Once upon a time, there was a girl who didn't particularly like Christmas. Every year she thought she would like it, she remembered what it was like to smell cookies and listen to Christmas music and buy presents, and then something would happen. The something was different every year - the headache of trying to find just the right presents, the way people tend to argue at family parties, or the painfully empty chairs that reminded her of the people she'd lost - but inevitably she would turn into a grouch between December 1st and 25th each year. She may even have been called "the grinch" by a few disgruntled friends and sisters.
And then one year... it just didn't happen. She couldn't explain why, because all of the usual things happened: shopping was a nightmare, politics and religion were visited in the same conversation, the best (or worst) family gossip was shared and picked over, and the chairs that should have been filled by the most loving and caring people were conspicuously empty. On top of all of this, the sickly-sweet bubblegum joy of Christmas radio was practically inescapable no matter where she turned. It should have put her off and she knew it, in fact she was waiting for it... only to discover that it didn't.
It wasn't a Christmas miracle. There wasn't any magic, no one fell in love, and she didn't start believing in Santa Claus again, but for the first time in a long time she was able to be with people and share the gift of togetherness instead of focusing on the headaches and stress and expectations.
She wasn't sure what made it so good. Maybe it was maturity. Maybe the desperate wishing for something to change had an effect on her subconscious. Maybe she was feeling sappy and simply didn't notice a lot of the things that should have sent her over the edge. Whatever it was, after five or six years of verifiable grinchiness, she was able to be especially grateful for the family and friends who helped her decorate, played the sickly-sweet bubblegum-joy songs, and chose to spend time with her before and during the holidays. They make life beautiful and make her feel worthwhile, and she can never thank them enough.
And she wanted me to tell you all that. Merry Christmas.
12.29.2012
12.21.2012
Beginning a Blog (after the fact)
It occurs to me that while I have a cute tagline to my blog title, I've never really taken the time to explain what "The Cross and the Sword" really means, and why I think it's such a big deal. To be honest, it's an idea that has been evolving for a few years now and I was afraid, at first, that it would be a passing thing and I would end up changing it a few times. If you've been with me for a while, you know that the tagline itself has changed a bit over time; somehow, though, the spirit of the cross and the sword have stayed with me, so here is an exploration of their roots and what (I hope) I can do with these themes in my life.
The metaphor of a cross and a sword began for me when I was at Miracle Mountain Ranch, 17 years old and newly graduated from high school. It is a long time since I looked like the stereotypical homeschooler, but not so far under my socially adapted exterior is a deeply committed nerd: a devoted Lord of the Rings fan (and fan-fiction/RP writer, she said with a nod to The Plaza), constant reader of 18th and 19th century literature, and a self-fashioned wanderer in search of chivalry, honesty and honor. That year at the Ranch I was the model apprentice, but there were a few people with whom I felt I could be myself. During training demonstrations in the barn we would sit in the loft and I would use graph paper to sketch fantastical coats of arms and brands, mustering all that I knew of heraldry to lend significance to the images and colors used in my creations.
One creation in particular stayed with me, because of its beauty and simplicity. The vertical line was too long to be a cross, the horizontal too plain to be a sword. I wrapped a casual line of color around it, from its arm to the point, then back to the other arm. I attempted to add plumes, to put it on a shield, to incorporate it into the Lion Rampant or some more glorious emblem, to use it as the "l" in my name, but in the end I found that none of the embellishments improved it and I resolved to leave it alone. Besides, the summer was approaching and I was far too busy wrangling my landscaping volunteers to be worried with developing my personal coat of arms any further.
After the Ranch, real life hit abruptly. For lack of a better idea, I found myself enrolled at a little school called Geneva College in Beaver Falls - for all that it was 12 miles from home, I had never heard of the city or the school before my mother suggested them - and I was "undeclared," which was code for: I want to know everything and I have commitment issues. Because of my interests in high school, I took a serious look at History and Creative Writing as majors, with Student Ministry thrown in there as a potential interest because I really wanted to impress a certain person from MMR. The college setting was a shock to my system, but in the honors program I found a few people with whom I felt safe enough to mention my love of imagery, icons and latin mottos. I sometimes wonder if they thought me crazy.
