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June 29, 2007

By Special Request, Some Pictures

Here you go, brother. How do you like them apples...er, only its a dragonfly, in two views, with one highly stylized.

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Can't Wait. Dish Me Up Some Ratatouille

Here is an extended clip (gasp). Here is a review from Jeffrey.

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Suffering and Love

I highly recommend to you the article and photos of my friend Courtney, which are in the the latest edition of Catapult. Courtney is an amazing photographer, a fact which combined with her compassionate heart for the destitute and suffering makes for a powerful combination that illustrates the brokeness of the world and the manifestation God's love. Courney writes:

"Mother Theresa said that "we can do no great things, only small things with great love" and that is so much of what my experience in Calcutta was. I didn't do anything great. I simply loved as best as I could, and hope that God used that and will continue to use me in the future. Isn't that what he wants of us all? To love Him with all of our hearts, and to love our neighbors as ourselves."

Be sure to check out the rest of Courtney's article as well as the slide show of her pictures.

Indeed, I commend to you all the articles in this issue on sickness, especially Dr. Stan's, which is a thoughtful reflection on the Eucharist and Psalm 103; Ryan's, which reminds me a great deal of the surgeries and struggles my own niece has had to undergo; and Allison's, which is a beautifully written piece, full of wisdom, which is surprising from someone who has just graduated college. Here is an excerpt:

"This is the other part of the story. We suffer, and the world suffers, and we hear its groaning along with our own groaning: the beeps of IV machines, the smell of the cancer ward, the slow fracture of friendships, the reports of famine, the suffering that marks our living in the not-yetness of the Kingdom of God. Suffering marks our identities, and it also marks our calling as disciples. It is in weeping with those who weep, mourning with those who mourn, that we hear the brokenness of the Gospel, the brokenness of Christ's own body, the brokenness that brings us life. It is in the taking up the suffering of others that we know ourselves to be the people of God, called to minister to our neighbors lying in the ditch, unheard, unnoticed, silenced. Before we can speak and act, we have to listen to the groaning, we have to recognize that suffering exists, we have to encounter suffering for what it is in order to hope, to heal, to rejoice and return home. Let us take up that rejoicing in the not-yetness of the kingdom. Let us speak the truth about the world around us. Let us allow ourselves to speak the truth about our suffering world, our suffering selves, our suffering-and-ascended Lord. Let us tell the whole story, and in that telling, may we yearn for the true freedom of the children of God—freedom to tell the truth, freedom to listen, freedom to embrace shalom."

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June 28, 2007

Amazing. Truly.

I became aware of this story by reading the blog of an efriend, Joy. It made her cry. It deeply moved me, both because of the power of the performance and the refreshment of truly seeing substance triumph over style, when so often the opposite is the case these days. This audtion is an amazing video, because while watching it you really get the sense that it is like the documenting of a bolt out of the blue.

Paul, it turns out, has had some training and performance experience, but only stictly amateur stuff. Here is his website with more videos.

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June 26, 2007

The Four Hundredth Post

In response to Kirk Ward's suggestion that I do something special for my four hundredth post, below are some categories I came up with and the winning blog entries for each. Thanks, Kirk, I am not sure I would have noticed that milestone, and though 500 posts might be a more logical marker for this sort of thing, who knows when that might actually occur, what with my beginning seminary in the Fall and what not. I would like to have reprinted all the blog banners I have used, but they are on my computer at work. So, perhaps that will be the first of the next hundred posts.

*The blog that inspired the Effect: Hey, I even tried to rip off its brown decor. Thanks for the inspiration and early encouragement, Jeremy, and for the intro to Catapult.

*The first post (from the Blogger Days): What I consider to be my greatest poem.

*The most controversial series of posts: The reposting of this story led to me to discover that I had deeply wounded a friend five years earlier. It is an odd thing to bleed in public, but it is alright when it leads to healing. Here and here and here. Beware of page-long comments :)

*The series I most wanted comments on but didn't get any: Ah, that would have to be the Ringbearer sonnets. The Samwise one still needs a major overhaul. Here and here and here and here.

*The most obviously vulnerable post: No contest.

