Word of God Part 2

Did God speak outside of Scripture?  Does He still?  Can we speak His (new) words? 

Speaking is a big focus of the New Testament, though I think we have overlooked it.  Many of the spiritual gifts have to do with verbal communication.  Are those gifts supernatural (spiritual) or not?  Can speaking gifts come from God, but not the words?  What about this verse from Peter?  “If any man speak, let him speak as the oracles of God…”  Have you ever thought about Paul’s admonition to take up the “sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God”?  Did you know that Paul follows with a request that his friends pray that “utterance may be given unto [him]”? 

Maybe you’re like me, fascinated by how casually the Old Testament refers to God speaking to men.  God spoke to Cain.  God told Noah.  God visited Abraham.  He interrogated Job.  Was it like in the movies, where light streamed from heaven and men heard a voice?  How often did men have experiences like Abraham, who entertained God and a couple of angels in his tent?  Was the voice audible or not?  Did God come in dreams like He did for Joseph, instructing him to go ahead with his marriage to Mary?  Why doesn’t the Bible go into more detail about these fantastic communications?  Why do the authors seem to think we know what they mean when they simply say, “God spoke”?  Did they expect us to have similar experiences?  Does God still speak? 

Did you know that the Bible never says anything about the end of the writing of Scripture?  Did you know there is no biblical instruction for determining a Canon? 

Catholics ascribe authority to the words of the Pope (when he is speaking as Pope).  That way they have one universal authority to which all members of the church must submit.  Protestants rejected the Pope because they observed the fruit of his edicts, in the sixteenth century and before, that they were worldly.  Perhaps they also claim that the New Testament does not teach apostolic succession or the spiritual authority of popes. 

But Protestants claim similar things about the Bible.  We use it as the universal and exclusive authority over the Church.  Now, the Bible does mention authority.  It says that men will live by the words of God, and I am fairly certain that the writings of the Bible fit into that category.  All Scripture, Paul wrote, is profitable for doctrine and rebuke and instruction in righteousness.  I’m willing to at least suggest that he had the Old Testament in mind. 

The problem is that the Bible itself also teaches about the Church, and who has authority over it.  What it says is that Jesus Christ is the head of the Church.  He is its authority, to which every member must submit. 

To God be all glory. 

What if Daniel had an Aching Back?

What if Daniel had an aching back?  I tend to forget that the characters in the Bible were normal human beings.  They had to eat.  Sitting and rising may have been sore activities for a man who’d lived as long and seen as much as Daniel.  By the time he was cast into the lion’s den, he was quite old.  This man saw miracles.  He prayed and interpreted dreams.  But what if his back ached?  What painful human experiences did he have to face?  What things did he pray for during his customary times of devotion, but that didn’t make it into the Bible?  Do we only see him in the answer-times, and forget the decades of patient petitioning?  Did he ask the questions David asked, faced with kings so powerful they practically ruled the world, kings who displayed their might, and wonder why the King of Kings did not come in awesome terror against His enemies?  The God of Abraham can produce a hand alone, writing words on the walls of Babylon, but He chooses to use the armies of the Medes and Persians to actually smite the wicked prince?  Running an empire is hard work, and for sometime Daniel was the king’s right hand man; what was that like?  Didn’t it wear him out?  Did he get frustrated?  Did he cry with friends for their sorrows? 

To God be all glory. 

"Word of God" Part 1

Once upon a time I went through and underlined every time “word of God” was used in the book of Acts.  The phrase occurred quite often in passages about evangelism, which of course is a theme of Acts. At the time I was accumulating evidence that if we wanted to be effective at converting the lost, we needed to use actual Scripture instead of our emotional phrases and cute metaphors.   A passage in 2 Timothy inspired me: “And that from Childhood you have known the Holy Scriptures of God, which are able to make you wise for salvation…” 

Having been raised in the evangelical church, I didn’t at that time ask an obvious question.  When the apostles, Paul, the deacons, and all those famous evangelists spoke “the word of God,” to what did that refer?  Did they stand up in front of masses of Greeks and compile quotations from Exodus, Psalms, and Habakkuk to call men to faith in Jesus?  Obviously they did not yet have the New Testament written.  We do have some examples of the apostles quoting the Old Testament to people while preaching.  And there’s the story of Philip, who found the Ethiopian Eunuch reading Isaiah, so he explained how what we know as chapter 53 was a prophecy fulfilled by Jesus, and led him to salvation from there. 

