Thursday, September 26, 2019

An open letter to my former church, Christian Assembly:

An open letter to my former church, Christian Assembly:

I've been sitting here for a while, trying to come up with the best way to write this.  But it's hard, because I'm angry.  I feel betrayed.  And I feel like I've been made a fool.  Because I believed that the people at the church that I attended for the better part of 30 years were good people.  But they're all talk.

Pastors love to talk.  And they love to invite you to coffee.  To talk.

They talk about Jesus and love and being part of a family.  But family are the people who are there when you really need them.  Family return your calls.  Family show up.  Family isn't perfect, but you can at least see them trying.

Like I said, I was at Christian Assembly for the better part of 30 years.  I've tithed, volunteered with the kids, led small groups, been a mentor and more.  So when pastor Matt Price said he'd call me and didn't, that hurt.  When he said he'd show up somewhere and didn't, that bothered me.  And when he did that repeatedly ... then I just give up on him.

I had a friend who had come to Christian Assembly sporadically, but was part of the community.  When she bravely kicked her abusive husband out, several of us rallied around our friend, who was now a single mom.  But when the husband turned stalker, we didn't know what to do.  So we turned to the church.  Gave letters to co-lead pastors Mark Pickerel and Tom Hughes, explaining the situation and asking for help.  Did they even get back to us?  Nope.

I have another friend who has been at Christian Assembly longer than me.  She and her husband have served the skid row ministry and as ushers and in lots of other ways.  Recently, my friend's husband began having an extended manic episode.  My friend, suddenly unable to pay her rent, had to move out of her apartment in just a couple of days.  At the same time, her husband was committed to a mental hospital.  And at the same time, she had medical issues that put her in the hospital for over a week.  I emailed pastor Ralph Delgado, pretty much begging for help - a truck or two, people to help and a place to store their stuff.  He emailed back confirming the need, but then I didn't hear anything else from him.

So, pastors of Christian Assembly, if you're not going to return people's calls and emails, and you're not going to help a single mother scared out of her wits, and you're not going to help church members who are in the hospital ... then what are you good for?

Seriously.  I mean, I understand you can't help everybody.  On some level, you have to pick and choose.  But if you're not going to help lifelong members when they're begging for your help, or even get back to them, then what kind of church are you?

Shame on you.  Pull your heads out of your asses.

Sincerely,

Matt Brennan

P.S. Please don't call me now.  I'm done with you.  If you want to make it up to me, change your ways.

Sunday, August 25, 2019

What's Something Interesting About You?

I recently came across a suggestion in some article about getting to know people.  It said that rather than asking people what they do for a living, ask them, 'What's something interesting about you?'  And I gotta tell you, it works.  There's something about putting it that way that not only gets people to open up, but feel like they can let their freak flag fly.

One example is a perfectly normal seeming woman with a husband and two kids.  Her answer is that she likes to take mushrooms and go on psychedelic trips.  She does it about four times per year.  And while she admits that 90% of her trips are bad ones, she believes it puts her in touch with the supernatural realm, and she's convinced herself that the thoughts in her head are not herself.

Another responded that she likes to get to the root of things.  Follow up questions revealed that she believes that everything we do can be traced energies inside of us: wood energy, water energy, earth energy and a couple of others that she couldn't remember.  I tried to delve deeper, asking if these 'energies' represented philosophies or supernatural entities or what, but apparently 'getting to the root of things' did not include understanding what she herself was talking about.

And a third gave me these interesting tidbits.  First, he calls himself a cybergoth, and is perturbed that the police won't let him wear a full-face rubber gas mask in public (because people will think there is a terrorist attack taking place).  Second, he is a furry, one whose fetish is to dress up like an animal to have sex. 

I've asked this question five times, and those are the answers I've received.  Sure, a couple of people just gave the standard answer about what they do for work.  But three out of five led to some pretty interesting stuff.

So there you have it.  What's something interesting about you?  How would you answer the question?

Thursday, August 15, 2019

The Nature of my Doubts

I've had two underlying premises to my faith in God since High School.  First, the universe, as far as we can tell and according to its own laws, should not exist.  Something can not come from nothing, and yet something exists.  Therefore, there must be something more ... something outside of nature ... something supernatural.  Second, there was a man who, according to eyewitness testimony, died and came back to life.  Because this man, Jesus, would appear to have more insight into the supernatural than anyone else, and proved it, I believe his claims.

Sounds like a pretty good basis for my beliefs, doesn't it?  And yet, I do still have doubts.  They are, though, perhaps different than most people's doubts.  I believe there is a God.  I believe that those who confess with their mouths and believe in their hearts that Jesus Christ is Lord will be saved.  So what's the problem?

