Filed under: Uncategorized
The thing about blogging is it nags and haunts when neglected. A lot has happened the last couple of years, naturally, but on the cusp of the new year I thought I’d share the draft of a blog entry I wrote in the spring of 2010:
“I know I am making the choice most dangerous to an artist in valuing life above art.” – James Agee
That line has been running through my head today, and for reasons my family and I have shared with only a few people. For all the time and money and work we have been through to be where we are today–in a coveted PhD program at a premier research university, on the track to becoming a professor–our hearts have been heavy lately. It turns out, money does make the world go ’round. Without any possible funding for these first two years of school (aside from my work as an accompanist and a hefty advance on the next ten years of our life [read student loans]) the realities of life have been slowly creeping into our hearts and minds. After asking some tough questions and digging through whatever flimsy options that have presented themselves, I have decided to finish this year at the University of Chicago, cut my ties, and return home with my newly-expanded family. Funny thing is, it feels like such a relief.
There isn’t much more to say, other than sometimes the dreams you build for your life don’t always mesh with one another. BrieAnn and I started seeing our life move in a direction that didn’t include the things we had once dreamed of, the things that had mattered above all else. I am just renegotiating my claim on life while I still can, shifting some things around in order to ensure those most prized in my life are at the center of my life.
It’s what I have always wanted.
I think about that time now, how I would have changed some things if I had a do-over. We made what was probably the best decision at the time, all things considered, though I also think of all that has ached my heart because of that choice to leave. How I terribly miss being in Hyde Park and walking to the university for class. How it felt to eat, breathe, and sleep ideas and almost nothing else. The rush of intellectual people everywhere. The bookstores. That now, so much more removed from then than the measly 1,000 miles, I am a little closer to reading a status update of a dissertation completion or job interviewing from one of my dear friends in my old program–an update I both fear and giddily await, depending on the day.
I have a great life here and now. It’s hard to imagine replacing any of it. But the thing about a neglected blog is the same as a neglected dream: it haunts you. Maybe the danger of Agee’s decision is felt most by the one making it, the one purposefully throwing water on the flames only to at last be clouded and choked by the smoke of his decision-making. I guess our decision to leave really did feel like a relief at the time. But the thing is, there are days when the more I ponder my time at Chicago the more I’m perplexed by the stumbling question: Did it really happen?
Filed under: Faith
And I saw the dead, small and great, stand before God; and the books were opened and another book was opened, which is the book of life: and the dead were judged out of those things which were written in the books, according to their works. (Rev. 20:12)
For I command all men, both in the east and in the west, and in the north, and in the south, and in the islands of the sea, that they shall write the words which I speak unto them; for out of the books which shall be written I will judge the world, every man according to their works, according to that which is written. (2 Nephi 29:11)
Oh that my words were now written! oh that they were printed in a book! (Job 19:23)
A few years ago, one professor told me she thinks of all human knowledge as a big pie, with each contribution adding another slice to the whole. While some slices are bigger than others, no slice is unimportant. If what she could offer with her intellect was a small slice on music-text relationships in 14th century French madrigals, she knew that the pie wouldn’t be complete without that documented knowledge, and in that her work was justified. I like her analogy. It focuses on open dialogues among communities of scholars–both past, present, and future–working collectively to bind something together, rather than only considering what any individual effort might afford. It reminds me of the authors anthologized in the Book of Mormon, all working independently of one another–and with a tremendous sense of urgency, not unlike scholars today–to preserve their comings and goings. Not one of them was quite certain why they were doing so, other than out of a sense of duty to God and their community. It was simply a project of unimaginable scope, yet somehow their individual involvement was critical to the success of the grand endeavor.
But why? What purpose does documentation serve for us? Why have scholars, composers, and prophets–no less than journalists, lawyers, and diarists–spent their lives writing things down, keeping records, giving the written word truth-power?
Given the hefty scriptural pronouncements on or allusions to documentation, it seems that this work of documenting the world is of incredible significance for us all. Angels record and then look upon human prayers (D&C 62:3). Record-keeping, along with the authority from the priesthood, has a binding effect among earth and heaven (D&C 128:8). It even seems possible that Christ’s earthly mission was determined by what humans had written about him previously (Luke 24: 46-47, John 5:47). Yet possibly of most importance to all of us is the level of significance documents have on human salvation. As the scriptures heading this post attest, books are the measure by which not only individuals, but the world, are to be judged. These books are set apart from the book of life, which seems to be a severe reckoning device to determine individually who “makes the cut,” so to speak (although, it is possible every person initially is listed in this book, as later one can be “blotted out” [Exodus 32: 32, Rev. 3:5]). So, I say to myself in the mirror, 1) Who wrote these books and 2) What are they? The King James Bible? The Koran? Hamlet? The Adventures of Tom Sawyer?
