Dear Reader,
Sometimes belonging to a religion that people avoid like the plague has its advantages. One of the disadvantages, however, is that we are so out of the mainstream that we don't even realize how strange we are to other Christian sects. Something that I have heard with my friends of other faiths is that there is an entire debate about faith and works that Mormons aren't aware of. The main question is this: are we saved by works or by faith? To be saved, do we only have to confess that Christ is our Savior (faith), or do we gain salvation by doing certain things that signify repentance (works)? What is the Atonement and what does it mean to us? What do we have to do?
The facts are less than clear from The Bible. James tells us that faith without works is dead, making works invaluable. Paul tells us almost the opposite. Given the situation, the confusion is understandable. Here's what I think:
To put it bluntly: I would think that in order to truly accept Christ as your Savior, you'd have to do what He tells you to do. It's as simple as that. Saying it isn't enough; there's something that you have to do. Something you have to become. The Atonement won't force itself on you, you have to let it change you inside and out. It has to change the way you think, act, and feel. It has to change how you treat and relate to others. Essentially, it has to change you into something else. But, of course, we know that faithless people of all creeds go through the motions and get nowhere. You can tell a difference between someone who has the Atonement working for them, changing them, no matter what church they go to. You can see it in their eyes. And from experience, from what I have seen in others and what I have seen in myself, the absolutely same works can produce completely different results. Some have the light in their eyes; others don't. The works are the same. What does it mean? Faith is the only factor that's different, so does that mean that faith makes the Atonement work for you?
The problem with a faith-focused theology is that in its extremest forms, it turns into this idea that Christ's death gave us some kind of cart blanche on sins. It's like He suffered all of everything so we could just do whatever we want, and I just have a hard time seeing that in The Bible. How many stories do you know where God tells people to say some combination of words to be saved? Even when Israel was lost in the wilderness and attacked by snakes, He required them to look upon the serpent on the staff. It was simple, and it was easy, but it was doing something. It was proving faith by exercising it. The scriptures essentially give us a blue print on how to build a perfect world, and thinking that saying words will just produce some miraculous change is wasting precious time. We need to build that world. We need to be what the scriptures tell us to be. Otherwise, we wouldn't need the scriptures at all; we'd just need a sentence to repeat over and over.
Of course, the problem with a works-focused theology is evident throughout the scriptures, and especially in the stories about the life of Christ. Sometimes when people focus on doing things instead of doing things because of faith, they start to think that salvation is like some kind of Caribbean cruise you can win if you collect enough bottle caps. When you think that you can earn salvation, the glory of God and Christ is all but forgotten, and we forget that They do everything that They do out of love. We forget that They have no obligation to do anything for us at all. We forget what They have sacrificed. We forget that without Them, we have nothing. And when that starts to fade away, worship becomes empty, and life becomes a series of check marks on some heavenly list and any personal relationship with God and Christ is gone forever.
In the end, I think that James is absolutely right. Faith with out works is as lonely and dead as Ebeneezer Scrooge' doornail. But I think that James meant something more with these simple words, and it's that works is just as dead if it's not accompanied by faith. Faith and works aren't whole by themselves, and alone they are completely useless. It has to mean something; it has to change something. I know that faith and works together could change the world quicker and better than anything else at our disposal, and that we are eternally indebted to God and Christ for providing us with a way to fix every single problem we have. You can change. You can repent. The Atonement can soothe you, heal you, and change you into a person that can in turn go out and heal the world. But nothing we have is ours, and everything good comes from God. It's as simple as that. And just as wonderful.
Regard, best wishes, and Light,
-Cecily Jane
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
"Answers"
Dear Reader,
This week I thought I'd let you see a little bit of the other things I like to write, and by that I mean fiction. This story is the result of an assignment in my creative writing class where I was asked to create a story entirely in dialogue about a person who tries to convince another not to get married. I started out doing something completely different, but I was walking to work one day and passed a bus stop, and the story just smacked me in the face so hard that I knew I had to write it down so I could get it out of my head. I've never done a story quite like this before, and it's actually my first attempt at Mormon fiction. So here it goes . . .
“Hey there, Elder. Oh, don’t hide your name tag. Missionaries only do that when they’re about to do something shameful.”
“Oh.”
“And I just have to say that when you’re sitting at the bus stop alone on a Saturday morning, there’s no one around who doesn’t know what you’re up to already.”
“Who are you again?”
“Don’t you remember me? I was the one who broke up your Jell-o shot party last week.”
“So you work in the cafeteria.”
“Don’t look at me like that; I’m not the one running away from the MTC.”
“At least I don’t have food all over me.”
“Hey, you forget that I’ve just spent all morning washing your dishes. You’ve obviously got a lot to learn . . . who is she?”
“Who is who?”
“The girl you’re running back to. Who is she?”
“How do you know that there’s a girl?”
“You don’t look mad enough to be doing it for a good reason.”
“Excuse me? What’s a good reason?”
