As Lights in the World

"Do all things without grumbling or disputing; so that you will prove yourselves to be blameless and innocent, children of God above reproach in the midst of a crooked and perverse generation, among whom you APPEAR AS LIGHTS IN THE WORLD..."
-Top of page 3 in Letter to the Philippians, NASV

This was probably my favorite use of figurative language.  As soon as I read it, I thought "Christmas lights".  It may sound corny, cliche, or even "typical" and problematic to the cynic.  But I love Christmas lights.  I see them as intricate and beautiful, thousands of individuals that work together to make one breath-taking sight.

If I did it right, and that's a big "if" (a stab, if your Josh Morway =~D), then I found over thirty uses of figurative language.  I feel like it's been quite a while since I've been thoroughly involved in the figurative language realm.

The English Comp classes I took focused largely on academic writing.  If you started getting artistic with them, you were getting off track.  You wanted to be clear, concise, and to the point; there was no room for paint and pastel, just pen and pencil.

But in Intro to Literature there seems to be quite the emphasis on the poetry of writing, especially obvious in our section on poetry. ...I appreciate that.

I think the use of figurative language in the Bible makes this collection of works much more captivating.  And Philippians is no exception.  Paul's talk of "the fruit of righteousness" and "lights in the world" provide marvelous scenic imagery.  "To live is Christ and to die is gain."  Who can say more in reponse to this than "Wow..."?

I love the imagery in "the peace of God, which surpasses all comprehension, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus".  I picture these large stone guardians, like from the Disney animated film "Atlantis":


standing watch over the city and encompassing it in a shield that is unbreakable.  A shield of love.  (By the way, I also just really love this movie.)

The figurative language used in Philippians made for an interesting read.  The content, however, conveyed through the use of figurative language is what really brought the message home to me (a use of figurative language in itself, if I'm not mistaken.)

Perhaps the Prose Supposes...

Okay...so I'm gonna take a stab at this.

I feel like I'm relatively wrong every time I try to connect a symbol.  But then, we read in the chapter on symbolism in our textbook that the reader shouldn't even go looking and digging for symbols, that they should be ready for observation throughout reading.  Or, that's what I got out of it, anyways.

To be honest, having finished read this short story by Flannery O'Connor, "A Temple of the Holy Ghost", and now looking through it some more, I don't really see much symbolism.  I think I'm starting to better understand what some of my classmates say when they don't exactly connect with a certain piece of literature.  I enjoyed this one, but I feel like I'm missing this symbolism stuff.

Here goes, though:

-Perhaps Suzan and Joanne represent those unabashed, unashamed aspects we tend to have.

-Perhaps Wendell and Cory represent those naive and innocent aspects we tend to have.

Maybe the reason why these couples were put side-by-side is because Flannery O'Connor wants the two symbols side-by-side: unapologetic sin and soft and sweet purity.  Just a guess.

-Perhaps "the child" represents me.  And so then she would represent you.  Whoever is reading it, that is the child.

And she's watching these two symbols, the girls and the boys, alongside each other.  And so the text that ensues is her thoughts of the actions and reactions.

-Perhaps the circus he-she represents the ambiguity of "right and wrong", how everything isn't as black and white as it was once thought.

-Perhaps the priests who came and shut the circus down represent that "right and wrong" is "black and white".  For them, maybe it's piety or sin.  There is no in-between.

And so the part of the plot that unfolds involving these characters is the clash between these two contrasting thoughts.  The he-she is shut down for trying to tell his-her story, and the priests insist that he-she pushes the knowledge of this "flaw" into darkness and so that the world doesn't have to live with it.

And so maybe, then, the child's reaction (and so our reaction) is simply the learning of this clash and our confusion over this spiritual war.  Maybe, anyways...

Who knows, though?

The Man Who Stayed for More Than Dinner

The assignment at hand in this class is the play, "The Man Who Came to Dinner".

