Anna-Ruth’s Neighborhood

So it's been 5+ months since I last blogged. But I routinely remind Abi that it's been almost a week since she last posted, and that she should therefore be ashamed of herself and get her pregnant, hormonal but to work. But I work in the ministry now, so a little hypocrisy is to be expected, right?

Those of you who know me know the bland details of my life right now, so I'm not going to go over them. Instead, I'm going to completely ignore the last 5 months as though I've already blogged extensively on every inane detail, and you're already up to speed. Instead, I'm going to tell you a story... and finally take a crack at a fortunately/unfortunately.

It was Easter. Fortunately, I like Easter.
Unfortunately, I live alone, so I celebrate Easter alone.
Fortunately, I have friends that also live alone, so they can keep me company.
Unfortunately, they have their own lives.
Fortunately, their lives are uninteresting :-)
Unfortunately, that means we all got bored.
Fortunately, we decided to play putt-putt.
Unfortunately, we decided to play putt-putt.
Fortunately, all five of us were enjoying it (Chelle, Ian, Travis, Sean, and myself).
Unfortunately, we didn't get to keep enjoying it.
Fortunately, Travis was full of energy.
Unfortunately, Travis was not full of discernment.
Fortunately, since it was Easter, we found some plastic eggs.
Unfortunately, plastic eggs don't mix well with putt-putt and discernment-free teens.
Fortunately, we were outside.
Unfortunately, Travis decided to hit the egg. With his club.
Fortunately, he managed to the the egg squarely.
Unfortunately, he managed to hit Ian squarely, too.
Fortunately, Ian didn't lose any teeth. Or an eye. Or break his face.
Unfortunately, that wasn't enough to keep us out of the hospital.
Fortunately, Ian just had a cut on his face.
Unfortunately, the cut went all the way through into his mouth.
Fortunately, he just needed a couple stitches.
Unfortunately, "a couple" is 12.
Fortunately, the ER is equipped for that.
Unfortunately, it still took 4 hours. urg.
Fortunately, Ian has insurance.
Unfortunately, we still haven't seen the bill.
Fortunately, this gave me an excuse to give Travis and Ian gangster. names.
Unfortunately, those names are "Scarface Timmy" and "Tony the Club."

See? I posted. And yes, Ian has since healed fairly well (it's been a few weeks). And Travis feels sufficiently horrible, but not overly so. Just the right amount of horrible.
I'm working with kids now. I should have lots more exciting stories in the near future. Who knows, maybe I'll even blog some of them.

So this year I was gonna do it. I was really going to join NaBloPoMo! Then on the 31st of October, I decided it would be more fun to separate my shoulder, which makes it tough to type--one-handed hunt and peck is no fun. Maybe next year, NaBloPoMo. This year I'm still a member, but I'm on disability.

A: When you change your name every time you update your blog, people don't know to come read it.

B: My blog is boring enough that no one reads it anyway.

That's just plain bad! It has officially been 7 months, 2 weeks, and 4 days since I last posted. And that's shameful. Still, I don't think it's entirely my fault--my bloggles have been broken and I haven't found a repair shop. Creative writing has never been my thing. You want a treatise on civil disobedience in Kantian political philosophy? I'm your guy. You want a story about a puppy and a kitty and a barn? Forget it, go ask my girlfriend. On top of that, the blogging gene seems to have simply skipped me. Abi got it, I didn't. But then, Luke didn't get it either, and Tucker has shown zero interest. And neither of the parents blog. Which leaves one obvious question: Abi, who is yo' daddy?

What do I have to blog about? Do you really want me to fill you in on all the mundane details of my (hopefully) impending graduation and exodus from the Illustrious University of Tennessee? I doubt. Heavily. Or I could tell you what's been happening at work--but I work in a library. Not too much stimulating material here, or at least, no stories that I'm comfortable posting for all to see (yeah, that guy was uber-creepy). Hey wanna hear what I learned in class this week? No, you don't. I don't even wanna hear about what I learned in class this week.

