Statics and Dynamics
Posted: Thursday, December 29, 2011 by Morgan inDo people change or do they stay the same? Are they static or dynamic?
Do people change or do they stay the same? Are they static or dynamic?
I came to a game-changing realization last week. Scratch that, God gave me a piece of the puzzle I had been missing for a long time. He helped me realize that my idea of love was all wrong, and that it was really messing me up. There are two parts to this realization.
Honesty is simply the absence of deceit.
If that's all you need, don't read the rest because it will probably seem very rigid and I'm almost positive it will be so boring that you will cry.
This definition of honesty was stumbled upon as I shared stories with a close friend who has recently returned home from college. We were talking about the importance of being honest and the importance of knowing what and how much to say. What we initially discovered was that honesty is best defined negatively as opposed to positively. This thought remained in my head for about a week, and then I thought about it for almost an entire shift at work earlier this week and scribbled down what I could during my breaks. It's very academic and ridiculous, but it was a good exercise.
Honesty is complicated. If we try to define it with the things we should say we will run into problems because it's not always good to just say everything that is true to everyone. It's not helpful to be a firehose of honesty. It's difficult to determine what level of honest disclosure of information is appropriate and it's much simpler and easier to determine whether or not deceit is present based on what we omit from the truth or what we add to it. We know when we're bending the truth by adding extra things that didn't really happen to our story or completely changing it to cover up something we are ashamed of or even when we say most of what is true and simply leave out parts that could tarnish our reputation or the reputation of others. That part of honesty is fairly easy.
I can finally be myself. I came to a realization yesterday that who I am and who I have been trying to become has not been genuine. I have had selfish ulterior motives. I have been consumed with pride about who and what I am becoming and I think I am able to let that go now.
I'm free.
Some of the lyrics to Shake It Out by Manchester Orchestra do an excellent job of illustrating my realization:
I felt the Lord begin
...to peel off all my skin.
I felt the weight within
...reveal the bigger mess
......that you can't fix.
My desires are changing. I find myself wanting things that I have never wanted. My idea of entertainment has changed. I no longer want to do things like watch movies or tv shows or play video games. I would rather be outside or working with my hands or playing guitar or learning something new. I am attracted to things in other people that I never would have thought I would be attracted to. Instead of surrounding myself with people who run through life met with success after success and have all the answers, I enjoy being around people who, like me, wrestle with life and who do not have all the answers and who are not perfect. I don't look for the best in people anymore, I look for the reality in them. "There's beauty in the funk." I can't really describe this one as explicitly as I can the rest, but I can sense a change.
We've made our bed and now we must lie in it.
Owning a bike takes love, work, sacrifice, patience, and patience. It's full of ups and downs. Bikes aren't perfect and neither are you. They can be infuriating and pleasing, unsightly and beautiful, enslaving and emancipating all within minutes of each other.
The story of my bike is a good one. Her name is Margo. I was introduced to her by my roommate this summer. He had been building his own bike for some time before and I wasn't really interested. I rode my gross, heavy, tank-like Schwinn Ranger mountain bike to and from school for most of the year and I didn't care that much. Then I started looking on craigslist for single speed road bikes. I found one for really cheap that I could fix up and sell, so I did. I got all new parts for it and fixed it up really nicely and sold it. I was hooked. And then I found Margo. She started out as just a frame and some cranks, but bit by bit I built her up from parts I found on craigslist. I got her a nice wheelset, new handlebars, a comfortable seat, magnificent brakes (you'll see why this is ironic later), and all the extra little bits necessary to make a bike rideable. I made a lot of mistakes at first, but I loved working on Margo and the more time I spent with her, the more I knew she was the bike for me. She wasn't the prettiest bike to begin with: her cranks were a bit scratched, her frame was gangly and a little too big, her front fork was at a weird angle so that the pedals hit the front wheel when I was turning, her bottom bracket was a little rusty and used proprietary parts. But I didn't care. I was going to make her fly. I would do whatever it took. I still remember the first day I went on a ride with her, I had finished installing the brakes and putting the handlebars on. I put them on completely wrong. They looked ridiculous and my friends thought I was stupid and ignorant, but I loved them and kept them that way out of spite for a while. It wasn't until months later that I realized they actually were ridiculous and wrong. I fixed them and they were instantly better.
When I went off to school in the fall, I switched her from a single speed to a fixed gear. It was simultaneously the best and worst decision I ever made. My cycling friends thought I was stupid and hated Margo, but I didn't care. I had such a connection with Margo that riding any other bike simply felt awkward and undignified and pointless. We rode to school every day and I made sure she had a strong lock to keep her safe while I was in class. I put cards in her spokes and she wore them with pride. We went on short sprints through downtown Newberg, racing cars down hills and bobbing and weaving through the suburbs in the sunshine. She and I pulled my friends down streetlamp-lit roads on their longboards at night. It was a fantastic way to travel. A friend and I took her out on the back country roads at sunset and we cruised along long straight roads that bordered pastures and fields, just soaking it all in.