*The posts most meant not to be obviously vulnerable, but not succeeding: Ah, you are just going to have to play along at home and find these ones on your own. And I don't want to hear about them. You shouldn't have to look too hard :) This is a blog after all.

*The wisest post: It's perhaps a bit arrogant to come up with that category, but when you learn through pain and God gives you the ability to comfort others with the comfort you have received, well, I have no problem in championing that wisdom, even if I did write it down.

*This post changed everything: And I'm thankful for it.

*My favorite comment: Can you which one it is? It's my favorite because of the comment, but more even for who the commenter was.

Well, that will do! But before I bring this in for a landing, let me just say thank you to all you readers. And a special thank you to all you readers who have also commented. I have really appreciated the conversations we have had, silly and serious. If you have been only in the former category and wish to join the latter, this post would be a lovely time to say "Hey!"

Blessings on you all.

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June 25, 2007

George MacDonald's Scotland

I was looking up a bit of information on George MacDonald today. He is the author/theologian who C.S. Lewis called his spritual master. I have to tell you, though, he does have some strange, and I believe ultimately unorthodox and aberrant theological ideas. In brief, he is more or less a universalist, believing that ultimately everyone will submit to the stern mercy of God. Paradoxically, or perhaps not so paradoxically, the good characters in his books are stringently holy in a seemingly inachievable, though I must say in a very winsome, way.

I want to look into him more, not because I believe universalism is true (though I sure would like it to be), but because I am genuinely interested in what manner of holiness we as Christians are intended to attempt and manifest in our lives. Sometimes I feel that even asking that question in a Reformed, grace-not-works contexts is a non-starter, that peoples' heresy-o-meters are immediately raised, but still I think it an entirely biblical question, one that I have paid entirely too little attention to in recent years.

At any rate, all of this is not the purpose of this post. That was to share with you this vision of George MacDonald's Scotland, provided on the website of Michael Phillips, MacDonald's main champion, editor, and popularizer of our times. Aside from the children's books (The Princess and the Goblin, etc.), it is actually only a few of his versions of MacDonald that I have read, which are more or less like moral romances set in Scotland, and published by Bethany House (which, not coincidently is a publishing house, I believe, associated with the holiness wing of Protestantism). I even have as yet to read Phantastes, the fantasy book that deepy impacted C. S. Lewis. At the current momemt, though, it is these pictures which are deeply impacting me. Oh my, I want to go.

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A New Voice

Well, his voice is not new to some of you who may have gone to church or house church with him or to some of you who may have been able read some of his writing. Nonetheless, his voice is new to the blogosphere, and he has made a stong entry with a steady stream of quality entries. I commend to you the cleverly named blog of George Faithful, Faithfool. You have to love a blog which has a pun in its very title.

Be sure to check out several introductory posts here and here. And there is poetry, subtly perceptive and wistfully imaginative.

And, from today, there is this....

"How am I to live out that love? In blatant defiance of what makes me happy and in earnest pursuit of what makes me whole. Love is not about me doing what I want, but about me sacrificing myself in order to do what I know is right. True love has everything to do with justice, social and otherwise. May it be done, though the heavens fall!"

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John 8

Below is the poem I promised to post last week in response to this discussion, in which Kirstin, the editor of Catapult, has recently weighed in about her reasons for publishing the controversial article.

The poem was written for a poetry class in 1994 in which we were to keep the same end words in each stanza we wrote. I am not really pleased with how this poem reads, even though I haven't done anything to fix it in the intervening decade or so, but I do like some of the images in it.

John 8

It was an odd time to make an ending,
When so much was beginning.
Fresh silence soothing the fever of the night.
Clean sunlight washing the dusty temple yard.
And a young Rabbi softly rending its ancient stony walls.

But they had brought the woman there to make an ending,
When so much was beginning,
With scalpel-stones to excise her cancer in the night,
With harsh light to expose her temple's filthy yard,
And have the Rabbi raze her crumbling, ruined walls.

And the woman knew it was her ending,
When so much was beginning.
No dawn would soothe her fevered night.
No light could wash her cluttered yard.
And the Rabbi's word would start the battering of her walls.

