I suppose I may as well officially tell you.
I'm going to the Middle East this summer to teach English for six weeks.
Ever since I realized that I'd be doing on-line learning this past year with an English teaching certificate in my pocket, I've been checking to see if God had any open doors for me to travel through. Like a monster searching for Boo's door in the movie Monsters Inc., I've been watching the doors flash by, and I've been asking God, "Is it that one? Is it that one?"
No.
No.
No.
Wait until Christmas at least--you're directing a play for the Dessert Banquet. (That was a great adventure all on its own!)
Wait until a few weeks into January when you know what your class load is like.
"Is it that one?"
Not yet. Stay. You are needed here.
And then I heard of another door that would come around in the summer.
"Is it that one?"
And all I felt was peace.
For a month or two, I just held it before the Lord to see if it was really His idea. Then I mentioned it to my parents. More peace. Then I asked God for the money to buy my plane ticket. We sought God specifically on our annual church Fast Day to provide the money if He wanted me to go.
A couple of days later, I had the money I needed.
I bought my ticket, and my sister bought me an abaya.
Am I excited? Of course. Am I terrified? Of course. Am I worried? Not one bit!
The funny thing is, I have no idea how I'm going to teach English to Muslims in another country! I don't have it in me. But this isn't the first time that God has led me to do something beyond myself. He's called me outside of my comfort zone multiple times before to join Him in walking on the waves. And that's half of the excitement: I'm joining Him!
You see, I've started realizing that being outside of my comfort zone is often the most comfortable place to be. It's where Jesus is. So that's why I'm not worried: I get to walk on water with the Master of the waves. And relying on Him for every single step is one of the most exciting adventures ever.
Yes, the Middle East is a great stage for such an adventure. But couldn't we all be living this adventure of trust here and now, every day?
I feel challenged to walk on water even in the small things. That's a door that's always open.
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
Love is a good thing
When some people think of love, they think of sappy romance. They think of a feeling. A fluffy feeling. If they're a follower of Christ (or even if they're not), they might think of sacrifice--of blood.
I bought a song last summer by Andrew Peterson called "Love is a Good Thing." It seemed like a nice song, but I only partially understood it. However, it wasn't until about a month ago that I realized how profound and pertinent this song really is. Looking back, I feel like I can specifically relate to almost every phrase in this song. It's all happened to me. And it's probably all happened to you. Maybe even worse.
But I can tell you right now, after everything I've been through, that Love is a good thing. It is not always a fluffy thing. It is not always an easy thing. It is not always a gentle thing.
But it is always a good thing.
Awhile ago, I was talking about a great traveling opportunity and someone said, "Maybe that's why God didn't want you to go to Hillsdale."
I blinked in surprise. I really appreciated their thoughtfulness in trying to find the "good" out of what seemed last summer like a bad thing, but did they think I still needed that? I already know why God didn't send me to Hillsdale. It's complicated to explain, but I can say now that not going to my dream college was one of the best things that's ever happened to me.
And I'm pretty sure that one of the reasons God didn't send me there is so that I could discover for myself that Love is a good thing.
So I thought I'd share the words to Andrew Peterson's song, partly because they tell my story, and partly because they're practically a sermon all on their own:
It knocked me down, it dragged me out, it left me there for dead.
It took all the freedom I wanted and gave me something else instead.
It blew my mind, it bled me dry, it hit me like a long goodbye,
And nobody here knows better than I that it's a good thing.
Love is a good thing.
It'll fall like rain on your parade,
Laugh at the plans that you tried to make,
It'll wear you down till your heart just breaks
And it's a good thing.
Love is a good thing.
It'll wake you up in the middle of the night, it'll take just a little too much.
It'll burn you like a cinder till you're tender to the touch.
It'll chase you down, and swallow you whole, it'll make your blood run hot and cold.
Like a thief in the night it'll steal your soul, and that's a good thing.
Love is a good thing.
It'll follow you down to the ruin of your great divide,
Open the wounds that you tried to hide.
And there in the rubble of the heart that died
You'll find a good thing.
Cause love is a good thing.
Oh love is a good thing.
Ooo, take cover,
Ooo, the end is near.
Ooo, take cover,
But do not fear,
Do not fear.
Cause it'll break your will, it'll change your mind,
Loose all the chains of the ties that bind.
If you're lucky you'll never make it out alive, and that's a good thing.
Love is a good thing.
It can hurt like a blast from a hand grenade
When all that used to matter is blown away.
There in the middle of the mess it made you'll find a good thing.
Yes, it's worth every penny of the price you pay. It's a good thing.
Love is a good thing --(Ooo, take cover,)
Love is a good thing --(Ooo, the end is near,)
Oh love is a good thing --(Ooo, take cover.)
Do not fear.
I bought a song last summer by Andrew Peterson called "Love is a Good Thing." It seemed like a nice song, but I only partially understood it. However, it wasn't until about a month ago that I realized how profound and pertinent this song really is. Looking back, I feel like I can specifically relate to almost every phrase in this song. It's all happened to me. And it's probably all happened to you. Maybe even worse.
But I can tell you right now, after everything I've been through, that Love is a good thing. It is not always a fluffy thing. It is not always an easy thing. It is not always a gentle thing.
But it is always a good thing.
Awhile ago, I was talking about a great traveling opportunity and someone said, "Maybe that's why God didn't want you to go to Hillsdale."
I blinked in surprise. I really appreciated their thoughtfulness in trying to find the "good" out of what seemed last summer like a bad thing, but did they think I still needed that? I already know why God didn't send me to Hillsdale. It's complicated to explain, but I can say now that not going to my dream college was one of the best things that's ever happened to me.
And I'm pretty sure that one of the reasons God didn't send me there is so that I could discover for myself that Love is a good thing.
So I thought I'd share the words to Andrew Peterson's song, partly because they tell my story, and partly because they're practically a sermon all on their own:
It knocked me down, it dragged me out, it left me there for dead.
It took all the freedom I wanted and gave me something else instead.
It blew my mind, it bled me dry, it hit me like a long goodbye,
And nobody here knows better than I that it's a good thing.
Love is a good thing.
It'll fall like rain on your parade,
Laugh at the plans that you tried to make,
It'll wear you down till your heart just breaks
And it's a good thing.
Love is a good thing.
It'll wake you up in the middle of the night, it'll take just a little too much.
It'll burn you like a cinder till you're tender to the touch.
It'll chase you down, and swallow you whole, it'll make your blood run hot and cold.
Like a thief in the night it'll steal your soul, and that's a good thing.
Love is a good thing.
It'll follow you down to the ruin of your great divide,
Open the wounds that you tried to hide.
And there in the rubble of the heart that died
You'll find a good thing.
Cause love is a good thing.
Oh love is a good thing.
Ooo, take cover,
Ooo, the end is near.
Ooo, take cover,
But do not fear,
Do not fear.
Cause it'll break your will, it'll change your mind,
Loose all the chains of the ties that bind.
If you're lucky you'll never make it out alive, and that's a good thing.
Love is a good thing.
It can hurt like a blast from a hand grenade
When all that used to matter is blown away.
There in the middle of the mess it made you'll find a good thing.
Yes, it's worth every penny of the price you pay. It's a good thing.
