Bob the Beautiful Cockroach?

Really, can a cockroach be beautiful?

Genesis 1:31, “God saw all that he had made, and it was very good. And there was evening, and there was morning—the sixth day.”

[Good- in Greek, Tobe: 1. Good, pleasant, agreeable

1. Pleasant, agreeable (to the senses)


2. Pleasant (to the higher nature)

Beauty- Merriam-Webster Online: the quality or aggregate of qualities in a person or thing that gives pleasure to the senses or pleasurably exalts the mind or spirit : loveliness]

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So, Can a cockroach be beautiful?

Everything God makes is beautiful.

God made a cockroach.

Therefore, yes, a cockroach is beautiful.

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Personally though, I am repulsed by cockroaches. Nonetheless, becoming more Christ-like, means seeing creation like he sees it: beautiful. So, I have embarked on a quest to see cockroaches as beautiful.

I sketched a roach to study their aesthetic beauty, and frankly, I was surprised to find, that they are quite marvelous (although, I’m still having trouble seeing them as beautiful). The way their wings are ridged, and fold into each other, making complicated patterns on their backs is remarkable.

In the meantime, while I researched them, I found that roaches are among the most vital decomposers. They eat decomposing material, and return the nutrients to the soil.

So, for now, while I’m still working on seeing them as aesthetically beautiful, I concur with my friend who said, “It’s [a roach] like the guy who works in the sewer. He’s dirty and maybe a little creepy, but he cleans everything up.”

Cockroaches are beautiful.

A Mirror is Harder to Hold

Honestly, this is really a continuation of my last post. The more I think about it the more I think that to pursue the appearance of anything is the opposite of pursuing the actual thing. To attain, you first must admit that you do not have.

To increase:

*Knowledge you must first admit ignorance.

*Truthfulness you must first admit lies.

*Order you must first admit chaos.

*Strength you must first admit weakness.

*Love you must first admit hate or apathy.

*Righteousness you must first admit filth. imperfection. sin.

Does this book make me look smart?

What is the antithesis of the pursuit of knowledge?

This summer, I’ve finally had time to read--not just school books, but books that I want to read. Over the last week or two I’ve finished Uncle Tom’s Cabin and The Scarlet Letter, and now I’m working on Moby Dick.

As much as I am enjoying them, sometimes, I find myself excited that the book I’m reading is coming to a close so that I can pick the next book. While I’m picking books, I’m not necessarily looking for the most intellectually stimulating book; instead, I’m looking for the book that seems to be one that well-read people read.

This summer I’m taking an SAT prep course. I already took prep courses last summer and last school year. I learn in these courses to some degree, but mostly they just help me bring up my test scores.

Which leads me to wonder…does the pursuit of knowledge have two opposites? The pursuit of ignorance is its obvious antithesis, but maybe the pursuit of knowledge has a second, more insidious converse:  the pursuit of the appearance of knowledge.

In trying to appear smart, I fail to ask questions when I don’t understand, because it might look stupid, and I rush from one thought and book to next trying to compile an intellectual resume of sorts without always trying to understand what I’m reading and thinking. In trying to appear like I’m pursuing knowledge, sometimes, I don’t actually pursue knowledge.

So. My goals:  (1) While I’m reading a book or thinking a thought, really read and think-- rather than just pushing through to finish my book or thought, chewing on it. Questioning it. Discussing it. (2) In SAT prep, find real, applicable ways to use the knowledge more the trying to seem smart for the purpose of college admissions.

So, I had an Idea...

I picked up a copy of "Roll of Thunder, Hear my Cry" from Half Price Books (I have to confess though, I didn't finish it...). I noticed that, a few pages into the book, it's last owner had made a flip book out of the bottom right hand corner depicting a stick figure shooting a cannon. It amused me.

Honestly though, my favorite part about reading used books is finding other people's notes and doodles in the margins. It adds character, and their scribbled thoughts springboard new thoughts of my own as I read.

So, I had a idea.

I think it would be really cool to start a book-lending group, in which people must write in the books they borrow.

Is anyone interested?

Dear Wisdom Teeth,

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I lost four teeth

I never knew

Their roots grew down

Before their heads grew

Up
~~~

Now I must "eat"

Out of a cup

The only reminders of them

That remain

~~~

Are four holes

Some odd swelling

And minimal pain

~R.I.P.~

Clarity

I think. Now what?