And the Rabbi made an ending,
When so much was beginning.
His scalpel cut the stone throwers' cancer in the night.
His light exposed their hidden dusty yards.
And His word softly slammed their hardened rocky walls.

And so there was an ending,
And so much was beginning.
The Dawn had soothed the fevered Night
And stones patterned the dusty Temple yard,
And the Rabbi had softly razed its ancient stony walls.

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June 23, 2007

Fat Hobbit

It had been quite some time since he had been
On an adventure, and there was the fat
To show for that, and in his mind, unseen,
An equally fattish lethargy, that
Grew large and seemed to swallow everything.
But he had heard the holy songs of elves.
And longing grew to wander and to sing
Songs of those who've learned to forget themselves,
And in forgetting gain the Earth entire.
Farewell to constant comfort and to ease,
Not choosing, but to bear the dark and mire,
To see and be the light to truer peace.
How can such foolishness be all that's wished
For, to be, not less, but more hobbittish.

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June 19, 2007

Some Night Shots, And Then It's Off to Bed...

...early for a change. Tomorrow, I'll post a poem on John 8, which I wrote a while ago, to supplement the discussion which continues apace.

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Things That Are White and Yellow and Creamy, And I Don't Mean Creamed Corn

More photos from this past weekend. And you really must click on the last three to view them at a larger size, particularly the last one. You won't be sorry.

   

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June 18, 2007

The Discussion Continues...

I decided to go ahead and begin the discussion of Barbara Zielinsk's article featured in the latest issue of Catapult, and there have been several posts in the discussion thread. If you want to follow along or jump in yourself, you can do so here. A link to the pertinent article is posted at the top of my first post.

If you're here from there, welcome.

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Saturdays

Saturdays? Well, frankly, on Saturdays I fairly often have rather a saturnine disposition, particularly if I am tracking low already, and the day gets wasted, further contributing to the lowness.

The past two Saturdays have been much better, however. A week ago, the afternoon was brightened by going to an art show in which Safe, But Not Sound had a lovely piece and meeting with many friends. This Saturday was even more fulfilling, starting with a 5:30 am trip to go birding...sort of, followed by 5 hours of working in the hot sun pulling up grass by hand, rototilling, burning branches, followed by a one hour event photo shoot (my first professional one....kind of...it was for my cousin), followed by an hour of editing pictures. Even though my body was dead on its feet, the heart felt fine.

That was, I believe, because I was operating according to proper instructions, with the right proportions of work and rest, and hard work at that. Hey, the work might not have been so hard then, but it was there even before the Fall.

Here are some photos

Saturday, June 9th

Saturday, June 16th

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June 15, 2007

Something There is That Doesn't Love a Wall-A Photo in Catapult

Part of me wanted to not create my customary post about having a photo published in Catapult. However, that would rather have gone against the spirit of the issue [Deleted for Inappropriate Subject Matter]. Indeed, I believe the subject matter of the three main articles, sexuality, should not be deleted, but rather needs to be discussed more. I appreciate many of the questions that Barbara Zielinski brings up in her feature article and even some of her framing of the topic, yet I must add that I do not agree with her central premise. I do commend to you Kirstin Vander Giessen-Reitsma's fine editorial on our cultural poverty in the area of conversing with strangers and overcoming the taboo of breaking the silence in public.

I do also have a picture in the issue, picturing a word that, coincidently, pretty well captures the issue's theme.

You are invited to discuss these issues on the Catapult web site, and we can certainly have a smaller discussion here as well, if you like.

Here is my previous work in the magazine.

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June 11, 2007

Once

This past Friday night, several friends and I began a lovely evening by going to see the movie Once, and I highly recommend that you do the same, at least once, and maybe twice as I plan to do when I get the chance. It is a musical for folk who don't like musicals (though you have to be able to at least tolerate a contemporary style of sort of singer-songwriter music). It is a celebration of creativity and friendship. It is a serious look at making a good choice, which more often than not is the harder choice of the two, when you desperately want to do the opposite. It is a beautiful, small film about beauty in the difficulties of life. It makes me want to go to Ireland (though I will more likely go to Scotland to get that fix).