The question I ask myself is this: Do I believe strongly enough?  Or am I just fooling myself?

If Jesus is Lord, then to what degree should that change my behavior?  If Jesus is my Lord, then why do I find myself doing what I can easily describe as the bare minimum?

I'm not talking about works.  I know that we're saved by grace.  But James says that faith without works is dead.  So it is reasonable to examine my life and my works to determine if there really is a healthy faith there.  And I find myself lacking.  And why is that?  Not for lack of belief that God is real.  I'm simply not that motivated by that information.  Yes I pray and I host a Bible study and I visit a guy in prison.  But do I read my Bible every day?  Nope.  Hardly ever.  Do I reach out to the homeless or the oppressed?  Nah.  Don't care that much. 

If I don't have a faith that motivates me to do more than I do, then what good is it?  And is it real?  Or are there people who know the truth, but it doesn't set them free? 

And I don't just wonder about myself.  I wonder about most of the Christians in America.  It seems like we're all asleep, soothed into oblivion by our relative wealth and creature comforts.

Is it possible that there are far fewer real Christians than we tend to assume?  That there are those few saints who really accept the Lordship of Jesus and live lives that prove it, and the rest of us are just locked in a circle of semi-belief, no real, tangible difference between us and the people that we think are not saved?  If the atheists and the Muslims and the Rotary Club all do more good works than we do, then with what evidence shall we attempt to convince ourselves that we are saved? 

"You say you believe that there is one God.  Good!  Even the demons believe that - and shudder."

This is the nature of my doubts.

Wednesday, August 14, 2019

I'm Not Nice to Stupid People

I've been trying out this new board game group.  And last night, I was an ass.

There was this guy.  Nice, friendly guy.  There were only a few of us when I got there.  And he asked if a couple of us wanted to play a game.  I have now learned that my response should not have been 'Yes'.  It should have been, 'Do you know the rules and can you explain it?'

You can probably guess the answer to my questions.  No and no.

After I said yes, he spent several minutes reading the rules, explaining some, reading some more, repeat.  It was excruciating.  And I'd met a woman as I was coming in and learned she was there for the first time, so I wanted to be welcoming and friendly.  But he was kinda holding us hostage at this point, and we couldn't really talk and get to know each other, because he kept interrupting with partial rules. 

Finally, she excused herself to take a smoke break (she didn't come back).  I offered to read the rules and he gave them to me.  But he kept talking to me.  I politely explained that I couldn't read the rules and listen to him.  Then he suggested we play a game he already knew.  Ugh.  Why didn't you start with that?

But it only got worse.  He may have known the rules, but he could not explain them.  He kept contradicting himself.  I'd ask for a clarification and he'd give a clear answer, then reverse himself thirty seconds later.  And he started the game before the rules were clear.

Finally, after he'd reversed his position on the rules one more time, I'd had enough.  I put my head in my hands for a moment, then got up from the table.  I said, "I'm done." and walked away.

There's a thing that I do where I  try to be nice but end up losing my temper.  I'll know that there's a problem, but I'll refrain or try to help and tell myself that maybe it will work out, and it will build up and build up until I've had enough.  And then I'm just done.

It's not because I want to win.  I really just want a good game and usually only get upset about not winning if I can see that I didn't play as well as I think I can.  I think I just have a very low tolerance for stupid people. 

Don't get me wrong.  I don't think this is OK.  I went back to the guy a few minutes later and apologized for walking away.  But it's frustrating, because I don't know what I should have done differently.  I don't mean at the moment when I walked away, because I'd lost it by then.  But before then, how could I have processed it differently?  I mean, I politely asked clarifying questions and tried to be patient and good-natured.  What else is there?  And he'd already driven one person away and had ruined the game we were playing.

I don't have an answer to this.  It just bugs me so much when people are both stupid and un-self-aware.  It's like an unforgivable sin to me.  I think because I believe people, on some level, choose to be oblivious.  But I'm certainly not helping by losing my cool.


Thursday, May 2, 2019

How to Have a Cat in a Small Apartment

When I acquired my second-hand cat, Bagheera (she came with that name), I was concerned that the limited space in my apartment would be a problem, especially in the smell department.  Because I've been to the homes of people with cats and been overwhelmed by the smell.  I was told that if you clean the litter box frequently, then it is not a problem, but I needed to see for myself, and therefore kept the receipt for my cat and took full advantage of the probationary period.

Happily, I can report zero smell outside of the bathroom (where the litter box is) and very little smell even in there.  I thought I would report how I do it, as a service to those considering a cat, or possibly to those who already have one.


