Forsaking Facebook for benefit of books

http://olivyaz.blogspot.com/2011/03/lent-is-here.html

I have decided to un-follow Facebook
I have decided to un-follow Facebook
I have decided to un-follow Facebook
No turning back, no turning back.
(Until Easter.)

Yes, I am resolved to forsake Facebook this Lenten season, for the benefit of books...and the bevy of other spiritual supplements I have neglected because my friends are so darn fascinating! I want to read, write and run, all of which, in my world, are forms of prayer--that turning and returning to God that we Christians are called...invited...to heed especially at this time of year.

I plan to check in twice a week, Wednesdays and Saturdays at 12 noon, for a maximum of 15 minutes. A stronger saint might not need these planned "cheats," but I admit my weakness. A further-along Christian might also refrain from publicly sharing her private intentions to obey the call to prayer and fasting. But there again, I need the accountability this declaration affords. (Plus, I am vain enough to imagine that maybe my absence will be felt...at least enough that people might wonder what's become of me.)

So from tomorrow 'til April, I'll have my nose in a book and my nose to the grindstone. This is a busy season, as well as a contemplative one. Juxtapositions abound.

“Who cares what you have to say?” and a couple other under-developed ideas

1) On writing and reverence

A couple weeks ago I mentioned that a “talking heads” program on PBS had drawn me in. Part of what they were saying—“they” being Bill Moyers and Barry Lopez—resonated with some thoughts I had at the Festival of Faith & Writing last month. I had/have good intentions about further developing that notion, but for now, here’s the snippet of that interview that made me say, “Yes! I know what you mean!”

BARRY LOPEZ: People think that if you've written a book and somebody's given you a pat on the back then, you know, it's all—you're all settled, you know? You're going to be fine. I know that if I'm not confused, and really afraid, my work isn't going to be any good.

When I sit at that typewriter, I have to be frightened of what I'm trying to do. I'm frightened by my own, belief that I can actually get a story down on paper. I still have that thing in my mind from childhood, "Who cares what you have to say?" So, my path is the same path. It's still a path through confusion and lack of self confidence, and struggle and embarrassment over all of my imperfection. But I would tell you at the same time, I have seen things that have dropped me to my knees in a state of awe, and when I know that that too is there, if I can find a way to build with language a bridge between a failure to believe and a witness to what is incomprehensible. If I can build that bridge and then do it again and then do it again. I would hope that at the end of my life, somebody would say, "Well, his life was useful. He helped." A key for me, in recent years, has been coming to a better understanding of the virtue of reverence than I have ever had before, and here I'm borrowing from an American philosopher named Paul Woodruff—

BILL MOYERS: Friend of mine. University of Texas.

BARRY LOPEZ: Yes, that's right. I read this book. I think it's called "Reverence: Renewing a Forgotten Virtue." And he says in there that the virtue of reverence is rooted in the understanding that there is a world beyond human control, human invention, and human understanding.

And that that world will always be there, no matter how sophisticated our technologies of probing reality become. The great mystery will be there forever. And it's the sense that it's not yours to solve. And the issue of a solution to a mystery is perhaps not a sign of wisdom. I am perfectly comfortable being in a state of ignorance before something incomprehensible. And it's in that moment that you're driven to your knees and you believe. I wouldn't call it religious. It's just what happens when you open up again to the extraordinary circumstances of being alive.

And when you can open up to it and come out of your own little small tiny place in the world and say—if you try, you know, with typewriter rewriting, rewriting, and rewriting, rewriting. And you get something on paper. And you give it to somebody. And you say, "Well, what do you think?" And if it really works, they read it and they say, "I think I'm going to be okay."

2) Christian radio, classical music, and context

Will likes to listen to classical music CDs at our house. Especially mid-morning. For him, at that time of day, the initial “rush” is over. He’s filed a story or two (or more) in time for his newspaper’s deadline, and he takes a break to do some dishes, load some laundry, or pick up the kids’ toys off the living room floor. Pavarotti helps Will chill, apparently. But for me—although I truly love the genre and couldn’t figure out why, until very recently—the music makes me edgy. I want to turn it off, immediately! Or else escape, out of earshot, to a different part of the house.

I have a similar reaction to television or radio evangelism. (Here’s where I know I’ll have a major audience split: Some A-Town readers love their Christian radio; others would consider it appropriate torture chamber listening.) I genuinely appreciate good preaching—the art, the intent, and the theology. However—and here’s where the analogy comes in—when it’s out of context, I can’t stand it! When I want to listen—really listen—to good music or good preaching, I want to be in a concert hall or a sanctuary, not wrist-deep in soap suds with 10 other things on my mind and 6 other sounds vying for my attention.

