slow down and smell the dream

I have a few reflections, but they are all in their intellectual infancy. Thoughts for which I haven't taken the mental time to explore their applications and implications or let the m germinate to follow through to any conclusion. So I'll just see where the clicking typing keys take me.

Both came from things recently heard on CBC. I'm afraid this is gonna turn into a really long post. Oh well!

So there was a study done for the purpose of marketing research that explored how people think differently whether in groups or alone.
(Of course) They found there to be quite a difference. One of the things they did was to ask them to come up with a list of, say for example, cartoons, as many as they could think of in a given period of time. In groups, people came up with WAY fewer than the people who were left on their own to think. Now of course there was more to the study, but some of the conclusions they discussed were how when alone, people think more creatively than they do in groups. Ideas tend to be debated/argued/discussed in groups. Now mind you, this certainly has its place, but that alone time is where people's minds really go somewhere new (in that new-to-them kind of way, since there is nothing truly NEW under the sun... everything is something else rehashed or totally regurgitated somehow.) That the degree of focus was so increased when alone, that the creative areas of the brain were ignited in solitude.

And it reminded me of a story about the Mendelssohn siblings, Felix and Fanny. Around 1827, the plays of Shakespeare were just being translated into German. Well, with similar reception to the release of new Harry Potter books today, the Mendelssohns jumped at the release of each new Shakespeare play. They loved them to pieces, and devoured them voraciously. They were around like 14/15 (Fanny) and 17 (Felix) yrs old at the time, if I am remembering correctly. So one summer afternoon, Felix and Fanny had just finished reading A Midsummer Night's Dream, and they said to each other, Hey! I've got the coolest idea! (Jenni paraphrase) Let's stage this play for our parents in our back yard! Oh ya! That sounds great!
Party on, Fanny!
Party on Felix!!
(and maybe they jumped in the air and butted chests....
or maybe not...)

So they set to work. Fanny started, I dunno, making costumes or something, and Felix went inside to his room, and for the next however long, spent his free time composing "A Midsummer Night's Dream", the symphonic piece as a soundtrack to their performance, which would be executed by neighbourhood kids and/or Felix's buddies. Now, maybe you haven't heard this piece, or it has been a while. I recommend taking a refresher listen to it if you are able to. If you listen to it again with the contextual knowledge, that he was like 17 years old, was doing all this for FUN for a backyard play he was putting on with his little SISTER... I'm sorry, but it blows one's mind. The endless streams of creativity, of TIME and planning, simply giving your mind time to wander and explore polyphony, WORK that went into creating all the intricacies, both melodic and harmonic, the arranging, orchestration... unreal.

Who among us knows a 17 year old on the PLANET right now that would bother his bum to spend that much mental energy and time for something like this? Nobody. Our societies have changed to the point that this just wouldn't happen anymore. If I am not too bold in saying so, I would say that people are so accustomed to overstimulation, that we can no longer sit in solitude and quiet, and be alone with our thoughts and creative potential in the way that other eras and peoples have done. I would also argue that this has had and is currently having TREMENDOUS impact on the quality and nature of the entire society, individually and corporately. And like I've said before, if I am pointing fingers, you needn't worry, there are plenty pointing at me too. I am fully aware of (and annoyed by) my near-constant dependance on stimuli, be it cds or radio playing, internet, phone, you name it. Something is almost always going.


Secondly:
A Grecian writer, who was being interviewed, talked about the nature of vision. He explained that one of the primary ways the eye identifies the identity of something is by travelling to its edges and finding out, where does change occur? Where is the distinction between and how is it distinguished from and by whatever is around it? And this is part of how our brain/eye team discern what it is we are looking at. Find the boundaries, and you will better know the nature of what you are observing.

And my mind immediately applied this to a spiritual identity. There is so much blending in to the ways of the world these days, where is the Church's (and Believer's) line of distinction, and how does that identify us, how does it distinguish us from what surrounds us, and what does it say about us?