Here is the review that hooked me into seeing this movie, but beware it has major spoilers. Here is the official movie site, which has the trailer and, I believe, loops the entire amazing soundtrack to the film (plus, there are loads of extra video clips lower on the page). And here is the Metacritic site, where it has received an amazing aggregate score. There is more music from the principle actors in the film here and here.

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June 10, 2007

t(ie)pology

This page will be updated in batches as I wear them and think to take the pictures. It may take some time (it is a big collection). If the name is blank, it means I have not as yet thought up one. Here, in no particular order, is the Dassler t(ie)pology. Click on the thumnails if you prefer a bigger image.

There is a lot of polyester here, but I like how they look and they are low maintenance. You have to be more gentle with silk ties to get stuff off of them. I do like the feel of the silk though. Oh, and just so you know, just because I do pay a fair amount attention to my tie choices and matching them with shirts, I still must insist that, no, I do not wear outfits.

Oh, and tie tying style? Full Windsor all the way, baby! Love that symmetry. If you are worried about fat knots, keep pulling down as you tie it. As far as I'm concerned, you only need another knot if you are tying a skinny leather tie from the eighties, any skinny tie from the eighties, for that matter.

Cohort I

Name: Razzle Dazzle I
Brand: n/a
Origin: thrift store
Material: polyester
Comment: OK, so its a bit flashy, I know, but with the equally bold shirt, I can manage to pull it off.

Name:
Brand: 615 Collection
Origin: thrift store
Material: polyester
Comment: I really feel bad for this tie, as I do not think it has ever gotten commented upon. Perhaps it is because it is rather somber and serious. But it has a lovely shade of red in it and shiny, navy blue. Perhaps I need to do better by it and wear a shirt that makes its strengths shine.

Name: Red Paisley
Brand: n/a
Origin: gift / thrift store
Material: Ancient Madder, All Silk
Comment: Ah, this was one of my favorites at one point. Alas, it has begun to fray on one side, so it does not get nearly the circulation it deserves anymore. And this is not a fantastic pic of it.

Name: The All-time Favorite / Interview Tie
Brand: Regalon (Wash and Wear)
Origin: gift / thrift store
Material: 100% Polyester
Comment: Oh, I do love this tie, its color and pattern. It matches a lot of the colors I like i.e. the family of brown, which I have been pretty much inhabiting over the past 5 years or so. Oh, and gotta love a wash and wear tie.

Name:
Brand: n/a
Origin: thrift store
Material: 65% Acetate, 35% Rayon (yes, I think that makes it 100 % Polyester as well)
Comment: The patterns on this ties are intricate, yet subtle. You only catch them in good light. These polyester ties are amazingly textured. Not sure how they do that, but I like it

Name: The Power Tie, Slumming with Hipsters
Brand: Jones New York
Origin: thrift store
Material: 100% Silk
Comment: OK, so this tie is a bit out of place here, but the red is of deep and melancholy enough quality and it has a very nice slate stripe, so I let it in. It is amazing the brand names you can buy at a thrift store

Name: Midnight with Chagall Blue
Brand:
Origin: thrift store
Material: n/a but it seems like Polyester again
Comment: OK, so the name is a bit pretentious, but that is what it looks like. This picture doesn't do it justice.

Name: The New Regalon
Brand: Regalon
Origin: thrift store
Material: 100% Polyester
Comment: This, along with "The Power Tie, Slumming with the Hipsters," were my most recent purchases. Now I need to get a shirt to do it justice.

Name: Nerve Cells with Stained Nuclei
Brand: n/a
Origin: Gift from Lydia
Material: 100% Polyester
Comment: Lydia was my direct supervisor at SIUE and a bit of a mother to me for a while. This tie is polyester, but it feels like silk


Name: Just Making the Cut
Brand: Polo by Ralph Lauren
Origin: thrift store
Material: Polyester
Comment: I gotta tell you, I am rather ambivalent about this tie, but the burgundy and green in it goes well with a shirt and my only summer suit coat that fits just now.