Well, it seems to me: 1) we all are, or at least should be, and 2) yes. I believe these books amount to all the efforts humans have made in trying to explain our world. In other words, they represent human knowledge, a collective knowledge. And [I'll even go this far to say] from this collective knowledge will the world–or all humanity–be judged. I don’t know for what exactly (though I have my ideas), but buried within all these scriptural proclamations on writing down the past and keeping dutiful records is a promise of gain: a charge that if we seek to learn all we can about the world, about each other, even about things seemingly superficial–and, most critically, that we then either write these things down ourselves or trust others to do so for us later–, all of our human family will be better for it.
This “pie of human knowledge” must be completed, that much is certain. What is uncertain, and beautifully so, is the piercing question that remains:
What will my slice be?
Filed under: Uncategorized
In the history of profound scripture verses, this one takes the cake:
“Benaiah the son of Jehoiada, the son of a valiant man of Kabzeel, who had done many acts; he slew two lionlike men of Moab: also he went down and slew a lion in a pit in a snowy day” (1 Chronicles 11:22).
Yes. As if killing a lion wasn’t enough, this dude took him down in a pit while it was snowing. Makes for some drama to spice up the genealogy, I guess. Or maybe it’s just a test to make sure you’re paying attention.
Either way, I wouldn’t want to make Benaiah mad.
Filed under: Uncategorized
“Don’t be shy, just let your feelings roll on by.”
1. Who are you?
2. Are we friends?
3. When and how did we meet?
4. Do you have a crush on me?
5. Would you kiss me?
6. Give me a nickname and explain why you picked it.
7. Describe me in one word.
8. What was your first impression?
9. Do you still think that way about me now?
10. What reminds you of me?
11. If you could give me anything what would it be?
12. How well do you know me?
13. When’s the last time you saw me?
14. Ever wanted to tell me something but couldn’t?
15. Are you going to put this on your blog and see what I say about you?
I love hymns. I wish I could say all the hymns in the current LDS hymnal stir me to celestial ecstasy, but that would be untruthful. The church I grew up in had a relatively lively music scene–no, there weren’t any drums and dancing going on when I was a child; just a reverently animated worship. So you can imagine the difficulties of a new member transitioning to the more somber, internalized musical fervor on display during the typical LDS sacrament meeting. It was different, to say the least.
But perhaps this difference has more to do with each church’s mission and purpose. You see, the Community of Christ sees social justice as a primary means of bringing Zion–or the utopian Kingdom of Heaven–to the earth, a charge they feel entails the restoration of the gospel. Indeed, peacemaking and social equality encompass the church’s mission. Without any doubt, the teachings and experiences I had as a youth in this church have shaped my convictions for social justice and reconciliation. When I was in high school, the newest section of scripture they recognized was from the 161st section of the Doctrine and Covenants. Its truthfulness still rings true to me today. “Become a people of the Temple,” it stated, “those who see violence but proclaim peace, who feel conflict yet extend the hand of reconciliation, who encounter broken spirits and find pathways for healing. . . Open your hearts and feel the yearnings of your brothers and sisters who are lonely, despised, fearful, neglected, unloved. Reach out in understanding, clasp their hands, and invite all to share in the blessings of community created in the name of the One who suffered on behalf of all.”
Recently, I came across one of the most treasured hymns–words that uplift and edify, words that prompt me to be the better version of myself hidden under layers of insecurities–that I would like to share. Maybe this can open some discussion on what hymns are most meaningful to you and why.
Let your heart be broken for a world in need:
Feed the mouths that hunger, soothe the wounds that bleed,
Give the cup of water and the loaf of bread—
Be the hands of Jesus, serving in His stead.Blest to be a blessing, privileged to care,
Challenged by the need—apparent everywhere.
Where the world is wanting, fill the vacant place.
Be the means through which the Lord reveals His grace.Add to your believing deeds that prove it true,
Knowing Christ as Savior, make Him Master, too.
Follow in His footsteps, go where He has trod;
In the world’s great trouble risk yourself for God.Let your heart be tender and your vision clear;
See the world as God sees, serve all far and near.
Let your heart be broken by another’s pain;
Share your rich resources, give and give again.
Filed under: Disclaimer
I started the locust shell so I could sharpen rhetorical tools, to come to a greater understanding of the world through logical discussion. I did it for me. And though I welcome open discussion for or against my stated opinions, please know that I did not intend on this being a political soapbox nor an open-ended debate on ____. Instead, this blog is dedicated to my pursuit of knowledge, my progression through issues important to me, my intellectual means of discerning truth.
I’m not in the business of putting people down, and I don’t take pleasure in degrading others to make a point. I hold the right as someone thinking through problems to be critical, though I will never express malice or hatred toward another individual or group. That’s simply not how I am wired. If for any reason my posts offend your sensibilities, I hope you will come to see that I don’t work against people, I work against ideologies.
I do not disregard anyone’s opinion, although it should be clear that in order for an opinion to be engaged–and truth found–, it must posit a logical argument couched within factual information.
I can only see things as I perceive them in my historical moment, from the knowledge I possess now. Yet I suspect the pursuit of truth is somewhat of a mobius strip, allowing me to see all sides of an issue many times before realizing there are no sides. And there never were.
Maybe truth is found in its own pursuit. That’s what I think. For now.