The first kitty litter I tried was some name brand, but honestly inferior.  I'd get puffs of dust rising into the air when I scooped.  Um ... ewww?  So, I researched and found Dr. Elsey's.  First, it's the same or cheaper than most other brands ($18.47 for a 40lb. bag).  Second, no dust!  None!  Third, it clumps like a son-of-a-bitch.  I generally scoop daily unless I forget.  And I was cleaning weekly at first, but not with this stuff.  It does such an amazing job of clumping that there's hardly anything to clean.  There are some tiny bits of fecal matter that occasionally escape its grasp, so I still clean the box about once a month.  And ya know what?  No smell.  Even in the bathroom, you only smell something if kitty has gone recently.  Which is the same as with humans, so I can't complain.


The Litter Champ is like a diaper genie (I'm told - never changed diapers and never will, 'cuz I don't have a baby).  It has a double lid, so you scoop your little bundles of joy inside and it traps the smell in there.  I change the bag every few weeks.  And it has a foot pedal, which makes it much better than the Litter Genie that Petco sells, which only has a pull handle.  How dumb!


I came across this beauty after being driven crazy by all of the kitty litter on the floor.  See, cats like to dig and kick around in their litter boxes, and that sends litter spraying out onto the floor.  You can get a litter box with a door, but some cats don't like that and, besides, the cat will still track litter out with their paws.  Introducing the Litter Trapper Mat.  It's got a porous honeycombed surface that allows the kitty litter to fall through, but not bother your feet when you step on it.  And it's some plastic/rubber/something, so it's easy to clean.  No more kitty litter all over the floor.  Awesome.


Kitty did try scratching the furniture when I first got her, but I kept sticking this in front of her wherever she was scratching, and she got the idea.  Mine is actually super frayed now, so I'll need a new one soon, because she loves scratching.


Cats need to be played with and they love laser pointers.  'Nuff said.  Except there is more to say.  Whaaat?  This sucker is rechargeable!  And it has three kinds of lights, so you always know where there's a flashlight too.

And finally, while not strictly necessary, I do recommend writing Haikus about your cat:

Catku

Purring pussy cat
Perfect products, pleasant pad
Perhaps we will play


Monday, April 15, 2019

Rhetorical Appropriation

There's a trick you can use in poetry or prose that's all around us, but I don't know what it's called, so I'm going to name it: Appropriation.  It's when you take a word or phrase that's already out there, and repurpose it in your own work.  Kacey Musgraves does this in pretty much every song: 'You and your high horse', 'You're my velvet Elvis', and my personal favorite, 'You can have your space, cowboy'.  Sometimes it's overt, and sometimes it's sneaky.

And often it's punny.  If I were writing an expose on Richard Finch, co-founder of KC and the Sunshine Band, I could title it 'A Bird in the Band', because his last name is finch and it sounds like 'a bird in the hand'.  But I digress ...

As I was driving to an inspection this morning, I was thinking about appropriation, and I made up this poem, and I thought it would be fun to dissect it:

He was the one who got away.
But don't cry, baby, don't cry.
You know he never meant to stay.
'Cuz butterflies just flutter by.

First, there's some of the usual culprits:

Rhyming: Away and stay, cry and by.

Alliteration: was and one, he and who, meant and to and stay, know and never.

Assonance: but and 'cuz and was and one, never and meant.

Then there's a diacope, which is a word sandwich: don't cry, baby, don't cry.

And finally, appropriation.  There are three here.  The one in the first line, 'the one who got away', is just using a familiar line.  The one in the last line, 'butterflies just flutter by', is more fun, because it's taking a familiar kids' rhyme and imbuing it with new meaning, something like 'beautiful people are flaky and don't stay'.  The third one is the sneaky one: cry, baby.  It's taking the word crybaby and breaking it in two, so that the meaning shifts, but it's still there.  I think it's fun that the sentence says 'don't cry', but the word 'crybaby' is right there, kind of accusatory.

A couple of other interesting notes: 

 - I came up with the second line first, and built the rest around it.

 - I went back and forth between using 'he' or 'she', but settled on 'he' because it gave me one more alliteration.

 - The third line was originally something like 'You know he had to go away'.  I was trying to think of another appropriation, so there'd be one on each line, but when I came up with 'he never meant to stay', I liked the emotional punch and that it infers that she should have known better.

 - You may also notice that the first three lines have the same rhythm and the fourth one doesn't.  That's on purpose.  I feel it gives it a little kick.  Your're reading something that's emotionally upsetting and the rhythm falters at the same time.  There's a similar trick in movies where they'll jump to an angle that doesn't quite feel right at the same time that they want you to feel like something is wrong or painful.