The battle to choose a major (and escape the incessant coddling of those in charge of Undeclared L&T "Focus Group") was intense, but brief; in the end, Terry Thomas's storytelling won me over and in the space of eight weeks I had declared for Student Ministry. I loved every one of my major classes, but I couldn't shake the desire to know everything, especially about the way people work. I have always been a people-watcher, and this tendency was incubated through the time I spent eating alone in the cafeteria and hanging out with Debbie in the Student Min Office.
You didn't know you had signed up for the story of my life, did you?
Contrary to what some people believe, student ministry isn't (all) about campfire songs and ice-breaker games. In addition to "ministry" classes concerned with the history and development of ministry, special studies in specific ministry models and situations, and three unique practicum experiences, we take quite a few Bible classes, along with theology, philosophy, and psychology. On top of this, I was at a liberal arts college with traditional "core" requirements: humanities, social sciences, political science, etc. I will never regret the time or money spent on these, ever. However, as I began to connect the dots of my learning and reflect on my experience as a homeschooler, an apprentice, and now as a college student, some difficulties became apparent.
When I say "difficulties," please know that I mean "things that are profoundly distressing"; so profoundly distressing that I don't really know how to properly express them most of the time; not in person, and not in print. At its heart is the question of Truth; in my Bible classes I was taught that Jesus said "the Truth shall set you free" (John 8), but in my experience Truth has been most associated with right and wrong. Beyond that, right and wrong often demarcate "us" and "them," "in" and "out," "valuable" and "valueless"; these in turn help "us," who are "in" and "valuable," to determine what should be cared about and who should be ignored.
We come to "know" what sin is and we believe it is our duty to preach against it; we come to "know"that sin is an abomination to God and we make it our duty to be appalled by it; we come to "know" that we have been redeemed... and we decide to cast the unredeemed world into hell's fire prematurely. Who made me the judge? What pride is it that rejoices in my personal salvation and then refuses to give that grace to others? I am not saying this of all Christians, or even all American Christians, but the pervasiveness of divisive, ignorant, and ungracious behavior within the church is well documented by recent research (i.e. You Lost Me and UnChristian). This should not surprise us, given the doctrine of the Fall.
The Bible calls the Word of God a "double-edged sword" (Heb 4:12), and I think we can agree that the simplest statements have been as destructive as a broadsword when used in the wrong place or time, or with the wrong attitude. Never in opposition, but certainly in contrast, Jesus tells us that knowing the Truth sets us free - and a few short chapter later he announces exactly what he means: Jesus said to him, "I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the father except through me" (John 14:6).
What is the truth that we are commanded to know? What did the Word of God (John 1:1) do with ultimate power? He loved. He sacrificed. He redeemed.
In the last few years, this has been the story of my life. I believe in truth. I believe that there are such things as right and wrong. I believe that it is vitally important to preach against sin, to teach what is right, to avoid what is wrong. However, my studies and experiences almost daily remind me that I was redeemed in spite of my sin, and it is not for me to withhold that redemption from others; in fact, it is my responsibility to share redemption with the world.
The metaphor of a cross and a sword began for me when I was at Miracle Mountain Ranch, 17 years old and newly graduated from high school. It is a long time since I looked like the stereotypical homeschooler, but not so far under my socially adapted exterior is a deeply committed nerd: a devoted Lord of the Rings fan (and fan-fiction/RP writer, she said with a nod to The Plaza), constant reader of 18th and 19th century literature, and a self-fashioned wanderer in search of chivalry, honesty and honor. That year at the Ranch I was the model apprentice, but there were a few people with whom I felt I could be myself. During training demonstrations in the barn we would sit in the loft and I would use graph paper to sketch fantastical coats of arms and brands, mustering all that I knew of heraldry to lend significance to the images and colors used in my creations.
One creation in particular stayed with me, because of its beauty and simplicity. The vertical line was too long to be a cross, the horizontal too plain to be a sword. I wrapped a casual line of color around it, from its arm to the point, then back to the other arm. I attempted to add plumes, to put it on a shield, to incorporate it into the Lion Rampant or some more glorious emblem, to use it as the "l" in my name, but in the end I found that none of the embellishments improved it and I resolved to leave it alone. Besides, the summer was approaching and I was far too busy wrangling my landscaping volunteers to be worried with developing my personal coat of arms any further.