Then I took the brakes off.
It was freeing. Margo and I were so close and so good at communicating that I simply found I didn't need them. It was a beautiful feeling. Just me and Margo, no barriers between my feet and the drivetrain. She translated every move I made perfectly into the pavement. I knew exactly what to do in every instance. When I was riding, Margo and I were one. I hadn't used my brakes for months and the high-end Shimano 105s were simply extra weight to us. So off they came. I hadn't needed to use them except for once, and even then they didn't help me at all. I crashed into the curb anyway. We were both fine so I didn't think twice about it.
Then came that fateful ride.
We went out to the back country roads again with the same friend, but this time we were hungry for hills. It sounded challenging and exhilarating and I knew that Margo and I could conquer anything geography could throw at us, brakes or no brakes, gears or no gears, coasting or no coasting. Oh boy was I wrong. And it cost Margo everything. We climbed and climbed and climbed, I was thrilled with how well we were doing going up all of these winding hills. Elevation couldn't touch us! We didn't need gears! Who cares if my legs were on fire and I was short of breath? WE WERE CLIMBING HILLS ON A FIXED GEAR. And then I gave out. I simply couldn't pedal any more. I was tired and ready to blast back downhill. So we turned around. It was incredible. We were absolutely flying down the mountainside, going 30, 40, maybe even 50 miles per hour at one point. It was like nothing I had ever experienced. Raw untamed speed, all caused by me and Margo and gravity. Then my friend passed us. I thought to myself, "So what if she has gears and brakes? WE CAN GO FASTER! Come on Margo, let's show them what we can do."
And then came the corner.
I saw it coming. I knew it couldn't end well, but it was too late. My feet were still in the pedal cages, I wasn't wearing a helmet, I didn't have brakes, I was still going upwards of 35 or 40 mph. I started to resist pedaling to slow down, Margo started to wobble. We had never done anything like this before. I could see and hear my friend using the brakes on her bike. As I started into the corner, still wobbling and going too fast, "Come on Margo, we'll just take it wide because I don't want to strike your pedals and launch us both into the air. We'll stop after this and regroup before we hit another corner, okay?" I leaned into the corner, pedals and legs still spinning too fast. We missed the apex, swinging a bit wide, but we made it around. At this point, we were on the knife edge of the border between the right side of the asphalt and the bumpy, dirty, grassy shoulder of the road. I had a choice, and to this day I regret the split-second choice I made in that instant. In that crystal clear frozen moment in time it was like I was on a tightrope and I could either keep my balance or take a rest and step off for just a second. I chose the latter. I chose to veer off ever so slightly onto the shoulder to finish the wide sweeping turn we made. Margo followed my lead, faithful and trusting as she was. I had never led her wrong before. Well maybe once, but there was nothing I could have done then. We went off onto the shoulder and her front wheel hit a bump or pothole or something the incredible forces in action wrenched her handlebars ninety degrees to the right of where they should have been and I completely lost control. I grunted, bracing for the crash I knew was inevitable. I closed my eyes as I pitched off of Margo to my right and it was over. Impact. Something kicked in right at that second. I knew where my body was headed. I knew what kind of surface I was landing on. I knew how my body would react to different types of landings. I knew what could happen if I messed this up too. My right shoulder took the brunt of the impact and I made a wheel shape with my arms and my back and rolled as much as I could. I landed, rolled once and stopped.
I opened my eyes. I was lying in the ditch. My right shoe had come off and was lying uphill about 10 feet away. I felt alright. Nothing was broken. Nothing even hurt yet. I got up and retrieved my shoe and then went to check on Margo. She looked okay from a distance, and then the stark, horrible reality washed over me as I saw her front wheel...
Oh...
God.
What have I done?
There she was, lying on the shoulder, stem and handlebars wrenched from their normal position and front wheel bent and mangled into the shape of a potato chip. Margo, my faithful friend and companion through all those months, through all those rides, through all the ridicule from friends and mistakes made by me. She had always been there, never asking anything of me and always willing to take me wherever I wanted to go. And now as she lay there in a pile of wreckage, I knew it was over. I knew she was too broken to go on. I had asked too much of her and she had answered in the best way she could. I had failed her and I knew it. And the worst part about it was that I had come out of the wreck essentially unscathed. My shoulder hurt for a week or two afterwards, but other than that and some scratches, I was completely fine.
