Dying to Self

As I was preparing an outline for the youth service, I thought to myself I might as well post some of what I have prepared for that on here. This is the first "sermon" (if you want to call it that) I gave at our now monthly youth service... I think this one was from the end of December. I don't usually have a lot to say off the top of my head, so I pick out Bible verses and arrange them and then pick my points based on that--I think it works out better that way. At this service, we had watched a short video about "Dying to Self," which is something that people often say and don't understand. Here's the outline I made about it.

Dying to Self: The What, Why and How

What is dying to self?

Losing our “false self.” Becoming living sacrifices. Repenting.

Romans 12:1 (NLT)

And so, dear brothers and sisters, I plead with you to give your bodies to God because of all he has done for you. Let them be a living and holy sacrifice—the kind he will find acceptable. This is truly the way to worship him

What living sacrifice can we give?

A repentant heart

Psalm 51:16-17 (NCV)

You are not pleased by sacrifices, or I would give them.

You don't want burnt offerings.

The sacrifice God wants is a broken spirit.

God, you will not reject a heart that is broken and sorry for sin.

Why should we die to self?

If we try to keep our life, we will lose it. Jesus must become more important in our lives, we must become less self-important.

Matthew 16:24-26 (NLT)

Then Jesus said to his disciples, “If any of you wants to be my follower, you must turn from your selfish ways, take up your cross, and follow me. If you try to hang on to your life, you will lose it. But if you give up your life for my sake, you will save it. And what do you benefit if you gain the whole world but lose your own soul? Is anything worth more than your soul?

John 3:30 (KJV)

He must increase, but I must decrease.

How can we die to self?

Crucifying our sinful nature

Galatians 5:24 (NKJV)

Those who belong to Christ Jesus have nailed the passions and desires of their sinful nature to his cross and crucified them there.

Colossians 3:10 (NIV)

Put to death, therefore, whatever belongs to your earthly nature: sexual immorality, impurity, lust, evil desires and greed, which is idolatry. Because of these, the wrath of God is coming. You used to walk in these ways, in the life you once lived. But now you must rid yourselves of all such things as these: anger, rage, malice, slander, and filthy language from your lips. Do not lie to each other, since you have taken off your old self with its practices and have put on the new self, which is being renewed in knowledge in the image of its Creator.

Questions to Ponder

Can I see any duplicity in my life? Do I ever “tweak the story” to try to make myself look good in front of others? Am I the same at church as I am at school and at home?

Am I decreasing, and allowing Christ to increase His influence in my life?

What are some ways I can decrease, so that He can increase?

What sinful desires do I need to put to death? Are there parts of my earthly nature that I am allowing to live that I ought to nail to the cross?

What are some changes I can make in my life to crucify my sinful nature?

Galations 2:20 says “I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. The life I live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.”

Is my life lived “by faith in the Son of God”?

How can I better live out my life in accordance with this verse?

Silence is Golden

I just read this article on Boundless about silence, and was struck by it. I think too many times I jump in to correct others or disagree with them when I feel they are wrong. There is no need for me to have a retort for everything or to always argue when someone else is wrong. Sometimes, I should just silently disagree, or at least wait a bit before saying something. This is so true of most teenagers. How many arguments with parents, siblings, and friends could be avoided if the person would not needlessly contradict everything said by others?

"Silence is one of the hardest arguments to refute" - Josh Billings

"Don't speak unless you can improve the silence."

"O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console, to be understood as to understand, to be loved as to love..." - St. Francis of Assisi

"He that hath knowledge spareth his words: and a man of understanding is of an excellent spirit. Even a fool, when he holdeth his peace, is counted wise: and he that shutteth his lips is esteemed a man of understanding." Proverbs 17:27-28

Save precious time typing-LOL

http://videogames.yahoo.com/events/plugged-in/feel-free-to-lol-at-this-new-keyboard/1389626

Apparently they have come out with a keyboard that has chat shortcuts like LOL, TTYL, and others with their own buttons, so now you will save precious milliseconds by only hitting one key instead of three or four. Amazing the new things they're coming out with these days. Are acronyms not time saving enough? I think it is highly ironic that a company feels it needs to save time for typists, when the conversations in which one would be using chat acronyms are probably wastes of time themselves. While Facebook and chatting are fun, I am hardly worried about efficiency when I am using them. ROFL. It's really to bad I don't have that keyboard. By now, I could have typed 10 fewer characters in this post using it. TTYL! (Make that 13)