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June 08, 2007

Lunchtime Shoot

I have been wanting to photograph the walkway below (which was once used as a greenhouse) since when I first saw it 5 years ago. I had better get the shots in before I leave. I do regret now not having the opportunity to shoot it in all types of weather as I had wanted.

hallway chandelier

self portrait I

self portrait II

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Fountain

I once stove to be a what I then considered a purist in digital photography, to only fix a picture to what it looked like when I took it. After realizing that manipulating the image through processing to get different effects has a long history in analog photography, I chilled a bit. Still, sometimes when I come up with two different takes on the same scene, as with the colors in the first two pictures below, I begin to wonder again about my finaglaing. For the record, I think the true color of the trees that day was closer to the second picture.

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June 06, 2007

Glow

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June 03, 2007

And Now the Sun is Setting ::: And Now the Sun is Set

__________________________

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June 01, 2007

A Pensive Meander Over the Day

Driving home tonight in a summer thunderstorm, I stopped by the river to take some pictures. I rolled down the window, stayed in my car and shot away. There was no decent shot to speak of really. The last one before the battery died was quite remarkable, but nothing like the vision I was treated to moments later, when my camera was dead and I was forced merely to appreciate the scene for its own sake. That is a good thing for us photography loving sorts to have happen to us from time to time, to be reminded of why we take pictures in the first place, or at least why I largely do, to appreciate the amazing beauty and vitality of life itself.

The massive thunderheads were rumbling away eastward, and on their tail end you could see their white tops, contrasted against the greyness below and a deep, bright blue above. The edges of the white cloud were as sharp and crisp as if they had been cut from paper and pasted against the blue, and then varying shades of grey overlaid the white, tracing out the contours of the cloud. The picture above pales in comparison, though its a good start.

I thought to myself that I totally understand why the Greeks would have placed their gods on cloudy Olympus. Our own popular conceptions of heaven probably owe as much to the Greek vision as any biblical one, but what we have made it now is insipid fluffiness. But the clouds I saw today were nothing like that, they were glorious in the true sense, and I could totally get why someone might want to link them to deity and heaven.

I suppose I have been thinking of heaven a lot today. Earlier in the day, my brother led a service from my Uncle Vigil’s funeral. I have a friend who has laughed each time I have told her a funeral has been “good.” Admittedly, the first time I said it I may have been just mindlessly saying that it was good, because that is what I tend to mindlessly say when someone ask me how something was. No, but I can wholeheartedly say that this funeral was good. It was good to be reminded about the life of my uncle, which though not remarkable by worldly standards, was remarkable because he was a servant of Christ, serving others tirelessly, not seeking glory for himself—roto-tilling gardens, mowing lawns, hauling bread in the back of his pick-up for the food pantry. It was good for me to be reminded that even though God's grace is absolutely free, that God calls us to be sacrificial and to be servants, to be Christ to others. It was good to be reminded of these things by reflecting on the life of a beloved uncle, in a service led by a beloved brother.

It was good to be reminded over these past few days of just how much Uncle Virg meant to me in my life. We lived with him and Aunt Verdna when we came home on furloughs. Aunt Verdna raised my brother Adrian while my mom worked as a nurse. And when Aunt Verdna and Uncle Virg separated for 5+ years in their marriage, Uncle Virg came to live with Grandma and us, home on another furlough. He wasn’t all sunshine. When we boys would be watching our hundred pound black and white television, for which we used pliers to change the channels, and Grandma or Mom would call us to have supper at 4:30pm (4:30pm for heaven’s sake! which is interminably early for half Pakistani boys used to eating at 8:00) we would mumble and pay no mind, but when Uncle Virg would holler, “Now, you boys get on in here!” well, there was no hesitation. We had no doubt that he would not have considered the statute of limitation expired on the whupping privileges he had when we were younger and which he had occasionally exercised. We were at that table like a shot.

I have a father, a wonderful father, who worked hard and loved us sensitively and took us on fishing trips and outings when we grew up in Pakistan, but he himself would have no problem in me acknowledging the fatherly role that Uncle Virg also had in our lives. In fact, his gruffness and occasional crudeness were an excellent complement to my father’s raising of us. Uncle Virg taught me how to fish for Blue Gill—how to look for where they were nesting and cast the line just right. He taught me how to skin a catfish, how to scale a Blue Gill and bake a cookie sheet full of them with butter and oregano and lemon juice. There is nothing quite like freshly baked Blue Gill, even if you have to eat a couple three to get anywhere near full. There is nothing like the salty, lemony, melted butter in the corners of the cookie sheet.

