Easter one of my pastors in his meditation raised the question, “In what way does Jesus’ resurrection make a difference to you?” Then and in ensuing discussions people mentioned, “It gives me hope that death doesn’t have the final say,” “It’s important to me to have a living leader,” “I need to know that every day is a new day so I don’t get discouraged.”

    My contribution to the conversation was largely skeptical: “I don’t know that [the literal resurrection story] does make a difference to me, or makes me live my life any differently. And as for defeating death, I’m not sure what’s the big deal; Lazarus had already been raised from the dead.”

    I just might agree with myself that an all-powerful being’s literal coming back from the dead, while a pretty cool trick, is not really that surprising a stunt, the universe and all else considered. That said, the resurrection story is central to my faith: people can have fresh starts; new breath can be infused into situations hopeless; today’s a new day to give life a go. Ultimately, the challenge of grace that is central to Christianity didn’t end with Jesus’ murder but somehow lives on at the core of the Christian story, be it literal and/or metaphorical.

    Either way, when the sun comes up tomorrow, resurrection will again be born…again.

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    Four-Year-Old Highlights

    April 23, 2012

    She was quite sleepy, but N contained her restlessness quite well through M’s spring choral concert yesterday afternoon, and required minimal distractions: pretzels to eat out of my hat and colored pencils and a notepad.

    Once she’d adjusted to making comments in a small whisper (“That lady’s throat jiggles when she sings!”), she listened quite well to the choral selections but especially well to the orchestral component, Vivaldi’s “Spring.”

    While I listened, it occurred to me that I should personally thank the one person I knew on the program’s list of donors to the choir for fostering such a great fine arts environment for my child.

    I didn’t cross paths with that person there, however, and after M changed back into her street clothes, we stopped by McDonald’s for a surprise end-of-choral-term celebratory snack (I was craving burgers), and drove home through the rain.

    In the car M asked N what had been her favorite part of the performance.

    “I liked coloring,” she said.

    (Later M told me the rest of the story: The day before, she’d taken N to an “instrument petting zoo” at a nearby university, then to Dollar General. That night in bed, she asked N about her favorite part of the outing: “All the interesting things at the store,” she said.)

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    Dump Save

    April 8, 2012

    It was my second load of old-living-room-turning-new-kitchen debris of the day. While certainly weighing less than the first–that one was right near half a ton–it was still aiming to cost me $15 to unload at the landfill. I dutifully backed up our aged Accord and too-big trailer and readied my tired back to throw those floorboards complete with their FDR-era newsprint remnants overboard.

    Three young men in a small pickup with had just disposed of an old carpet when I got out of the car. The driver looked at my load and then asked the attendant, “What are the rules about asking other people for their junk?”

    The attendant shrugged; his weekend shift was set to end in half an hour.

    “You want the lumber?” I asked the man. “You’re welcome to it.”

    “It seems I never come to the landfill without leaving with something I didn’t bring,” he said.

    We crossed back over the scales, I explained to the lady my undiminished load, and the three guys helped me stack the old boards into their pickup.

    “Building something?” I asked.

    “Yup. I’m adding onto my building.”

    I don’t know who was more tickled–the treasure finder or the unburdened me, fully aware of my own love of free scraps.

    Here’s my shed I built over the last couple years, almost entirely out of other people’s cast-away materials:

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    These Days

    April 1, 2012

    A couple weeks ago N wanted to write down the things H knows how to do, so I told her the letters and she wrote them:

    She also helped Grandma with the dishes this evening:

    And yesterday, H showed her bark:

    She’s not only all bark, though, as this video from last week shows:

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