Television: Musings on the Plane

Right now I'm on the plane to Seattle, with nothing to do… I plan to write a post and publish it when I am able to connect to the internet. I finished my Psychology review and cannot get up to ask my mom for a book or magazine because the seatbelt light is on--turbulence I think, although I haven't felt much. On the way to the airport, Stuart didn't have anything to do, and I had just finished reading "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner" in my book of the top 500 poems, so I read him three Lewis Caroll poems, "The Jabberwocky," "The Walrus and the Carpenter," and "You are Old, Father William" and then had him read "The Owl and the Pussycat" by Edward Lear, and "The Raven" by Poe. I felt like I should help him become a bit more cultured. :)

In psych right now we're learning about learning, and I just finished reading about observational learning, so I'm going to talk a little about the disadvantages of television, NOT because I am a TV hater or condemn those who watch it, but because I think it is interesting. In Freakonomics, there was a study done about TV and violence, and it compared the violence rates of different cities as they were introduced to television. When I get home (Tuesday) I'll revise this post to explain all the controls that were in place, because I don't have Freakonomics with me. Essentially, the study compared the crime rate as television was introduced to different cities and found that in each city there was an increase in crime once the invention of the television became popular there. Those of you familiar with Bandura's Bobo doll experiment will know that observational learning could have contributed to some of this, but Freakonomics hypothesizes that perhaps (because TV shows when television was first introduced were not very violent) this occurred because children were spending time in front of the TV instead of studying, reading, or interacting socially--this could have stunted slightly their intellectual growth and made them more likely to commit crime. No one really knows why this happened, but it is an interesting little correlational study :D

I haven't written another poem yet, but I'll give you one, by one of the funniest British authors ever.

Television

Roald Dahl

The most important thing we've learned,

So far as children are concerned,

Is never, NEVER, NEVER let

Them near your television set --

Or better still, just don't install

The idiotic thing at all.

In almost every house we've been,

We've watched them gaping at the screen.

They loll and slop and lounge about,

And stare until their eyes pop out.

(Last week in someone's place we saw

A dozen eyeballs on the floor.)

They sit and stare and stare and sit

Until they're hypnotised by it,

Until they're absolutely drunk

With all that shocking ghastly junk.

Oh yes, we know it keeps them still,

They don't climb out the window sill,

They never fight or kick or punch,

They leave you free to cook the lunch

And wash the dishes in the sink --

But did you ever stop to think,

To wonder just exactly what

This does to your beloved tot?

IT ROTS THE SENSE IN THE HEAD!

IT KILLS IMAGINATION DEAD!

IT CLOGS AND CLUTTERS UP THE MIND!

IT MAKES A CHILD SO DULL AND BLIND

HE CAN NO LONGER UNDERSTAND

A FANTASY, A FAIRYLAND!

HIS BRAIN BECOMES AS SOFT AS CHEESE!

HIS POWERS OF THINKING RUST AND FREEZE!

HE CANNOT THINK -- HE ONLY SEES!

'All right!' you'll cry. 'All right!' you'll say,

'But if we take the set away,

What shall we do to entertain

Our darling children? Please explain!'

We'll answer this by asking you,

'What used the darling ones to do?

'How used they keep themselves contented

Before this monster was invented?'

Have you forgotten? Don't you know?

We'll say it very loud and slow:

THEY ... USED ... TO ... READ! They'd READ and READ,

AND READ and READ, and then proceed

To READ some more. Great Scott! Gadzooks!

One half their lives was reading books!

The nursery shelves held books galore!

Books cluttered up the nursery floor!

And in the bedroom, by the bed,

More books were waiting to be read!

Such wondrous, fine, fantastic tales

Of dragons, gypsies, queens, and whales

And treasure isles, and distant shores

Where smugglers rowed with muffled oars,

And pirates wearing purple pants,

And sailing ships and elephants,

And cannibals crouching 'round the pot,

Stirring away at something hot.

(It smells so good, what can it be?

Good gracious, it's Penelope.)

The younger ones had Beatrix Potter

With Mr. Tod, the dirty rotter,

And Squirrel Nutkin, Pigling Bland,

And Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle and-

Just How The Camel Got His Hump,

And How the Monkey Lost His Rump,

And Mr. Toad, and bless my soul,

There's Mr. Rate and Mr. Mole-

Oh, books, what books they used to know,

Those children living long ago!