After the Ranch, real life hit abruptly. For lack of a better idea, I found myself enrolled at a little school called Geneva College in Beaver Falls - for all that it was 12 miles from home, I had never heard of the city or the school before my mother suggested them - and I was "undeclared," which was code for: I want to know everything and I have commitment issues. Because of my interests in high school, I took a serious look at History and Creative Writing as majors, with Student Ministry thrown in there as a potential interest because I really wanted to impress a certain person from MMR. The college setting was a shock to my system, but in the honors program I found a few people with whom I felt safe enough to mention my love of imagery, icons and latin mottos. I sometimes wonder if they thought me crazy.
The battle to choose a major (and escape the incessant coddling of those in charge of Undeclared L&T "Focus Group") was intense, but brief; in the end, Terry Thomas's storytelling won me over and in the space of eight weeks I had declared for Student Ministry. I loved every one of my major classes, but I couldn't shake the desire to know everything, especially about the way people work. I have always been a people-watcher, and this tendency was incubated through the time I spent eating alone in the cafeteria and hanging out with Debbie in the Student Min Office.
You didn't know you had signed up for the story of my life, did you?
Contrary to what some people believe, student ministry isn't (all) about campfire songs and ice-breaker games. In addition to "ministry" classes concerned with the history and development of ministry, special studies in specific ministry models and situations, and three unique practicum experiences, we take quite a few Bible classes, along with theology, philosophy, and psychology. On top of this, I was at a liberal arts college with traditional "core" requirements: humanities, social sciences, political science, etc. I will never regret the time or money spent on these, ever. However, as I began to connect the dots of my learning and reflect on my experience as a homeschooler, an apprentice, and now as a college student, some difficulties became apparent.
When I say "difficulties," please know that I mean "things that are profoundly distressing"; so profoundly distressing that I don't really know how to properly express them most of the time; not in person, and not in print. At its heart is the question of Truth; in my Bible classes I was taught that Jesus said "the Truth shall set you free" (John 8), but in my experience Truth has been most associated with right and wrong. Beyond that, right and wrong often demarcate "us" and "them," "in" and "out," "valuable" and "valueless"; these in turn help "us," who are "in" and "valuable," to determine what should be cared about and who should be ignored.
We come to "know" what sin is and we believe it is our duty to preach against it; we come to "know"that sin is an abomination to God and we make it our duty to be appalled by it; we come to "know" that we have been redeemed... and we decide to cast the unredeemed world into hell's fire prematurely. Who made me the judge? What pride is it that rejoices in my personal salvation and then refuses to give that grace to others? I am not saying this of all Christians, or even all American Christians, but the pervasiveness of divisive, ignorant, and ungracious behavior within the church is well documented by recent research (i.e. You Lost Me and UnChristian). This should not surprise us, given the doctrine of the Fall.
The Bible calls the Word of God a "double-edged sword" (Heb 4:12), and I think we can agree that the simplest statements have been as destructive as a broadsword when used in the wrong place or time, or with the wrong attitude. Never in opposition, but certainly in contrast, Jesus tells us that knowing the Truth sets us free - and a few short chapter later he announces exactly what he means: Jesus said to him, "I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the father except through me" (John 14:6).
What is the truth that we are commanded to know? What did the Word of God (John 1:1) do with ultimate power? He loved. He sacrificed. He redeemed.
Redemption cost all of him. How can I do less?
In the last few years, this has been the story of my life. I believe in truth. I believe that there are such things as right and wrong. I believe that it is vitally important to preach against sin, to teach what is right, to avoid what is wrong. However, my studies and experiences almost daily remind me that I was redeemed in spite of my sin, and it is not for me to withhold that redemption from others; in fact, it is my responsibility to share redemption with the world.