Love is a good thing --(Ooo, take cover,)
Love is a good thing --(Ooo, the end is near,)
Oh love is a good thing --(Ooo, take cover.)
Do not fear.
Friday, May 24, 2013
Spiritual gifts illustrated
I'm amused by the fact that our personalities are not the only motivational factor in our behavior. Spiritual gifts really do have an effect. Now, I'm not going to take the time to explain the personality-type system I use or the spiritual gift system. But I'll tell you that one spiritual gift is Mercy, which basically just wants everybody to be happy and tends to feel for and sympathize with others. Another spiritual gift is Prophet, which is a gift that clearly sees right and wrong in black and white terms and often has no problem saying so.
Classic illustration:
Carlee is a Prophet. She has a lot of Melancholic personality like I do, but she is certainly a prophet.
I am a Mercy.
Mariah, who has a personality quite different from what Carlee and I have, is also a Mercy.
The three of us are sitting in the cold, pitchy church building in the middle of winter. We've just finished playing a game of Sardines in the dark, and we're enjoying the silence, the silvery light gently pouring through the window, and each other's company. Carlee then tells us how creepy it was going up the church stairs in the inky blackness. It was quite scary, and it made her think of demons.
"Awwww," Mariah and I chime in sympathetic unison.
"I don't want your pity," Carlee informs us, "I just want you to tell me how stupid I was."
Spiritual gifts do exist, and this story is classic proof.
Classic illustration:
Carlee is a Prophet. She has a lot of Melancholic personality like I do, but she is certainly a prophet.
I am a Mercy.
Mariah, who has a personality quite different from what Carlee and I have, is also a Mercy.
The three of us are sitting in the cold, pitchy church building in the middle of winter. We've just finished playing a game of Sardines in the dark, and we're enjoying the silence, the silvery light gently pouring through the window, and each other's company. Carlee then tells us how creepy it was going up the church stairs in the inky blackness. It was quite scary, and it made her think of demons.
"Awwww," Mariah and I chime in sympathetic unison.
"I don't want your pity," Carlee informs us, "I just want you to tell me how stupid I was."
Spiritual gifts do exist, and this story is classic proof.
Three quotes
In the past few days, I have come across three quotes by my great-great-grandfather that I wish to share. I haven't verified them beyond my notes to make sure that they're completely accurate, but I think you'll still get their message:
"Miracles don't usually happen through people until they've taken place in them."
"'Nobody to stand with you'! Is the Holy Ghost nobody? Is the Son of God nobody? They, both of them, are on the job this minute. Shut up about 'having nobody to stand with you' and stand with Them that Their prayers may be answered."
"You sing 'Thy Will Be Done,' but you practice it when you feel like the very devil and still say 'thank you.'"
"Miracles don't usually happen through people until they've taken place in them."
"'Nobody to stand with you'! Is the Holy Ghost nobody? Is the Son of God nobody? They, both of them, are on the job this minute. Shut up about 'having nobody to stand with you' and stand with Them that Their prayers may be answered."
"You sing 'Thy Will Be Done,' but you practice it when you feel like the very devil and still say 'thank you.'"
Someone knows us
Have you ever had a moment when you're sitting in contented silence with a friend who is working, and just when you're thinking about saying something, he or she turns to you and says, "What?"
What?!?
How did she know? I mean, my own brain had barely even decided to say anything, so how could she tell? Perhaps I inhaled. Perhaps my lips made a slight popping sound as they parted. If I did either of these things, I had no knowledge of it. Perhaps she just knew.
And the funny thing is, this happened twice in one sitting.
Let me tell you, it was uncanny!
But it was the best kind of uncanny ever.
The next day, this same friend was getting ready for an event. A bunch of friends and I were gathered around to provide female support as she prepared. She donned a pair of black boots and looked around for opinions.
"They look good." Friend number one said.
"They look good." Friend number two said.
"They look good." Friend number three said.
I was silent. Honestly, I wasn't sure I liked them. I love black boots, but in this case I thought brown boots might look a little less stark. But I really don't consider myself a fashion expert, and friends rarely seek my advice probably for this very reason. Besides, everyone else who knew better thought the black boots looked splendid, so why should I disagree? What did I know?
So I kept silent. There were enough voices chattering away that I thought my silence would go unnoticed.
But I was wrong.
"Kayla, you haven't said anything," the black-booted friend pointed out. "What do you think?"
What?!? A friend is actually asking me for fashion advice? I was touched that somebody actually cared about my opinion.
Still, I was silent. I just looked at her, and I looked at the boots. I didn't say a word.
"She's not sure she likes them," my friend interpreted. "She thinks the brown boots would be better. I want to try those on."
Off went the black boots. On went the brown.
"Oh, those look really good." Friend number one said.
"Those look really good." Friend number two said.
"Those look really good." Friend number three said.
I nodded, satisfied. "Yes, I like them."
And with a delicious shock, I realized that this friend can now hear me without my saying a word. What's more, she wanted to hear me. Rarely has such an uncanny experience also made me feel so loved.
But then I realized--doesn't the Holy Spirit know us even better? Doesn't He listen to the silent yearnings of our heart every day? Doesn't He long for us to tell Him what we're thinking and feeling? Doesn't He know us better than we know ourselves?
It might be uncanny, but it should also remind us that we are indeed loved.
What?!?
How did she know? I mean, my own brain had barely even decided to say anything, so how could she tell? Perhaps I inhaled. Perhaps my lips made a slight popping sound as they parted. If I did either of these things, I had no knowledge of it. Perhaps she just knew.
And the funny thing is, this happened twice in one sitting.
Let me tell you, it was uncanny!
But it was the best kind of uncanny ever.
The next day, this same friend was getting ready for an event. A bunch of friends and I were gathered around to provide female support as she prepared. She donned a pair of black boots and looked around for opinions.
"They look good." Friend number one said.
"They look good." Friend number two said.
"They look good." Friend number three said.
I was silent. Honestly, I wasn't sure I liked them. I love black boots, but in this case I thought brown boots might look a little less stark. But I really don't consider myself a fashion expert, and friends rarely seek my advice probably for this very reason. Besides, everyone else who knew better thought the black boots looked splendid, so why should I disagree? What did I know?
So I kept silent. There were enough voices chattering away that I thought my silence would go unnoticed.
But I was wrong.
"Kayla, you haven't said anything," the black-booted friend pointed out. "What do you think?"
What?!? A friend is actually asking me for fashion advice? I was touched that somebody actually cared about my opinion.
Still, I was silent. I just looked at her, and I looked at the boots. I didn't say a word.
"She's not sure she likes them," my friend interpreted. "She thinks the brown boots would be better. I want to try those on."
Off went the black boots. On went the brown.
"Oh, those look really good." Friend number one said.
"Those look really good." Friend number two said.
"Those look really good." Friend number three said.
I nodded, satisfied. "Yes, I like them."
And with a delicious shock, I realized that this friend can now hear me without my saying a word. What's more, she wanted to hear me. Rarely has such an uncanny experience also made me feel so loved.
But then I realized--doesn't the Holy Spirit know us even better? Doesn't He listen to the silent yearnings of our heart every day? Doesn't He long for us to tell Him what we're thinking and feeling? Doesn't He know us better than we know ourselves?