So please, oh please, we beg, we pray,

Go throw your TV set away,

And in its place you can install

A lovely bookshelf on the wall.

Then fill the shelves with lots of books,

Ignoring all the dirty looks,

The screams and yells, the bites and kicks,

And children hitting you with sticks-

Fear not, because we promise you

That, in about a week or two

Of having nothing else to do,

They'll now begin to feel the need

Of having something to read.

And once they start -- oh boy, oh boy!

You watch the slowly growing joy

That fills their hearts. They'll grow so keen

They'll wonder what they'd ever seen

In that ridiculous machine,

That nauseating, foul, unclean,

Repulsive television screen!

And later, each and every kid

Will love you more for what you did.

The Decline of Young Adult Fiction

Why is young adult fiction so formulaic?

It's rather depressing how YA fiction, and even children's novels, have been reduced so drastically in quality.

I walked into Barnes and Noble the other day, and there was an ENTIRE shelf devoted to vampire novels that were just cheaper versions of the Twilight series (and don't even get me started about the Twilight series!)

Even Christian YA fiction has become so so so formulaic! It bothers me to no end. If you pick up any Christian romance novel, the complete plot will be almost always be this: A Christian girl or guy (in this case lets pick a guy and call him Chris to make things simple) meets a non-Christian person of the opposite sex (let's call her Agnes). They are strongly attracted to each other from the MOMENT they set eyes upon each other. However, Chris realizes Agnes is not a believer, and knows that he cannot be unequally yoked. He has a hard time fighting his ever growing feelings for Agnes. Usually they end up going on several "unofficial" dates (either they are forced together by unusual circumstances, they are criminal investigators who are working on the same case etc) and spend time alone. Chris talks to Agnes about his faith, but she has some sort of fundamental barrier against believing in God (i.e. How can God allow suffering? or How can I trust in something I cannot see?). Finally, Agnes does become a Christian and both are extremely happy and kiss. Sometimes Chris proposes, and sometimes they just become an item.

That's why I don't read much Christian YA fiction anymore. If I want romance, I read Jane Austen. She did not write by formula.

Of course fantasy can be formulaic too! (read Dan Bergstein's hilarious post on this! http://community.sparknotes.com/2009/08/03/how-to-write-your-own-fantasy-novel). But my main problem with fantasy is authors writing themselves into a corner and then coming up with bigger magic so that they can over come their problem. Someone dies? Now we have a way to raise them from the dead. This person is then banished to the underworld and completely dead? Now there's a spell to bring them back as a ghost... and it just goes on.

Maybe that's part of the reason I'm thinking about becoming an editor... I want to be able to help authors avoid formulaic writing.

"Always read something that will make you look good if you die in the middle of it." ~P.J. O'Rourke

Fat-head poet

Today's form is the triolet, which is sort of like a baby form of the villanelle. It is only eight lines long, but three of those eight are repetitions of the first two. It is a relatively unknown and little used form. I'll give you a rather impolite example. Incidentally, it was written by Charles Darwin's granddaughter.

To a Fat Lady Seen From the Train

Frances Cornwell

O why do you walk though the fields in gloves,

Missing so much and so much?

O fat white woman whom nobody loves,

Why do you walk though the fields in gloves,

When the grass is soft as the breast of doves

And shivering sweet to the touch?

O why do you walk though the fields in gloves,

Missing so much and so much?

What makes this triolet even better is that someone wrote a retort to it. Although it is not a triolet, I had to post the reply that G.K. Chesterton wrote to Frances Cornwell, because it is hilarious (and gave my blog post its title).

The Fat White Woman Speaks

G. K. Chesterton

Why do you rush through the field in trains,

Guessing so much and so much?

Why do you flash though the flowery meads,

Fat-head poet that nobody reads;

And why do you you know such a frightful lot

About people in gloves as such?

And how the devil can you be sure,

Guessing so much and so much,

How do you know but what someone who loves

Always to see me in nice white gloves

At the end of the field you are rushing by,

Is waiting for his Old Dutch?

(Old Dutch means wife.) Now it is time for my triolet. I actually wrote this one rather quickly. I started it in photography class and finished it when I got home from drama rehearsal.

A Sarcastic Triolet

Since feeling is first and all impulse is true,
Of course you must follow your heart.
Even when reason tells you what to do,
Since feeling is first and all impulse is true,
You must must not commit any crime against art.