I went to "The Man Who Came to Dinner" and I stayed for at least 45 minutes...lol jk I know it was a stupid joke but I wanted to say it and so there it is.  I stayed for the whole thing, I promise.

I love this girl's expression.  I don't even know what she's thinking but  the fact that she is looking at my phone as my friend took the picture makes me laugh a little bit.

The play was humorous, to say the least.  The entire story was filled with sarcastic lines and hilarious turns-of-events.  The actors, as well, did a good job of making the words come to life with their faces.  At times, their expressions, like the girl in this picture, were simply priceless.

My favorite part was probably the end.  The very last thing that happens just left me in a humored mood.  I felt like it made the play a grade level higher just because it ended so.

One of the lines that tickled me most was one in Act I, and takes place when Sherry tells Maggie that he simply does not want to be disturbed by any visitors.  Then someone walks in, pushes past Maggie and finds Sherry welcoming him gladly.  To this Maggie replies: “Sherry, the next time you do not want to see anybody, just let me know, and I’ll usher them right in.”

The whole play was fun and lighthearted.  There were only a few scenes where I desired more to go to sleep than I did to stay awake, and that’s a lot to me, since I’ve never actually been to a formal theatre house before and seen a play.  And there wasn’t even really a moment where I didn’t want to finish the play.

My sympathies go out to the man who came to dinner.  I hate that he had to stay for more than dinner, but quite the humorous and chaotic plot ensued, so I’m not as sympathetic as I actually stated.

All-in-all, it was wonderful experience. 

A Mission in My Mind

EARLY AFTERNOON
Okay. (A breath.  I survey the room before I decide to move again.)
It's safe to put the supplies down now.  (I turn and shut the door, swiftly but in silence.)
My memory had slipped me earlier in this mission and had almost cost me. ( I think back.)


2 HOURS AGO
I can't remember.  What was the number?  It was so crucial!
I can't trust just anyone to help me.  Only a trusted ally can provide me with the information.
I turn to the man in the suit who's running the operation.  Surely I can vest my trust in him.
He slips me the information and I continue.  Time is of the essence, now.
If I arrive back at base too late, I'll be found out.
I find the supplies, make the transaction, load the supplies up, and set out.
An intense scene full of anxiety unfolds on the streets, but I make it back, safe.
Timing is critical now, though.

EARLY AFTERNOON AGAIN
I make it back and begin sorting through the supplies.  I have to hurry!
Just as I begin unloading them, I hear a voice.
I turn to find someone standing behind me.  A familiar face.
I quickly make him an accomplice, and start instructing him what to do.
Just as we're working through the supplies, we hear a knock on the door.
It's too soon!  We had to think quickly!
We began loading them up in our arms, stuffing them down our T-shirts.
We start devising a plan to stash them out back.
We couldn't get caught with the supplies!
But we can't linger any longer and risk looking suspicious.
So I advise my accomplice to play it cool.
He won't be able to see through our lies if we pull it off just right.
I approach the entrance, turn the knob, and pull back the door.
"Hi Jack," I offer, as he stands there with a half-smile on his face.
"It's nice to see you, Jack."  I am stealth.  I am a professional.
"It's a nice day today," my accomplice adds.
He enters in and we continue with the facade.
But then another shows up.
He is just as guilty as us, and just as committed to his mission as us.
So he diverts Jack's attention to our scheme and foils our plot.
Impossible!  I think.  How could this have happened?
This is what happens when you must rely on American-bred co-workers.
Everyone knows--the best spies...come from Russia.

ARNOLD
"I don't believe this.  You make a plan, you think it all through, you work out all the details, and then...I'll tell you truthfully, I really don't believe this.  This is the kind of thing that bothers me a lot.  I mean, it was foolproof."

Dear Jack...