“If the Church wasn’t true. That’s a good reason. It’s the only good reason. But it is, and you know it, so it has to be a girl.”
“How do you know that I know?”
“You’re conflicted. You’ve got that look in your eyes that says that you’re trying to decide if you should do what you want to do or what you know is right.”
“How can you come and sit down next to me and just say stuff like that? You work in a cafeteria.”
“Is that all you see when you look at me? Pity that you looketh on the outside of a girl. If you must know, I’m a BYU student, in the honors program as a matter of fact, and I’m a good three years older than you, so you ought to respect your elders.”
“You’re judging me by what you see.”
“No, if I was doing that, seeing a handsome young man in a business suit waiting for the bus with that black tag, I wouldn’t think that you were what you are.”
“And what’s that?”
“Selfish.”
“Thanks.”
“The only reason people ever do the wrong thing is that they’re selfish. You know, putting themselves before the Lord?”
“I’m not doing this for me, not that it’s any of your business.”
“Oh, don’t lie to yourself. It’s not really for her and you know it.”
“What exactly do I know?”
“Well, I’m sure that you’re sitting there telling yourself that if you’re not there she’ll fall to pieces and apostatize or something, but you’re just trying to convince yourself because deep down you know that you are supposed to be on the other side of that fence.”
“Your knowledge of my inner thoughts are quite astounding, Sister.”
“You mean is. My knowledge is quite astounding.”
“Great, now you’re correcting my grammar, too. When it this bus going to get here?”
“Oh, not for another five minutes at least, and by the way, I’m a college student. I can’t help but correct you.”
“But the sign says that it comes at the half hour.”
“In the two years I’ve worked here, the bus has never been less than five minutes late. Looks like you’re stuck with me just a little longer.”
“Great.”
“Of course, there’s always time to go back.”
“No.”
“I won’t tell anyone.”
“Somehow, I find that hard to believe.”
“Okay, now you’re projecting your own guilt onto me. It’s just not healthy.”’
“What did you say you were studying at BYU?”
“I didn’t, but it’s psychology.”
“Figures.”
“So?”
“So what?”
“So you were going to tell me about this girl you’re in love with.”
“I’m going to marry her.”
“When, tomorrow?”
“Maybe.”’
“Is she a member or not a member or what?”
“Like I said, it’s none of your business. But she’s taking the discussions.”
“Ah, the plot thickens. You’ve got an investigator at home and you think that you not serving a mission will help her join the church and marry you.”
“Well, yes.”
“Like I said, you’re deceiving yourself.”
“Oh, shut up.”
“The thing she really needs right now is an example. She’s looking at you as a guy who’s willing to sacrifice something, and maybe she’s wondering if the thing you’re sacrificing for is worth it. How are you going to show her that it is by going home?”
“She won’t see it that way.”
“You’re a missionary. The moment you put on the name tag people are always watching you. Like the other day with the Jell-o shots. You might have thought that it was pretty amusing, but what you didn’t know is that there’s a guy on our crew who’s from Nigeria. He’d never even heard of the Church before he came here. But we’d been talking to him about things and he seemed interested, but when he saw you and your buddies acting like a bunch of monkeys, he refused to let us contact the Provo missionaries.”
“So it’s all my fault then, huh?”
“Well, let’s just say that you tarnished a reputation that is important for missionaries to have. You thought you were safe. You think that all of your hours of studying and rule-abiding mean that it’s okay to be a little rebellious in the cafeteria. Well, you’re still the Lord’s servant, even when you’re eating, and people are still watching.”
“What do you even know about serving a mission? Have you served one?”
“Well, no, but . . .”
“Then you know nothing.”
“I know that you are supposed to be on a mission right now. The Church is true, right?”
“Well, I guess.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, Elder. You know that you know. Now, if the Church is true, then the prophets are prophets, right?”
“Uh, sure.”
“Then if the prophets are prophets, you should do what they tell you to do. And they’re telling you to go on a mission right now. It’s the whole Nephi principle. You follow the commandments, and things work out.”
“You make it sound so simple.”
“That’s because it is simple, Elder. Most things are.”
“My situation isn’t.”
“Yes it is. You have been commanded to do something, and you’re afraid to do it, so you create this entire scenario about how your girl back home will fall away if you’re not within five feet of her. Seems pretty simple to me.”
“You don’t even know her.”
“I know that she’s not good for you.”
“And how do you know that?”
“Because she’s leading you away from the truth. Or at least, you’re making her do that. There’s a time and a place, and your place isn’t at this bus stop or back home. It’s here. I’ve seen people like you before. Are you willing to live the rest of your life knowing that you were so close to having the best two years of your life and that you threw it all away? What will your girl think of you? What will you think of yourself?”
“Why am I even talking to you? I don’t even know you and you sit down next to me and start insulting me?”
“If you don’t like me, you can leave. The thing is that the only place to go is back to the MTC. Your choice.”
“Or you could leave.”
“Not gonna happen.”
“Figures.”