I’m skeptical that “the word of God” could have been referring to the Old Testament.  There are words to refer to those writings: Scripture, Prophets, Law, Moses, Isaiah, “as it is written.”  But Acts didn’t use those to describe the apostles’ preaching. 

Ok, Jesus when He was being tempted quoted to the Devil that man lives by “every word that proceeds from the mouth of God.”  Jesus Himself was using Scripture, so we usually interpret this as an exemplary double-punch.  I don’t need bread; I need exactly what I’m using now: Scripture.  Except, well, what did the original author mean, the one whom Jesus was quoting? 

If you go to the Psalms, all over the place you find references to the “word of the LORD.”  David says he delights in “Your word.”  Does he mean only that he delights in the Law of Moses?  Why do we think of something different when we read, “The word of the LORD came to…” the prophets? 

When Jesus reaffirmed that man lives by “every word that proceeds from the mouth of God,” was He including the words God would speak during His earthly ministry?  Did He mean also those words that He heard from the Father and spoke obediently?  What about the New Testament, which we are today taught is God-breathed just like the Old Testament?  Are we to live by any other “words from God?”  I mean, if the apostles were preaching the “word of God” in Acts, and that didn’t just refer to what had been previously expressed in the Scripture or by Jesus, why don’t we have those preached words recorded?  Do we need them?  John supposes that if everything Jesus said and did were recorded there wouldn’t be books enough to contain them; why don’t we need all the words that Jesus spoke? 

To God be all glory. 

Salad Saga

I've been having salad a lot lately.  I bought the romaine lettuce and spinach and red pepper when I was trying not to eat simple sugars and other refined carbohydrates to keep my cold from getting too bad.  (Don't know if that worked; I'm still sick and have been rather miserable.)  The rest of the fixings I had on hand for the occasional salad.  When I came home last week with my treasure, Mom told me she'd bought some too.  It's in a package, and mine was from the produce trays that get sprayed by grocery store rain, so we're using mine first.  I'm proud to say we've used most of mine up.  But the double purchase was the first of the "whoops" in my salad saga.

The rest are all tonight.  And I'd rather have them sprinkled across the days like croutons over the greens.  Oh well.  I was shredding carrot and one end of the carrot broke off into the bucket that was balanced on the edge of the sink, only then it wasn't; it was in the sink, and had thrown a handful of salad onto the dishes therein.  I rescued a few pieces from a plate I knew to be mostly clean.  Hey!  I rinsed them!

Next I was separating the salad into two bowls, one for me and one for my brother.  A bite hit the floor at my feet.  I warned my cat against eating it, as I don't know the effects of spinach on felines.

After adding the croutons and sunflower seeds and raisins and craisins - I know they're sweetened; I've given up on the anti-sugar diet - I handed my brother his dressing.  Then his bowl.  Then I asked him whether he wanted a small (technically, a "salad") fork, and I had it in my hand already when he said no, he wanted a big one.

Then I went to sit on the stool lining the not-really-a-wall of our kitchen so I could eat in the same room with him and see him over the drink jug like you use at picnics and potlucks that is sitting on our table.  But the fork in my bowl flipped out and brought a piece of my salad with it.  I put the bowl down next to the fork, which had landed on a chair nearby, and picked up the romaine from the floor (it landed dressing-side down) to throw away.

When I got back I grabbed a napkin to remove the dressing, but had to use it to catch a sneeze instead.  After finishing that chore and washing my hands (it's all I do anymore!) I finally came back, and was about to retrieve my salad when I saw my cat licking it.  Straight from the bowl!  I assumed she had only licked that particular spot, so I grabbed my meal away from her and yelled at her to lick the dressing off the floor, and took that piece of lettuce out and remembered this time to bring my bowl and fork with me.  The fork went into the sink, and I got another, that one my brother hadn't wanted.