So ignore all advice from those wiser than you

Since feeling is first and all impulse is true,

Of course you must follow your heart.

Let me know what authors or poem forms you think I should try next. I was thinking (besides the ones I mention in my previous post) of doing a Rondeau poem or following the style of T. S. Eliot. Tell me what you think!

Pantoum (A poetry form)

This time, instead of choosing a poet's style, I chose a strict form: the pantoum. A pantoum is a poem in which every line is used twice. The second and fourth line of every quatrain become the first and third of the next. In the last quatrain, the third line of the first quatrain becomes the second line, and the first line of the poem is repeated as the last. It sounds complicated, but it is really quite simple once you read an example or two. Some pantoums have an abab rhyme scheme, but most that I have read are unrhymed, and I was unable to enforce a rhyme scheme in mine. However, I did decide to use tetrameter (predominantly iambic) in order to give the lines more structure.

I found one pantoum that I really like that I'll share with you. It was the best of all the ones I read. If you're interested, look them up.

Stillbirth
Laure Anne Bosselaar

On a platform, I heard someone call out your name:
No, Laetitia, no.
It wasn’t my train—the doors were closing,
but I rushed in, searching for your face.

But no Laetitia. No.
No one in that car could have been you,
but I rushed in, searching for your face:
no longer an infant. A woman now, blond, thirty-two.

No one in that car could have been you.
Laetitia-Marie was the name I had chosen.
No longer an infant. A woman now, blond, thirty-two:
I sometimes go months without remembering you.

Laetitia-Marie was the name I had chosen:
I was told not to look. Not to get attached—
I sometimes go months without remembering you.
Some griefs bless us that way, not asking much space.

I was told not to look. Not to get attached.
It wasn’t my train—the doors were closing.
Some griefs bless us that way, not asking much space.
On a platform, I heard someone calling your name.

Pantoum for a lost Love

We were not meant to stay in love
You know I deeply care for you.
I knew we had to break it off.
Something drove us two apart

You know I deeply care for you
We spent our time together 'till
Something drove us two apart:
I realize now 'twas jealousy.

We spent our time together 'till
You met her. I assumed too much.
I realize now 'twas jealousy
That drove me to be so unkind.

You met her. I assumed too much,
But you should have thought more of me.
That drove me to be so unkind,
That I weep now, rememb'ring it

But you should have thought more of me.
You acted so unfeelingly,
That I weep now, rememb'ring it.
Your thoughtlessness caused my rash deeds

You acted so unfeelingly
After I told you how I felt.
Your thoughtlessness caused my rash deeds;
The fault belongs to both of us.

After I told you how I felt,
I knew we had to break it off.
The fault belongs to both of us--
We were not meant to stay in love.

I'm thinking of doing Emily Dickinson, Lewis Carrol, a sonnet, or a villanelle next. I will probably end up doing a sonnet or Carrol, because I've already struggled with the villanelle form and Dickinson's style and have not come up with anything I liked. We'll see...

Eye adventures!

That, ladies and gentlemen, is a picture of my retina, my very own left retina. I went to the eye doctor on Thursday, and instead of dilating my eyes they used an Optomap, which has a bright green light that scans your retina. I of course asked them to email it to me, and they did. The doctor pointed out everything in the picture and then told me I have a very healthy retina with healthy tissue and good blood flow. The fat black lines are my eyelashes. The glowing yellow dot where the veins converge is my optic nerve (where all the nerve axons combine to take visual information to the brain). The place where the optic nerve begins is where one's blind spot is; it is a blind spot because there are no rods or cones there.

For a demonstration of your blind spot go to http://faculty.washington.edu/chudler/chvision.html

To the right of my optic nerve in this picture is my fovea, or the place with the highest concentration of cones (which help you see color and detail). If you click on the retina picture, you can see it blown up really big, and you can even see the individual nerve fibers above and in between the optic nerve and fovea. They are leading to the optic nerve, carrying information from my rods and cones to my brain.

The eye is absolutely amazing, and the more I learn about it, the more I am in awe.

Psalm 139:14 "I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Your works are wonderful, I know that full well."

Praise to the Lord, the Almighty

Praise to the Lord, the Almighty, the King of creation!
O my soul, praise Him, for He is thy health and salvation!
All ye who hear, now to His temple draw near;
Praise Him in glad adoration.