I wasn't really thinking as I picked her up and put her on my shoulder. There was no emotion as I lifted the wreckage off the ground and started walking down the hill. My friend realized that I was not behind her and had turned back to see what had happened. She came back and called a friend to come pick us up. I tried halfheartedly to fix Margo's front wheel while we waited, but it was no use. The damage was done. She was unrideable. As we loaded our bikes into the car and drove back home, I was still processing what had happened. When we arrived at the garage, I took Margo out and leaned her against the wall like I always had when we came back from wherever we were. But this time I knew I wouldn't be coming to get her again any time soon. I didn't really know what to do after that. I had to ride my scooter to school, which was fine, but it wasn't Margo. I would see her in the garage, leaning broken against the wall and would think, "I don't have the time or money to fix that wheel right now," and go on with my life. I had abandoned her and my responsibility to her. For months.
Then Christmas break rolled around, and I had decided to make things right. I would get Margo a new wheelset and fix her up so we could ride together again. I owed her at least that much. I put her in the car as I drove home (minus the front wheel) and did some shopping when I got home and found the perfect set of wheels for her. Beautiful white deep-V's with skinny white tires. I bought them and put them on, working through all the kinks and fixing the handlebars and making sure everything was in good working order. It was like old times again. Then I took her out for a nice evening ride. We rode all around through Milwaukie under the streetlights and trees. I was more careful this time. I slowed way down, took the corners with perfect control, and made sure we could handle going downhill as well as uphill. We even went fast, but not too fast. I did not want a repeat of our last ride. It was beautiful. Margo was beautiful. She still had the scars from her crash: a slightly tweaked fork, a little hesitation in the chainline, a little bit jittery at times. I loved her despite the faults that I had caused her. And these things reminded me what we had been through, reminded me what I had done, reminded me what I was never to do again, reminded me never to ask of her more than she could offer, reminded me to lead the right way.
It's really a beautiful story.
People are a certain way. They were raised to have certain tendencies, responses, and habits. Sometimes these characteristics are good....And sometimes they simply aren't. Sometimes they are annoying, problematic, and unhealthy. Too often I've seen people hide behind who they are and refuse to take responsibility for their natural shortcomings. My generation and the generation that is currently being cultivated and trained have been brought up in the self-esteem era. We are taught that if we have a pulse, we are wonderful. Although this idea stems from a nugget of truth, it has been twisted and stripped of its value by giving value to everyone and everything they do regardless of their actual merit.
What is it about us that makes us want to stand out from the crowd, to be different (in a good way), to be better, to have what others don't have, to be what others can't be.
I went on a run tonight and thought about excellence.
Dear God,
Lately I've become increasingly attracted to the simple life. I generally dislike extravagance (which, on an entirely different note that I may write about at some point, I think limits my creativity and curiosity) to the point where I don't really even joke about it. When talking to a friend about a 1.7 million dollar jetboat made almost entirely of carbon fiber with an 8000 Watt speaker system with, WiFi connectivity, a custom trailer, and twin 1,350 horsepower engines that could go 180 mph on the water, he commented that if he had enough money he would buy it. I'm not quite sure if it was in jest or not, but I reacted as if it wasn't. I could never justify spending so much money on something so frivolous and made purely for entertainment.
I've viewed money differently throughout the years, mainly weighing my expenditures against purchases of something very important or enjoyable in my life at the time. For example, in high school I played an online game called Runescape that cost 5 dollars a month. Whenever I bought something or saw other people purchasing things, I would say something like, "I could have bought 3 months of Runescape membership with that…" Now I think very differently. When someone makes a purchase, a big one at least, I always ask myself "How much food and clothing could the amount of money they just spent on that new kitchen have bought for homeless people in Portland?" or "How many schools or orphanages could have been funded by the money they just spent on that Porsche?" We are stewards of the gifts God has given us, including all the money that we have. I talk more about my idea of stewardship in this post if you're curious.
I've been challenged recently in the topic of giving. A thought that goes through my head often is "a sacrifice isn't a sacrifice unless it's a sacrifice." I've been giving money out of what I earn each month to my local church and have been for some time, but it's never been difficult or painful or sacrificial giving. I always simply give it and don't think about it. I fear it is becoming a source of pride in me. "I'm giving like a good Christian is supposed to give and that's good enough. I'm giving even though other people aren't." I do not want to fall into the trap of complacency and self-righteous pride. Israel does that a lot in the bible and it never goes well for them (just read Numbers). I've been challenged to give more and trust God to work out the rest. We'll see how it goes.
Anyway, the simple life. Food. Clothing. Appearance. Health. Housing. Entertainment. Transportation. All of it. I want to do it all simply. Without distraction. My career will not be a simple one. I will be engaging daily with challenging and complex ideas, problems, solutions, and documentation. I want the rest of my life to be simple. I want to live well below my means in an adequate house with functional transportation, healthy wholesome food, simple clothing, edifying entertainment. I want to give of my money and time and talents. There is a lot of need in this world and I want to meet it. I want to protect and provide, both for my own family and for those in this world who are in need. And I think God is going to enable me to do that. And I think I can be more effective in doing that by living a simple life.