I gave up on sitting in the kitchen with my brother.  In the living room on the coach, cozy between puffs plus/hand sanitizer and my laptop, I finally ate my salad.  And it was great.  Until I tried to stab a crouton.  The  creamy Italian had not soaked into it enough to make it pierce-able.  Instead the crunchy bread flipped, somehow bringing with it some raisins and some red peppers and dressing.  It stuck to my white dress where it landed.  But I picked it up and put it back in my bowl and ate it anyway.  My dress will wash.

What remained of my salad I ate in peace.

To God be all glory.

PS: I went to wipe the dressing off the floor, but I think my cat followed orders.  I wonder what are the effects of Creamy Italian Dressing on felines?

Surprised.

Are all my posts the same?  All this wrestling with change?

"Why am I not the same as I used to be?  How have I changed?  What shall I hold on to?  Who am I becoming?  Does anyone else notice?"

I don't know where I'm going.  I never have.  When I graduated and people asked what next, even if I thought of a polite and normal-sounding answer, inside I thought of that verse in John 3, that the wind blows here and there and people born of the Spirit are like that.  Except, well, some Spirit-born people aren't like that.  They make plans.  Plans may not come about, but if nothing gets in their way they know what they'll do and choose and who they'll be.  I like surprises and spontaneity, though.

In my life I have been surprised by:
What I believe.
Who becomes a friend.
Who fades from my life.
Length of time.
My own unkindness.
Grace.
The taste of green peppers.
Winning.
Losing.
Being known.
Quitting.
Where I find my socks.
What doesn't work.
Word origins.
What I look like in the mirror.

To God be all glory.

Controversy

If you were my Facebook friend, you would know that I've been in a questioning, controversial mood lately.  I decided that instead of just letting these thoughts float through my head, I'd expose the Facebook world to the incessant barrage of deep or significant questions that most of us choose to ignore or forget.  So I post the questions, and friends comment.  I try not to participate much.  Truly, this thinks-all-the-time writer isn't a know-it-all for all the thinking.  And I have real questions.  Sometimes I think I have the answers, and I need the strongly-self-confident opposition to teeter-totter me back the other way, just a bit.

Back in November I took a weekend to read through old journals.  There were a lot more than I thought, so I didn't even read through all of them.  My object was to see what God's been up to.  Has He been changing me? What can I praise Him for?  I rather failed in the praising part.  Mostly I kept the things I discovered to myself, and what's more - in the back of my mind.  But one thing I know I realized was that I'm not nearly as confident as I used to be.  For my pitiable Facebook friends, it may be hard to believe, but I'm gentler.  I used to take a firm and lengthy explanatory position, with rather contempt for other ideas, about predestination - to myself of course, in my journals.  Except each time I wrote, the position was a little different, and it was like I hadn't realized my understanding was changing.  But I'm not like that now, not as much.  I don't always know the answer, and just because I think of an explanation doesn't mean it's true.

Last night I was watching the newer film version of Emma, the one starring Romola Garai.  For some reason I was paying attention, and realized that Emma doesn't just learn in the course of the story: she grows.  There is a difference in her reaction to correction, gradually growing in humility and grace as the movie progresses.  So not only is she learning not to manipulate, and to be kinder, and to pay attention to the world around her - she's also moving from defending against correction, to beating herself up when she's wrong, to contemplating the opinions of others, and finally, to almost anticipating their criticisms of her.  She's not flippant any more, but she's not stormy either.  The Emma who marries Mr. Knightley is still a bit silly, but she is - I want to say calmer, but every time I think it, I picture her tear-stained face protesting that she cannot marry because she cannot leave her father - more profound, maybe?  She is truly thinking of others, and that makes her own opinions less relevant.

So I hope that I am becoming such a woman.  I am praying for humility.  For kindness and gentleness.  I want to be honest, and to be known, and to be helped and encouraged.  So I won't be avoiding controversial topics.  Anyway, they seem to chase me down.  Just when I was letting the doctrines of ecclesiology simmer in a peaceful slumber, a friend brought them up again, awakened me to more questions - and most pressing, how to apply what I believe.  Next Facebook status: "Do you need a pastor?"

To God be all glory.