So, what is that about which one can blog while maintaining the interest of one's audience? Who knows. I'm beginning to think I should blog like Robot Chicken, you know, see if I can hold people's attention by switching topics completely at random every few minutes. Maybe I could try a fortunately/unfortunately: that's it! For the next blog I post (at this rate, sometime after Labor Day), you--yes, YOU reader!--can post comments suggesting topics for a fortunately/unfortunately composed by yours truly. It'll be like Whose Line, only less....good. Yeah.

So there it is! A full page of posting without actually saying anything, only avoiding the whole issue of creativity by placing the responsibility of my next post squarely on your shoulders, dear reader! I hope you have enjoyed; I know my heart has been warmed by this whole experience.

Lately, the weight of an action has been impressed on me. I keep realizing how much one thing can change, or not change, an how we can never know any different than what's happened and the choices we've made; we'll never know, "what if?". I know this sounds elementary, but consider: What if the morning of the Columbine shootings, one person had stopped to ask the gunmen how they were and showed a genuine interest in them? Could that one act have changed their minds? We can't know. Take it a step further: If someone had changed their minds, would so many other school shootings have followed? And what about the lives that were taken... how much impact could those people have had on their world? How much would they have changed their classmates, coworkers, families, and friends? Could one of them have grown up to be another Hitler? If so, maybe the gunmen did the world a favor....

It becomes immediately obvious how exponentially an act grows. Take another random example. A guy is gonna go for a hike. He gets into the woods and heads a few miles down the trail before feeling nature's call. So he takes a leak on the side of the trail, and in so doing waters a plant that would otherwise have withered. That plant, then, spreads seeds that take root and spread seeds that take root that spread seeds and take root..... and one of these plants, a descendant of the one saved by our whizzing hiker, is found by a botanist to contain the cure for cancer. Now suppose the guy at the beginning wanted to take a hike got a flat tire on the way and couldn't make it. Even the smallest of actions, or inactions, may have infinite repercussions which we can never see.

So in one of my philosophy classes (the one for which I should be writing a paper right now), we've discussed Frederick Nietzsche, the man best known for his quote, "God is dead." As a philosopher, I hate him, especially in his work, The Antichrist; it's a safe bet he was clinically insane. But buried in all his bombastic and baseless bull, he has an interesting idea: the Overman. The Overman, he says, is a person who is in many ways super-human; he is simply superior to the rest of the human race and will find a way to cleanse weakness from humanity (the Nazis loved Nietzsche, for obvious reasons). But most importantly, the Overman has what Nietzsche calls amor fati, or "a love of fate". The Overman is one who can look at the whole of human history, all the good and bad that has happened, and be satisfied. He is completely content, even with the things he dislikes. And given the opportunity, he wouldn't change it. Not a thing. The Overman can, without be complacent, be fully at peace with the human experience and is, therefore, never subject to regret.

Which begs the question: If you could change anything in your life or your world, what would it be? What would you have done differently? How would you change yourself, others, your past, your accomplishments, your future, your body, your mind, the things you hate, the things you love, the way you spend your time? If you could change something, would you do it? That is to say, do you love the human experience, or do you want to reshape it?

Of course, there is no right answer. And everyone would change something else, or any number of different things. "I'd  stop Hitler", "I'd stop Truman", "I'd have asked that girl to marry me", "I'd have dumped that girl when I had the chance", or whatever. But where does this leave me? Obviously, crap has happened to me, like it has to everyone. It sucks that my mom died when I was six and that I have so few memories of her. It sucks that it took me 15 years or more to figure out how to get along with my brothers. It sucks that I spent so much time at Motlow with so little apparent reward. Not that I'm complaining here, bear with me.

