Aaron is here! And in the hospital getting something fixed, so I am waiting for his call.

Work last week was extremely unfulfilling, and to top it off, I received an email from King's Fold, asking me to come work for them this summer. Watching the Curious Case of Benjamin Button today: "Life is defined by its opportunities, taken or missed." It is in my best interests to go and work for them in that beautiful, fulfilling environment. But which is more faithful: to be responsible to my commitments: job, rent, relationships here--or to leave again and make another place a home?

I am admitted into Regent College for Christian Studies, and I have since decided that I am going to do the Christianity and the Arts concentration, and do a CD for my thesis if I can. More and more I want to do music, sometimes more than I care to write in the strict sense of the word. So much of arts these days, at least in the marketplace involves a considerable amount of whoring oneself to those who would give you food and money to do art. But tell me, who doesn't want to be able to feed themselves or their family doing what they are meant to do? Perhaps that is why the stereotypical artist doesn't have a family or stable relationships. Perhaps that lifestyle isn't all that selfish--from a utilitarian perspective, only one person starves.

Although, I am excited to starve with Aaron. I watched him fold his clothes into his pack last night, warm from my dryer, and wondered how it was that he decided he wanted to be with me, and I suppose I him. I consider myself very fortunate to have him in my life, driving through the night to see me for the weekend. Even if that means we spend several hours together in the hospital, and I carry his shoes and watch home and wait for his call.

So this fall I suppose I will begin my MA in Vancouver, and get ready to start life together with Aaron. The buds are beginning to burst on the deciduous trees on my street, the quiet, slightly discalced rows of metal trailers in various states of repair. Spring and summer always reminds me that God does give and take away, and give again.

 

I can't believe I'm writing this!

"Dear Recruit :
We have currently identified enough candidates for our fire crew postitions this season. Unfortunately you have not been selected. However, due to our lower number of forecasted vacancies we have decided to create a small waiting list for lack of a better term. You have been selected to this list based on your efforts put forth throught the application process. The competition was very strong this season..."

Well, yes I can believe this. As soon as I opened the letter, I knew that it would contain the word unfortunately. What does Fortune have to do with this? Honestly if it was Fortune, then I vote we roll the dice again. I missed three days of school, spent several days and hundreds of dollars recertifying first aid in stupid Calgary of all places, and my family flew me out to BC for my interview and fitness test. And so what? I suppose I am on a waiting list. Still, I am ashamed that I put so much into it, for nothing to come of it. Come to think of it, if the Fire Service was a man, they would be the worst boyfriend ever: expecting me to wait for months while they decide if they want me, not calling me back, breaking up with me in an email, then saying there may or may not be a chance in May for me, but I really shouldn't count on it...I should have ended it before it came to this.

And I suppose that Dr Seuss, had he tried out for fire fighting, would have been rejected, and perhaps 28 times, before he was accepted. This is, after all, only my first year trying.

 

 

The past four years of my life I have stifled and shunned almost every opportunity to make myself appear more intelligent, at the risk of appearing stupid or slow in some cases. I was reminded of this on Tuesday as we discussed our definitions of prayer in one of my classes, an exercise in futility I thought. In answering a question, I took a longer than comfortable silence to respond, so others jumped in with their own ideas.

Often the way that we approach each other (self-proclaimed Christian or not) in academia is a thinly veiled attempt to push our own intellect and intelligence into the limelight. Instead of listening to where someone else is going with an idea, or looking into the background of an idea, we immediately attack it for what it is or is not, bombarding the situation with semantic nonsense and philosophical jargon incommensurable to most.

Reading an article "Recognizing Agonistic Respect" refreshed for me the notion of charity as a necessary aspect of rhetoric and debate. Instead of simply using another's fallacies to smugly and bombastically pad our own ideas and beliefs, we actually value what the other person has to say and recognize the thinking that they have done. Someone else isn't stupid because they believe something different than you--in fact, their worldview just may be more cogent than yours.

Treating others with respect and projecting our own ideas tactfully should not be novel ideas, but from what I have been witnessing lately among Christian scholars, it is a rather novel idea.

When I was in senior high, I was confident in my ability to tear apart anyone's argument and make them look idiotic. Still when people speak, I can pick out logical fallacies and inconsistencies--but acting on that confidence requires tact, something that I am not confident with all the time. In the interest of others, I have remained silent through much of my post-secondary career. This is because I realized one summer the power of words. I recalled the older girls in elementary school, bullying me and forcing me to eat dirt, calling me names. I recalled things that people said to me in anger that I cannot forget. It was then I made a point of remaining silent when I knew that I could inflict damage on someone--either their ideas or their character. Because it was only my pride and broken little heart that wanted to break other people's little hearts.

As with other things in my life, the Buck Stops Here. I will be the weakest link in the chain of emotional oppression, of broken marriage, of addiction and abuse, and I will break the chain.

And another thing: because I realized the power of words, I wanted to make positive change--I knew that summer that I wanted to write. In writing, I can take the time to be tactful, and I have all the time to say what I mean, and I suppose, mean what I say.