It reminds me of a sermon I heard that stuck in my head from my childhood as it was included in one of my favourite songs at the time. I am pretty sure it was Paul Cain speaking. Excerpts from it included: that there be a wall of separation built, a line of demarcation to come into existance... for there to be "some kind of a definition that this is sin, and this is righteousness, or this is precious and this is vile. But the Church has LOST this kind of distinction, She has no wall of protection. "
One of our biggest markers is supposed to be this:
John 13:35
"By this all will know that you are My disciples, if you have love for one another.”
But that's not the whole stew. There are more ingredients, as we don't take one verse and make it the whole picture.
So I'm left to ponder, where are my edges? Where do I shmear seamlessly into the world, and where is the godly demarcation? (I'm hoping there is, SOMEwhere... I don't want to be a compeltely impressionist watercolour person... or pastel drawing that a kid got a hold of... sorry.. arty mind wandering there... show of hands for all who followed my imagery - - - Good job!)

The middle of something is not as definitive as its edges. The middle might be generic. But the edges are so telling. I don't know how to articulate all that is rolling around in my thoughts, so with that, I'll give up and leave it with you. What do you think? Interesting, though, to me.

Chill out, Mommy...

There is a commercial on tv here right now for the Ronald MacDonald house, which I will probably google as soon as I get off here. I cry
e v e r y
s i n g l e
t i m e
they play the commercial, it is so awful. It shows a young boy, maybe 7 or 8 years old, undergoing x-rays, spinal tap, head shaving, etc. At the spinal tap you can see his little toes curl up as he winces, yet tries to be brave and bear up under it. Having had a spinal tap when they were trying to diagnose me, I know why his toes would wince. Mine did. Epidurals are likely very similar if not identical. I dunno. But anyway... it is just too much for me to watch, I wave my hands like the yiddish woman who says she's "v'klempt," try not to cry like a fool, and usually leave the room. Man oh man. Motherhood changes you. Not that it wouldn't have moved me before, but it's just a whole new emotional ballgame.

Since we are talking about kids, (aren't we?) I'll share some of my morning with you all. Chris' parents took us all (their 2, our 3, plus bro and new sis-in-law) out for breakfast this morning at a local truck stop which is the restaurant of choice for most locals here, if I'm not mistaken.
At 9:30 am we all packed into our respective cars and conga'ed down the transcanada to the Big Stop. I was psyched. We had done this once before, and I loved it. Not to mention, my time in restaurants is fairly LIMITED, oh sorry, did I use caps there? And having someone else cook for me and do the dishes is nothing short of miraculous in my book. For my part, I enjoyed it immensely. I wish you all could have seen Anna. She was hilarious. Having done this once before made her a certified veteran, apparently. She sidled up to the table, and while Denise and I deliberated frantically, when the waitress came and asked, "Are you ready to order?" Anna spun around in her chair, her two hands holding on to the back of it, and said, "Uhm... I would yike some bacon and juice!" I think we all had our eyebrows in our hairlines at that point. The girl knows what she wants! I also ordered her some toast and eggs. The "yady" asked her how she wanted her eggs, "where you can see the whole egg, the two parts, or scrambled?" and Anna waved her hands around in circles and answered, " Aww scwambed up." The rest of us were left endeavoring to maintain our composure.

When we were served, as sophisticated as any 2 year old could be, she sat to the table formally, drank from her quite-full and lid-less juice cup like a pro, and came on to her bacon with the pleasure of a faster. After making a goodly dent in it, however, her focus and manners began to wane, and the plethora of distractions offered by the new atmosphere began to take their toll. As other's plates were beginning to look rather clean, I figured I should step in and try to speed along this process with a little assistance, which, by the way, at home, she ALWAYS wants me to spoon feed her, just like when she was 7 months old. So I scooped up a forkfull of eggs, but when I tried to feed them to her, she turned her head away and tried to confiscate the fork from me, saying indignantly, "Chiw out, Mommy! I wiw eat it!" ( = chill out, Mommy, I will eat it, for those who don't speak one of the trillion dialects of kid-ese)


Like, och! Like, you are so annoying, Mummy! Like, ugh...



Soooo... when did she turn... I dunno, some really older age than 2?



Anywho, overall, the morning was hilarious and great, and I continue to be impressed with her behaviour in situations in which she has little experience. She is proving herself to be super-adaptable, and unafraid of change, for which I thank God and pray it continues, esp. with the addition of a new family member! I think she will do great, and in answer to prayer, I am feeling very optimistic and excited about the coming of this new one, even though circumstances may look daunting.

That's my story today.

I was tagged, it's not my fault.

And by a friend whose tag I can't ignore, cause I love 'er.

So now I'm supposed to try to be creative and say Six Weird Things About Me. This should be the easiest task I've been given since kindergarten. Let's give this thing a whirl.