It might be uncanny, but it should also remind us that we are indeed loved.
 |
| "There is a friend who sticks closer than a brother." Proverbs 18:24 |
Glory
"I do not receive glory from people . . . How can you believe, when you receive glory from one another and do not seek the glory that comes from the only God?" John 5:41,44
We pray so often for God to be glorified. However, it wasn't until a couple of months ago that I started wondering where this glory comes from. We have a song in one of our hymn books that says, "If you owe Him any glory, better start that debt to pay." Of course we should give God glory, but it hadn't occurred to me that this glory doesn't actually come from us. In fact, the phrase "give God glory" is rather deceptive. One might as well say, "Here, I am giving you your shirt that you lent to me."
But then, isn't it like that whenever we give God anything? We give Him our money, our babies, and our lives, but weren't they already His?
All glory comes from the Lord Almighty Himself. Humans try to manufacture glory, but it is a cheap counterfeit by comparison. It just doesn't work. All glory comes and must only come from the Throne room itself. The earth and all the creatures in it are merely mirrors that catch a glimpse of the Glory and then toss the reflection back to the Originator of Glory. Only then is He truly glorified.
When I started considering that all glory comes from God and the fact that I am not giving God glory so much as I am returning it to Him, my outlook started to change. I began making it a practice on my morning walks to notice details in the beauty around me. I recognized the imprint of God in the whiteness of snow. In the new life popping from a budding leaf. In the slant of the sunlight on a marshy swamp. And as I put my finger on that imprint, I seized the glory emanating from it and hurled it heavenward--with joy. Back where it belonged.
It's hard to look at the world in the same way when you're searching for God's glory pulsing through it.
". . . I could not see because of the brightness of the light. . ." Acts 22:11
Usually, I think the world is a dark place. And it is. There is so much evil out there that I'm gradually becoming more aware of, and there's so much more that I've been sheltered from even imagining. We also are repeatedly faced with decisions, and we often don't know what to do. Usually, in both cases, we feel like it's dark.
But what if we're wrong?
Yes, it's dark. Or rather, we can't see.
But is that the same thing?
What if we can't see because it's so bright? What if God's glory is all around us, but we're blind to it so that all we see is darkness? Perhaps we're not ready to see that glory. Perhaps it would change our lives more than we'd like. Perhaps we choose not to see it.
Now, I'm not trying to make some heretical theological point or propose that we all become Pollyannas. But I do think that this is worth considering. Maybe God wants us to look for His glory amidst what we perceive as darkness. Maybe He's more alive and glorious in the most desperate darkness than we had supposed. Maybe He wants us to search it out. To find it. To find Him.
His donut is a lot bigger than His hole.
We pray so often for God to be glorified. However, it wasn't until a couple of months ago that I started wondering where this glory comes from. We have a song in one of our hymn books that says, "If you owe Him any glory, better start that debt to pay." Of course we should give God glory, but it hadn't occurred to me that this glory doesn't actually come from us. In fact, the phrase "give God glory" is rather deceptive. One might as well say, "Here, I am giving you your shirt that you lent to me."
But then, isn't it like that whenever we give God anything? We give Him our money, our babies, and our lives, but weren't they already His?All glory comes from the Lord Almighty Himself. Humans try to manufacture glory, but it is a cheap counterfeit by comparison. It just doesn't work. All glory comes and must only come from the Throne room itself. The earth and all the creatures in it are merely mirrors that catch a glimpse of the Glory and then toss the reflection back to the Originator of Glory. Only then is He truly glorified.
When I started considering that all glory comes from God and the fact that I am not giving God glory so much as I am returning it to Him, my outlook started to change. I began making it a practice on my morning walks to notice details in the beauty around me. I recognized the imprint of God in the whiteness of snow. In the new life popping from a budding leaf. In the slant of the sunlight on a marshy swamp. And as I put my finger on that imprint, I seized the glory emanating from it and hurled it heavenward--with joy. Back where it belonged. It's hard to look at the world in the same way when you're searching for God's glory pulsing through it.
". . . I could not see because of the brightness of the light. . ." Acts 22:11
Usually, I think the world is a dark place. And it is. There is so much evil out there that I'm gradually becoming more aware of, and there's so much more that I've been sheltered from even imagining. We also are repeatedly faced with decisions, and we often don't know what to do. Usually, in both cases, we feel like it's dark.
But what if we're wrong?
Yes, it's dark. Or rather, we can't see.
But is that the same thing?
What if we can't see because it's so bright? What if God's glory is all around us, but we're blind to it so that all we see is darkness? Perhaps we're not ready to see that glory. Perhaps it would change our lives more than we'd like. Perhaps we choose not to see it.Now, I'm not trying to make some heretical theological point or propose that we all become Pollyannas. But I do think that this is worth considering. Maybe God wants us to look for His glory amidst what we perceive as darkness. Maybe He's more alive and glorious in the most desperate darkness than we had supposed. Maybe He wants us to search it out. To find it. To find Him.
His donut is a lot bigger than His hole.
Full
"The glass" is never half full or half empty.
It is always full.
It's full of water and air. And both are needed for survival.
It is always full.
It's full of water and air. And both are needed for survival.
Thursday, May 23, 2013
Installation Art
So I made a new friend when I took a visual arts class last semester. It's called installation art. Now, I never really considered myself a modern art fan, and I had never even heard of installation art before I took this class. But I have gained a slightly better understanding of modern art and a great appreciation for this new form of it. Thus, I decided to write my short research paper on this new friend. And, at the risk of boring you with my stiff academic writing, I have decided to share it, partly because I think it's a fascinating subject, partly because I'd like to share my insights on it, and partly as an intro to my own installation art piece.
(I am going to include all of my citations to be sure I give proper credit.)
(I am going to include all of my citations to be sure I give proper credit.)
New on the Scene: Installation
Art and Its Influence
A new member has officially joined the art family. This member is unconventional, down-to-earth, interactive, independent, and difficult to transport. Who is this new family member? Artists call it “installation art.” What exactly is it and how did it get here? Why is it both popular and controversial? Finally, how can it impact the way people view art today? Understanding installation art and how it has developed can enhance one’s overall understanding of art and its purpose.
First of all, what is installation art? According to John Kissick, former Chair of Critical Studies at Pennsylvania State’s University of Visual Arts, “Installation art is that which builds a work around a specific site or critical position, rather than making autonomous objects that hang as individual entities on a wall” (475). According to this loose definition, a museum curator could be considered an installation artist, and the inside of a cathedral could be considered an installation (Kissick 475). Kate Mondloch, Associate Professor and Director of Graduate Studies at the University of Oregon, adds that installation art is an arranged environment where the viewer’s senses and experience with the space are meant to be a part of the work itself (xiii). Finally, Films Media Group’s film Installation Art gives this succinct definition: “The artwork takes over the space. It defines the space.”
How did this art form develop?