“You really think that you have to be there for her to be baptized, huh? Don’t you have any faith in her agency?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s supposed to mean that we were sent here on Earth to make our own choices. If you’re in love with this girl, you must trust her, right? If you trust her, you should trust her to make her own decisions like she’s supposed to.”
“It’s not like that.”
“Yes it is. In fact, if she doesn’t make this decision on her own, how can you know she’s doing it for herself and not for you?”
“I’ll just know.”
“How?”
“Just drop it, okay?”
“What the . . . oh, I see that look in your eyes. You’re trying to hide something from me, but you’re not doing a very good job.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“By the way you’ve been talking, you must think you’re the dumbest guy on the whole planet. You’re not sure about the Church or the prophets or anything, and you’re just so dense that you can’t even get what I’m implying when we both know that I’m being exceedingly blunt. You have to realize that we’re both seeing the same thing here, it’s just that I’m blanking on this one thing that’s in your eyes, what is it? Oh, I know. She’s the one, isn’t she?”
“Is this bus coming or what?”
“Don’t change the subject; she’s been writing you, hasn’t she? She’s been saying stuff like she can’t understand the gospel the way the Elders are explaining it, and it was so much better when you were there. And then she said that you had this special spirit that made her want to learn more about the Gospel, but these new guys just aren’t doing it for her.”
“No she didn’t.”
“Well, she’s lying.”
“How do you even know that?”
“Ha! Got you. She really did say that, didn’t she?”
“Well, not in those words, but . . .”
“She’s manipulating you.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because the Spirit is the same no matter where you go. The Church is, too. If the missionaries are bringing her the same Spirit she felt around you, wouldn’t that just make her testimony stronger?”
“I guess.”
“So don’t you think that this whole ‘come home and save my soul’ business sounds just a little fishy?”
“You don’t even know her.”
“You’re right; I don’t.”
“Finally, I’m right about something.”
“But I know people, and I know people who try to get missionaries to come home. If she really loved and respected you, she’d respect what you were doing for your beliefs, especially if she’s experimenting on the Word herself. She’s manipulating you.”
“You already said that.”
“Well, I’ll say it until you’ll listen.”
“I am listening. At this point, it’s not much of a choice.”
“Maybe you’re hearing me, but I don’t think you’re listening. You’re not even listening to yourself. You’ve got a girlfriend who’s steering you away from what you know is right and you’re so confused you don’t know what to do with yourself. Well, I’ll tell you what to do. You just go back. I won’t tell anyone, and for all they know you went to see the nurse or something.”
“It doesn’t work that way.”
“Well, I’m sure you can think of something. Your district president is the only one who needs to know the truth.”
“The last time I talked to him, he was talking to me about the Jell-o thing. You reported it to him.”
“Well, first of all, that’s the rules, and second, it wasn’t me, it was my supervisor.”
“Same thing.”
“Well, you can’t blame me for all your problems.”
“That seems evident.”
“Look, there’s the bus coming right now, have you made your choice or not?”
“I think I’d stay here just so I don’t have to listen to you anymore.”
“Well, it’s a start. Are you going to admit to yourself that serving a mission is the right thing or are you going to go off like a coward and hate yourself for the rest of your life?”
“You know you’re incredibly over dramatic?”
“Well, I am a theater minor.”
“Ahhh.”
“Well, the bus is here, and I’ve got to read a chapter on Alzheimer’s by four, so I leave you to make your choice.”
“Fine by me.”
“You gonna stay there?”
“I’m not going on that bus with you, that’s for sure.”
“Well, I hope I see you tomorrow at lunch, Elder. Tomorrow’s pizza.”
“Okay, see you, Sister.”
In the end, I honestly don't think it's the best piece of writing I've done, but I was really aiming for non-cheesy, and I think I managed. Mostly, I think it just means a lot to me personally, because the bus is always late, and the missionaries do have Jell-o shot contests, and my Nigerian co-workers were taken aback. But I think that there's probably a little more to it, maybe something that can be changed and shaped into a better story in the future. After all, writing is never finished; it's just abandoned.
Regards, best wishes, and dialogue,
-Cecily Jane
This week I thought I'd let you see a little bit of the other things I like to write, and by that I mean fiction. This story is the result of an assignment in my creative writing class where I was asked to create a story entirely in dialogue about a person who tries to convince another not to get married. I started out doing something completely different, but I was walking to work one day and passed a bus stop, and the story just smacked me in the face so hard that I knew I had to write it down so I could get it out of my head. I've never done a story quite like this before, and it's actually my first attempt at Mormon fiction. So here it goes . . .
Answers
“Hey there, Elder. Oh, don’t hide your name tag. Missionaries only do that when they’re about to do something shameful.”
“Oh.”
“And I just have to say that when you’re sitting at the bus stop alone on a Saturday morning, there’s no one around who doesn’t know what you’re up to already.”
“Who are you again?”
“Don’t you remember me? I was the one who broke up your Jell-o shot party last week.”
“So you work in the cafeteria.”
“Don’t look at me like that; I’m not the one running away from the MTC.”