Through a synthesis of all this, I've come to a conclusion: I wouldn't change anything. Not one single thing. Because I like who I am now, and where I am now. And wherever I'm going, I like that too, even though I can't see it yet. See, all the things that have happened to me, and all the things I've done, have gone into who and where I am. All of it has shaped me and prepared me, taught me things and blinded me to things. But if you take away any one event, you change me. And that means you change the people around me, and around them. So all the bad things that have happened to me, all the people I've hurt and used, all the pain I've had and caused... I accept it. And even if I'm not comfortable with it, I don't need to change it. I'm ok.

Is this heartless? Egotistical? Maniacal, even? I don't think so. To me it feels more like trust. I know I'm not perfect, not even close, and I know I never will be; so I know I'm not trying to preserve myself for my own sake, as though I were trying not to break a Ming vase. And while it may seem like I'm sacrificing the good of the world on the alter of my contentment, part of that is just because I can't say that changing it would make it better. Instead, I believe after this more than ever that God is in complete control, without encroaching on free will (a topic for another day). I can look at the pattern of human history and see God's hand in it all, the good and the bad, writing a story that has not yet reached its climax. I trust that "your Father in Heaven give[s] good gifts" (Matt. 7:11) to his children, that "in all things God works for the good of those who love Him" (Romans 8:28), that He "plans to prosper you and not to harm you" (Jer. 29:11).

In all of that, contentment with the past does not imply complacency with the future. I can strive to always be better, always be smarter and funnier and deeper and more loving and more dilligent; I can try to change who I will be without rejecting who I am.
Funny how studying a man who hated Christ so much can open my eyes to such beautiful truth. Sure he got it wrong, but he got me thinking.

Abi, you got me thinking too.  I don't remember things being left undone at our house when we were little and Mom was still alive. I don't remember the house being dirty and disgusting, not having dinner ready, or her breaking down and simply not being able to get it all done. So maybe things were perfect; maybe she was perfect. But how can that be? She was stuck in bed for so long, unable to get things done. How did she still manage to do so much? Maybe she didn't. Maybe I'm remembering through rose-colored glasses, or remembering selectively, or maybe Dad did more than I attribute to him. I just don't know; I don't remember it. Maybe she couldn't even hack it when she was healthy. I'll never be able to know that (which is fine with me; I rather enjoy keeping her on a pedestal). Does that change anything? Does that mean she was, Godforbid, unhappy? She was wonderful and beautiful and talented and smart, much like you, Abi. But she never wrote a book. Never became a famous musician. Never even wrote a song, as far as I know. As far as I can tell, she never did anything extraordinary at all. She didn't save the world. As little as I remember, she was surprisingly mediocre.

Unhappy? Unhappy? I just don't buy it. I don't buy it because she didn't need to be perfect to be happy. She didn't need to write a book or a symphony, save the whales or the trees,  cure cancer or the common cold. She was her.  That's it, and that's enough. No, that's abundant. And somehow.... better. I'm happy having an ordinary, mediocre mother. I'm happy not having a star or a nobel prize-winner for a mother. I am who I am in large part because of who she was. And so are you, Abi. And that's beautiful.

So I reject and embrace this idea that she was mediocre; it was precisely this mediocrity, this averageness, this unspecialness, that made her incredible. Had she been amazing she wouldn't have impressed me. Amazing people are nothing special; it's easy for them to be amazing. I want her to have been normal, fragile, human, imperfect. I want her to have cussed under her breath when she had to wake up at night to take care of another sick child without ever letting us hear it, because if she did then she was real. I want her to have questioned whether or not she was a good mother and whether she was doing the right thing and whether she was good enough to handle it all. If she was amazing, then it was nothing that she took care of things and love us and raised us well. If she was mediocre, it was amazing that she did those things.

Was she unhappy? I doubt it. I'm willing to bet that she embraced her flawed, fragile, imperfect life. I'm willing to hope that she trusted God's hands, even when she was being eaten by cancer. I'm willing to believe that as much as she wanted to stay with her husband and children and be a mother for many years more than she was, that she was able to leave her family in God's care and to let Him worry about it. Because that would make her amazing.