For the word of God is alive and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges thoughts and attitudes of the heart.Tempting as it is, I cannot run into the world waving a bright sword and pretending that all things said in truth are just. This kind of power cannot be wielded by a child like me, unless its every move is constrained also by the love of Christ, the love that willingly approached the cross. And so, once in a while I practice drawing my childish talisman, a reminder to me that God has been weaving his plans into the fabric of my life since the beginning and will continue doing so until the end. I approach life with a cross and a sword... and every day I learn more of who I am between the two.
Hebrews 4:12
12.06.2012
Big Questions, Worthy Dreams
As an undergrad in student ministry, I never imagined that I would be pursuing a degree in education, and even less so that I would love it. Most of my thoughts on formal education systems seemed to circle around to my favorite Captain America line in The Avengers: "Hulk, SMASH!" You can blame it on my homeschooliness, but you can't deny that there are some pretty messed up things going on in our schools. Education majors often get on my nerves, putting together their cute little lesson plans and focusing on the how-tos of teaching instead of dwelling on how the system as a whole must and could be reformed.
I am able to acknowledge the fault in my logic, however, when I also say that college is one of the best things that ever happened to me. College gave me access to information, not in the sense that the internet does so, but information mediated by wise adults whom I trust to direct me in ways of thinking and discerning between what is important and what is not in most fields. Not all students feel this way; many of them love the people they lived with, or the co-curriculars they participated in. For me, however, stepping on to Geneva's campus was stepping into a wonderland of opportunity for learning and growth.
Geneva College and the amazing friends and mentors with whom I have studied during the past six years were an excellent backdrop to my reading of Sharon Parks' book Big Questions, Worthy Dreams for the 52x52. Parks' target group is "young adults," by which she means "twenty-somethings," and it was interesting to read her perspective and research on people like me. I believe I am in a unique position, however, to compare her observations to my own, and I was glad to say that for the most part I felt well-represented in both theory and practice.
Parks spends the first half of her book explaining and maneuvering through developmental learning theories in multiple areas to describe "young adults" as a group who have exited adolescence, but have not yet reached mature adulthood. She talks about development in terms of a journey (that is, movement away from what is familiar in search of truth) as well as homecoming (that is, discovering how each of us may be at home in the world and in our communities as we continue this search for truth). Her conclusion is that thing we need most to reach mature adulthood are good mentors and mentoring communities. The second half of the book is devoted to descriptions of the benefits and possibilities of these mentoring relationships.
As a student of higher ed, I was excited to read this because it gives me a more manageable perspective on my students and peers. Many of the learning theories that Parks works with have been presented to me in classes and I feel as if I finally understand how theory can be used in meaningful ways. Parks' illustrations and anecdotes from her interaction with students were excellently chosen, and I looked forward to block quotes (craziness!).
The thing that really stood out to me about the book, however, was the recurring theme of journey and homecoming, and how deeply those ideas resonated in my experience. When I was just a freshman in HUM103, I wrote a paper for the end of the class wherein I described my sense of my own narrative as that of "the wanderer," a character without a home and with an uncertain future, looking for something of deep meaning and content with a meager portion in the meantime. This is still very true of my perspective. Through the last five years, however, more has been added to the narrative - people and places have brushed, bumped, and sometimes taken up residence in my life in such a way that I have come to know the value of a mentoring environment and community. Not only do I know its value, I cannot imagine leaving it. In higher education, the wanderer caught a glimpse of home and began the long walk toward interdependence and community.
As I think about this read for the 52x52, I would say that it was helpful personally, in that I was able to reflect on my experience and growth, as well as the long trudge still ahead of me on my way to maturity. However, it has also given me a better perspective on the bigger picture of education; as much as I still want to shake it up (a little revolution now and again is a good thing), I can no longer say, "Ceci, SMASH!" Since it may someday pay my bills, I suppose that is a healthy improvement.
I am able to acknowledge the fault in my logic, however, when I also say that college is one of the best things that ever happened to me. College gave me access to information, not in the sense that the internet does so, but information mediated by wise adults whom I trust to direct me in ways of thinking and discerning between what is important and what is not in most fields. Not all students feel this way; many of them love the people they lived with, or the co-curriculars they participated in. For me, however, stepping on to Geneva's campus was stepping into a wonderland of opportunity for learning and growth.