Installation art developed through changing attitudes, concerns about art, and
technology. This change of attitude came as a result of disenchantment with the
Modernist view of lofty and heroic art (Kissick 459). Thus, Pop Artists started
“embracing the mundane and the commercial and dismissing the heroic and the
masterpiece,” thereby creating a “demystification of what was once a sacred,
highly personal experience” (Kissick 459-61). One key artist who expanded the
old boundaries of art was Marcel Duchamp. With his invention of “ready-mades,”
Duchamp presented the artistic significance of everyday objects, giving birth
to the idea “that art and life could regularly trade places” (Kissick 455;
Getlein 489). Using common items such as a bicycle wheel or a urinal, Duchamp
cleverly demonstrated, according to Professor and art curator Faye Ran, “that
there are no objects which
cannot
also be considered signs” (46). This new mindset led to the rise of Postmodern
art, which ultimately dissolved the barriers
between high and low
art while questioning the “artistic persona and myth of the sacred object”
(Kissick 462). Additionally, art historian Julie Reiss claims that artists El
Lissitzky and Kurt Schwitters set important precedents by including whole rooms
in their works, Proun Room and Merzbau (xxiii).
In the midst of these changing attitudes toward art, a new concern rose to the surface of the art world. Art enthusiasts could sell and collect traditional art through the marketplace, but this practice often objectified art and treated it as a commodity (Kissick 463). To some artists, buying and selling art debased its purity and integrity. Additionally, as the idea of Postmodern art grew in strength, this commodification of art seemed to prop up the boundaries between “high” and “low” art because of the price tag placed on each piece. With these concerns in mind, artists breathed Conceptual art into being. This form of art attempted to break free from greed and art commodification by placing an emphasis on the idea of the art rather than the art itself (Kissick 462-63). Unfortunately, however, Conceptualists still ended up giving in to greed and tradition by selling their artistic ideas (Kissick 463). Still, many artists saw the problem with art commodification and sought another solution.
A solution arose in the form
of Performance art. Rising to prominence in the 1960s and 1970s, this art form
avoided “the easy commodification of the art object (by producing no object at
all)” (Kissick 464). This production of art within a space set the stage for
installation art.
Another important aspect of
installation art’s development is technology. By the 1960s, the art world had a
big competitor: television (Kissick 459). Artists then had to search for new ways
to gain the public’s attention: installation art was one solution. Furthermore,
Films Media Group claims that the invention of the common video camera in the
1970s accelerated installation art’s popularity as artists integrated videos
into their works. With photography, however, installation artists really drove
their creations to the center of attention (Reiss xvi). Art professor Monica
McTigue of Tufts University says, “Although installation art is often assumed
to be an art of direct experience, it is often mediated by photography” (1).
This is partly because photography allows many more people to observe the
installation after it has been disassembled (1). Thus, technology such as
photography enabled installation art to gain recognition.
Why is installation art so popular? First of all, it offers opportunities to create a great variety of works with many different meanings (Kissick 475). One can use sculpture, videos, common objects, paintings, and performance in an installation piece. Secondly, installation art helps solve the problem of art commodification by tearing off the price tag and returning art to a purer, more experiential form (Kissick 475). Additionally, installation art “has a physical presence” that increases its popularity (Reiss xv). Finally, as art critic Matthew Collings expressed in Films on Demand, installation art possesses a kind of attitude: “It is now the most trendy thing you could do. It’s almost against the law not to do it.”
Why is installation art controversial? According to Films on Demand, installation art questions what art should be: art could be broken macaroni or an unmade bed. Additionally, installation art does not receive a lot of scholarly attention because it is not easily purchased or experienced once it is taken apart (Reiss xv).
Despite these drawbacks, how can installation art impact how one views and understands art? Installation art emphasizes the experiential and non-commercial nature of art, as well as its God-glorifying purpose. Firstly, Films on Demand says that installation art helps one to realize that the experience of art may be more important than the art itself. This is because “how one sees is just as important as what one sees”; installation art helps the viewer become part of the art itself (Mondloch xiii).
Secondly, installation art
helps one to realize that art is not about buying and selling. Art is meant to
be experienced and enjoyed. Not only does installation art remove greed from
the equation, but its interactive nature helps one to appreciate art in a purer
and fuller sense.
Finally, because it often uses
common objects in a room, installation art can help one to see beauty and art
all around in everyday life. God’s entire creation is a work of art that is
meant to be experienced and enjoyed, and installation art can help God’s people
to enter into His installations every day. Thus, understanding installation art
helps one to appreciate art and its ultimate purpose: to point viewers to the Great
Artist. “The heavens declare the glory of God, and the sky above proclaims His
handiwork” (English Standard Version, Psalm 19.1).
Works Cited
Bible: English Standard Version. Wheaton: Good News Publishers, 2001.
Flavin, Dan. Untitled. 1996. Fluorescent light installation. Dia Center for the Arts, NY. Artlex.
Web. 26 Feb. 2013.
Getlein, Mark. Living with Art. 9th ed. New York: McGraw Hill, 2010. 489. Print.
Installation Art. Films Media Group, 2000. Film. Films On Demand. Web. 26 Feb. 2013.
Kissick, John. Art Context and Criticism. 2nd ed. London: Brown and Benchmark Publishers,
1996. 455-75. Print.
Kusama, Yayoi. Fireflies on Water. 2002. Mirror, plexiglass, 150 lights, and water. Whitney
Museum of American Art, NY. Whitney. Web. 26 Feb. 2013.
McTighe, Monica E. Framed Spaces: Photography and Memory in Contemporary Installation
Art. Lebanon: Dartmouth College Press, 2012. 1. Google Books. Web. 26 Feb. 2013.
Mondloch, Kate. Viewing Media Installation Art. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press,
2010. Google Books. Web. 26 Feb. 2013.
Ran, Faye. A History of Installation Art and the Development of New Art Forms. New York:
Peter Lang Publishing, Inc., 2009. 46. Google Books. Web. 27 Feb. 2013.
Reiss, Julie H. From Margin to Center: The Spaces of Installation Art. Cambridge: MIT Press,
2001. Google Books. Web. 26 Feb. 2013.
Schwitters, Kurt. The Hanover Merzbau. 1923-1936. Installation. Hanover, England. Merzbarn.
Web. 26 Feb. 2013.
Steiner, Gerda, and Jorg Lenzlinger. Falling Garden. 2003. Installation. Venice, Italy. The Artful
Desperado. Web. 26 Feb. 2013.
And so, if I haven't utterly lost you yet, I will share the installation art that I did.
I took approximately 290 Crayola crayons and hung them in color-coordinated patterns from the ceiling.
A new member has officially joined the art family. This member is unconventional, down-to-earth, interactive, independent, and difficult to transport. Who is this new family member? Artists call it “installation art.” What exactly is it and how did it get here? Why is it both popular and controversial? Finally, how can it impact the way people view art today? Understanding installation art and how it has developed can enhance one’s overall understanding of art and its purpose.