Here's a fantastic way to occupy a little (or a lot of) time between homework assignments when you're stuck in the library 38 hours a week. Just make sure the volume's on. Chelle and I have been finding these a few at a time, and I hope you enjoy.

Talking dogs

talking cats

The talking dogs is a great video, but to me the talking cats is just a smidge better. Cats just sound so much more human. But this makes you wonder, if our cats could talk, what would they sound like? I think LP would sound mad all the time. And Stormy would just talk uber-slowly. And Tripod? I think he'd spit like Sylvester. But those are just guesses, of course.

For this one it looks like I'll have to give you a link: it's one of my favorites though, for sure.
http://schildfamily.org/misc_pages/funnyracecar.htm

I love Germans:

robotic freestyle Dance off

So on to other things. For example, tomorrow morning I'll be moving out of my house! It's official now, I'll move in with Taylor (that's the fiancee of Chelle's roommate Becky) and staying there probably until the first of April, at which point I should start up a lease on my own place until I graduate. It's tough leaving though. On the one hand, it's great to feel like I can breathe-- i've just felt so cooped up and suffocated in this house and with this group. On the other, they are good guys trying to become good men, and I hate to risk hurting them by leaving. It kinda feels like a break-up. But I've prayed it through and I'm at peace about it all. I've written a letter to each of the guys involved and let them know what's happening and that there are no hard feelings. They were tough letters to write: Imagine writing a paper for an uneasy audience, and knowing there's no right thing to say, and not even really knowing exactly the topic; it's kinda like that. I just tried to hit each guy on his own level and express myself in a way he would understand. That means that I gave them each a different reason for leaving, but hopefully they'll realize that I left for all those reasons and not think I'm just blowing smoke.
So tomorrow morning I'll head to Nashville with Taylor to pick up the second half of a bunk bed, and Sunday I'll do most of my moving in between church and work at 4. Tomorrow evening, Chelle and I are celebrating Valentine's Day a little early. I'm taking her for dinner and dancing on a riverboat cruise on the Tennessee river... should be excellent. I'm excited.

Sorry this isn't a particularly witty or uplifting post, I haven't really had my blogging goggles on lately. Or ever, really. Oh well. Good night!

So it's been two months and a couple of days since I last posted... have I become less industrious, less of a procrastinator, or just less interesting? We should know by the time I post this.

So new semester... here's the skinny. I'm a rent-a-cop, which is working out pretty well. I sit in the library from 4-midnight most days, being a "visual deterent" and studying. If I unlock doors so the Starbucks guys can go through the maintenance hallways to take out the trash instead of having to walk around outside, they give me free drinks. I'm a pretty happy camper. Classes are good, I'm continuing my philosophy major and spanish minor. I'm in intro to sociology with a professor who's just enough of a cynical a-hole to make the class enjoyable. Then on to Latin-American film studies (pronounced, "nap time"), which is an ok class but we sit in the dark for three hours at a time to watch old, low-budget Mexi-films. I'm also in a Medieval history class, which is surprisingly ok. Nothing super, but ok for medieval history. After that I get bombarded with subjective philosophy in both 17-18th century philosophy and 19th-20th century philosophy. 17th-18th I have a good teacher who makes it interesting and involves the students well. 19th-20th is a LOT of reading, but again a decent professor. I'm set to graduate with a BS (in BS, ha ha, get it out of your system and move on) if I can take 6 hours this summer and 15 in the fall.

But now my film studies is about to start, so I need to wrap this up. If my triple shot of espresso and ACDC fix (thanks Chelle!) can't get me through it awake today, nothing can.