Geneva College and the amazing friends and mentors with whom I have studied during the past six years were an excellent backdrop to my reading of Sharon Parks' book Big Questions, Worthy Dreams for the 52x52. Parks' target group is "young adults," by which she means "twenty-somethings," and it was interesting to read her perspective and research on people like me. I believe I am in a unique position, however, to compare her observations to my own, and I was glad to say that for the most part I felt well-represented in both theory and practice.
Parks spends the first half of her book explaining and maneuvering through developmental learning theories in multiple areas to describe "young adults" as a group who have exited adolescence, but have not yet reached mature adulthood. She talks about development in terms of a journey (that is, movement away from what is familiar in search of truth) as well as homecoming (that is, discovering how each of us may be at home in the world and in our communities as we continue this search for truth). Her conclusion is that thing we need most to reach mature adulthood are good mentors and mentoring communities. The second half of the book is devoted to descriptions of the benefits and possibilities of these mentoring relationships.
As a student of higher ed, I was excited to read this because it gives me a more manageable perspective on my students and peers. Many of the learning theories that Parks works with have been presented to me in classes and I feel as if I finally understand how theory can be used in meaningful ways. Parks' illustrations and anecdotes from her interaction with students were excellently chosen, and I looked forward to block quotes (craziness!).
The thing that really stood out to me about the book, however, was the recurring theme of journey and homecoming, and how deeply those ideas resonated in my experience. When I was just a freshman in HUM103, I wrote a paper for the end of the class wherein I described my sense of my own narrative as that of "the wanderer," a character without a home and with an uncertain future, looking for something of deep meaning and content with a meager portion in the meantime. This is still very true of my perspective. Through the last five years, however, more has been added to the narrative - people and places have brushed, bumped, and sometimes taken up residence in my life in such a way that I have come to know the value of a mentoring environment and community. Not only do I know its value, I cannot imagine leaving it. In higher education, the wanderer caught a glimpse of home and began the long walk toward interdependence and community.
As I think about this read for the 52x52, I would say that it was helpful personally, in that I was able to reflect on my experience and growth, as well as the long trudge still ahead of me on my way to maturity. However, it has also given me a better perspective on the bigger picture of education; as much as I still want to shake it up (a little revolution now and again is a good thing), I can no longer say, "Ceci, SMASH!" Since it may someday pay my bills, I suppose that is a healthy improvement.
12.04.2012
rain and Frost
Will I sound like a total nerd if I say that I love the scene in Daredevil when he walks out into the rain and realizes that he can see wihout his eyes? Ever since I saw it the first (well, the only) time, I have been fascinated by that image of living in a way that recognizes its dependence on a sense of touch.
Not that I have ever wished I was blind, but I want my life to be like that, and rain reminds me of that. No matter how cold and miserable it seems to be, whether it is those first few drops or the walk back to my apartment in a downpour, rain reminds me that there is a great big world out there that will keep spinning no matter how tragic my own problems are. And it will do more than keep spinning, because the feel of cool water on my skin reminds me that it will also continue to be full of beauty and wonder.
I have been one acquainted with the night
I have walked out in rain and back in rain,
I have outwalked the farthest city lights...
I've been told that Frost was depressed and is depressing, but I love to read and memorize him. He knew about the rain. And who knows, maybe a little bit of rain (or depression) is good for us. Maybe I'm crazy, but it reminds me to stop, and to feel.
(I stop here to spare you all of my favorite country songs)
Not that I have ever wished I was blind, but I want my life to be like that, and rain reminds me of that. No matter how cold and miserable it seems to be, whether it is those first few drops or the walk back to my apartment in a downpour, rain reminds me that there is a great big world out there that will keep spinning no matter how tragic my own problems are. And it will do more than keep spinning, because the feel of cool water on my skin reminds me that it will also continue to be full of beauty and wonder.
I have been one acquainted with the night
I have walked out in rain and back in rain,
I have outwalked the farthest city lights...
I've been told that Frost was depressed and is depressing, but I love to read and memorize him. He knew about the rain. And who knows, maybe a little bit of rain (or depression) is good for us. Maybe I'm crazy, but it reminds me to stop, and to feel.
(I stop here to spare you all of my favorite country songs)
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