Eclectic

For a couple hours we played, this little 11-month-old girl and I.  She pushed her alligator-pond wooden walker (the quaintest I’ve ever seen), and then we read a book of old animal rhymes.  I crawled around after her, heedless of the frizz overcoming my fresh-washed curls.  We spun on the wood floor of the kitchen, and sang songs and danced around the island there.  When we were tired, I made her a bottle and she lay in my arms playing with my fingernails while she ate.  Then she went off to bed and I found a cozy spot to read my book, a biography of Keith Green.

At my weekly Bible study and prayer meeting (which has been off for weeks due to the holidays), we’ve been trying to delve into preterism, an eschatological interpretation that says that almost all of the Bible’s prophecies were fulfilled by the year AD 70.  But we’ve been struggling to really address it, dealing with an email a full-preterist friend sent or a sermon on Daniel by a partial-preterist pastor we know but not really tackling anything.  So I decided to just jump in and get one of the books about preterism and read it so we could have something to go on.  Deciding which book was pretty hard, since my library has none of the possibles.  The internet has websites for preterism and against preterism, and preterism forums, and partial preterists against full preterists.  I’m overwhelmed.  One link I clicked downloaded a book to my computer – over 400 pages!  RC Sproul, the renowned reformed theologian, has a book from the partial preterist perspective that has large samples online.  Nothing is clear.  And I’m rather skeptical reading just one side of any argument without doing a full Bible study on each claim. 

This morning a woman with whom I used to serve at my old church dropped her son off to be babysat by one of my sisters.  Though I was giving up my chance to stop for a doughnut on the way to work, I listened to the little snippet she told of her life right now.  It’s been a long time since the two of us caught up at a corner table of Coldstone.  I miss her.

All night Sunday I waited and waited for one of my best friends to send me an email, trying to resist sending her more epistles of my own composing.  Finally she called, and I took over the cushioned corner recently vacated by my visiting Marine brother, elbow over my head against a pillow and feet kicking while we chatted about hearing from God and building friendships by being vulnerable and hoping when there seems to be no evidence. 

I showed up randomly at a house full of friends last week.  They let me stay all afternoon and evening.  God told me to go, and I didn’t know why until the end.  Anyway, I colored with the daughters and snuggled with the infant son and caught up with the roommate and interviewed the grandma about her ministry, and talked long with the mom and dad, dear friends.  Why isn’t life ever simple and easy?  Why do hard things get stacked on top of each other?  Does even heaven promise to relieve difficulty?  Then we did dishes. 

Friends I made in some way I’m not clear on stopped by while they were in Colorado for Christmas.  We stirred sugar over the stove and talked about disciplining children and carrying babes close in slings.  We pulled taffy and discussed community and humility and risking hurt.  We tasted our sweets while we pondered the bitterness of injustice and the uncertainties of how the New Earth will be different than the present.  Do Christians now have power and authority over the Curse?  I googled this idea and the name Abraham Kuyper came up.  It keeps resurfacing.  People either love him or hate him, I guess, except me: I don’t know what to think.

All Sunday afternoon I worked on accounting for my business.  The government wants me to submit sales tax forms, and it took me three tries to figure out what they were asking for and get the amounts right.  Then I mailed off about four dollars’ worth of tax using a dollar’s worth of postage.  Sometimes I think I’ll give up on my business, but that’s so final – like selling my recently-replaced first car.  The pretty gold Saturn that saw me all over my part of the world for years is still sitting in the garage, while my new boxy Nissan tries to make me scrape the frost off her windows each morning before I drive her away.  Today I refused, and used my windshield wipers and defrost instead.

Some friends are starting a new ministry in Colorado.  They’re trying to raise awareness about abortion by holding large signs at intersections.  I believe it’s effective.  I don’t believe it’s wrong.  Well, it might be wrong if it’s illegal – even though I think my friends would still do it.  But I don’t know if I should commit to that ministry – even though people are assuming I will and counting on me.  It is in-your-face, a line in the sand for my more moderate friends.  And when your moderate friends start to shun you, you get more radical.  I’m not ready to be that radical.  What ministries does God want me to be a part of? 