“At least I don’t have food all over me.”
“Hey, you forget that I’ve just spent all morning washing your dishes. You’ve obviously got a lot to learn . . . who is she?”
“Who is who?”
“The girl you’re running back to. Who is she?”
“How do you know that there’s a girl?”
“You don’t look mad enough to be doing it for a good reason.”
“Excuse me? What’s a good reason?”
“If the Church wasn’t true. That’s a good reason. It’s the only good reason. But it is, and you know it, so it has to be a girl.”
“How do you know that I know?”
“You’re conflicted. You’ve got that look in your eyes that says that you’re trying to decide if you should do what you want to do or what you know is right.”
“How can you come and sit down next to me and just say stuff like that? You work in a cafeteria.”
“Is that all you see when you look at me? Pity that you looketh on the outside of a girl. If you must know, I’m a BYU student, in the honors program as a matter of fact, and I’m a good three years older than you, so you ought to respect your elders.”
“You’re judging me by what you see.”
“No, if I was doing that, seeing a handsome young man in a business suit waiting for the bus with that black tag, I wouldn’t think that you were what you are.”
“And what’s that?”
“Selfish.”
“Thanks.”
“The only reason people ever do the wrong thing is that they’re selfish. You know, putting themselves before the Lord?”
“I’m not doing this for me, not that it’s any of your business.”
“Oh, don’t lie to yourself. It’s not really for her and you know it.”
“What exactly do I know?”
“Well, I’m sure that you’re sitting there telling yourself that if you’re not there she’ll fall to pieces and apostatize or something, but you’re just trying to convince yourself because deep down you know that you are supposed to be on the other side of that fence.”
“Your knowledge of my inner thoughts are quite astounding, Sister.”
“You mean is. My knowledge is quite astounding.”
“Great, now you’re correcting my grammar, too. When it this bus going to get here?”
“Oh, not for another five minutes at least, and by the way, I’m a college student. I can’t help but correct you.”
“But the sign says that it comes at the half hour.”
“In the two years I’ve worked here, the bus has never been less than five minutes late. Looks like you’re stuck with me just a little longer.”
“Great.”
“Of course, there’s always time to go back.”
“No.”
“I won’t tell anyone.”
“Somehow, I find that hard to believe.”
“Okay, now you’re projecting your own guilt onto me. It’s just not healthy.”’
“What did you say you were studying at BYU?”
“I didn’t, but it’s psychology.”
“Figures.”
“So?”
“So what?”
“So you were going to tell me about this girl you’re in love with.”
“I’m going to marry her.”
“When, tomorrow?”
“Maybe.”’
“Is she a member or not a member or what?”
“Like I said, it’s none of your business. But she’s taking the discussions.”
“Ah, the plot thickens. You’ve got an investigator at home and you think that you not serving a mission will help her join the church and marry you.”
“Well, yes.”
“Like I said, you’re deceiving yourself.”
“Oh, shut up.”
“The thing she really needs right now is an example. She’s looking at you as a guy who’s willing to sacrifice something, and maybe she’s wondering if the thing you’re sacrificing for is worth it. How are you going to show her that it is by going home?”
“She won’t see it that way.”
“You’re a missionary. The moment you put on the name tag people are always watching you. Like the other day with the Jell-o shots. You might have thought that it was pretty amusing, but what you didn’t know is that there’s a guy on our crew who’s from Nigeria. He’d never even heard of the Church before he came here. But we’d been talking to him about things and he seemed interested, but when he saw you and your buddies acting like a bunch of monkeys, he refused to let us contact the Provo missionaries.”
“So it’s all my fault then, huh?”
“Well, let’s just say that you tarnished a reputation that is important for missionaries to have. You thought you were safe. You think that all of your hours of studying and rule-abiding mean that it’s okay to be a little rebellious in the cafeteria. Well, you’re still the Lord’s servant, even when you’re eating, and people are still watching.”
“What do you even know about serving a mission? Have you served one?”
“Well, no, but . . .”
“Then you know nothing.”
“I know that you are supposed to be on a mission right now. The Church is true, right?”
“Well, I guess.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, Elder. You know that you know. Now, if the Church is true, then the prophets are prophets, right?”
“Uh, sure.”
“Then if the prophets are prophets, you should do what they tell you to do. And they’re telling you to go on a mission right now. It’s the whole Nephi principle. You follow the commandments, and things work out.”
“You make it sound so simple.”
“That’s because it is simple, Elder. Most things are.”
“My situation isn’t.”
“Yes it is. You have been commanded to do something, and you’re afraid to do it, so you create this entire scenario about how your girl back home will fall away if you’re not within five feet of her. Seems pretty simple to me.”
“You don’t even know her.”
“I know that she’s not good for you.”
“And how do you know that?”
“Because she’s leading you away from the truth. Or at least, you’re making her do that. There’s a time and a place, and your place isn’t at this bus stop or back home. It’s here. I’ve seen people like you before. Are you willing to live the rest of your life knowing that you were so close to having the best two years of your life and that you threw it all away? What will your girl think of you? What will you think of yourself?”