So there you have it.  Anatomy of a poem I made up in my head while driving.  Hope you like it.


Sunday, April 14, 2019

I don't want to go to church

I don't want to go to church anymore.  Which is to say that I want to go, but I'm having a problem with it.  An old problem that has reared its ugly head again.

A few years back, I started feeling more and more fragile at church.  I think it started when I was doing Kid's Church - something about seeing all of the happy kids and families really shook me and made be break down in tears.  So I stopped doing Kids Church.  But that same feeling started creeping into the main service with me.  If I had someone to sit with, I was fine.  But if not, the smallest thing could set me off, and I'd exit during the worship time and drive home.

I took a break for a while, not going to church.  And then my friend Christine suggested we be church buddies.  That was great.  I had someone to sit with and I was emotionally fine.  But then she stopped going.  I tried to keep going on my own, but when you feel like crying in the middle of service, it's not fun.  I took to always sitting on the aisle, because I wanted to be able to make a break for it.

Then one day I was sitting there and a woman entering the aisle in front of me stopped and lectured me, saying, "I like to move to the middle of the pew, so that people don't have to get by me."  Well, fuck you, lady!  You don't know why I'm sitting here on the aisle!  I got up and left and never went back.

It so happened that my friend Adam invited me to check out his new church.  Which I did, and soon the two of us were going to our new church together.  And I had someone to sit with again.  Adam is a busy guy, though, so soon he was off to other parts of the country or the world, leaving me to sit alone.  But I was OK, because I'd joined a small group and made new friends and even if I didn't sit with someone, I often saw and interacted with people I knew.  So the fragility stayed away.  For a year and three months.  Until last week.

I was talking to a woman I know, who is a greeter, outside.  And wanting to be friendly, I turned to the other greeter and put out my hand and introduced myself.  The other greeter just stared at me, then said, "We've met!"  She didn't tell me her name or laugh it off.  She just looked at me like I was a loser.

I didn't know what else to do, so I finished my conversation with my friend and went inside and sat down.  But that feeling was back.  After the first song, I got up and left.  I walked to my car, where I sat for 10 minutes, emotionally stuck.  I thought about talking to the woman who made me feel bad, but I felt too vulnerable.  So I drove home.

This week, I went to church again, but that feeling was there, starting on the drive over.  What if that woman was there?  Would I say something to her or ignore her or what?  She wasn't there, so I just went and sat down.  But I didn't want to be there.  I wanted to leave.

I feel like a failure.  I feel like a loser, who can't handle the smallest slight, and had to run home.  But normally I can.  I think I'm relatively thick-skinned most of the time.  But this thing at church ... I know it's not rational, but I don't know what to do about it.  I honestly just want to stop going.

So, here I am.  I know it would help to have a church buddy, but I can't ask someone, because then it would feel like they're doing it out of pity, and that would not work for me emotionally, either.  Same thing if you read this and then offer.  I wish I knew what the root was and could deal with that somehow, but I don't.  So I don't know what to do.

Friday, April 12, 2019

Pointed in the Write Direction

Sometimes when I'm depressed, life starts to seem pointless.  Sometimes even when I'm not depressed.  But it occurs to me that I need to ask the question, 'What would I want the point to be?'  Or, 'What would life look like if there was a point?'

Because saying life is pointless without an alternative is just being negative.

Often the pointless point is connected to loneliness.  The idea being that if I had someone to share my life with, then it wouldn't feel so pointless.  And I know from experience that having a girlfriend or even a close friend to spend time with frequently, does help alleviate the feeling of pointlessness.

But not completely.  Because it's a feeling.  Life FEELS pointless sometimes.  But when I'm spending time with someone and feeling loved and understood, I FEEL better.  But life either is pointless or it isn't, no matter how I feel about it.  And while I'm always going to feel negative feelings at times, it seems like it would help to fight those feelings if I had more of an anchor.  Something I could point myself at and say, 'See?  That's the point!  Focus on that!'

So!  What is the point?  Many Christians would say, and rightfully so, to glorify God.  To love Him and be loved by Him.  Yada yada.  But as you can tell from my glib yada yada, I don't find that answer satisfying.  Perhaps because it's too general.  I can stand up and say, 'God, I glorify you!', but it doesn't feel up some meter in my soul, and honestly I feel like only the cat is listening. 

OK, so perhaps something more specific to me.  Something about making my mark or leaving something behind or leaving the world better than I found it, or even helping just one person to have a better day, whether that's through writing or hugging or smiling at the counter person at the fast food place or visiting guys in prison or playing board games with folks on Tuesday nights.  'Cuz that's the stuff I do.  Those are some of the things that make up my unique contribution to the world and hopefully glorify God in the process.