Dear Jack,

Life is not easy, and yours is no exception.  Your friends are...different.  I was going to say retarded, but I worry quite a lot about appearing crude or insensitive.  I worry about even offending someone.  But this letter is not about me.  Just from me.  It's about you.  I'm writing you because, well, I'm worried about you.
At the end of the play, "The Boys Next Door", it is everyone else who acts as though their worlds are falling apart.  They are devastated.  But in a year or two, maybe a matter of months, I really think they'll learn to get over it.  But you, Jack, I wasn't so sure...
Arnold tells you on page 64: "I'm lost on my way to Russia..."  But I really think that you are the one lost on your way to Russia, not Arnold.  Are you going to be able to get along with out Arnold, Lucien P. Smith, and Norman.  You love them, ya know...  I can tell.
And what about Barry?  Will you ever stop thinking about how he sits in that institution, so far sunk into depression and cynicism, that he could be lost to his ruined self-image for the rest of his life, and no one outside those four mental hospital walls will ever know or care.
And so, as you embark on the next chapter of your life, Jack, I really do care, and I really do wanna know: Are you gonna be able to make it?
You've shared in so many special moments, so many wonderful memories with these four wonderful people.  But what are you willing to learn from them?
You can learn that this life that we stress so recklessly over is not meant to be such a chore.  We're meant to have fun, and take each second for what it's worth.
You can learn that, even when you're so confused (like Lucien), when you get so discouraged (like Barry), when you feel like running away from it all (like Arnold), or when that one special person feels like an eternity away sometimes (like Norman), life goes on.
Stay safe and pursue God's will, Jack.  It will never steer you wrong.

Zac Smith =~)

Looking at Myself. For Real... (extra post)

Last week at Firefall (It was last week, wasn't it?), a friend approached me as I was leaving.  We talked for a second and then he asked if he could pray for me.  I said definitely, naturally.
I ended up fighting back tears at what he said, the words he was praying.  I went back to my room and ended up writing a song.  It's super introspective and (as you might see) very personal, but I don't think God would have us keep our song to ourselves.  It may just speak to someone else in this big old world.  So here it is:

I'm content
Just to sit
Here in my corner and weep
I don't ask much
Just a glimpse of love
And that I never catch a glimpse of me

'Cause when I'd look at myself
I never felt like enough
Couldn't see past my skin
Or the stains of my sin, but now
When I look in the mirror
And I see Your love
Covered me and within,
I feel beautiful
Again

Why do those
That catch my eye
Never catch me when
I'm fallin for them?
Can you try
To see why I
Find it so easy to believe
In beautiful lies

'Cause when I'd look at myself
I never felt like enough
Couldn't see past my skin
Or the stains of my sin, but now
When I look in the mirror
And I see Your love
Covered me and within,
I feel beautiful-

Don't waste Your time, my Love,
Picking me up
I'm pitiful, so pitiful
But when I look into Your eyes
I see no pity, just the sight
Of my reflection, and Your affection for
Me.

The Sadness Caused by Shaw...

Last week, we read an essay in class by a writer named Luci Shaw.  The title of the essay was "Beauty and the Creative Impulse".  She starts off with the statement: "I have come to believe that beauty is something inherent in creation (and by creation I mean the environment, the created universe in which we live)."  I thoroughly enjoyed this statement.  She had me from this one sentence.

"But too often beauty escapes us..." "But beauty gives us pleasure."  "The messages of beauty through the senses, when combined with the responses of our reasoning intelligence, achieve meaning or significance for us."  These words are so true, and yet I found myself frozen in my tracks in the next-to-last paragraph, having not even really comprehended the very last few sentences.  I was stuck on this:

"The other 'Christian' alternative is a conservatism that responds only to kitsch, a sentimental art of the Hallmark greeting card variety that cheapens true sentiment, turning it into sweetness and light or mere moralistic propaganda..."

Ms. Shaw keeps going, but I could not.  She continued to elaborate on something that was not supposed to get so much attention, but I couldn't help myself.  My heart was breaking for those Hallmark artists being attacked.