“Why am I even talking to you? I don’t even know you and you sit down next to me and start insulting me?”
“If you don’t like me, you can leave. The thing is that the only place to go is back to the MTC. Your choice.”
“Or you could leave.”
“Not gonna happen.”
“Figures.”
“You really think that you have to be there for her to be baptized, huh? Don’t you have any faith in her agency?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s supposed to mean that we were sent here on Earth to make our own choices. If you’re in love with this girl, you must trust her, right? If you trust her, you should trust her to make her own decisions like she’s supposed to.”
“It’s not like that.”
“Yes it is. In fact, if she doesn’t make this decision on her own, how can you know she’s doing it for herself and not for you?”
“I’ll just know.”
“How?”
“Just drop it, okay?”
“What the . . . oh, I see that look in your eyes. You’re trying to hide something from me, but you’re not doing a very good job.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“By the way you’ve been talking, you must think you’re the dumbest guy on the whole planet. You’re not sure about the Church or the prophets or anything, and you’re just so dense that you can’t even get what I’m implying when we both know that I’m being exceedingly blunt. You have to realize that we’re both seeing the same thing here, it’s just that I’m blanking on this one thing that’s in your eyes, what is it? Oh, I know. She’s the one, isn’t she?”
“Is this bus coming or what?”
“Don’t change the subject; she’s been writing you, hasn’t she? She’s been saying stuff like she can’t understand the gospel the way the Elders are explaining it, and it was so much better when you were there. And then she said that you had this special spirit that made her want to learn more about the Gospel, but these new guys just aren’t doing it for her.”
“No she didn’t.”
“Well, she’s lying.”
“How do you even know that?”
“Ha! Got you. She really did say that, didn’t she?”
“Well, not in those words, but . . .”
“She’s manipulating you.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because the Spirit is the same no matter where you go. The Church is, too. If the missionaries are bringing her the same Spirit she felt around you, wouldn’t that just make her testimony stronger?”
“I guess.”
“So don’t you think that this whole ‘come home and save my soul’ business sounds just a little fishy?”
“You don’t even know her.”
“You’re right; I don’t.”
“Finally, I’m right about something.”
“But I know people, and I know people who try to get missionaries to come home. If she really loved and respected you, she’d respect what you were doing for your beliefs, especially if she’s experimenting on the Word herself. She’s manipulating you.”
“You already said that.”
“Well, I’ll say it until you’ll listen.”
“I am listening. At this point, it’s not much of a choice.”
“Maybe you’re hearing me, but I don’t think you’re listening. You’re not even listening to yourself. You’ve got a girlfriend who’s steering you away from what you know is right and you’re so confused you don’t know what to do with yourself. Well, I’ll tell you what to do. You just go back. I won’t tell anyone, and for all they know you went to see the nurse or something.”
“It doesn’t work that way.”
“Well, I’m sure you can think of something. Your district president is the only one who needs to know the truth.”
“The last time I talked to him, he was talking to me about the Jell-o thing. You reported it to him.”
“Well, first of all, that’s the rules, and second, it wasn’t me, it was my supervisor.”
“Same thing.”
“Well, you can’t blame me for all your problems.”
“That seems evident.”
“Look, there’s the bus coming right now, have you made your choice or not?”
“I think I’d stay here just so I don’t have to listen to you anymore.”
“Well, it’s a start. Are you going to admit to yourself that serving a mission is the right thing or are you going to go off like a coward and hate yourself for the rest of your life?”
“You know you’re incredibly over dramatic?”
“Well, I am a theater minor.”
“Ahhh.”
“Well, the bus is here, and I’ve got to read a chapter on Alzheimer’s by four, so I leave you to make your choice.”
“Fine by me.”
“You gonna stay there?”
“I’m not going on that bus with you, that’s for sure.”
“Well, I hope I see you tomorrow at lunch, Elder. Tomorrow’s pizza.”
“Okay, see you, Sister.”
In the end, I honestly don't think it's the best piece of writing I've done, but I was really aiming for non-cheesy, and I think I managed. Mostly, I think it just means a lot to me personally, because the bus is always late, and the missionaries do have Jell-o shot contests, and my Nigerian co-workers were taken aback. But I think that there's probably a little more to it, maybe something that can be changed and shaped into a better story in the future. After all, writing is never finished; it's just abandoned.
Regards, best wishes, and dialogue,
-Cecily Jane
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Thank You, Mr. Spock
My Dear Reader,
You can also see that the gap starts only inches away from my door, the base of which is on the far left of the picture. You see, my roommates and I would always joke that one of these days we were bound to drop our keys into the abyss, but I'd never seen anything fall down there before, and I really didn't think it would happen. The chances had to be one in a million, right? Well, this is the fourth year that I've lived in this same apartment, and I suppose that I have unlocked my door about a thousand times by now.