For Christmas my grandma made a “quiet book” for our family.  The fabric pages each hold an activity: zipping, buttoning, counting, matching – for young children.  My parents will keep the book for their grandkids to play with.  They don’t have any grandchildren.  Six kids, four out of their teens, and no weddings and no grandkids.  I’m the oldest.  I’d like to make them parents-in-law, and grandparents.  For that matter, I’m even planning what kind of grandparent I want to be.  You might as well start now. 

The widows in 1 Timothy didn’t lose their husbands, after all, and suddenly decided to become qualified to be “taken into the number.”  Their whole lives they’d been practicing the good things Paul describes.  Older women don’t all at once learn the skills they need to teach younger women, like submitting to their own husbands.  What does that mean, anyway, submitting to your OWN husband?  Are women supposed to submit to men, because Adam was formed first?  What happens when women call men men, expect them to be men, and patiently let them live up to that name? 

After Christmas I mailed away “New Year’s gifts” to my friends on either coast of the US.  They’re all newly married, and it is still quite hard for me to imagine.  What does married mean, and what does it look like, and are they thriving, and is it hard?  Do my recipe books help?  What about The Prodigal God?  The friend I sent it to called me up asking what the book said about him, and how should he respond?  How do you really be a friend from thousands of miles away? 

I didn’t mail any gifts to my three friends in Africa.  Even mailing an empty box would have cost a fortune.  I was going to mail them an empty box, so that they could, in the spirit of Calvin’s transmogrifier, turn it into a teletransporter.  Then they could come home sooner than the three months they’re planning on.  They’re at an orphanage falling in love with kids and trying to be bold for Jesus.  I don’t begrudge them; I do miss them.

To get out of the house after Christmas I went to the thrift store – two days in a row!  And I bought a bunch of new clothes for 2011 that I love.  The next day, I went back.  Mom was going, so I figured I would just go along, and not spend any money, but you know I did.  I found a collapsible silicon over-sink strainer that is quite beautiful.  And there was this wire basket thing that you cook pasta or vegetables in, which I’d just seen on TV and wanted to try.  (When vegetables are easier to cook, it’s a lot more likely I’ll eat them.)  I found some Keith Green albums with booklets, and I’m too young to have heard any of his music; besides, my mom thinks he’s weird.  And there was a book for grown ups by AA Milne, and the first chapter of the first short story was so good that I read it out loud on the floor of my kitchen on New Year’s Eve, but it’s rather confusing out loud, like a play without directions.  I also purchased an organizer-bag for all my scrapbooking gizmos and accessories. 

There’s a coupon for a two-dollar dessert at an Italian place called Maggiano’s burning a hole in my purse.  Going alone would just be so silly, so I haven’t yet.  When I’m down there I have to return some items to JC Penney’s that I didn’t need for Christmas.   I also need a buddy to go see Tangled, a movie I haven’t seen and am rather conflicted about.  Everyone says it’s cute.  Some people say it is wholesome.  Others say it’s the same old song from Disney about girl-power and following your heart.  Personally, it’s the ninja-hair that has me worried.  I’ve polled my friends on Facebook who saw and liked the film, whether they saw it in 3D or not.  So far I haven’t even seen a 3D movie, a record I’m rather proud of. 

I’m stopping in at all the grocery stores in the area looking for a new source for large containers of chai latte mix.  Mom looked it up online and found a recipe for making our own.  I did find a cinnamon grinder (grinders are one of my new favorite things for the kitchen) the other day that I’m eager to try.  I use the chai for flavor, warmth, and energy, so it goes quickly.  I’ve needed warmth lately, layering into skirts made from blankets and flannel lined jeans and different sweaters and overcoats (wool, down-filled, leather) to stand outside sidewalk counseling.  Even inside I’ve needed my slippers and microwave-heated rice bags to stay cozy.  The snow stopped five days ago, but everywhere we go we still crunch through it. 

A blogger I read reviewed a book about ethics that he read in seminary, Begotten or Made?  Buying this book would cost a fortune, even used, so I found it in a theological library nearby.  Tonight my brother and I are going on an adventure, trying to read the 100-page book in one evening after work.  Around the corner from the library is an all-night Mediterranean joint that we went to once before, so we’ll hit that afterwards for some pitas and gyros, but not hummus. 