I don't know how I would feel if I knew there was a published writer, along with many of her readers, who dismissed my art--MY ART!--, accusing it of "cheapening true sentiment".  HOW DO YOU SAY THAT ABOUT SOMEONE'S HEARTFELT HARD WORK???

She even goes on to say that it has "[n]o real Christianity either".  How does she get off saying that?
Okay, so I know she's making a point.  And she, herself, is a beautiful artist with words.  Please understand that I do not feel this to be a pressing issue in spiritual warfare.

But, as an amateur in hopes of honing my artistic ability, I have realized that I am going to be required to put myself out there.  But if I run into a Ms. Shaw, who walks up to whatever art it is I've created, and announces to the world that her professional opinion has found that it "cheapens true sentiment" and has "[n]o real Christianity either", I think I would probably want, so badly, to cry.

The Battle of Weather: A Stunning Event (short, extra post)

A torrent of water is, right now, pouring from the sky.  Even from where I sit on the second story balcony of the library, I can see that the lake's surface out the floor-to-ceiling window is being penetrated by hundreds of thousands of of pinpricks.

The light outside is dim and blue, and yet the lightposts shine valiantly, offering a glimmer of hope in a storm of despair.

And yet this storm of despair excites me.  We have discussed so much in class the relevance of nature.  So I assume that, for now, it is enough that this is what excites me so.

The Armadillo Omen

I’m not a superstitious person, mind you.  But when you’ve been at least well-rounded a person to have considered all different sorts of ideas, well then you haven’t all-together dismissed anything.

As I entered into the Lost Bridge Trail, I heard the snap of a twig on the ground and looked down to my left.  Not but ten feet or so away, an armadillo skirmished about in the beginning brush of the woods.  Right there!  I figure armadillos to be relatively harmless, but I felt so uneasy in that moment that I almost turned back and took the Shady Oaks Trail, which looked much more friendly and inviting.

As I looked up into the Lost Bridge Trail, at the dark hanging canopies and the path that disappeared behind the first of many curves, I had cold feet.  Throughout the trip, I would see around four more armadillos.  Perhaps I should have given in to superstition and accepted this recurring theme in my visit as an omen to turn back.  I eventually would, though, with no harm come to me.

But do you ever wonder if that rattling in the marsh is a pool of snakes?  That the movement of that little branch is a jumping spider, repositioning itself to leap?  That the cacophony coming from the bushes and the sky are conspiring?  Or not even conspiring, so much, as that they know something you don’t.  About some lurking beast just beyond the shroud of nature, that you remain oblivious to.

The whole trip, I was quite unnerved.  I thought several times of turning back, and just when I was about to give in, I saw it.  There, peaking about behind one last turn, concealed by a hanging branch, was the beginning of a bridge.

Not a terribly long bridge, mind you.  Not short, though.  Within the narrow, stretched-out bridge, though, I felt vulnerable…to the marsh below me, the branches above me, and the insects swarming around me.

I simply felt vulnerable…

The Rickety Bridge

On this rickety bridge

I place my weight.

And with this rickety bridge

I trust my fate.

Look at the birds of the air,

at how they fly,

living life without worry or care.

They eat as the Good Lord provides. Why

do I question You, Lord? Why

do I question You, Lord? Why

do I question You, Lord? Why?

Tell me…why.

This world so unknown to me,

dirt and filth is all I see.

Earth on my shoes,

sweat on my brow,

I’m concerned with the way I look

but I can’t see how—

see how the lilies of the field grow

with no vanity.

And yet their breath-taking beauty shows

How breath-taking they can be.  Why

do I question You, Lord?  Why

do I question You, Lord?  Why

do I question You, Lord?  Why?

Tell me…why.

Why does the thought

of fall-

-ing scare me so?

Inside those familiar walls

I breathe easily

‘Cause I’m sure of my security.

But tell me why

I question You, Lord.

[I went to Circle B Bar Reserve for this field trip, and I stayed there for at least 45 minutes.]