First of all, what is installation art? According to John Kissick, former Chair of Critical Studies at Pennsylvania State’s University of Visual Arts, “Installation art is that which builds a work around a specific site or critical position, rather than making autonomous objects that hang as individual entities on a wall” (475). According to this loose definition, a museum curator could be considered an installation artist, and the inside of a cathedral could be considered an installation (Kissick 475). Kate Mondloch, Associate Professor and Director of Graduate Studies at the University of Oregon, adds that installation art is an arranged environment where the viewer’s senses and experience with the space are meant to be a part of the work itself (xiii). Finally, Films Media Group’s film Installation Art gives this succinct definition: “The artwork takes over the space. It defines the space.”
 |
| Fig. 1. Kurt Schwitters. The Hanover Merzbau, Hanover, England. |
 |
|
Fig. 2. Yayoi Kusama, Fireflies on Water,
Whitney Museum of
American Art, NY.
|
In the midst of these changing attitudes toward art, a new concern rose to the surface of the art world. Art enthusiasts could sell and collect traditional art through the marketplace, but this practice often objectified art and treated it as a commodity (Kissick 463). To some artists, buying and selling art debased its purity and integrity. Additionally, as the idea of Postmodern art grew in strength, this commodification of art seemed to prop up the boundaries between “high” and “low” art because of the price tag placed on each piece. With these concerns in mind, artists breathed Conceptual art into being. This form of art attempted to break free from greed and art commodification by placing an emphasis on the idea of the art rather than the art itself (Kissick 462-63). Unfortunately, however, Conceptualists still ended up giving in to greed and tradition by selling their artistic ideas (Kissick 463). Still, many artists saw the problem with art commodification and sought another solution.
 |
| Fig. 3. Dan Flavin, Untitled, Dia Center for the Arts, NY. |
Why is installation art so popular? First of all, it offers opportunities to create a great variety of works with many different meanings (Kissick 475). One can use sculpture, videos, common objects, paintings, and performance in an installation piece. Secondly, installation art helps solve the problem of art commodification by tearing off the price tag and returning art to a purer, more experiential form (Kissick 475). Additionally, installation art “has a physical presence” that increases its popularity (Reiss xv). Finally, as art critic Matthew Collings expressed in Films on Demand, installation art possesses a kind of attitude: “It is now the most trendy thing you could do. It’s almost against the law not to do it.”
Why is installation art controversial? According to Films on Demand, installation art questions what art should be: art could be broken macaroni or an unmade bed. Additionally, installation art does not receive a lot of scholarly attention because it is not easily purchased or experienced once it is taken apart (Reiss xv).
Despite these drawbacks, how can installation art impact how one views and understands art? Installation art emphasizes the experiential and non-commercial nature of art, as well as its God-glorifying purpose. Firstly, Films on Demand says that installation art helps one to realize that the experience of art may be more important than the art itself. This is because “how one sees is just as important as what one sees”; installation art helps the viewer become part of the art itself (Mondloch xiii).
 |
Fig. 4. Gerda Steiner and Jorg Lenzlinger,
Falling Garden, Venice, Italy.
|
Bible: English Standard Version. Wheaton: Good News Publishers, 2001.
Flavin, Dan. Untitled. 1996. Fluorescent light installation. Dia Center for the Arts, NY. Artlex.
Web. 26 Feb. 2013.
Getlein, Mark. Living with Art. 9th ed. New York: McGraw Hill, 2010. 489. Print.
Installation Art. Films Media Group, 2000. Film. Films On Demand. Web. 26 Feb. 2013.
Kissick, John. Art Context and Criticism. 2nd ed. London: Brown and Benchmark Publishers,
1996. 455-75. Print.
Kusama, Yayoi. Fireflies on Water. 2002. Mirror, plexiglass, 150 lights, and water. Whitney
Museum of American Art, NY. Whitney. Web. 26 Feb. 2013.
McTighe, Monica E. Framed Spaces: Photography and Memory in Contemporary Installation
Art. Lebanon: Dartmouth College Press, 2012. 1. Google Books. Web. 26 Feb. 2013.
Mondloch, Kate. Viewing Media Installation Art. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press,
2010. Google Books. Web. 26 Feb. 2013.
Ran, Faye. A History of Installation Art and the Development of New Art Forms. New York:
Peter Lang Publishing, Inc., 2009. 46. Google Books. Web. 27 Feb. 2013.
Reiss, Julie H. From Margin to Center: The Spaces of Installation Art. Cambridge: MIT Press,
2001. Google Books. Web. 26 Feb. 2013.
Schwitters, Kurt. The Hanover Merzbau. 1923-1936. Installation. Hanover, England. Merzbarn.
Web. 26 Feb. 2013.
Steiner, Gerda, and Jorg Lenzlinger. Falling Garden. 2003. Installation. Venice, Italy. The Artful
Desperado. Web. 26 Feb. 2013.
And so, if I haven't utterly lost you yet, I will share the installation art that I did.
Incidentally, I also dipped the ends of the crayons in glow-in-the-dark paint so that I'd have a mini planetarium. It's difficult to capture this with pictures.
After two months (in which approx. 80 crayons fell from the ceiling), I had to take this installation art piece down last week. It was a little sad, but it will live on in pictures just like so many other greater pieces. And at the same time, I'm satisfied that it fulfilled its purpose. Installation art, after all, is like joy. It is meant to be enjoyed and released. The instant we try to grasp it and keep it for ourselves, it is no longer true joy.
In the meantime, I will dream about other possible installation art pieces I could do, and I'll fantasize what it would be like to have someone pay me a lot of money to do something I love.
But mostly, I'll remember what installation art has taught me about joy. And I'll try to remember that I'm entering God's installations every day.
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
Adventures
Re-discovered this draft of a post that I wrote in January and figured that I better share it even if it ain't perfect:
"I can't believe you're eating inside, guys!" I exclaimed. "It's glorious out there!" Plate in hand, I marched out the front door into the sunshine, hoping wistfully that others would follow, but feeling too independent and excited about the weather to really care.
To my delight, just about everyone trailed out after me.
"We don't want you to feel lonely," a sweetheart, who we'll call Rose, assured me.
The January sun shone with steroid vigor, thawing the frigid Northeast to a toasty sixty degrees. We munched on carrot sticks and soup, letting laughter and wit fly back and forth until the air was thick with it. Sitting on the front porch wasn't enough for me. I had to move. Setting down my plate, I went down the porch from the others and leaped off the side, sprinting down the broad carpet lawn, long denim skirt whipping around my ankles. The grass was still green and young after lying under the smoldering snow, and it blinked awake from its frosty dreams with sleepy surprise. I ran. I danced. I embraced the sun.
I don't always realize how much light affects me until I suddenly have it or realize that I don't. I now remembered that we had experienced far too many cloudy days before this one.
And then I saw it. A dandelion--in January--beaming in the warmth. I picked it.
Reese was struggling. Again. I could feel it, just as sure as I felt the sun through the stone step I sat on. I asked her if she was okay, and she said yes, but like any good friend I wouldn't believe her. But it was okay.
I have said before that I'm pretty sure I'm where I'm supposed to be. Well, looking back, I'm absolutely convinced of it. It's funny how sometimes God doesn't always give us what we think we want. He gives us what we need.
One summer, I weeded flower beds in buggy New England for hours on end partly so my friend could stay inside hour after hour doing secretary work. I hate weeding in buggy New England. My friend hates secretarying. I like being inside. She likes being outside. And yet God put us where we were needed. By the end of the summer, I actually enjoyed weeding. As the bugs swarmed about me, I could feel my character bulbing through my skin faster than my bug bites.
Recently, I talked to a couple of other friends with whom I went to Bible school. These dear hearts always had time for people when we were together (maybe even too much time?), while I struggled to put aside my precious projects (that I barely remember now) and focus on cultivating friendships. Where are these friends now? In college, battling through classrooms and work, so busy that they have to turn down coffee outings and struggle with loneliness (poor dears!). Where am I? At home taking on-line classes, with my primary occupation and priority being people, people, people.
