Give me an inch, I'll take a mile

So that in venturing ill we leave to be
The things we are for that which we expect;
And this ambitious foul infirmity,
In having much, torments us with defect
Of that we have: so then we do neglect
The thing we have; and, all for want of wit,
Make something nothing by augmenting it.

(Shakespeare, The Rape of Lucrece, lines 148-154)

Lately, God has made me very aware of how easily this can take root in someone. I've been given many things I've wanted, but the knowledge of this, rather than making me grateful, fixates instead on how much more I think I could have gotten. All of the sudden, the pretty lavish gifts I've been given start to look shabby.

So I'm learning new habits. For every complaint, there are ten reasons to be grateful. God sticks with me no matter what. He can never disappoint me, because He is exactly as beautiful as He seemed at first. In fact, He keeps on turning out to be better - so far He is from disappointing, He only further amazes.

This Thanksgiving, God is enough.

The Puritans do it again

"He told me that being himself, in the time of his youth, a student at Cambridge, and having heard much of Mr. Rogers of Dedham, in Essex, purposely he took a journey from Cambridge to Dedham to hear him preach on his lecture day. And in that sermon he falls into an expostulation with the people about their neglect of the Bible [I am afraid it is more neglected in our days]; he personates God to the people, telling them, "Well, I have trusted you so long with my Bible; you have slighted it; it lies in such and such houses all covered with dust and cobwebs. You care not to look into it. Do you use my Bible so? Well, you shall have my Bible no longer." And he takes up the Bible from his cushion, and seemed as if he were going away with it, and carrying it from them; but immediately turns again and personates the people to God, falls down on his knees, cries and pleads most earnestly, "Lord, whatsoever thou cost to us, take not thy Bible from us; kill our children, burn our houses, destroy our goods; only spare us thy Bible, only take not away thy Bible." And then he personates God again to the people: "Say you so? Well, I will try you a little longer; and here is my Bible for you, I will see how you will use it, whether you will love it more, whether you will value it more, whether you will observe it more, whether you will practice it more, and live more according to it." But by these actions [as the Doctor told me] he put all the congregation into so strange a posture that he never saw any congregation in his life. The place was a mere Bochim, the people generally [as it were] deluged with their own tears; and he told me that he himself when he got out, and was to take horse again to be gone, was fain to hang a quarter of an hour upon the neck of his horse weeping, before he had power to mount, so strange an impression was there upon him, and generally upon the people, upon having been thus expostulated with for the neglect of the Bible." 

Thomas Goodwin on John Rogers, recorded by John Howe

I don't deserve my Bible.

Ode to sleep deprivation

There is a very simple explanation for why I haven't blogged lately. I've been sleeping.

Of the many things I learned this past year, probably the most significant was the the average college student's remarkable ability to thrive on a frightening level of sleep deprivation. Oh the stories that come to mind....

• The time we all stayed up till 4AM on a school night when three of us had an 8AM class in....if you didn't catch that....4 hours. Ahh. We three souls met up on our ways to our respective classes that morning, and what a sight it was. We truly looked and acted like we had been partaking in illegal substances. Everything was JUST SO FUNNY. And then, that night, we had another party.
• The night I literally stumbled out of the administration building, due to high levels of exhaustion. Good thing I didn't drive.
• Then there was that other night a big snowstorm hit Milwaukee. This was when the rest of my family was in Florida and I held down the fort for two weeks. I had been at school all day. After a few of our late night shenanigans, in which we blissfully ignored the fact that my driveway was likely covered in at least a foot of snow because of more pressing issues at hand such as sitting in a conference room with the lights out discussing horror movies, I decided I must face the inevitable. Somehow, I managed to bribe two of my friends with the promise of a grocery bag of junkfood and a French baguette to come over and help me shovel my driveway at 3 in the morning. My driveway has never been cleared that quickly. After that, we sat around my kitchen table and feasted. What a great night. A week or two later, it happened again, and I got even more people to come. Looking back, I think the key is calling it a "party." (This pretty much works with anything: "Hey guys! Study party at 9!" will definitely get you a few people, plus a snack or two.)

photographic evidence

• Finally, I distinctly remember a day when two of my friends and I were sitting around at lunch, and we discovered that the number of hours of sleep between the three of us the previous night still did not add up to the full 8 hours recommended for adults. That one was impressive.
  