Nope.  Doesn't do it.  Still doesn't seem like a point.  It's closer, but it kinda feels like a band-aid, and one that flips up on one end and gets looser and looser until it starts unwrapping all the time and you have to keep sticking it back down, but the sticky part has lost it's stickiness, so you let it flap around for a while and then finally rip it off.

Of course, the problem may be me.  Perhaps other people in life do reach a point where they believe they can clearly see the point of life.  I've always suspected that I feel more unsatisfied than the average person.  So that could be it.

But there's one more question to ask.  Could I be right?  Could it be that life is actually pointless?  Could it be that this existential question cannot be answered because we simply refuse to accept that life really is pointless?

Nah, I'm not buying that.  We're here.  Life is not an accident.  I think, therefore I am.  There's gotta be something to it.  There's just gotta be.  Right? 

But there still might be a clue there.  And here's what I'm thinking.  Maybe life feels pointless simply because this life is not all that there is?  It's like trying to figure out where a puzzle piece goes before realizing that you're only working on one little area and that piece belongs somewhere else in the puzzle.  Maybe it's just that this life is pointless ... by itself.  And we can't see the larger picture, at least not very clearly.

David wrote in Psalm 17, "As for me, I shall behold your face in righteousness.  I will be satisfied with Your likeness when I awake."  And what he's saying there is that that satisfaction isn't now.  It's then.  In the next life. 

When I think about dying and going to the next life, I imagine that when I meet Jesus, with one look all of my stuff will fall away - all of my expectations and insecurities and false faces and well-intentioned lies that I've told myself - they'll all just fall off of me and I'll be free.  Free to love and be loved.  And maybe that's also when the point will finally be clear.  Maybe it's too hard for me to see through all of my crap.

So, what is the point?  Yeah, it's to glorify God.  Yeah, it's about other people.  But it's also about getting through it.  It's about keeping your head down ... er ... holding your head high ... um ... doing something with your head appropriate to your situation, and keeping your eyes on Jesus, knowing that he's got a point waiting for you when you meet.  Just gotta get there!  Exclamation point.

Monday, April 1, 2019

Finding Your Thing

If you're like me, praying and reading the Bible can become rather rote.  That's why I don't pray before meals, although I don't mind if you do.  But it is important to get that one-on-one time with God.  So I thought I'd share how I do it and how some other people do it.

When we were kids, my mother used to get up early every morning to do her quiet time.  And rather than feeling more tired, she would feel refreshed and invigorated.  Whether that's because of God or because it gave her a few minutes to herself, who can say?  But that's what worked for her.

I have one friend who needs to take a 'God Day' once in a while.  He'll head off into the mountains or the desert for the whole day (or a half day, if that's all he can manage) and just spend time alone with God.  I'd just sit there staring into space, but it does something for him.

Another friend lights a candle.  Because his brain is always spinning so fast, it gives him something to focus on and helps him slow down.

And then there's the friend who has created a whole positive self-talk routine that she does every day (sometimes multiple times), complete with scripts and orchestration, to help remind herself of how God thinks of her.

Some people use journaling.  And there's fasting.  Meditation.  Accountability partners.  Doing artwork.  Setting an alarm and praying every hour on the hour.

And me?  Well, for one, I pray every night.  I crawl into bed and kinda review the day, thanking God for everything.  Sometimes it's longer, sometimes it's shorter.  Occasionally, it's just 'Thank you for loving me.', because I don't feel like praying, either because I'm super tired or I've got a bug up my butt about something.  But every night, I check in.  And I pray throughout the day whenever it strikes me, often just one-liners dispatched like a text message.  That might make it sound like I'm praying 'without ceasing', but there are days when nothing hits me and I don't pray all day.  I guess I think of it as an open connection, and God's always there listening, if and when I have something to say.

And a new thing for me involves writing poetry.  I've given myself a project of going through the Psalms and writing poetry based on each one, and having that intentionality has helped me focus more on pulling out the meaning, instead of just reading it.  That's not every day, but it's about 3 times per week.

So many ways to connect with God, and we each need to find our own.  I can lay in bed and talk to God without getting sleepy, but maybe you can't.  My brain doesn't spin like a whirlwind, so I don't need to light a candle, but maybe that would work for you.  We're all different, and that's beautiful.  So, I hope you try different things and figure out what works for  you.  And I hope you find your thing.

Sunday, March 24, 2019

Another Awesome Dead Poet's Weekend

I'm back from another Dead Poet's Retreat, my 15th time going away with some of the loveliest, awesomest, most creative people I know.  Here are a couple of things I wrote while there.