Two more weeks, then CHRISTMAS BREAK!!!! And I'm 100% burned out- I'm just trying to float from here to the end. And this post will be crappy, but at least I'm posting, right? And I promise not to take up too much of your ever-so-valuable time. Just thank your lucky stars I didn't do NaBloPoMo, I'd have so many junk posts! So, for today, I had presentations in Portuguese and in my Ethics class. Those went well, I think. For Thurdsday, I have to turn in my journals for Medieval Philosophy (which I should have bee doing all semester, but you know me- last minute). Tuesday it gets crazy: Portuguese composition, 2 Spanish papers, my Ethics journals (again, could have been done sooner but i didn't think we were handing them in), and 4 2-3 page papers in African-American Religions. Bleh. And the only really high-quality sleep I'm getting happens in Spanish class (and Portuguese , today)(why hello Mr. Parenthesis, it's been far too long since you stopped by).
After that: exam week. One on Monday, another on Tuesday, two on Wednesday, and the last on Thursday, and hopefully some work in there so I can afford Colorado.
So yeah, totally slammed one week then exammed (or examined) the next. I just can't wait, it'll be more fun than a bucket full of clams (wasn't that insightful? It's getting late, huh? (why thank you, Mr. Parenthesis! What insight you provide.)).

K, I don't know if I'll hit ten or not, or if I'll stop at one or two, but you get the idea.

1). Sucky vocabularies. As much as I get excited over a good word, I get pissy over a poopy one. For example: Prideful. It's just not a word, stop saying it. Maybe you mean proud, vain, arrogant, lordly, lofty, highfalutin, disdainful, haughty, or superior. Highfalutin is a good one, let's keep it. Just lose "prideful", please?

2). Shallow people. This can be in the ditzy sorority girl sense or, more poignantly, people who only think on one level. Even if that level is Jesus, it needs to stop. Now. Broaden yourself just a little, for one second, and THINK!!!! We are called away from bondage and being trapped into one mode of thought, the last thing Jesus wanted to do was make us sucky one-dimensional people who have lost the ability to interact in the real world.

3). Fake people. Sort of along the same line, but not. If you wanna call me out on something you feel I'm doing wrong, call me out on it. Don't pussyfoot around and tell me stories about how one time you weren't where you needed to be but then the Good Lord convicted you of it and now things have changed. I'm a person, a living, breathing person with an actual personality and the desire to be respected. Give me the respect of being real with me! Again, you don't have to relate every conversation to Jesus to try to be "an encouragement"; what that makes you is "obnoxious". Again, value Him enough to revere Him and His name and not to debase Him by wearing it out. God has made a whole big beautiful world that we can experience with Him and freed by Him, not confined to seeing it all through Jesus-colored glasses. Grow up, be real, shoot straight, and stop treating me like I suffer from cerebral palsy and can't understand complex ideas. Please and thank you.

4). Roommates. Especially those that don't know when to SHUT UP SO I CAN STUDY OR SLEEP OR ANYTHING ELSE!!!! And send guests home at a decent hour, please. Oh, and if you leave, don't leave some random guy sitting on the couch talking on the phone. Kick him out and lock up.

5). Football. It makes campus filthy and traffic terrible and people even more obnoxious than usual. And everyone likes to come here to watch it 3-4 nights a week. Again with send them home. No please this time, just get them out of my house.

6). Saying you missed me. You didn't, and we both know it. If you missed me, you would have called, written, emailed, dropped by, anything. And you didn't. Neither did I, but I'm not the one lying and saying I missed you. See also: number 2 and number 3. Oh, and I saw you twice within the last week. If you honestly missed me, that's frightening and you need to speak with a therapist. If this is the case, let me know and I'll find you a good one. Or maybe a bad one, as that's the only kind I've encountered. But hey, maybe your luck will be better than mine.

7). Intolerance. I'm not saying you need to throw out your convictions or that you need to do what everyone else is doing, I'm just suggesting that you get over yourself enough that you can still be genuine to people who are different from you. And please, mature enough to deal with what you see other people doing. Jesus hung out with whores, you can learn to step up a little too.

Come on now, you read the title. Did you really expect me to be in a good mood? Honestly.