I remember sitting in the car at around age two or three and hearing my older brother, Landon, tell Mom, “I have a question: …” I promptly ask, “What’s a question?” “What you just ask,” someone replied. I don’t remember the rest of the explanation; it didn’t make much sense to me, but wanting to be as intelligent as Landon, I said, “I have a question.” I followed this assertion with another statement, which I was informed was not a question.

Even before we know what questions are, we begin to ask them. Sometimes I wonder, though. What is the point of thinking? I don’t mean “simple” thinking such as basic cognitive function, thinking about activities and people, or planning the day’s events. I mean deep thinking. Asking about the nature of existence, knowledge, and morality, and reason. The yawning chasm of an utter lack of understanding sometimes seems more frightening than inspiring.

Today, I read Philippians 4:8:

“Finally, brethren, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is of good repute, if there is any excellence and if anything worthy of praise, dwell on these things.”

The verse puzzles me to some extent. Words like “lovely” or “of good repute” have so many different meanings that it seems hard to apply. I went through the verse with a Strong’s Concordance, looking at the Greek words and cross referencing them, which did clear up a lot of the ambiguity. The most surprising discovery, for me though, came when I looked up, “dwell.”

Logizomai: “To consider, take into account, weigh, meditate on…This word deals with reality. If I “logizomai” or reckon that my bank book has $25 in it, it has $25 in it. Otherwise I am deceiving myself. This word refers to facts not suppositions.”

We aren’t instructed to “dwell” esoterically on ideas that we cannot relate back to the real world. Instead, the answer to, “why think?” comes in verse 9,

“The things you have learned and received and heard and seen in me, practice these things, and the God of peace will be with you.”

We think so that we will act as God wants us to act. We think to seek the truth about the nature of existence, knowledge, and morality, and reason, not so that we can give ourselves philosophical high-fives, but so that we can determine a real course of action.

What is a question? An opportunity to pursue truth and act on it.

Ode to a Proboscis: a photo essay on noses

The nose is often overlooked, but I think that ought to change. The nose is a most charming feature that adds character to the face. No one’s nose (or scent, interestingly enough) is just like anyone else’s. Upon some research, I found that:

The average human being is able to recognize approximately 10,000 different odors.

Your sense of smell is stronger in the evening than in the morning.

People recall smells with a 65% accuracy after a year, while the visual recall of photos sinks to about 50% after only three months.

Slugs have four noses.

The nose is such a wonderful organ that many countries have dedicated proverbs to the nose. The English advise,

“Don’t cut off your nose to spite your face.”

I was confused when the Thai instructed, “Don’t borrow another’s nose to breathe with,”

until the Vietnamese clarified, “You cannot breathe through another man’s nose.”

The Russian generously says, “Let everyone pick his own nose.” (These quotes have nothing to do with the persons picture they are under...just fyi)

One of my favorites, however comes from Tibet:

“Don’t notice the tiny flea in the other person’s hair and overlook the lumbering yak on your own nose.”

Several countries cite ways of testing your luck with your nose.

In Israel:  “An unlucky man falls on straw, but splits his nose from a hidden stone.”

In Germany: “He who is born to misfortune stumbles as he goes, and though he falls on his back will fracture his nose.”

In Poland:  The real unlucky one will sprain his thumb when he blows his nose.

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“I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.” ~Psalm 139:14

I Spy [Airport Edition]

Found:

• A long line to get through security


• Friends! [We found the Macdonalds waiting for their flight at the gate next to ours.]


• A one hour flight delay [We won't have as long a layover in Dallas... ]


• A cute, old lady with "Texas hair"


• A litte boy wearing a cowboy hat,  red cowboy boots, and... an "I *clover* NY" T-shirt?


• A man in bellbottoms carrying a red patent leather bag...


• A girl who's back must be sore, since she's been bent at a 45 degree angle, leaning on her boyfriend's arm for about 2 hours


• Another hour and a half flight delay [So much for our connecting flight in Dallas...]


• A girl in a neon yellow shirt and neon pink capris


• A cool brother


• Another half hour delay

Need to Find

• An airplane

Press up

You’ve no eyes

To see your path

And yet you grow

-

Pressing onward

Pushing upward

-

You trust a sky

You’ve never known

To greet you there

-

Pressing onward

Emerging outward

-

Did you ever doubt

Your way

Would lead you out?