***

This was mostly a stream-of-consciousness bit about a memory from elementary school:

When I was in elementary school, I had a table collapse on me.  We were in the school cafeteria having one of those assemblies where they try to get you all psyched up about the prizes you can win by selling magazine subscriptions, and some of the kids had decided to stand on top of the tables.  I remained sitting at one of the benches connected to the table top.  Suddenly, the whole thing folded in on itself, and with a loud bang I was half under the table.  This, of course, hurt like hell.  And there were kids, oblivious, still standing on the table that was now crushing me.  So I screamed at them, "Get off!  Get off the table!  Get off of me!"  I shouted as loud as I could, trying to get their attention.  But nobody paid the slightest attention.  I'm yelling as loud as I can, and everyone's just milling about, on top of me, some of them jumping up and down on the table top.  After a minute or two, some teachers made their way over and quickly assessed the situation and I was rescued.

But I couldn't understand how everyone had been so awful, so oblivious to my pain.  I mean, some kids are always going to be jerks, but everyone?

Happily, once I was out, I was fine.  Nothing broken.  And I told a friend about how nobody would move, no matter how I yelled.  But he looked at me and said something curious.  He said, "Matt, you weren't yelling.  I was right next to you and you were super calm and polite and you said, 'Excuse me.  Excuse me, but would you mind getting off of the table?'  And you didn't shout it.  It was like you were saying it under  your breath."

So what happened there?  I could swear I'd been yelling and screaming, "Get off!  Get off!"  But I had a witness who had heard me calmly and politely express my concern.

It seems we have a tenuous grip on reality.  Other people do not see us as we see ourselves.  Events did not unfold the way we remember.  We get all bent out of shape over things, but the people we're mad at don't always deserve our judgement and wrath.

***

And here's a little poem I wrote.  The camp is the Lazy W Ranch, but I sometimes refer to it as 'The Lazy Dub''  And I thought it would be fun to write a poem where all of the lines end with words that are cut off.  But I was running short on time, so only some do:

At the Lazy Dub',
I'd made some troub',
Fixin' for a fight.

The law I'd broke.
Thrown in the poke
Until I saw the light.

When I heard the Preach',
And he did beseech.
Turned me from my fall.

So here I stand.
A diff'rent man.
And that's my story, y'all.

***

And look!  Pictures!








Thursday, March 21, 2019

Why I Look At You Like That

I've noticed that often people react strongly to my reactions.  I'll give them a look or exclaim in such a way that is unnerving or upsetting.

The thing is, though, I find people fascinating and I am always trying to figure them out.  In Myers-Briggs, I'm an INTJ, which is the scientist, but what I study is people.  In the Enneagram, I'm a 5, which is the observer, but what I observe is ... you guessed it ... people.

And while in many ways, I can be emotionally reserved, I do react when people behave in a way that confuses or surprises me. 

"Why would you do that?" 

"You do know that makes no sense, right?" 

"What the hell!?!"

The thing is, it's not that I want you to feel stupid.  If I actually think you're stupid, I will try not to let on.  So if you're getting a big reaction out of me, I think it's my robot brain saying, "Does.  Not.  Compute."

So, for example, if you've just made an emotional argument and won't listen to logic, then I may react strongly.  If you've done something to cause our team to lose the game, and I think you really do know how to play, you may get an outburst.  Especially if we're playing Outburst.

But, just so you know, it's a good thing.  It means I'm trying to figure you out.  Yes, I'm feeling incredulous or confounded and you may feel put on the spot or judged, but that's not really it.  (OK, some of it is judging - shut up, I'm making a point.)  It means I'm invested in understanding you.  I care about understanding you.  And I'm choosing to interact with you in an emotional way, which not everyone gets from me.

So the next time I look at you like you're an alien or exclaim that what you did made no sense, don't flip out.  Maybe ask me what I'm thinking and feeling and dialogue with me.  I'll love that, and I'll listen and explain, so you'll feel (one would hope) better loved and understood, too.

And I'll try to explain myself better in the moment.  But I'm just so perplexed by you!

Sunday, March 3, 2019

Thankful for Being an Ass

Today, I'm thankful for being an ass!

OK, but seriously.  I've had a couple of conversations recently, where the person I was talking to was very swayed by the opinions of others.  Which is very strange to me.

In one instance, the person had been told something that wasn't true - that they were a bad person.  When they were not a bad person and, from what I understand, had not done anything deserving of said accusation.  And my response was that, if that were me, I would have laughed at the person saying it.  Because I would see it for the absurdity that it is.  Sadly, the person it was said to took it to heart.