To God be all glory. 

Bombadil Day

I was with a friend and her family this week, and her oldest daughter, age 4, was sharing her crayons with me, and her new coloring book.  Being of a Christmas theme, the book was filled with candy canes and elfs and Santa Claus.  We noted together that you can tell an elf by his pointed ears.  Fairies also have pointed ears.  “What kind of person is Santa?” I asked.  But since she could not see his ears beneath his hat and whiskers, she said quite confidently that she didn’t know. 

This brought to mind a character I am rather more fond of, Tolkien’s Tom Bombadil.  My young artist-friend was directing my coloring, and though she wouldn’t let me fill in Santa’s suit as bright blue, she did volunteer the suggestion of yellow boots, which made me smile.

So I was thinking…  As long as parents are lying to their children, why don’t we lie about the jolly Tom Bombadil instead?  He’s quite similar to Santa, and maybe even better.  Of course, I don’t believe in lying, not even to my children, so I wouldn’t lie.  But I want a holiday to be jolly, to stomp around in boots and talk in rhymes and tell stories and wear bright colors and throw hats in the air and then catch them again.  To have good food and candlelight and to collect flowers or dry leaves or other nature-things.  It doesn’t have to be Christmastime.  We can find a dull season of the year and spice it up with Bombadil Day. 

Ring a dong dillo!

To God be all glory.

The Annual Longbourn Tradition of Etymologies of Christmas Words

Pine – from the Latin pinus = tree sap

1. Evergreens with needles and cones

or from the Greek poine = payment or punishment

2. Suffer intense longing or yearning

3. To wither through longing or grief

Besides the classical metaphor using the evergreen as an image for eternal life, I think of the richness behind pine in the season of advent, when we are told several of the characters in the nativity story (particularly in Luke’s account) were waiting expectantly for the coming of Immanuel.

Clove – from the Latin clou = nail

1. An East Indian evergreen tree

2. Spice made from dried flower buds of that tree

3. Small section of separable bulb, as garlic

4. Past tense of cleave, as in to split

5. Past tense of cleave, as in to cling

The tree buds are close together, as yet unfurled, when harvested and dried to make the spice, which tends to be ground, separated into tiny pieces to flavor our holiday feasts.  It reminds me of the Body of Christ, which is the people of God gathered together in one, but bought by the brokenness of Christ’s physical body.  Also, for this reason a man shall cleave from his mother and father and cleave to his wife.  And finally, the Israelites were not allowed to eat animals whose hooves were not cloven (which means split).  It is also good to know the third definition when reading recipes; making a soup with a whole bulb of garlic rather than a whole clove is quite a difference.

Nutmeg – from Latin nuce muscata = musky nut

1. Evergreen from the East Indies

2. The hard, aromatic seed of the tree

3. Spice made from the ground seed of the tree

Mace – from Greek makir = the Indian spice

1. spice made from the covering of the kernel of a nutmeg

or from the Latin mateola = rod, club

2. heavy medieval war club with spiked head used to crush armor

3. a ceremonial staff borne as a symbol of authority of a legislative body

Though the etymologies are completely different, the spice called mace shares a name with the rod or club.  And the Messiah was prophesied to be a ruler, represented by a rod, whose government would be just and bring peace.

Cinnamon – from the Hebrew quinnamown = name for the tree

1. Tree from tropical Asia with fragrant bark

2. A spice made from grinding the tree’s bark

So many of these spices are made from crushing the coverings, either of the living tree or of the seed.  When Jesus was crushed, it brought us life.  He, the seed of Eve and of Abraham and of David, is our covering, our atonement for sin, and when God looks at His people He sees the fragrant righteousness of Christ. 

Eggnog – from egg a derivative of the Indo-European root awi- = bird, and nog- (in the sense of ale) origin unknown

1. Drink consisting of milk and beaten eggs, often mixed with rum, brandy, or wine

I absolutely love finding a word whose origin we still cannot determine.