-

Pressing onward

Pushing upward

-

Your bud is soft

Your leaves are frail

And still you trust

-

Pressing onward

Emerging outward

-

Your first journey

Left your trail

Your roots sustain

-

Pressing onward

Reaching downward

-

All your life they will remain

I Like Bananas.

You may have already heard about my reconciliation with bananas; I’ve told lots of people just because it’s so exciting to me. In case you haven’t heard though, let me explain.

I’ve never liked bananas. When I was little, I tried very hard to like them. They’re a uniquely wonderful fruit—happily yellow and satisfyingly peel-covered. So intense was my dislike that up until last fall, I had only peeled a banana once to my memory.

At the Frisco debate tournament last November, Kathryn and I were talking about bananas and my sad lack of banana peeling experience. From that point on, she made my day by allowing me to peel all of her bananas. Kathryn is a very wonderful person.

In Singapore, one day. I tried a banana. I liked the banana. Ecstatic doesn’t quite cover this new discovery. Joyful, maybe? Peeling [and eating] bananas is now one of my new favorite hobbies.

I’ve changed a lot since I was little, and in some cases I didn’t even know I’ve changed. Eating was once a dangerous occupation fraught with untold dangers. After all, I detested:

• Cinnamon


• Mangos


• Bananas


• Potatoes


• Lettuce


• Fish (other than Salmon)


• Mayonnaise


• Spinach


• Jelly


• Peanut butter


• Wheat bread


• Beans


• Tomatoes


• Butter


• Cheese


• Corn


• Bananas


• Milk


• The list of foods I hated but now like (or am learning to like) goes on….

Sometimes I get very sick and tired of being myself. Certain weaknesses and personality traits make me want to just run until somehow or other, I leave myself behind. As much as I want to escape myself at times, losing my identity is my single greatest fear. And yet, I’m never really the same person for very long, my interests, passions, questions, and tastes in foods are constantly morphing. I guess what I’m trying to say is that because I change so often, as much as I’d like to, I can’t define myself. God doesn’t change, and so He’s the only one who can actually give me an identity. I thank God that I am His and He knows me  regardless of whether or not I like bananas.

"Adults are just obsolete children" ~Dr. Suess

             “Look at this!” A boy, about four years old with clear hazel eyes, a round nose, a broad face, and cropped sandy hair held a DVD case out for me to see.

                “Wow!” I answered in a whisper so as not to disturb the other library goers.

                I had been watching him climb up the book stand that held a huge open atlas at the top. Just as he had climbed high enough to identify the book lying on top of the stand, his “Mamaw” glanced over at him and told him to climb down.

He lowered his foot, reaching for the ground; he hesitated when his foot didn’t connect with anything. Then he jumped all six inches to the floor.

                With a sigh, he plunked down in the chair beside me. I looked up from pretending to study the chemical reactions governing intracellular respiration in my Advanced Biology text book. I smiled at him.

                He hopped up from his seat and retrieved his book and DVD from his mamaw. Taking his seat, he set the book down, jumped up again, and walked over to me.

               “Look at this!”

               “Wow! Have you seen it?”
                “No, but I have it now.”
                “Which one is your favorite character?”

                He pointed to the yellow boxy claymation character on the front of the case, and he proceeded to explain to me how that character got hit in the head by a snowball. Luckly though, one of the other characters was able to fix it. After he explained to me the intricate details of this TV show, he showed me his book. He had picked it out as a “present for Mamaw.”

                Being four is so much fun. You can talk to people whom you’ve never met before. Thoughts like, “What are they thinking about me?” don’t even begin to occur to you. You haven’t learned to laugh at fewer jokes because you don’t have a “sophisticated sense of humor.” Giving a gift doesn’t have a thing to do with whether or not the receiver keeps the gift.

                Of course, I’d never trade back a single year of my life, but maybe, even while gaining maturity and wisdom, I don’t want to “grow-up…” not in a conventional sense anyway.

The little boy’s Mamaw finished picking out her book and called for him to go.

“Bye!” he waved to me, “My name's Tristan.” He skipped out of the room.

Oh, Taxi!

Since we didn’t have a car in Singapore, we had to take a taxi, a rented van, the bus or the subway wherever we went. The taxi drivers were entertaining to say the least…

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Taxi Driver: Where are you from?