Uncle Virg also found me a rabbit that was sitting still in the brush, and I got my first, and thus far only, kill, and I was finally able to understand a little of what the Native Americans mean by thanking an animal for its life. But the killing of the rabbits, the eating of them, whilst chewing carefully to watch out for lead shot, was not even the most memorable thing. That was walking along a railroad track or hedge row in the snow with Uncle Virg giving directions on safety and hunting smarts, perhaps stopping to throw sticks across a frozen pond when the rabbits were scare and seeing if we could bag a few of those logs skidding across the ice. It was watching the autumn sun set in the drab, scrubby farmland of Illinois whilst being with my brothers and Uncle.

Uncle Virg also came and helped Dad build our house and shape our property in Edwardsville, chainsawing trees and burning them, and then stopping for long lunches of simple food and laughter, where I was the chef and server while Uncle Virg and Dad rested their aging bones. And during this time, Uncle Virg taught me one of his most important lessons, to pee in the woods or your own yard or off your deck, and to do it with impunity. Alas, it is now somewhat harder to put this lesson into practice at Dad’s place, since several houses have sprung up nearby, but, well, when the angles make it cool or the light is right….

Before I bring this long ramble into a close, I must tell you one of the most meaningful things that I saw happen in Uncle Virg’s life. During their separation, which occurred for reasons that I do not know nor would make public, my Aunt Verdna and Uncle Virg still kept house and raised their children together. No, he did not live there, and their relations did not seem warm to the eye of a child, but he would still come and put long hours to plant the garden or can the vegetables or do repairs on the house and he stayed involved in his children’s lives. What happened next is all the more remarkable because more often than not just the opposite happens, and, to be absolutely honest here, I get pretty heartsick about it all and even doubt sometimes why God thought up whole idea of marriage at all as it seems to fail so often. But shortly after my mother died, though I am not claiming that was the cause of it, in 1987, Uncle Virgil and Aunt Verdna talked and he moved back home. I cannot tell you how much it means to me that they reconciled and spent the last 20 years of their life together.

And last week, Aunt Verdna, who raised him as a boy, asked my brother to preach my Uncle’s funeral, and a story came full circle.

P.S. I know we have our potlucks in the city, hey I organize half of the ones I attend, but, my friends, having been to a Southern Illinois funeral potluck today, well, by contrast we’re just playing at it.

P.P.S. Finally, finally, after spending an emotional morning and then a lovely afternoon with Adi and family and Dad and Virgil (yes, he's Uncle Virgil's namesake) and his family who came all the way from Texas and who must return home tomorrow morning :( I must confess I feel a bit like these flowers that were taken from the funeral and are drying in my car, a little dim and droopy. Yet, even so, today has been a remarkable reminder that God has been and is so very good to me. Blessed be His name.

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Wow! Now That's What I Call Photography!

First let me say that Facebook is an amazing connector of long lost friends, even as it is a massive Black Hole sucking in vast swaths of time. Here are some photos of Shahesha Lock who was a junior in high school when I went back to volunteer at my high school in Pakistan during the 1992-93 school year. Yeah, I actually was her husband Josh's house father for 6 weeks or so. Me as a house father at 23, now that's a scary thought. Actually, I did very well, thank you very much, and it was a lot of fun.

Oh, and I would highly recommend viewing the slideshow and looking at all of these as there are some amazing shots, especially of many of the lovely folk of Pakistan. At the very least, you have to go up to the shot of the goat wearing the sweater.

Oh, and Facebook is amazing. So much more visually pleasing than Myspace and so much better at creating social networks. Myspace still has an edge in sharing multimedia, music, videos, etc. if you don't mind the aesthetic nightmare in whic it is wrapped.

Correction
Shahesha informs me, via the aforementioned Facebook, that the photography is Josh's principally, though she does doe some protraiture.

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