So you guessed it, Gentle Reader: I was about to put my key into the lock when it fell out of my hand and into that very same abyss. It might as well have been going in slow motion, and I'm pretty sure that I made some feeble attempt to retrieve it before it as lost forever, which in slow motion would have looked very clumsy, and my voice would undoubtedly sound like Fezzik in The Princess Bride. But fall it did, and there was really nothing I could do about it but stare at that gap for a couple of seconds in disbelief.
Apparently, there was a little opening down there that I hadn't noticed before, too small to crawl into, but large enough to stick my arm in it. Here's a shot that's a little closer:
I suppose that you may recall the events I described in my post entitled "Answered Prayers" about my Mr. Spock plush key chain. Well, last week the two of us have had yet another adventure together. Here's a picture of the lad so you may have a good mental image going into all of this:
You see, for some unexplained reason, there is a two-inch gap between my apartment and the set of stairs that leads to the parking garage below. You can see what I mean here:
You can also see that the gap starts only inches away from my door, the base of which is on the far left of the picture. You see, my roommates and I would always joke that one of these days we were bound to drop our keys into the abyss, but I'd never seen anything fall down there before, and I really didn't think it would happen. The chances had to be one in a million, right? Well, this is the fourth year that I've lived in this same apartment, and I suppose that I have unlocked my door about a thousand times by now.
So you guessed it, Gentle Reader: I was about to put my key into the lock when it fell out of my hand and into that very same abyss. It might as well have been going in slow motion, and I'm pretty sure that I made some feeble attempt to retrieve it before it as lost forever, which in slow motion would have looked very clumsy, and my voice would undoubtedly sound like Fezzik in The Princess Bride. But fall it did, and there was really nothing I could do about it but stare at that gap for a couple of seconds in disbelief.
And I had to wonder what possible reason could ever encourage a person to create a gap like that. Didn't they realize that the gap starts only inches away from the door, where people regularly are positioned holding small, important objects? Hmmmmmmmm??? What if my credit cards had fallen in there, or maybe my glass eye? And then I reminded myself that I had no such glass eye; that's Olivia.
Anyway, I knew at once that I had to get my keys out of that abyss at all costs, not only because of the sentimental value of the key chain, but because I would have to stand outside in the ice and snow until I had my keys in my hands once again. So I decided to try to first figure out a way to retrieve the keys, and then second find a person to assist me in this endeavor, and by that I meant a boy. I have found that they are extremely useful in situations like these because they tend to have a vast array of power tools at their disposal. (Why men who are starving college students find it requisite to acquire such costly devices remains a mystery to me, but I'm not complaining.) So I went down into the parking lot to see if there was some way to get my keys out down there, and this is what I found:
Anyway, I knew at once that I had to get my keys out of that abyss at all costs, not only because of the sentimental value of the key chain, but because I would have to stand outside in the ice and snow until I had my keys in my hands once again. So I decided to try to first figure out a way to retrieve the keys, and then second find a person to assist me in this endeavor, and by that I meant a boy. I have found that they are extremely useful in situations like these because they tend to have a vast array of power tools at their disposal. (Why men who are starving college students find it requisite to acquire such costly devices remains a mystery to me, but I'm not complaining.) So I went down into the parking lot to see if there was some way to get my keys out down there, and this is what I found:
Apparently, there was a little opening down there that I hadn't noticed before, too small to crawl into, but large enough to stick my arm in it. Here's a shot that's a little closer:
So there was some hope, I guess. An small, ominous opening that seems scary beyond all reason is better than no opening at all, right?
So I went out to find men to help me on my quest, but to no avail. it was still a little earlier in the afternoon and no one was home. So I went to an apartment of some female friends of mine, who were incredibly sympathetic and offered me a wire hanger. (This, as you may have been aware, is the extent to which we women have tools of our own accord.) I returned to the little opening and got an even closer look, and to give you an idea of the horror inside of that space, here's yet another picture:
Who knows what sorts of dangers lurked inside of that thing. There might have been scorpions, or cobras. Maybe even some dead bodies left behind by the mob when a deal went sour, and for all I knew, those people were suffering from malaria before the mobsters put them out of their misery. One thing was for certain, and that was that this was going to be dangerous. If only I had Indiana Jones on speed dial!
But I didn't; I only had an apartment of friends and a wire hanger. So I tried to dig through the grossness to find my keys, but to no avail. I still didn't know where in the abyss my keys had landed, so it was going to be extremely difficult to get them if I didn't know where they were. So I went back the my friends and asked them if I could borrow a flashlight. One of my friends insisted on going back with me, completely unable to comprehend why an architect would create such an obvious flaw in their structure. I was still trying to figure out the same thing.
The funny thing is that I bought this key chain at a period of my life when I was losing my keys all the time, and I chose this particular one because I figured it was too big to get lost. And when my friend and I peered down into the abyss from the gap above, it was clear to me that I was exactly right: It took only second for us to locate my plush Mr. Spock and the keys he was the steward of.