There is a fine line between simplicity and something like reclusiveness, and I do not want to cross that line into reclusiveness by any means. I still want to be in community with others and I do not want the simplicity of my life to be a hindrance to myself, my family, my friends, or my church. We are called to be in the world but not of the world. We can't do that if we aren't actively engaged in the world. We can't be actively engaged in the world if we aren't in community with others. I'll probably talk about that more in another post some other time.
Basically, I see something profoundly beautiful about simplicity. I want to capture it.
I am angry.
The entirety of existence is a paradox.
Maybe eternity exists to explain what was going on in the short time we have here on earth.
Thinking is good, but overthinking is not. Once you have steeped yourself in thinking about something good, you need to stop thinking and start doing.
I’ve felt their lives slip through my fingers, now I watch them circle the drain
with breath like the torrent they sink to the bottom
I’ve wasted so many chances, my efforts not a drop in the barrel
with a body like a boulder I sink to the bottom
(Where is your mercy? Where is your mercy now? Where is your mercy?)
I’ve shown my teeth (Where is your mercy?) and have had them kicked in one too many times (Where is your mercy now?)
In my yearning (where is your mercy?) He split the rock, and the water gushed forth
A voice keeps yelling, a voice keeps yelling
”This is where your proud waves end!”
My fingers trace lines, on the surface i’m consumed.
The sinking feeling, the sinking feeling
"This is where your proud waves end!”
I take my first step, and i’m thrown over the edge
I tried to walk on the water but now I just swim
they slip through my fingers, now I watch them circle the drain
with breath like the torrent they sink to the bottom
I’ve wasted so many chances, my efforts not a drop in the barrel
with a body like a boulder I sink to the bottom
Where is your mercy? Where is your mercy now? Where is your mercy?
Where is your mercy? Where is your mercy now? Where is your mercy?
What grace is this that saves me? (where is your mercy? Where is your mercy now?)
What grace is this that saves me? (where is your mercy?)
What grace is this that saves me? (where is your mercy? Where is your mercy now?)
What grace is this that saves me? (where is your mercy?)
(Where is your mercy now? Where? Are you outside of your wrath?)
I SCREAM YOUR NAME! YOUR NAME! YOUR NAME!
Are You outside of Your wrath?
OH GOD!
Your name
and amongst the pile of dead
I see a light split the water from the heavens
I feel God glowing inside me
My heart shakes with the music of the spheres
I no longer tremble in fear
For Redemption has found me
And in Redemption comes the overflow of peace
A woman is like a tea bag - you can't tell how strong she is until you put her in hot water.-Eleanor Roosevelt
If you've read my blog, you may remember a post I made on Halloween last year. I make no apologies for what follows.
Yes I am a Christian.Yes I celebrate Halloween.No I do not worship Satan.
Then I saw heaven opened, and behold, a white horse! The one sitting on it is calledFaithful and True, and in righteousness he judges and makes war. His eyes are like a flame of fire, and on his head are many diadems, and he has a name written that no one knows but himself. He is clothed in a robe dipped in blood, and the name by which he is called is The Word of God. And the armies of heaven, arrayed in fine linen, white and pure, were following him on white horses. From his mouth comes a sharp sword with which to strike down the nations, and he will rule them with a rod of iron. He will tread the winepress of the fury of the wrath of God the Almighty. On his robe and on his thigh he has a name written, King of kings and Lord of lords.
So I was in church this morning listening to a sermon on Malachi 2 and 3. At this time, the Israelites had just come fresh out of Babylonian captivity a generation or two before and had just finished rebuilding the temple. Even after all this stuff that God did for them, the Israelites were questioning God's goodness, love, faithfulness, and trustworthiness. Why would they question the God who saved them out of captivity not just once, but twice: once in Babylon in the recent past and once in Egypt many generations ago? Why would they question the God who was faithful to give them an entire country that He promised to give to their forefathers? Why would they question a God who overthrew their enemies over and over again even though the Israelites were vastly outnumbered and fighting against superior weapons and armies?
I never listen to the radio. Ever. Not even Pandora. But on my drive back to school today I listened to some news channel that was doing a rerun of an interview with a PETA representative from a few years back. The debate was on vegetarianism of course, and the debaters relied on basically one argument each, with limited nuance.
"So also faith by itself, if it does not have works, is dead."
I realized earlier this week as I was working that there are a lot of things I want to improve about myself. I let that thought fester in my mind for a few days and it led me through some very deep and dark places. Don't worry though, there's a happy ending.
Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.
For although they knew God, they did not honor him as God or give thanks to him, but they became futile in their thinking, and their foolish hearts were darkened.
After almost a full year hiatus, I'm back. Sharing my thoughts with you.