How does this happen, you ask? Here is a textbook example. It's 8pm and you've gone all day eating nothing but whatever free food you were able to scavenge, which doesn't amount to much. You and your friends spend several hours complaining about said collective hunger, arguing over what to get and who should buy, and blowing off homework. Finally, since nobody wants to walk anywhere because it's 45 degrees out and raining, you all agree on the staple of college diets, the pizza delivery. Then follows more arguing about what kind of pizza to get and how much. Finally, the pizza is ordered, under your own name, which your friends take advantage of by including in the "extra instructions" section the request to "tell me I'm beautiful." Finding out about this, mortified, you begin arguing again over who will actually answer the door. By the time the pizza guy gets there, it's after midnight and after another friend of yours shows up, everyone listens as the pair who answered the door tell about the awkward delivery guy:
"I guess I'm supposed to call you pretty. And you know what, you are!"
Then comes the feasting, in which several of you eat an astonishing amount of pizza, followed by reminiscing about the year spent together, because it's late at night at the end of the semester and everyone is getting nostalgic. Here you all realize that before you all leave, the world will not be able to continue spinning unless you go visit the courtyard together that you hung out in as a group for the first time back in Fall. So dropping everything, you file out into the said courtyard, running around in the rain and jumping in mud puddles. Because that's what mature adults do. When all is said and done, it's almost 2 in the morning and people are starting to fall asleep, even though most of you still have homework to finish. That, reader, is how we are beguiled of our sleep.

Anyways, when living in an environment in which 6 hours of sleep is a luxury, collapse is inevitable. By the end of the semester, you and your friends begin to have long, serious discussions eulogizing sleep. It's all you can think about. When summer break arrives, it is inaccurate to call it "summer vacation" as "summer hibernation" is what best describes it. So before my paper-writing skills begin to atrophy, I thought it best to resurface here and entertain myself you with relevant stories from college. Only a few more weeks before new ones start rolling in.....

Under the sun

"If, at mid-day, we either look down to the ground, or on the surrounding objects which lie open to our view, we think ourselves endued with a very strong and piercing eyesight; but when we look up to the sun, and gaze at it unveiled, the sight which did excellently well for the earth is instantly so dazzled and confounded by the refulgence, as to oblige us to confess that our acuteness in discerning terrestrial objects is mere dimness when applied to the sun. Thus, too, it happens in estimating our spiritual qualities. So long as we do not look beyond the earth, we are quite pleased with our own righteousness, wisdom, and virtue; we address ourselves in the most flattering terms, and seem only less than demigods. But should we once begin to raise our thoughts to God, and reflect on what kind of being he is, and how absolute the perfection of that righteousness, and wisdom, and virtue, to which, as a standard, we are bound to be conformed, what formerly delighted us by its false show of righteousness will become polluted with the greatest iniquity; what strangely imposed upon us under the name of wisdom will disgust by its extreme folly; and what presented the appearance of virtuous energy will be condemned as the most miserable impotence. So far are those qualities in us, which seem most perfect, from corresponding to the divine purity."

 (Calvin's Institutes, 1.1.2)

Not exactly a day-brightener, but an important thing to keep in the back of my mind when I'm tempted to go off and apotheosize myself. Not that that ever happens.....

Thunder storm

Ascribe to the Lord, O sons of the mighty,
Ascribe to the Lord glory and strength.
Ascribe to the Lord the glory due to His name;
Worship the Lord in holy array. 

The voice of the Lord is upon the waters;
The God of glory thunders,
The Lord is over many waters.
The voice of the Lord is powerful,
The voice of the Lord is majestic.
The voice of the Lord breaks the cedars;
Yes, the Lord breaks in pieces the cedars of Lebanon.
He makes Lebanon skip like a calf,
And Sirion like a young wild ox.
The voice of the Lord hews out flames of fire.
The voice of the Lord shakes the wilderness;
The Lord shakes the wilderness of Kadesh.
The voice of the Lord makes the deer to calve
And strips the forests bare;
And in His temple everything says, “Glory!” 

