The youngest of my mother's brood got a digital camera for CHristmas and is going bezerk. Here is one he took of me. I kinda like it. The kid has potential.
I've often wondered where the idea of having New Year's Resolutions originated. I imagine two housewives of cave men sitting together by the drive-in movie theatre catching a seasonal flick about a brontosaur that saves Christmas. "I got so fat this year on bronto-gurgers" the one says. "Why don't you drive home, then, so you can get most of the work-out" the other adds. "Oh, it's such a short drive home, it won't do anything" is the glib response. "You can always start a work out program this January" the other says. "Great idea! I'll just talk about doing it later, it sounds so fashionable!"
What do New Year's Resolutions guarantee? I think I hear more people joke about not keeping them than actually following through with one. Maybe rules are more fun when they're broken. My favorite is when people make the same resolutions over and over again. Recycling them from one year to the next like old twinkle lights. It's not very creative, but it is tidy. Like choosing "Looking Ahead" or "Plowing Forward" for a New Year's Eve event. I think it is the sweeping generalizations that people make about the furture that make me wary of any kind of fruition. All the planning and talking about how great the New Year will be compared to the old.
This past Thanksgiving in Memphis the church minister preached about post-it notes. He said that God was constantly reminding the children of Israel to not forget, not forget, not forget. God made them eat bitter herbs at passover so they wouldn't forget. God made them live in tents for a few days out of the year so they wouldn't forget. There were wells and ebeneazers galore with special names and exit signs on the free way so they wouldn't forget. "Sing this and don't forget" God would say. "And don't forget to remind the kids" He would add. There were post-it notes everywhere in history.
I like the idea of looking back and reminiscing over the past. I'm a rather nostalgic kind of guy. I could put on a CD of whatever and lose myself in the past for hours if I so desired. So to cater to this weakness of mine I'm going to spend this New Years writing post-it notes about last year. I'm going to remind myself how many times God has answered my prayers since last December. I'm going to remember what He taught me about Himself and how well we got to know each other this year. I'm going to remeber at communion. I'm not going to say a word about tomorrow. I know that the God Who has dealt so very very bountifully with me is powerful enough to fill the next year as He has the last. I think that it in the remembering that He builds our ability to trust His guidance.
I think that what I've discovered is called "blog surfing" is a very natural response to seeing a links section on a friend's main page. It must be some kind of gestalt.
But I've realized that there are a TON of people out there! The rabbit hole goes as deep as you have time to read and click to the next link. It's incredible. So many names.
I've met this guy once over the summer and didn't realize (though I'm sure I was told) that he has a blog. It's also interesting to see how many people you know have commented on the blogs of strangers. It makes me wonder how many people have stumbled across my little corner of the web.
Curiosity drives me to ask:
Would you rather be blind or deaf?
I've known people of both types that can communicate perfectly and live relatively "normal" lives.
In spite of my desire to pursue a career in visual communications I have to say I'd rather be blind than deaf. I'll probably tell you why later.
Memories are funny things to take out of the shoe box and turn over in your hands. I can distinctly remember my past. But as I've grown I've learned more and my memories have changed in light of new lessons.
I have a memory of getting my driver's liscense. All the specifics of the driving and written test are there, even the worry of messing up and the adolescent complexes swirling about my head. But now I've learned more about driving through some study and much experience. I've taken a couple of psych courses and know what causes stress and how my body was handling it. I understand a great deal more of the experience now than I did then. I can relate to kids getting their liscense, but I can't remember it the way they will remember it the day after — or as I remembered it when I was fifteen or nineteen.
Our memories are constantly rewritten in the context of the present.
I like turning the memory of the day I believed into Christ over in my mind. I don't recall how I felt about my relationship with Him when I was born again; I had such feeble knowlege, just enough to trust Him. Since then I've learned more about theology, the church, and how He works in my life. I could explain more succinctly the dynamics of positional sanctification now than I could when I first believed. I can't remember how I felt or thought ten or five years ago, but I know that the God who saved me then is saving me now. And I understand in my heart and mind more deeply now than ever before. The things He has taught and orchestrated in my life intensify the memory of my first days as His own.
I've felt inspired by Joy's latest to expound a little on how the working psychology of connotations affects me.
Ethan's car is perhaps one of the most poignant. Until I had my own wheels the maroon mustang served as the perfect escape from the doldrums of campus life. It shuttled us, newly discovered music, and collections of tools anywhere necessary. In a more ephemeral sense it carried memories of trips to his house, across towns, up mountains, and nowhere in particular. It served us well while it could — even if it had only four cylinders. Recently the stallion started overheating and is now out to pasture somewhere in Greer. [Insert moment of silence]
The Kammermobile, with screaming CD player, reminds me of my parent’s 1980-something Chevy caprice that they had when we had first come back to the states. It chimerically carries memories of the entire family waking up at too early in the morning to take dad to the base. Ben’s version has countless nights of clay working, Huddle-House visits, summer shenanigans, sunrise viewings, theological discussions, jokes, and nonsense.
And then, of course, there is the white sun roofed Volvo that somehow survived my driving (which includes getting lost) and the giddiness of three girls back from a friend’s wedding in North Carolina. I’m not sure how much detail is sacred ground here so you’ll have to ask Hill about that one.
Coupled with this car thing is music; it almost becomes a two way street. Whenever I hear an album that was rarely found outside the mustang’s CD player I can’t help but remember what we were doing or where we were going in amazing technicolor detail. Even if the music is the most non-nostalgic composition it still somehow makes me reminisce. It is nothing more than a sequence of notes. Just assembled blocks of sound that carry so much meaning for me simply because I assigned meaning to those blocks of sound.