In another case, a person that I know was talking about how certain people that they have to work with look at her body, either with judgement or lust or some other unjustified opinion.  And I asked, "So what?  Why do you care?"

Now, don't get me wrong - we all have our issues and I'm not saying I'm better than those people because I wouldn't take the stupid accusation personally or because I wouldn't care if they looked at me a certain way.  I'm just saying that I don't get it.  My question is a real question.  Why do you care?

I'm pretty low on the empathy scale.  If you tell me about your sick mom, I'll listen because I'm fond of you and you could use someone to listen to you, but I'm probably not feeling anything for your mom.  And how that plays out in the world of caring what people think of me is that I generally don't.  Care, that is.  I mean, I'm affected by what my mother says, because she's my mom.  I'll listen to what friends say and try to process it and maybe, possibly, sometimes take it to heart.  But if you say something that's clearly untrue or look at me with undeserved judgement, I know that's more about you than me.  And it simply doesn't stick to me.

Sure, I could use more empathy.  I actually value it in others and wish I had more of it.  But I'm of two minds about it.  On one hand, I value empathy, but on the other I look at my lack and laugh.

But I do think it's good that God made some people who are less swayed by the emotions or stupidity of others.  And this morning in bed, as I thought about it, I thanked God for making me the way I am.  I'm a bit of an ass who can see through the shit.

Tuesday, February 19, 2019

Projecting the Presence of God

You know that feeling you get, like someone is behind you?  But when you turn to look, there's nobody there?

I have a theory.  A lot of you won't like it.  But I was thinking about my relationship with God.  And how it's difficult for me because I don't feel God.  I don't have a sense of Him.  For many people in my life, even though I can't pull up an image in my mind, I still have a sense of that person that I pull up.  But I don't do that with God.  When I think of God, the feeling is more like when someone mentions a name that I know, but I don't recall who it is.

It seems like most Christian folks (and non-) do have a sense of God.  In fact, I get the impression that most Christians would say that they feel God's presence.  I don't.  And I'm used to that.

But here's the theory.  What if you're all wrong?

OK, let me explain.  See, I used to envy those who heard God clearly, until I came up with the theory that God doesn't communicate with me in any direct way because He simply chooses to deal with me differently.  And maybe this is similar.

I do believe that God, on some occasions, chooses to communicate clearly to certain individuals.  But I also think that sometimes (often?) people think they are hearing from God, when really they're just making it up, getting carried away by feelings or whatever.  And I think most of you would agree with me, to some degree.

And now I'm wondering if the same can be said of feeling God's presence.  I'm aware that there are times when God shows up so powerfully that people are actually bowled over.  I don't doubt that God sometimes makes his presence felt.  But I do have to wonder if sometimes (often?  mostly?) people make it up for themselves.  If they are projecting a feeling out of their minds.  And maybe, not to toot my own horn, but because I'm wired differently, I don't project in that way.

I do believe in God.  But recently I was trying to imagine what the universe would feel like if there was no God, and we were alone on this one pretty rock, spinning through space, doomed to eventually die and grow cold.  Creepy.  If I believed that, it would drain me and make me feel despair, because all of this would be pointless.  And maybe that's why, consciously or not, so many of you project a feeling of God.  Because it's so lonely and desolate without Him.

And maybe you just don't want to turn around to discover that there's nobody there.

I dunno.  I could be wrong.  Maybe you do feel Him.  I don't know how, or which sense you would use.  And I don't know why it would be that you would have a built-in sense to detect God's presence and I would not.  But maybe.  Or maybe it's a defense mechanism.  Well, enjoy it.  I can't.

Wednesday, January 30, 2019

Writer and Reader

I'm fascinated by the relationship between writer and reader.  And the more I learn about the different ways that a writer can put words together, the more clearly I see how the writer can play with the reader.

I remember reading Out of the Silent Planet by C.S. Lewis when I was fairly young.  Or trying to read it.  Because in that first chapter, Lewis does something interesting.  The main character, Ransom, is walking up a hill to a foreboding place.  And in the text, you get the idea that something is pushing back, something doesn't want  him to get up there.  But more than that, as the reader, I found it difficult to keep reading.  To the extent that I gave up.  Which is crazy.  I'm an avid reader, I love science fiction and I'm a fan of Lewis.  And when I did pick it up and try again, once I got past that first chapter, the text carried me along and I didn't feel the same drag at all.

What was going on there?  I think Lewis used his keen writing skills to affect the reader.  I think he made me feel like I didn't want to make the trek up that road, just like Ransom.  And he did it with words.