The Lord sat as King at the flood;
Yes, the Lord sits as King forever.
The Lord will give strength to His people;
The Lord will bless His people with peace.

Psalm 29

That college tuition being put to good work

My friend Bethany and I are in art history together, and we've decided we're going to write our own art history book. Unlike most tomes gracing the halls of academia with their presence, this magnum opus would be the fun textbook. Of course, we would include such timeless advice such as "It's all about the drapery" or "They're not naked, they're nude," but we would mainly focus on blessing the world with our "unique and peppery analysis" as one advance reviewer put it.

Anyways, now that I'm looking at art with the eyes of an author, I'm finally seeing all the classic archtypes that had never come to my attention before this class. Like photobombing ("Paintingbombing" just doesn't have the same ring to it).

A few examples, for now.....

Everyone else is distraught, and this guy is just chilling, slightly bored, in the corner

That facial expression is gold.
"No really bro, I think I made it into the painting!"

It's a photobomb flash mob

It couldn't come soon enough

My professors are very wonderful people. And I've got to hand it to them, they outdid themselves making sure I earned spring break. There were many times last week that I was certain I was about to lose my sanity. But who cares about such gloom and misery? All is well now.

I've been rather living it up. Lots of looking out the window. Now that might not seem like much, but it's quite the luxury for me. Used to do it all the time back in middle school. People always talk about the best thinking occurring in the shower. They are in fact mistaken. It's when you look outside. Don't know what it is about it, but there's something about the infinite expanse of the sky that brings all the great metaphysical, theological questions to mind and forces me to deal with them. And then below that, there's the random cars driving by and the occasional person walking down the street, and I wonder where they're going, and what their lives are like, and how it all fits together in the grand scheme of things. I really could just sit in my room for hours. It's sort of like a mental reboot. During school I never have time to contemplate my own ideas; I'm too busy thinking about what I'm assigned to think about. So having the opportunity to do so now, with all my friends gone, is quite nice. I can step back from things, and sort of look at my life as an outsider, and evaluate what's good about it and where I should try to change things.

And then there are all my books. The above picture is the pile I'm spending my time with over break. Some are for school, others are ones I'm almost finished with but didn't have the time to work on, others are simply ones I impulsively started reading. While people are on vacation for break, I'm traveling too. Visiting Florence at the turn of the century; sitting at Thoreau's table in his cabin next to Walden Pond; watching Jean Valjean become a new man during the aftermath of the French Revolution. That's what I love about reading. You get to live in a completely different world from the one you live in, but along the way, you find all the similarities between that one and your own. Watch out, I'm about to go off on a Great Ideas rant.......

So yup, much of my break so far has involved me sprawled out on the floor in my room, reading some rather wild books and trying to figure out things like the meaning of art or why God is repeatedly so good to such a waste of time as me (won't ever make much progress with that one), all while listening to indie music. Yes, I only now discovered the greatness of Pandora. Don't judge. Everyone else, have fun in Florida. I'm good here.

That George Herbert, the rascal....

I think I'm quite on my merry way to becoming obsessed with George Herbert. College is doing strange things to me. What with all these influences from peer pressure and classes about 17th-century literature, these tricksters are beguiling me out of my boring old prosaic ways and leaving instead a bit of a poetry nerd. Who saw that coming?

But then again, how could you not love this poem?

THE CHURCH-FLOORE.   

MARK you the floore ?  that square and speckled stone,
                    Which looks so firm and strong,
                                             Is Patience :

And th’ other black and grave, wherewith each one
                    Is checker’d all along,
                                             Humilitie :

The gentle rising, which on either hand
                    Leads to the Quire above,
                                             Is Confidence :

But the sweet cement, which in one sure band
                    Ties the whole frame, is Love
                                             And Charitie.

        Hither sometimes Sinne steals, and stains
        The marbles neat and curious veins :
But all is cleansed when the marble weeps.
        Sometimes Death, puffing at the doore,
        Blows all the dust about the floore :
But while he thinks to spoil the room, he sweeps.
        Blest be the Architect, whose art
        Could build so strong in a weak heart.