1. I don't have to in order to feel normal or anything, but I will enjoy it more if I have every single piece of cereal baptized in the milk before I begin eating a bowl of cereal.

2. Like the biggest poser going, I will soon adopt the accent/verbal mannerisms of pretty much anyone with whom I am talking. When talking to my Swiss exchange student friend in high school, I would break my English in the same manner she did. Lame-a-zoid. If I am talking to a Cape Bretoner, I sound like one. If I talk to my mother-in-law, I sound like I am from Guysborough. Irish people, English people, German, you name it. It is really annoying, now that I am aware of it and can't manage to control or curb it.

3. I think I am prettier backwards. Allow me to explain. You know how both sides of our faces are different, and we are not as symmetrical as we may think? If you switch those sides, you can actually look quite different, which is how you see yourself in the mirror. I think I am prettier the backwards way I look in the mirror than the way the rest of the world sees me.

4. If your name is Mum, I will kill you, no matter how hard I try not to. Chrysanthemum that is. I have a number of house plants that are flourishing and content, but have bought any number of mums of many varieties, all of whose days were numbered once they entered my care.

5. I don't know if it's a borderline phobia or what, but at least thus far, I have been totally unable to swim. I have taken classes, both public and private, and have never made any headway. I have concluded that I have a lead bum.

6. I think I'm part black. I must look like a huge idiot when I dance, both for fun and during worship at church. My whitey adaptations of ghetto boogie are, like my affected accents, so deeply entrenched, I am unsure if I could stop. It's almost like involuntary motion. *sigh* Also, if I could sing like them, I'd never shut up.

How's that for a flying freak flag, Mary?

I could present a plethora of humourous anecdotes here now, but none of them would be appropriate, as all my readers are not female. Let me just say, that pregnancy does some of the most hilarious things to and with one's body.

I've had sugar issues of late. Eating more chocolate than I have in a year, and never really having enough. I've also discovered that I can enjoy decaf black tea with only a hint of honey and no milk.

I attended the first part of a 2-part Evolution/Creation lecture last night. It was really good, in my opinion. It was presented by a Creationist, which I too am, so I found it great. However, the large percentage of university Evolutionists in attendance were less impressed and he faced quite the onslaught in the question/answer period that followed. It felt really funny to be sitting in a university classroom again, especially with the big belly I am currently toting. Conventiently, though, there was a cutout in the chair's desktop that allowed me easy entry. I wondered if people thought I was a knocked-up student or what. I will be 7 months prego as of the 21st of this month. Wowy. Time flies!

My baby fever is heating up though, to my excitement. It took a while to set in, but I'm sure glad it has!

For some visual stimulation, since I'm not cool enough to know how to do myself a new blog skin, I'll here post a new pic or 2 of Anna, eating her banana at lunch a couple days ago. She's still working on perfecting the fake smile, as you can see. She will be 3 next month.

not sermon material.

So here are some of my more unconventional thoughts recently related to Biblical content.

Jonah- 3 days in a whale -
Holy Mackerel! ( ha.... ha.) I'm not one of those people who thinks that this was a parable or whatever. I believe it actually happened. That this poor dude actually was swallowed by, and 3 days later spat up by a whale.
Now, bear with me a moment on this one. Seriously, what in the WORLD was THAT like?!?!?! Hello? Would you say it pretty much had to stink like all get out... that's almost a given I would say. I dunno. what else? like, what did he sit on? what in the world is a whale's gut like? Not the Holiday Inn or even Howard Johnsons. Yes, the whole spiritual battle was going on, with the obedience issue, repentance/forgiveness etc., but physically, what in the WORLD did he really go through. Was it all slimy with intestinal mucous? Was he burned by digestive acids at all? I assume it was basically pitch black. So he's hearing weird gurgly noises, maybe, and not being able to see anything happening around him? How terrifying! God really knows how to get one's attention when He feels it is a matter of life and death for a city. I can't imagine NOT getting serious with God in this particular scenario.
But to give it a little more than passing thought can trip one out.
Just some thoughts.

Then last night I went to a worship service and a speaker mentioned the conversation Jesus had with the disciples in Matthew 16, when he asked them, "Who do YOU say I am?"
And the person was of course trying to get the congregation to think of our OWN answer to, who do YOU say I am? And I thought to myself, who IS He to me? And although the part I'm going to talk about here only offers the most incomplete answer imaginable to that question, None of us has the time for me to go into a more thorough answer. This is just the 'unconventional' segment, anyway.