There are things that I can do, if you follow, that are wordy and full of wordiness for word's sake.  And these things, the things that I can do, may make you, the reader of this blog right here, want to turn around, figuratively speaking, and stop reading.  Just stop.  Right there.  Or here.  Or here.  Because I'm writing in a way that is purposely annoying.

Or.

I can flit and fly from word to word, helping you follow along.  Alliteration stimulates.  Rhyme makes the time fly by.  And tricks!  Many are the tips and tricks I have learned.  For rhetoric, with it's warm embrace, draws you in and holds you while whispering in your ear. 

There are so many ways for the writer to play with the reader.  For example, I could say:

He cut his ear.  It hurt.  He ignored it.

or

It clamored for attention, the cut on his ear, ringing out his pain for none to hear.

or

A thin cut.  A paper thin cut.  But it shrieked as it sliced into the soft flesh at the top of his ear, drawing a throbbing red line of misery.

or

He absentmindedly scratched at the scab on his ear, unknowingly reopening the wound.  Later, his ear would throb, but he wouldn't know why.

Isn't it fun how each one of those belongs in a different story and tells you different things about the character or makes you feel a different way?  The first one, to me, feels old or grumpy or stoic.  The second one is more poetic and showy, but with a hint of victim or martyr.  The third one slips into horror, makes you recoil.  And the fourth one takes you more into the mind of the character, makes it more personal.

Really good writing makes you want to stay up all night reading just one more chapter.  Or it makes you stop after each chapter, to savor the yummy goodness.  Or it makes you hide the book in the freezer, so the monsters can't get you.  There are different kinds.  But it's never an accident.  It's always the writer playing with the reader, fulfilling the promise made when you picked up the book.

That's the kind of writer I want to be.

Saturday, January 5, 2019

Snickety Spoilers

I've just finished Netflix's delightful A Series of Unfortunate Events.  While I absolutely loved it, it did leave me with a few questions, the answers to which were more difficult to find than one might expect.  Because, I'll admit, there were a few relationships and plot point that I was not 100% clear on, and because it's been on my mind, here now are explanations for anyone else.

100% Spoilers Ahead.

There were once three siblings, the Snickets.  They were Jacques, Kit and Lemony.  Lemony fell in love with Beatrice.  Beatrice, though she did love him back, could not marry him for some undisclosed reason.  Instead, she married Bertrand Baudelaire and they had three children, Violet, Klaus and Sunny.

The Snickets and the Baudelaires, along with Count Olaf and others, were part of a secret organization, called the Volunteer Fire Department, or V.F.D.  The VFD's mission was to put out figurative fires in the world.  But a schism developed within the VFD, with some members wanting to 'fight fire with fire', thinking it would be OK to kill bad people, and others insisting that the ends did not justify the means.  This came to a head when Beatrice stole a sugar bowl.

What's so special about the sugar bowl?  Well, there is a special mushroom which is exceedingly poisonous and the fungus can spread very fast.  Seems some of the bad VFD members wanted to use this fungus to wipe out bad people.  To combat this, the Baudelaires had created an immunity drug in the form of the sugar in the sugar bowl.  Anyway, the two sides now actively went to war with each other.

The Baudelaires were killed when their house was burned down, leaving their three children as orphans.  Enter Count Olaf, who wants to keep the children so that he can plunder their inheritance.  This begins the events of the books, wherein the children go from location to location, always plagued by and then escaping Count Olaf.

Many members of the VFD tried to help the children, especially Jacques and Kit Snicket, both of whom lost their lives in the process (Jacques killed by County Olaf and Kit killed by the accidentally released fungus).  Lemony did try to help, and offered the children a ride away from one perilous location.  But the children declined, as they thought another person was going to help them get justice.  Lemony, in what appears to be an act of cowardice, flees, leaving the children to find disaster once again.

The children do escape that calamity and make it to a secluded island, where they meet the founder of the VFD, the former principal of Prufrock Academy, where most of the VFD's attended, and the principal handpicked the clever ones to be part of the VFD.

Kit also makes it to the island, pregnant.  She is exposed to the fungus, but Count Olaf, in a final act of heroism before dying, prolongs her life long enough for her to give birth.  The Baudelaire children begin to raise the baby there on the island, and name her Beatrice, after their mother.  After a year, they leave the island.

There's some confusion at this point, as it seems the Baudelaires get separated from the child.  But in the last scene of the show, we see that she has sought out her uncle, Lemony Snicket.  It's interesting to note that he here finds out that the very children he abandoned, saved and raised his sister's child, who is named for the woman he loved.  He then takes it upon himself to trace the entire story of the Baudelaire orphans, and that detective work is the subject of the series.