I think God has a sense of humor.
He also knows exactly what we need.
So here I am, studying, studying, studying, and visiting, visiting, visiting. And I love it.
Though there is a price.
"To love at all is to be vulnerable," C.S. Lewis so wisely said. And here I am, learning to love people in ways I haven't before now. My heart reaches out and intertwines with theirs. Reaches. Grows. Nestles. And bleeds.
Everyone who really loves knows what I'm talking about. Those with the spiritual gift of Mercy know it even more. When you see someone's pain, it instantly becomes your own. That's really why I can barely stand the sight of blood. I don't tremble or nearly faint because it's messy. Life is messy. I tremble because I see that blood as their very life leaking out, and I immediately picture myself bleeding for them so that I can take their pain away. So I look away, tremble, or faint.
The same thing happens when I see them hurting on the inside.
I kid thee not.
However, the wonderful news is that Jesus has already bled for these people! I don't have to bleed for them. And so, after requesting prayer from a small company of believers in the Catskills of New York, I've experienced an overall peace. Yes, it's true that I did have a hard time last weekend. My friend felt like she was in pieces. I felt like I was in pieces.
Scenes of You keep rushing through, You are breaking me down,
So break me into pieces that will grow in the ground. (JJ Heller)
As my dad wisely reminded us in church last Sunday, "The first hundred years are the hardest."
The rest is only glorious.
Someone I hadn't talked to in a long time asked me today what is new. Thoughts flitted here and there as I evaluated what he would term as "new." Does he mean something big like going to college? Or something small like enjoying the weather? And yet, in my mind, both events were new and exciting, so I replied . . .
"All of my life is an adventure, actually."
The more I think of it, the more I realize that it's true. I really am a healed adventurer! Lately, Reese has felt weighed down over the hardness of the Christian life. She's right--life is hard! And yet, so are adventures. Just ask Bilbo Baggins, who had to do without his pocket handkerchief. He also miserably asked himself again and again, "Oh why did I leave my dear little hobbit hole?"
But now and then, he thought that maybe it was worth it. And by the end, he knew it was.
Yes, I have had days lately that seemed to go terribly wrong. Days where I was convinced that the Enemy was trying to get at me. Days where I just curled up and cried because I didn't think I could do what I had to do.
Nevertheless.
I have come to be thankful for tears because I know now that not everyone is even capable of shedding them. I am not distressed by the Enemy because I have discovered that I have a daddy who will pray for me when I ask him to. And when I think I can't go on, my mom hugs me and prays her heart out, and somehow life looks brighter afterward.
So yes, my life is an adventure. Perhaps others may not see it that way, but I do. This week alone, I have felt the thrill of running five miles in springy weather next to my friend Jess, who set a relentless pace. I might have had to plow through a cramp I failed to mention to her, but as I staggered into the kitchen, barely able to move my red fingers, I felt alive.
On another day, I snapped pictures of a gorgeous Chinese dinner. I fried donuts with Reese. I played ultimate frisbee, basketball, and volleyball. I may not have played very well, but I had boundless energy and felt like I could play for hours.
The next day, as I snuggled into my sage green papasan chair before sunrise to read my Bible, I felt a little needy and more distant from God than I liked. I read about how God showed steadfast love to Joseph while he was in prison. I asked God to show me that steadfast love and to help me close the gap between us. Rising from my chair after the sun had risen, I glanced out the window and gasped. An unexpected flurry had arrived overnight, already blanketing that young green grass in about four inches of white splendor.
It was time for my walk.
I stepped out into the ethereal land, agape in wonder. Here was the magical whiteness, so clean, pure, unexpected, deep, and covering everything.
Just like the love of God.
God had already started answering my prayer.
I strode off down the driveway, my tracks the first to mar the perfect landscape. As I prayed, now and then I stopped to breathe in the beauty or stick out my tongue to catch a snowflake. Then I saw it. A small spider, the color of a green whisper, sluggishly crawling over the snow. I was fascinated, and I laughed.
"You're funny," I told God, for reasons I don't care to explain.
I started tromping up the hill. "GOOD MORNING, KAYLA!!!!!" Startled, I looked up to see Reese burst from behind a snowy bush and come tumbling down the hill.
It was probably the best "good morning" I have ever had.
As Reese described it later, when she heard me talking, she was almost sure that I must have known she was there. Yet she was determined to play her prank (I have scared her twenty times more than she's scared me) and figured that she would either break her leg or scare me.
"Maybe you could have broken your leg and scared her," Rose suggested. "Breaking your leg would have scared her." She had a point.
As Reese bounded down the bank, I gave no reaction whatsoever, but she had truly surprised me, so I admitted to her that she had "scared me a little." Reese did a little victory dance and promptly fell down in the slippery driveway. I pretended she had gotten down to make a snow angel, however, so I joined her, even though her shorts and t-shirt garb obviously showed that snow angels were far from her mind.
So that greeting made my morning, if not my week (remember my post about how I like greetings?). However, my day had only just begun. After sensing some real help from God when I needed it (this may have also been the day I recalled to be thankful for tears), I decided to go sledding for the first time this season on my lunch break. So I donned my snow pants and boots, and immediately I was a kid again. Romping, sliding, wiping out, spinning, snow licking, face planting, and snow throwing, I had the time of my life! A song from my childhood suddenly pushed itself through the membrane of forgetfulness, boisterously crying, "Boomboom ain't it great to be crazy? Boomboom ain't it great to be crazy?"
Ayup.
But the day wasn't over. That evening, I started leading heart group with the Bible school girls! It's the perfect excuse to have them all over to my house and all to myself. I fed them tapioca, tea, and scones (made by my mom), and I shared some things that God has put on my heart, particularly about being a warrior and learning our identity as women in Christ. Then we dove into reading John and Stasi Eldridge's book Captivating and discussed the importance of not just trying harder as women, but learning who Christ has already made us. All the while, they made posters for themselves and then wrote encouraging adjectives on them for each other. This was to encourage unity and help us to realize good things about ourselves so that we can actually live them. Not in a prideful sort of way, but in a "reflected glory" sort of way. We prayed, we laughed, we wrote words, and Reese read Harry Potter to us.
As they filed out the door shortly before their curfew, I darted out the door barefoot and did what I'd been thinking of doing all evening: somersaults in the snow! I'm pretty sure I did about six all together. It was exhilarating.
I crawled into bed that night, convinced of the love of God. And convinced (at the risk of sounding repetitive) that my life really is an adventure.
"I can't believe you're eating inside, guys!" I exclaimed. "It's glorious out there!" Plate in hand, I marched out the front door into the sunshine, hoping wistfully that others would follow, but feeling too independent and excited about the weather to really care.
To my delight, just about everyone trailed out after me.
"We don't want you to feel lonely," a sweetheart, who we'll call Rose, assured me.
The January sun shone with steroid vigor, thawing the frigid Northeast to a toasty sixty degrees. We munched on carrot sticks and soup, letting laughter and wit fly back and forth until the air was thick with it. Sitting on the front porch wasn't enough for me. I had to move. Setting down my plate, I went down the porch from the others and leaped off the side, sprinting down the broad carpet lawn, long denim skirt whipping around my ankles. The grass was still green and young after lying under the smoldering snow, and it blinked awake from its frosty dreams with sleepy surprise. I ran. I danced. I embraced the sun.