An exception is the car: If I’m driving, especially alone, the vehicle can “become” a concert hall or sanctuary for me, and I can hear—really hear—truth and beauty.

3) Sure thing, sugar

Recent sugar limit guidelines issued by the American Heart Association seem so extremely restrictive that I’m tempted to throw up my hands and quit trying to behave. No more than 100 daily calories from any kind of sugar, including honey?? Puh-leeze!!

Diplomat or Chicken?

Tick, tick, tick… Feeling the blog-writing tick.

When I first started “Life in A-Town,” I hesitantly hoped I could keep up with it, enough to post once a week. Now I find I really want to write something every 2 or 3 days, whether or not I have anything to say. There’s never a lack of things I could write about, but I do wrestle with what’s appropriate, what’s “safe” to share in such a public forum. Even with our thinly veiled pseudonyms, I still feel nervous about compromising our privacy, worried that I’ll expose Will or myself or one of our affiliations (work, church, family, what-have-you) to criticism.

Part of me thinks I’m paranoid; another part remains resolutely withdrawn, cowering in the corner of this virtual common room, scared to share thoughts and opinions that might offend some segment of my miscellaneous circle of friends. Am I being diplomatic, or just chicken? Sometimes I think I’m afraid even to formulate firm opinions, for fear that I might be forced to articulate them, or that people might read my mind, or infer an “offensive” truth by some sentence I utter, or a bit of body language—a blush, or an eyeroll, or a grimace.

I know the author of Truth—why should I be lily-livered? I should not! I should feel free, because I am!

“Do what you think is right in your heart. You'll be criticized anyway.”—Eleanor Roosevelt

“The Lord is my light and my salvation—whom shall I fear? The Lord is the strength of my life—of whom shall I be afraid?”—Psalm 27:1

Totally Headless Hermione

This picture is symbolic of the bordering-on-bizarre scenarios I encounter on a nearly daily basis whilst living with young children: Sunday morning, early. Dining room table. Newspaper, Valentine carnation, Duck tape, pillar candle, headless action figure. And not just any action figure, but the brilliant, lovely Hermione Granger, dear friend of Harry Potter, who is dear indeed in the Waters household.

Will and I, like lots of Christian parents, were wary of the HP series when our then-8-year-old daughter Vi expressed interest in the books. We were fine with the fantasy concept; it was the witchcraft and wizardry we wanted to keep out of our children's hearts and minds. But when a trusted English professor at a nearby Christian college told me she included and enjoyed the Sorceror's Stone in her Children's Lit class, I decided to embark on a "campus visit" to Hogwarts (Harry's school) and investigate the possibility of enrollment in the worldwide HP Fan Club. (I was only about 10 years behind the times!)

From the moment I stepped my proverbial foot onto Platform 9¾, I could not stop the reading train! Vi and I began the books out loud together in July 2007—although, I confess, in hushed tones: We started the series while at Christian Family Camp, and I semi-seriously suspected that a camp official, out walking the grounds one evening, might overhear our HP recitation, rap on our cabin door, and confiscate the "objectionable" literature. But no such knock disturbed us. In fact, over the next few months, we deemed very little important enough to interrupt our intense interest in the outcome of J.K. Rowling's epic tale.

The "witchcraft" and "wizardry" were not the sort I originally feared. Midway through the adventure, I discovered John Granger, a like-minded believer well-qualified to articulate my own inklings: that Rowling's work is rife with Christian symbolism and offers many meaningful lessons for readers of faith to apply to their own lives—lessons of loyalty, friendship, self-sacrifice, perseverance, and, above all, love. (Someone we know, Travis Prinzi, shares his impressions as a Christian convert to the HP series in his recently released book, Harry Potter & Imagination: The Way Between Two Worlds.) I realize and respect that not all HP fans share this view. However, the influence of Harry Potter on my family and me has been so intimate, important, and decidedly religious that I can't imagine experiencing HP in any other light. (Kind of like I don't understand how anyone can watch the movies and follow the storylines without having first read the books. I know that plenty of people do it, but I prefer my way.)

Will says I should come up with some clever manner of tying up these thoughts, connecting the odd assortment of items from the picture with my "Surprised By Harry" reflections. However, I maintain that the unexpected parts of life, like finding weird stuff around the house or finding oneself in a formerly feared fictional character, are anything but tidy. I'm leaving it at that.