Us: The United States

Taxi: Oh! You know Christopher Columbus

Us: (smiling) yep.

Taxi: (emphatically) All the history books say Christopher Columbus a great man. He not great. He just lost his way. He lucky. He not a great man…. You know General MacArthur?

Us: (highly amused) yeah

Taxi: Two Americans say, “I’ll be back,” General MacArthur and the Terminator. [He extols the wonders of The Terminator and his other “best actors”]

Us: (laughing) uh-huh.

Us: Were you born in Singapore?

Taxi: I made in Singapore.

Us: Okay, so you were born in Singapore

Taxi: No, I made in Singapore; I manufactured in Singapore. Designed in Singapore. Produced in Singapore. Have a stamp on my left buttock say “Made in Singapore.”

John David: (Indicating with his hands about the size of a baseball) This big?

Taxi: No. This big. That big, counterfeit. If on the right buttock, imported. China, Japan, Thailand, Indonesia. Imported. If you want to know where someone from, roll down their pants and look at stamp. Left, Singapore; Right, imported.

[Taxi Driver begins laughing manically, speeds up, starts vocalizing a car’s screeching noises, and saying as though he were putting words in our mouths:]

Too fast, Uncle! Too fast [fake screeching noises] Welcome to the crazy taxi driver; I the fastest taxi driver in  Singapore. See no traffic jam [He dodges out of our lane to cut in front of the cars ahead of us].

What are you doing in Singapore?

Us: (Slightly perturbed, but amused) We’re teaching.

Taxi: You? Teaching? I teach too.

Us: Oh. What do you teach?

Taxi: I teach my children. I teach them to be naughty. You want to know how to be naughty? Tonight you go to Zooks. Not Zoo, Zooks. Lots of charming girls and charming boys.

[He turns down the small neighborhood road that leads to the school, and he gets distracted by the taxi ahead of us.]

He not know how to drive a taxi. He not a real taxi driver.

[He starts tailgating the other taxi.]

He slow.

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We got to the school and got to of our cab laughing, thankful to be alive, and wondering what the  drive was high on… an especially interesting question since in Singapore, people caught trafficking drugs are executed. Almost without exception.

L'chaim

Life is an experience.

Or rather, a thought

On an experience

Could they be the same?

~

Or perhaps, life is a memory.

Of being or of thinking?

I do not know.

~

Failing that

LIfe is a dream.

Of experiences

Of thoughts

Of memories to come

~

Life is. Life was. Life will be.

In This City

I meant to post a facebook note while I was in Singapore, so I wrote this early in the trip. I never got a chance to post it though, so a month later, here it is:

While I stirred the gumbo a little bit ago, I glanced out the open window at the canopy of trees in the Singaporean park across the street from the Vosburg’s condo. Who would have guessed that I would be in Singapore the first time I made gumbo? Sure, Louisiana and Singapore are somewhat antithetical, and yet, in some way, it doesn’t seem entirely uncharacteristic of Singapore to mix the two together. It seems like a city that absorbs any culture that makes its home here. People tell our team we should visit China Town and Arab Street, and we’ve already visited Little India.

For the first couple of days, we were ridiculously busy teaching and getting ready to teach. The part of the city I’d seen appeared remarkably Western. As for the students, teaching them felt about the same as teaching American students. The fruits are fantastic and exotic, but other than that, I could easily forget that I wasn’t in America.



Me and one of my 6th gra- ders, Nat- alie  <3

Left: Pomello- one of many new fruits I tried. It's like a less flavorful grapefruit




Last night, George, our Singaporean van driver drove us downtown to witness kavadi in Little India, the Indian section of Singapore. At first we just saw streams of people flowing down the sidewalk to the right of our car, but then we noticed a feathery pavilion sticking up above the mass of people. When the feathery pavilion passed us, we could see the whole contraption. A man inside carried the heavy, intricately decorated, metal cage. Hundreds of needles protruding from his skin connected him to the cage, and he walked. George told us that the man had been fasting for one month, eating only one vegetarian meal every day, so his friends and family walked around him to help him if he fainted. His goal was to reach the temple, when he reached the temple, his sins, he believed, would be absolved—for one year. We watched a dozen men pass by us in these cages, and additional men with rods stuck through their mouths or walking on shoes of nails also made their way to the temple.