I don't always realize how much light affects me until I suddenly have it or realize that I don't. I now remembered that we had experienced far too many cloudy days before this one.
And then I saw it. A dandelion--in January--beaming in the warmth. I picked it.
Reese was struggling. Again. I could feel it, just as sure as I felt the sun through the stone step I sat on. I asked her if she was okay, and she said yes, but like any good friend I wouldn't believe her. But it was okay.
I have said before that I'm pretty sure I'm where I'm supposed to be. Well, looking back, I'm absolutely convinced of it. It's funny how sometimes God doesn't always give us what we think we want. He gives us what we need.
One summer, I weeded flower beds in buggy New England for hours on end partly so my friend could stay inside hour after hour doing secretary work. I hate weeding in buggy New England. My friend hates secretarying. I like being inside. She likes being outside. And yet God put us where we were needed. By the end of the summer, I actually enjoyed weeding. As the bugs swarmed about me, I could feel my character bulbing through my skin faster than my bug bites.
Recently, I talked to a couple of other friends with whom I went to Bible school. These dear hearts always had time for people when we were together (maybe even too much time?), while I struggled to put aside my precious projects (that I barely remember now) and focus on cultivating friendships. Where are these friends now? In college, battling through classrooms and work, so busy that they have to turn down coffee outings and struggle with loneliness (poor dears!). Where am I? At home taking on-line classes, with my primary occupation and priority being people, people, people.
I think God has a sense of humor.
He also knows exactly what we need.
So here I am, studying, studying, studying, and visiting, visiting, visiting. And I love it.
Though there is a price.
"To love at all is to be vulnerable," C.S. Lewis so wisely said. And here I am, learning to love people in ways I haven't before now. My heart reaches out and intertwines with theirs. Reaches. Grows. Nestles. And bleeds.
Everyone who really loves knows what I'm talking about. Those with the spiritual gift of Mercy know it even more. When you see someone's pain, it instantly becomes your own. That's really why I can barely stand the sight of blood. I don't tremble or nearly faint because it's messy. Life is messy. I tremble because I see that blood as their very life leaking out, and I immediately picture myself bleeding for them so that I can take their pain away. So I look away, tremble, or faint.
The same thing happens when I see them hurting on the inside.
I kid thee not.
However, the wonderful news is that Jesus has already bled for these people! I don't have to bleed for them. And so, after requesting prayer from a small company of believers in the Catskills of New York, I've experienced an overall peace. Yes, it's true that I did have a hard time last weekend. My friend felt like she was in pieces. I felt like I was in pieces.
Scenes of You keep rushing through, You are breaking me down,
So break me into pieces that will grow in the ground. (JJ Heller)
As my dad wisely reminded us in church last Sunday, "The first hundred years are the hardest."
The rest is only glorious.
Someone I hadn't talked to in a long time asked me today what is new. Thoughts flitted here and there as I evaluated what he would term as "new." Does he mean something big like going to college? Or something small like enjoying the weather? And yet, in my mind, both events were new and exciting, so I replied . . .
"All of my life is an adventure, actually."
The more I think of it, the more I realize that it's true. I really am a healed adventurer! Lately, Reese has felt weighed down over the hardness of the Christian life. She's right--life is hard! And yet, so are adventures. Just ask Bilbo Baggins, who had to do without his pocket handkerchief. He also miserably asked himself again and again, "Oh why did I leave my dear little hobbit hole?"
But now and then, he thought that maybe it was worth it. And by the end, he knew it was.
Yes, I have had days lately that seemed to go terribly wrong. Days where I was convinced that the Enemy was trying to get at me. Days where I just curled up and cried because I didn't think I could do what I had to do.
Nevertheless.
I have come to be thankful for tears because I know now that not everyone is even capable of shedding them. I am not distressed by the Enemy because I have discovered that I have a daddy who will pray for me when I ask him to. And when I think I can't go on, my mom hugs me and prays her heart out, and somehow life looks brighter afterward.
So yes, my life is an adventure. Perhaps others may not see it that way, but I do. This week alone, I have felt the thrill of running five miles in springy weather next to my friend Jess, who set a relentless pace. I might have had to plow through a cramp I failed to mention to her, but as I staggered into the kitchen, barely able to move my red fingers, I felt alive.
On another day, I snapped pictures of a gorgeous Chinese dinner. I fried donuts with Reese. I played ultimate frisbee, basketball, and volleyball. I may not have played very well, but I had boundless energy and felt like I could play for hours.
The next day, as I snuggled into my sage green papasan chair before sunrise to read my Bible, I felt a little needy and more distant from God than I liked. I read about how God showed steadfast love to Joseph while he was in prison. I asked God to show me that steadfast love and to help me close the gap between us. Rising from my chair after the sun had risen, I glanced out the window and gasped. An unexpected flurry had arrived overnight, already blanketing that young green grass in about four inches of white splendor.
It was time for my walk.
I stepped out into the ethereal land, agape in wonder. Here was the magical whiteness, so clean, pure, unexpected, deep, and covering everything.
Just like the love of God.
God had already started answering my prayer.
I strode off down the driveway, my tracks the first to mar the perfect landscape. As I prayed, now and then I stopped to breathe in the beauty or stick out my tongue to catch a snowflake. Then I saw it. A small spider, the color of a green whisper, sluggishly crawling over the snow. I was fascinated, and I laughed.
"You're funny," I told God, for reasons I don't care to explain.
I started tromping up the hill. "GOOD MORNING, KAYLA!!!!!" Startled, I looked up to see Reese burst from behind a snowy bush and come tumbling down the hill.
It was probably the best "good morning" I have ever had.
As Reese described it later, when she heard me talking, she was almost sure that I must have known she was there. Yet she was determined to play her prank (I have scared her twenty times more than she's scared me) and figured that she would either break her leg or scare me.
"Maybe you could have broken your leg and scared her," Rose suggested. "Breaking your leg would have scared her." She had a point.
As Reese bounded down the bank, I gave no reaction whatsoever, but she had truly surprised me, so I admitted to her that she had "scared me a little." Reese did a little victory dance and promptly fell down in the slippery driveway. I pretended she had gotten down to make a snow angel, however, so I joined her, even though her shorts and t-shirt garb obviously showed that snow angels were far from her mind.
So that greeting made my morning, if not my week (remember my post about how I like greetings?). However, my day had only just begun. After sensing some real help from God when I needed it (this may have also been the day I recalled to be thankful for tears), I decided to go sledding for the first time this season on my lunch break. So I donned my snow pants and boots, and immediately I was a kid again. Romping, sliding, wiping out, spinning, snow licking, face planting, and snow throwing, I had the time of my life! A song from my childhood suddenly pushed itself through the membrane of forgetfulness, boisterously crying, "Boomboom ain't it great to be crazy? Boomboom ain't it great to be crazy?"
Ayup.