Once we were able to gauge the distance between the opening and Mr. Spock, the rest was fairly simple. All we had to do was unwind the hanger, and plunge it into the malaria-ridden abyss, using the hook of the hanger to grab Mr. Spock and take him to safety. My friend boldly volunteered for the task, and I was very grateful that she did. She was instantly successful, and not only was I reunited with a valuable ally, but I was also able to enter my apartment again.
Thank you, Mr Spock, for being the big, plushy guy that you are. I'd be lost without you.
Regards, best wishes, and Gold Rush-era diseases,
-Cecily Jane
P.S. It later occurred to me that the opening, with its rough and jagged edges, had to have been cut out of the wall after the building was finished. My theory is that the mob had originally bribed an architect to create the gap and its abyss so they could use it to stash diseased corpses after they had chopped them into manageable pieces. One day, they accidentally threw their keys in as they were disposing of a body, and thus had to cut through the wall with a power saw. They removed the pieces of dead bodies when they realized that the abyss was now more accessible to the public and eventually the cops.
After all, it's only logical.
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
Shopping and True Christianity
Dear Reader,
As the second eldest child, I had the opportunity to experience certain economical conditions that my younger siblings were not able to partake of, and by that I mean that when I was growing up we were dirt poor while Padre was attempting to climb up the professional ladder. So Madre was only able to procure clothing for HermanaMayor, and I got my first new clothes at twelve. By that time, I had already established certain personality traits, and not only was I not used to shopping, I found it hard to accept, on multiple levels. I still do.
This means that this whole thing that Padre calls "recreational shopping" is completely lost on me, and that I am not fun to have around on Madre's shopping extravaganzas. To be perfectly honest, I don't see why it's so fun. You buy stuff when you need it because you need it, right? Isn't anything more than that, except for a very few well-planned and well-earned indulgences, economically unsound? And isn't the fact that America at large spending more than they earn and one paycheck away from bankruptcy an issue? (We are, by the way.)
I just hate shopping for myself. I hate it. Ten minutes of looking for a new shirt to buy can put me in a bad mood for the rest of the day. I try really hard to be good, but I'm afraid that soon I've got a black cloud over my head and I'm grumbling things about the flaws of contemporary society. I even hate trying things on because I don't like being scantily clad in strange places, no matter how private they might be.* It's actually one of the things that PetiteSouer and I have in common, which makes Madre the benevolent martyr, because she is always willing to take her starving daughters out to get essentials and ends up with HermanaMayor and two grumbling trolls.
The only thing I can really buy are DVDs and CDs, which also happen to be my greatest weaknesses. I think that I have somewhere around forty musical soundtracks, and I'm hoping for more for Christmas (it's the easiest and best thing to buy for me as long as you know what I don't have). I'm also collecting Star Trek DVDs, and I'll get them all eventually. Other than that, I have a really hard time, even with food. I just feel so unnecessarily extravagant, and I find extravagance repulsive.
Now, buying for others isn't what I'm talking about, here. I'm talking about the keeping up with the Joneses, i.e. using money as a measuring stick for social status and prizing status above all else. I find it hard to find fault in a person who is truly trying to spend his or her money for the benefit of others. Unfortunately, this doesn't always mean gifts, because how often do people these days buy someone a gift just to show them up or impress them?
Have you ever heard of the term affluenza, Gentle Reader? It refers to the social plague that promotes the love of getting and the love of things. Back in ancient Israel, they used to call that idolatry. And it's just so stupid! For how long will the world refuse the pursuit of equality? Will we need fire and brimstone** before we understand how we are ruining ourselves? In a perfect, Christian world, excess money is spent on the needy instead of the greedy, but that just doesn't sell as well, I guess. It takes great maturity before benevolence can trump selfishness, and maturity on a social and national level, at least in these times and places, seems like nothing more than a daydream.
It just makes me sick that there are so many people out there who have everything and still suffer from emptiness and want, while the less fortunate are also suffering from want, but the latter is the kind that kills in the dead of the night and destroys lives and families. The former doesn't do more than promote whining and even more selfishness.
The things that seems very clear to me is that something must be done, and affluenza must be cured for good. People need to focus on their families and getting rid of debt before they find themselves in the same position as the poor that they had previously neglected. If families are okay financially, with an emergency fund, they should then focus their attention on those who are suffering., and I really don't see why that has to mean the end of shopping, just the end of shopping as we know it. If people love to shop and they want to be Christ-like in the time we set aside to celebrate His birth, why not spend the same exact time and money that would have been spent on useless clutter and turn it into charity***?
I guess that the Christmas season, in its true spirit, teaches us that we need to change. And we do change, whether we want to or not. We can't really stand still, but we can choose our direction. I'm very grateful for and humbled by my background in this instance, because I feel that it allows me to see things that I would probably be unable to see otherwise. No one is as good as they should be, and Heaven knows that even I have too many faults to number, but Christ has given us the opportunity to repent (i.e. change in the right direction), and he has asked us to worry about others and avoid seeking after worldly things. At this time of year, I can see no greater tribute than living as He would have us live.