At one point, one of the bystanders was beating a drum, so one of the men with the needle cages danced and spun. As he spun, some of the metal protrusions came loose, so his friends buried it into his skin again for him. My heart breaks that all of these displays are useless. Christ died once for all, and I am unbelievably thankful that I know Christ as my savior. I ache for those whose metal rods pierce their back, their sides, and their stomachs, to understand, that the nails that pierced Jesus paid their way, not for a year, but for eternity.

After that sobering scene, George found a place for us to park and get out in the masses of the Little India. If at any point I had felt I was in America, last night certainly alerted me that I am in another country. I’ve never been in such a huge crowd. It felt like I was swimming in a river of people. With an almost exclusively Indian demographic, I was feeling pretty conspicuous. The sights, the sounds, the smells, and the tastes were simply exhilarating.

We got to eat in an authentic Indian restaurant. I love spicy foods, but our team members who don’t like them didn’t fare quite so well, unfortunately. George recommended that we stop and buy coconuts from a street vendor (don’t worry, the Vosburgs said it was safe). They were absolutely delicious. The vendor lopped the tops off and put straws in the coconut, then after we drank the coconut milk, he used a huge butcher knife to slice the coconut in half, so we could eat the meat out of the inside.

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I’m excited to see what God is going to continue to do this week. The Bluetree song, “God of This City” keeps floating around in my head. The chorus goes something like:



You’re the God of this city.

You’re the King of these people

You’re the Lord of this nation.

You are,

And there is no one like our God.

For greater things are yet to come,

And greater things are still to be done

In this city.

The students we’ve been talking to have begun to seem as though they are catching a vision of what it means to communicate with their culture effectively for Christ. For greater things have yet to come in this melting pot of a city. In the mean time, the gumbo in the kitchen is starting to smell really delicious.

Meekness is...

So... I said I would post about Singapore, but my thoughts bunny trailed in a different direction, so Singapore will have to come later.

Too often people group spinelessness, cowardice, and meekness as synonyms. And yet, meekness or gentleness (depending on the translation) is one of the fruits of the spirit, and Jesus said the meek/gentle would inherit the earth. In our culture meekness seems to be anything but noble. Granted part of the difficulty comes from translating the original Greek to English. The word for meekness in Greek is Prautes.

Arostotle described Prautes as:

"The ability to bear reproaches and slights with moderation, and not to embark on revenge quickly, and not to be easily provoked to anger, but to be free from bitterness and contentiousness, having tranquility and stability in the spirit."

Other defenitions include "strength tempered by gentleness" or "strength under control"

Cowardice and meekness are antonyms.

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Meekness is coloring wildly--inside the lines.

Meekness is thinking outside the box, but relating those thoughts to others so as to broaden their horizens

Meekness is unabashedly valuing truth without insisting others know you are right.

Meekness is saying yes.

Meekness is saying no.

Meekness is a leader following.

Meekness is understanding that despite your best efforts at philosophy, logic, and reason, some things, you will only understand intuitively.

Meekness is listening.

Meekness is a child sitting still.

Meekness is a thought written down.



Meekness is courage bowing to wisdom.

Meekness is pragmatism bowing to faith.

Meekness is the Lord of the Universe coming to earth as a baby.

The true measure of a tool lies, not in its inherent effectiveness or efficiency, but in its ability to be used.

So now I’m blogging? / Awakening

I'm still not entirely sure what I think about this whole blogging thing. I've contemplated blogging for a while, but always decided I don't have enough time. Time disappears constantly and business only escalates.

With that said, I think better when I'm typing anyway. Somehow, my thoughts just reorder themselves and become coherent when I can see them in front of me... I guess I'm just better at thinking with a keyboard than inside my own head. I probably won't post as often as I should, but then, if people really want to know what's going on in my life, they should just ask me.

For the moment, I'm setting myself the goal of blogging about the ICC Masters Conference and Singapore... we'll see what happens with that. I'll kick off this mini-series with a poem I wrote on the Institute for Culture Communiticators Theme for 2010:

Awakening:

Who is she?
This silent girl
Who wanders
Through the halls of another's mind

Looking for herself
But finding
No one

Coming to a room of mirrors
Looking
She'd see both
Herself and another

Afraid of finding
Cataract filmed eyes
She prefers
Her own imagination

Blinded by the night
She musters
Courage for the morning