Praise to the Lord, who over all things so wondrously reigneth,
Shelters thee under His wings, yea, so gently sustaineth!
Hast thou not seen how thy desires ever have been
Granted in what He ordaineth?

Praise to the Lord, who hath fearfully, wondrously, made thee;
Health hath vouchsafed and, when heedlessly falling, hath stayed thee.
What need or grief ever hath failed of relief?
Wings of His mercy did shade thee.

Praise to the Lord, who doth prosper thy work and defend thee;
Surely His goodness and mercy here daily attend thee.
Ponder anew what the Almighty can do,

If with His love He befriend thee.

Praise to the Lord, who, when tempests their warfare are waging,
Who, when the elements madly around thee are raging,
Biddeth them cease, turneth their fury to peace,
Whirlwinds and waters assuaging.

Praise to the Lord, who, when darkness of sin is abounding,
Who, when the godless do triumph, all virtue confounding,
Sheddeth His light, chaseth the horrors of night,
Saints with His mercy surrounding.

Praise to the Lord, O let all that is in me adore Him!
All that hath life and breath, come now with praises before Him.
Let the Amen sound from His people again,
Gladly for aye we adore Him.

William Carlos Williams

First, I must say that I love the name William Carlos Williams. It hints at the type of poetry he writes. He belongs to the imagist school of poetry, which we learned about last year in English III. Here are the two poems that were featured in our literature book

The Red Wheelbarrow

William Carlos Williams

so much depends

upon

a red wheel

barrow

glazed with rain

water

beside the white

chickens

This Is Just to Say

William Carlos Williams

I have eaten

the plums

that were in

the icebox

and which

you were probably

saving

for breakfast

Forgive me

they were delicious

so sweet

and so cold

Forgotten

Serena

The piano, its

eighty-eight keys

old and chipped

and faded

could still make

beautiful music

if skilled hands

would caress it

e. e. cummings

My first poet is e. e. cummings. While I don't agree with the messages of some of his poems, (i.e. "since feeling is first") I think he expresses his ideas in a beautifully poetic manner. I've actually written two poems in his style. I'll give you two e. e. cummings pieces, and then the two I've written.

since feeling is first
e.e. cummings

since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;
wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world

my blood approves,
and kisses are a better fate
than wisdom
lady i swear by all flowers. Don't cry
—the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids' flutter which says

we are for each other: then
laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life's not a paragraph

And death i think is no parenthesis

i carry your heart with me
e.e. cummings

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

Now for my poems. You should know enough about me to recognize that neither of these poems are based on my personal experiences. I used an e. e. cummings' subject matter (love).

presently, i see you and understand

presently, i see you and understand

more secrets hide within me than a spring (hides bubbling

beneath the earth) deepness puddles in my soul

brimming:less than the pools in your eyes which are

holding the meaning of that first kiss, powerfully transient

drink deeply—my mind knows you

are part of the color rising in my cheeks.

your hand in mine (no raindrop knows the cloud or sea)

this moment time recognizes;but does not know

before and behind:which is not, our need

only the smile on my lips, my head resting (herenow)

in the familiar place on your shoulder.

after the rain when the sky is silent

after the rain when the sky is silent

and i am brave enough to walk outside i think of you--remember

when our minds conversed(and sang in harmony)

i used to waltz through stormy weather with

you(bright jewel)hung in my heart;i thought

i knew all i needed about;the bright sea of stars:

we named at night smiled(because you

played counterpoint to their phrygian melody)

but this is all whatusedtobe

and

not

what

is

the harmony between us soured and diminished:and then

all you left me was your echo and i

learned that the blackemptiness that separates the stars can

muffle(entirely) their song;with a silence louder than memory.

i think of you and try to weep, but i

cannot even recall the taste of your smile

My Poetry Project

I've decided to give myself a challenge. Every day, or more likely every few days, I will post a couple poems by a poet I enjoy, and then a poem that I will write in his or her style.

If necessary, I'll fall back on poems I've already written and edit them for the blog, but what I'm trying to do is get in the habit of writing poetry more frequently. I think giving myself a project like this will be helpful.

"Ink runs from the corners of my mouth

There is no happiness like mine.
I have been eating poetry."
~Mark Strand

"Out of the quarrel with others we make rhetoric; out of the quarrel with ourselves we make poetry." ~W.B. Yeats

"Poetry: the best words in the best order" ~Samuel Coleridge