You know how in the flash of a moment you can think of enough stuff to fill a weeks worth of daily blogging? Well that is kinda how this went.

In that moment, I thought of my attachment to physical things. I thought of my curtains, my house, my furniture, my dishes, clothes, the mangos in my fridge, you name it, all my worldy goods, and how unwilling I would be to voluntarily give those all up in a moment, to say, live in a cardboard box, and only have the clothes on your back from now on. I would consider that a painful sacrifice, a big step DOWN from my current standard of living. This of course answers for me the question posed in the Revival Hymn, "Is the world crucified to you, or does it fascinate you?" I am painfully aware of how not crucified it is to me still. But I digress.

Then I imagined this fictitious scene in heaven, in which God the Father, the Holy Spirit and Jesus are all sitting around a table, discussing the state of affairs some time ago, like, 2000 ish years ago. And They were broken in tears, that man was seperated from Them, that SOMEthing needed to be done to restore relationship. That They were devastated by the sin and how it created this chasm between God and His Beloved. And as They discussed (I know I'm really stretching here...) They knew that some ONE had to make an eternal sacrifice to pay the price for the sin of all. And they knew how it had to be done. And who stood up and volunteered? Jesus. He was the One who said, I'll go, I'll leave heaven, the angels, the glory, I'll go to that dirty filthy earth (which is great and all, I love creation, but in comparison to heaven... well...) and be spat upon and treated like the LEAST of any of them, even though I would be the greatest to ever be among them, to be unknown, small, weak, seperated and abused...
so that they can know Us, so that they can be my Bride.

What that says about Him and His character is kinda the point of the story. That He would volunteer to do the dirty work, of which Calvary certainly qualifies, if anything ever did. That He would stand in the gap for the unworthy ones (us). To quote Chris DuPre, "What kind of love made Him do that?"

And I looked at what I had just called a 'painful sacrifice' (what insult in comparison!) and how far far greater a condescension He made, to lay down heaven and all its glory in order to accomplish the Father's will, and how even the thought of giving up my home made me want to look desperately for a way to avoid it and high-tail'er - but HE didn't shrink from His task, He didn't cower or dodge the blows, He walked forward to it, even carrying his own cross.

There was no seeking or preservation of self in that walk.

Anyway, I don't know if that made any sense. But I'm not required to make sense here. I'm just sharing. :) If you don't like it, tough shnookies.

Isn't He amazing? How can we not love Him.

the shame and the glory

I have realized a couple things about myself that I wasn't excited to learn, but hey.

Let me start here:
A number of years ago when I first heard of this thing, I shook my head and pursed my lips in self-righteous condescension. I likely spewed a bunch of mockery about anyone who would participate in such an institution of criminal vanity, oppressing and corrupting the helpless young.

But now I know, that if I was affluent, I would have a real struggle with over-spending on Baby Gap. Yes, Baby Gap. *sigh* I just HAD to visit that website, didn't I. Dummy. Curiousity killed the cat, and awakened some extra materialism in Jenni. Nice.

Also, I watched "The Devil Wears Prada" a couple weeks ago, and it made me realize that in fact, I really love fashion. I had just forgotten. With full knowledge of the fickle, vain, transient, superficial nature of it, I still enjoy it a lot. Again, if affluent, I would likely increase my clothes budget from, virtually nothing, replacing the occasional holey item, to actually trying to be shnazzy.

Now for the glory portion.
Last week my Great Aunt Edna died. I'm fine, although not being able to be involved in family stuff stinks royally. But the story of her passing is just so cool to me that I had to share it.

For 3 days she had been curled up on her side, not opening her eyes at all for the 3 days, but still talking a little bit. Then on the 3rd day, with her daughter Sherry holding her hand, she was praying a while. She asked Sherry to sing Amazing Grace to her. (Hello?!?! GUT wrenching request!)
Halfway through the song Edna said, "What?"
to which Sherry replied, "What what?"
Edna: "Did you call my name?"
Sherry: "No, Mom, I was singing. I didn't say anything."
Then Edna turned up energetically, opened her eyes wide, and Sherry says they were the biggest brightest, clearest, most beautiful eyes she has seen in her. She reached up her hand, and then she was gone.

Wow.

It seems pretty clear she was greeted by a friendly entity. Awesome. I'm not worried about where she went, nor who she is with now! Cool eh? I thought so.