Ale – from Indo-European root alu- = related to sorcery, magic, possession, and intoxication

1. Fermented alcoholic drink made from hops and malt, and heavier than beer

Given the Bible’s take on sorcery and on intoxication, I found this a fascinating root for a drink almost the equivalent of beer.  (The root is also found, for example, in the word hallucination.)

Gander – from Indo-European root ghans- = goose

1. Male goose

2. Half-wit, simpleton

3. Quick look (from the idea of craning one’s neck)

Partridge – from Indo-European root perd- = to fart (from the sound made when a partridge is flushed…  see video)

1. Old-world plump game bird, similar to grouse or bob-white

That bird sitting atop the pear tree, his name has an interesting root.  And there’s just no good way to explain…

Twelve – from Indo-European roots twa- = two, and leikw- = leave or lend (“left over from ten”)

1. The number represented by 12 or Roman  numerals XII

For a mathematical system somewhat based on 12, isn’t it interesting that the word is just an earlier and, compared to the counting ten-based system reflected in the teens and further numbers, more mathematical word for ten and two?  I don’t know how you learned math, but I definitely learned about “borrowing” from the tens’ column in subtraction. 

All definitions, etymologies, and roots summarized from the American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language, New College Edition © 1976 unless otherwise linked. 

To God be all glory.

Wedding Round Table

I made some new friends this weekend at a wedding.  We sat down at a round table for the rehearsal dinner and had a grand old time.  When I told them I like to read and write, one of them asked me what I write.  You all read my blog; what do I write?  “Do you write about life?” he asked.  Ummm… 

Well, I do write about life, a little bit, but only as a frame for saying something else.  I wish I could do narrative but I’m just not patient enough to tell the details.  And that eliminates comedy, too.  So I write essays and devotionals, little windows into the philosophical ponderings that hit me while I’m brushing my teeth.  Too bad I wasn’t so eloquent with my new friends.  I ended up stammering something about philosophy (one of the top “categories” on my blog). 

And then a young man to my left, wearing a plaid button-up shirt and smart-looking glasses asked me what kind of philosophy I write about.  I got the impression that I was shrinking while his height soared until in my mind he was more like the clock-tower of a university than a groomsman at my friend’s wedding.  I’ve never taken a smidgen of philosophy in school.  I haven’t read Plato or Aristotle or Bacon, let alone anyone modern.  I went to Focus on the Family’s Truth Project, a worldview video series, and I listen to Ravi Zacharias sometimes.  What do you mean, “what kind of philosophy?” 

So I think my writing may be more philosophical than philosophy proper.  It’s abstract.  I can pour out a bit of logical reasoning in a snap.  And imaginative speculation, that I can do. 

And then I tried to think of an example.  I suppose God wanted me to forget the topic of ecclesiology temporarily, though that’s an interesting and frequent subject on my blog.  Lately I’ve been writing more about little things about life.  My philosophy has always tended to the social and spiritual sides.  On the spot, I searched my memory for one of the most popular posts on this blog.  And the first one I thought of was Falling in Respect. 

To summarize, I springboarded off the book title, Love and Respect, which book suggests that respect is to men what love is to women, in a marriage.  And I thought, long ago, why don’t we make stories about “falling in respect” since we have so many stories about “falling in love.”  At a wedding, where both the Bride and Groom have pursued a sober and intentional course in their relationship while they’re both mythology-loving romantics, comparing love and respect and their portrayal in Disney movies versus Grimm’s Fairy Tales was the perfect topic of conversation. 

Our table also enjoyed the pleasant mixture of newly married sweethearts and single but idealistic men and women to balance the perspectives (sort of; nothing can beat the experience of an elder). 

Highlights of the conversation:

Levels of love, beginning with a merely physical, chemical attraction.

The level of love justifying marriage can barely be compared to the level of love reached after half a century of marriage.

Did Sleeping Beauty fall in love, or did she waken to a prince who’d slain dragons and persevered and sacrificed and risked his way into the castle to save her? 

What grade does Disney’s Beauty and the Beast get for the hero and heroine falling in love the “right” way? 

Which usually comes first? Love or respect? 

Can respect be as unconditional as love?

How much is either love or respect a choice?

Can you be surprised in respect like you can be in love?

To God be all glory.