But the day wasn't over. That evening, I started leading heart group with the Bible school girls! It's the perfect excuse to have them all over to my house and all to myself. I fed them tapioca, tea, and scones (made by my mom), and I shared some things that God has put on my heart, particularly about being a warrior and learning our identity as women in Christ. Then we dove into reading John and Stasi Eldridge's book Captivating and discussed the importance of not just trying harder as women, but learning who Christ has already made us. All the while, they made posters for themselves and then wrote encouraging adjectives on them for each other. This was to encourage unity and help us to realize good things about ourselves so that we can actually live them. Not in a prideful sort of way, but in a "reflected glory" sort of way. We prayed, we laughed, we wrote words, and Reese read Harry Potter to us.
As they filed out the door shortly before their curfew, I darted out the door barefoot and did what I'd been thinking of doing all evening: somersaults in the snow! I'm pretty sure I did about six all together. It was exhilarating.
I crawled into bed that night, convinced of the love of God. And convinced (at the risk of sounding repetitive) that my life really is an adventure.
Purity is Power
"Purity is power."
That's what my Bible school teacher said.
I lapped the words up in my first year of Bible school and took them to heart. My name happens to mean "pure one," so the concept of purity is special to me. A long time ago, I once told an acquaintance what my name meant, and she snorted with laughter. I didn't understand. She sobered up and told me that it was fitting because I probably was quite pure, but I still didn't appreciate her response. Purity is not a joke. But why is it powerful?
I read about David and Bathsheba in my Bible reading today.
Flipping through my Bible school class notes on the Life of David, I found my notes on David and Bathsheba. The following words came charging off the page:
As I stared at these classic words by Tennyson, I started to realize for the first time why something so fragile could be so mighty.
Why is purity powerful?
It's powerful because if we're pure, the Enemy has nothing he can use against us.
It's powerful because it's beautiful and the Enemy fears it.
It's powerful because it shows that we know how to use the Blood of Jesus, and that weapon, along with our testimony of its application, is enough to wipe out the Enemy (Rev. 12:11).
When we are "pure as He is pure" (1 John 3:3), our strength is as the strength of ten. Our tough Lance thrusteth sure, hitting the mark every time. And our sharp Sword splits open the helmet of the Enemy. We can overcome the Evil one. Christ's righteousness, His Blood, and His Word can do no less; while purifying us, they simultaneously equip us with enough purity to power wash away the filth of the Enemy. No wonder he hates it! No wonder we find ourselves constantly bombarded with a thousand creative ways to crush the purity burning brightly within us. Almost every sin--even the non-sexual kind--can be traced back to a lack of purity, because genuine purity extends to every area of life: thoughts, motives, and actions.
Thankfully, purity is attainable. Washing our robes to make them white in the Blood of the Lamb is a simple process, and it need not take more than a few seconds (Rev. 7:14). And it is a battle; for some, it is a very hard battle. But why would something be so hard to have if it were not truly worth having? The Enemy doesn't let us have purity without a fight because he knows that if we have it, his doom is near. But since we have Jesus on our side, his doom is on its way anyway.
Never underestimate the power of purity.
That's what my Bible school teacher said.
I lapped the words up in my first year of Bible school and took them to heart. My name happens to mean "pure one," so the concept of purity is special to me. A long time ago, I once told an acquaintance what my name meant, and she snorted with laughter. I didn't understand. She sobered up and told me that it was fitting because I probably was quite pure, but I still didn't appreciate her response. Purity is not a joke. But why is it powerful?
I read about David and Bathsheba in my Bible reading today.
Flipping through my Bible school class notes on the Life of David, I found my notes on David and Bathsheba. The following words came charging off the page:
"My sharp sword
carves the casques of men
My tough lance thrusteth sure,
My strength is as the strength of Ten . . .
Because my heart is pure."
As I stared at these classic words by Tennyson, I started to realize for the first time why something so fragile could be so mighty.
Why is purity powerful?
It's powerful because if we're pure, the Enemy has nothing he can use against us.
It's powerful because it's beautiful and the Enemy fears it.
It's powerful because it shows that we know how to use the Blood of Jesus, and that weapon, along with our testimony of its application, is enough to wipe out the Enemy (Rev. 12:11).
When we are "pure as He is pure" (1 John 3:3), our strength is as the strength of ten. Our tough Lance thrusteth sure, hitting the mark every time. And our sharp Sword splits open the helmet of the Enemy. We can overcome the Evil one. Christ's righteousness, His Blood, and His Word can do no less; while purifying us, they simultaneously equip us with enough purity to power wash away the filth of the Enemy. No wonder he hates it! No wonder we find ourselves constantly bombarded with a thousand creative ways to crush the purity burning brightly within us. Almost every sin--even the non-sexual kind--can be traced back to a lack of purity, because genuine purity extends to every area of life: thoughts, motives, and actions.
Thankfully, purity is attainable. Washing our robes to make them white in the Blood of the Lamb is a simple process, and it need not take more than a few seconds (Rev. 7:14). And it is a battle; for some, it is a very hard battle. But why would something be so hard to have if it were not truly worth having? The Enemy doesn't let us have purity without a fight because he knows that if we have it, his doom is near. But since we have Jesus on our side, his doom is on its way anyway.
Never underestimate the power of purity.
Still working
I could write so much.
Which, oddly enough, is why I don't write anything at all.
Gradually, my world has been changing. Since God has taught me that life is like an adventure, I've come to see thousands of events in my life as mini-adventures. I notice weird things like the existence of color, a spider in the snow, a mangled leaf on the pavement, a tree groping toward heaven, and a rawly red dog's skull, and I marvel (and laugh!) at the glory of God reflected in each one. I've discovered that God finds unique ways to pursue our hearts every single day. I've learned to love some people so much it hurts, and then I discovered that, like an inflatable balloon, God has expanded my entire capacity to love Him and others. I've learned that no matter how much joy people may give me, all springs of joy ultimately come from God. I've learned yet again that I have to rely on Someone bigger to conquer every mountain. And I've started learning not only how to trust God for myself, but how to trust Him for other people.
How can one condense all that?
I guess I just did. But it doesn't do God justice. Maybe, just maybe, I'll share more details here some day. But since right now the idea is overwhelming me into writing absolutely nothing, I'll resist and give you that much inside scoop.
Know that just because I haven't been writing, doesn't mean that God hasn't been working.
Which, oddly enough, is why I don't write anything at all.
Gradually, my world has been changing. Since God has taught me that life is like an adventure, I've come to see thousands of events in my life as mini-adventures. I notice weird things like the existence of color, a spider in the snow, a mangled leaf on the pavement, a tree groping toward heaven, and a rawly red dog's skull, and I marvel (and laugh!) at the glory of God reflected in each one. I've discovered that God finds unique ways to pursue our hearts every single day. I've learned to love some people so much it hurts, and then I discovered that, like an inflatable balloon, God has expanded my entire capacity to love Him and others. I've learned that no matter how much joy people may give me, all springs of joy ultimately come from God. I've learned yet again that I have to rely on Someone bigger to conquer every mountain. And I've started learning not only how to trust God for myself, but how to trust Him for other people.
How can one condense all that?
I guess I just did. But it doesn't do God justice. Maybe, just maybe, I'll share more details here some day. But since right now the idea is overwhelming me into writing absolutely nothing, I'll resist and give you that much inside scoop.
Know that just because I haven't been writing, doesn't mean that God hasn't been working.
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