As you could probably tell, the different kinds of stone represent different virtues in the Christian life. Patience is "strong and firm" because it takes a lot of self-discipline to maintain. "Black and grave" humility doesn't have bright and self-satisfied thoughts about itself. I like Herbert's imagery here because it can also take on a double meaning in that he is also describing humility as the putting of your flesh to death. Confidence is the "gentle rising" of the soul out of its doubts towards communion with God. Finally, tying everything together is love, or charity. As Paul writes in 1 Corinthians 13, the Christian, with all his virtues, is nothing without love. 

The second half of the poem details the two threats to Christian virtue: Sin and death. Both try to obscure it. The former is defeated when the "marble weeps," or when we repent. As for death, instead of obscuring our sanctification, it makes it all the more prominent. It shows whether it is really genuine.

What I love about Herbert is how much theology he packs into his poetry, and how he does so in a really beautiful way. Reading it forces me to think deeply about God from a different perspective/format than just that of a theology book.

So yeah, it's official. Herbert has been admitted into the exclusive society of Sarah's Nerd Crushes. Right up there with Erasmus, Cicero, Jaques Barzun. Yup, it's great.

Caritas Deo.....because titles sound cooler in Latin

In between reading from some pretty riveting textbooks about Roman society, Medieval literature, and Renaissance art, I've managed to sneak in a little non-school related literature. That in itself is an accomplishment, so bear with me here. I'm pretty geeked out. What's funny is that they're all books I probably would have turned my nose up to a few years back. I hope I'm learning to be open minded while still retaining discernment. Got to love all those fine lines and Golden Means.....

Anyways, I'm not done with any of these yet, but I'm noticing a common effect they've had on me so far. They make me want to love God more. Both straight up affection towards His person and a desire to truly dedicate my self and life to Him. One of my trademark personality traits is an epically one-tracked mind, which can be good, but in this case makes things difficult. I tend to get wrapped up in the details of getting through my day and forget the big picture of why I'm really here in the first place. These books point me back to God. They've reminded me of how lovely a life that's lived for Him really is. They make me want that.

First off is Francis Chan's Crazy Love. One of its passages has already made the blog. I'm about halfway through and so far, the whole book is of the same caliber as the quote I posted. Highly convicting and reflective. I don't agree with what is a bit of an obsession in evangelical culture with feelings-based experiences in our spiritual lives, because most of the time our emotions are unreliable and we can't base our faith/spiritual status on what we're feeling at the present moment. But that said, affection for God still is an important part of our lives. You can love someone and not necessarily feel warm thoughts about them all the time, but if you never do, you've got a problem. So one of the things I'm appreciating about this book is how it stirs up my heart and brings me back to Christ. I don't want to become cold and distant.

I'm also reading Don't Waste Your Life by John Piper. It's sort of geared toward my college age crowd. While Crazy Love is more theology-ish, this is application. Piper urges us to make the most of our lives for God. This is how he starts off the book:

For me as a boy, one of the most gripping illustrations my fiery father used was the story of a man converted in old age. The church had prayed for this man for decades. He was hard and resistant. But this time, for some reason, he showed up when my father was preaching. At the end of the service, during a hymn, to everyone’s amazement he came and took my father’s hand. They sat down together on the front pew of the church as the people were dismissed. God opened his heart to the Gospel of Christ, and he was saved from his sins and given eternal life. But that did not stop him from sobbing and saying, as the tears ran down his wrinkled face—and what an impact it made on me to hear my father say this through his own tears—“I’ve wasted it! I’ve wasted it!” 

This was the story that gripped me more than all the stories of young people who died in car wrecks before they were converted—the story of an old man weeping that he had wasted his life. In those early years God awakened in me a fear and a passion not to waste my life. The thought of coming to my old age and saying through tears, “I’ve wasted it! I’ve wasted it!” was a fearful and horrible thought to me. (pp. 11-12)

That kind of thing has always been on my mind. Reading this has been like having someone shake you awake when you've dozed off in class (or something like that because I have no experience with that kind of thing....). I need to continue to be reminded of the big picture, that I'm not just in college to write papers and have fun with my (amazing) friends. And believe it or not, but college isn't the end-all either. I exist to glorify God. I need to remember to make my life one that is marked by that quality. They tell me I'm coming to the age in life when you make all the pretty important decisions. I want all of mine to be consistent with a life focused on God.