Regards, best wishes, and pure love,
-Cecily Jane
P.S. I finished the first draft of my novel on time! I had to write over 13,000 words on that last day, but I did it. Oh, yeah.
*Hence my title as Family Prude.
**As one of my religion professors is eager to remind me, one of the great sins of Sodom and Gomorrah, besides the one for which they were most infamous, was a neglect of the poor (see Ezekiel 16: 49).
**I.e. not the word as we use it, but as it is used by Christ and His disciples.
As the second eldest child, I had the opportunity to experience certain economical conditions that my younger siblings were not able to partake of, and by that I mean that when I was growing up we were dirt poor while Padre was attempting to climb up the professional ladder. So Madre was only able to procure clothing for HermanaMayor, and I got my first new clothes at twelve. By that time, I had already established certain personality traits, and not only was I not used to shopping, I found it hard to accept, on multiple levels. I still do.
This means that this whole thing that Padre calls "recreational shopping" is completely lost on me, and that I am not fun to have around on Madre's shopping extravaganzas. To be perfectly honest, I don't see why it's so fun. You buy stuff when you need it because you need it, right? Isn't anything more than that, except for a very few well-planned and well-earned indulgences, economically unsound? And isn't the fact that America at large spending more than they earn and one paycheck away from bankruptcy an issue? (We are, by the way.)
I just hate shopping for myself. I hate it. Ten minutes of looking for a new shirt to buy can put me in a bad mood for the rest of the day. I try really hard to be good, but I'm afraid that soon I've got a black cloud over my head and I'm grumbling things about the flaws of contemporary society. I even hate trying things on because I don't like being scantily clad in strange places, no matter how private they might be.* It's actually one of the things that PetiteSouer and I have in common, which makes Madre the benevolent martyr, because she is always willing to take her starving daughters out to get essentials and ends up with HermanaMayor and two grumbling trolls.
The only thing I can really buy are DVDs and CDs, which also happen to be my greatest weaknesses. I think that I have somewhere around forty musical soundtracks, and I'm hoping for more for Christmas (it's the easiest and best thing to buy for me as long as you know what I don't have). I'm also collecting Star Trek DVDs, and I'll get them all eventually. Other than that, I have a really hard time, even with food. I just feel so unnecessarily extravagant, and I find extravagance repulsive.
Now, buying for others isn't what I'm talking about, here. I'm talking about the keeping up with the Joneses, i.e. using money as a measuring stick for social status and prizing status above all else. I find it hard to find fault in a person who is truly trying to spend his or her money for the benefit of others. Unfortunately, this doesn't always mean gifts, because how often do people these days buy someone a gift just to show them up or impress them?
Have you ever heard of the term affluenza, Gentle Reader? It refers to the social plague that promotes the love of getting and the love of things. Back in ancient Israel, they used to call that idolatry. And it's just so stupid! For how long will the world refuse the pursuit of equality? Will we need fire and brimstone** before we understand how we are ruining ourselves? In a perfect, Christian world, excess money is spent on the needy instead of the greedy, but that just doesn't sell as well, I guess. It takes great maturity before benevolence can trump selfishness, and maturity on a social and national level, at least in these times and places, seems like nothing more than a daydream.
It just makes me sick that there are so many people out there who have everything and still suffer from emptiness and want, while the less fortunate are also suffering from want, but the latter is the kind that kills in the dead of the night and destroys lives and families. The former doesn't do more than promote whining and even more selfishness.
The things that seems very clear to me is that something must be done, and affluenza must be cured for good. People need to focus on their families and getting rid of debt before they find themselves in the same position as the poor that they had previously neglected. If families are okay financially, with an emergency fund, they should then focus their attention on those who are suffering., and I really don't see why that has to mean the end of shopping, just the end of shopping as we know it. If people love to shop and they want to be Christ-like in the time we set aside to celebrate His birth, why not spend the same exact time and money that would have been spent on useless clutter and turn it into charity***?
I guess that the Christmas season, in its true spirit, teaches us that we need to change. And we do change, whether we want to or not. We can't really stand still, but we can choose our direction. I'm very grateful for and humbled by my background in this instance, because I feel that it allows me to see things that I would probably be unable to see otherwise. No one is as good as they should be, and Heaven knows that even I have too many faults to number, but Christ has given us the opportunity to repent (i.e. change in the right direction), and he has asked us to worry about others and avoid seeking after worldly things. At this time of year, I can see no greater tribute than living as He would have us live.
Regards, best wishes, and pure love,
-Cecily Jane
P.S. I finished the first draft of my novel on time! I had to write over 13,000 words on that last day, but I did it. Oh, yeah.
*Hence my title as Family Prude.
**As one of my religion professors is eager to remind me, one of the great sins of Sodom and Gomorrah, besides the one for which they were most infamous, was a neglect of the poor (see Ezekiel 16: 49).
**I.e. not the word as we use it, but as it is used by Christ and His disciples.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)