Finally, there's Notes from the Tilt-A-Whirl by N.D. Wilson. This is the book I've been reading the longest and have made the least progress in. C'est la vie. What I have read so far has shown me the beauty of God in the world around us. Reading it, I'm left in awe of how the details of creation point us back to God. Really, I have no excuse for getting distracted. God is everywhere. (Meant of course in the most orthodox, non-pantheistic, good-sober-Calvinist way possible.)

Yesterday, my pastor preached on how the Church is illustrated as a bride. What really struck me was how he applied it. This side of eternity is the engagement period. A bride spends hers busy preparing for the wedding. Her groom is never far from her thoughts. In the same way, it's only natural that we spend our lives preparing for our wedding day to Christ. Our love for Him will be expressed in our adorning ourselves with good deeds done for Him (Revelation 19:8). (Also meant of course in the most Protestant, Sola Gratia, good-sober-Calvinist way possible.) We can't afford to waste our time on things that won't contribute toward this goal; dare I say it? - ain't nobody got time for that.

So that's where my mind has been hanging out lately. Hooray for good books and sermons that convict you and point you to better things.

Lovely poesy

Lord, how can man preach thy eternal word?

He is a brittle crazy glass;
Yet in thy temple thou dost him afford
This glorious and transcendent place,
To be a window, through thy grace.

But when thou dost anneal in glass thy story,
Making thy life to shine within
The holy preachers, then the light and glory
More reverend grows, and more doth win;
Which else shows waterish, bleak, and thin.

Doctrine and life, colors and light, in one
When they combine and mingle, bring
A strong regard and awe, but speech alone
Doth vanish like a flaring thing
And in the ear, not conscience, ring.

(George Herbert, Windows)

So this semester I'm taking three 300-level history and English courses, because I obviously didn't have enough to do with my time in fall. As a result, all I do is read. I know, why am I complaining? This ought to be Sarah nirvana. Yeah yeah. I guess I just don't like being told what to read? That's my theory, anyways.

The plus side, however, is that I'm in a class called "Major British Authors of the Seventeenth Century." Ahhhhh. Don't tell my other professors, but the one teaching it is my favorite at school. I actually met him when touring the college the first time and he told me all about this amazing great books honors program he was working on starting up. (Yes, that was the moment I made my college decision.) But I digress. There are seven students in the class, and we all just sit around talking about poetry. Love and religion are the big themes. I sort of love it.

I came across the above poem yesterday and am totally drawn to it. The end reminds me of James 2. The thing I love about this period in English literature is how profoundly spiritual it is. It points me back to Christ. And then it's also incredibly beautiful. It's going to be a good semester.

Some nerdy medieval lit crit

With thanks to the ever-insightful C.S. Lewis:

"I doubt if they would have understood our demand for originality or valued those works in their own age which were original any the more on that account. If you had asked Lazamon or Chaucer, 'Why do you not make up a brand-new story of your own?' I think they might have replied (in effect) "Surely we are not yet reduced to that?' Spin something out of one's own head when the whole world teems with so many noble deeds, wholesome examples, pitiful tragedies, strange adventures, and merry jests which have never yet been set forth quite so well as they deserve? The originality which we regard as a sign of wealth might have seemed to them a confession of poverty. Why make things for oneself like the lonely Robinson Crusoe when there is riches all about you to be had for the taking? The modern artist often does not think the riches is there. He is the alchemist who must turn base metal into gold. It makes a radical difference."

 (The Discarded Image, pp. 211-212)

This completely changed the way I look at literature. A story doesn't necessarily have to be original to be worth telling. I'm reminded of epics like the Iliad, Odyssey, Beowulf, Paradise Lost. The authors didn't create the stories; they simply found compelling ways to tell them.

I especially love the one sentence, "Spin something out of one's own head when the whole world teems with so many noble deeds, wholesome examples, pitiful tragedies, strange adventures, and merry jests which have never yet been set forth quite so well as they deserve?" Totally inspiring.

Challenge accepted.