Airship Theology

Humans are quite small, mired down in pettiness of feeling, of narrow-minded thoughts, constantly backing themselves into corners or staying too long in one place. Like teabags, they steep in the hot water of their circumstances and are forever changed. And how could they possibly see the workings of the world when they are constantly pulled into quagmires by the turnings of the everyday?

I, for one, rise above such matters, mostly because I have my own dirigible to command. It helps to be able to quite literally remove yourself from the circumstances and float, far above the scrutiny of the ill-willers and evil-doers. From here, it is much easier to divide and conquer. Because, as you see, while you and yours are busy running about, following the latest trends, burying your heads in the academic sand, being engulfed by homework or politics or swallowed by the immediate emotional landscape, I plot and scheme in quiet solitude far above your heads. I rustle my maps in the peace of my study and play Risk, in anticipation of my future accomplishments.

If only you would take the time to realize--and really, I thank you that the concept has eluded you completely--that it is not the next paper or test or assignment or interview or even load of laundry that is important, but rather the big picture altogether. Time and again, you fail to realise your full potential and your ability to manipulate it accordingly.

You think that burying your head and heart and soul into a fit of passion will keep you alive and relatively well-preserved in the years to come. This is a complete fallacy. You will have a future, certainly, but a lonely one. Your plans are ultimately futile because you fail to fit your life into the bigger picture, to consider how family, friends, and the Great Master Above will be part of the extrapolation, to look at your life from a global perspective. You have failed to propel yourself to greater heights, from which you could see the great and beautiful expanse that is the world at large.

To live for yourself is to live small. And there is no future in that.

Far above you,
Captain Esmon Cloudcutter

A First Sentence

Psalm 22 is arguably one of the most famous psalms in the Bible, partly because of its endorsement by the main man himself, Jesus Christ.

I know. This is no way to begin a Bible paper.

Punches, Papers, and Impeccable People

The last few days have been lazy autumn days. It was surprisingly warm today, though it rained buckets in the afternoon. After poetry class, I went to the library to borrow commentary books on the Psalms. When I looked up from the web catalogue, the trees outside were obscured by sheets of rain. Tucked away in the library, I had never heard it descend, a completely silent rain. This is the view from my window.

I have been very unproductive this weekend. At most, I washed the dishes, and on Saturday, my building's keeper Michael organized a game day. I and a group of boys (no girls--except for Sam--showed up) played table tennis and Mario Kart. I was feeling pretty good about losing, until Micah tells me he has been playing with his left hand because he hurt his right arm in the gym. So much for self-confidence.

Thanksgiving is coming up. In Singapore, my mother and I would begin such a day with peeling potatoes and making yam and marshmallow pie and green bean casserole and opening cans of raspberry jam and, of course, roasting the turkey. And then this Swedish missionary family would sit down with their old Singaporean friends and eat a true blue American Thanksgiving Day meal, finishing the day with coffee, cake, and red-wrappered Daim pieces, bought from IKEA and poured into our green plastic breakfast bowls.

However, as I am not with my family, I have found other means of celebration. I am going to go visit Janelle's parents for Thanksgiving, who have offered their home for poor, wandering international college students who have no place to turn. I would have gone with the Czaplickis, but they were leaving early for Illinois, and I couldn't find it in my heart to skip two days of school. Especially now that things are narrowing and rushing even faster than before, like a great, broad, lazy river begins to taper as the banks dig deeper into it.

There will be a mad rush for the end.

(There will also be blood. In karate, I have so far managed to smack a few people in the face and stomach with flailing limbs. I dare not think about the final exam.)

I went to an Episcopalian church on Sunday. I did not grow up with liturgy. But I like this church.

Crumpet, anyone?

There are five love languages. Five ways in which you express love.

1. Gift-giving ("A dictionary? For me? How kind!")

2. Words of encouragement ("Did you know that I have always admired your ability to be a good hostess?")

3. Acts of kindness ("Yes. That's right. I did clean the entire house for you.")

4. Physical touch ("Hug me! My daily quota hasn't been filled!")

5. Time ("Let's go get some hot chocolate and talk.")

You don't necessarily give love in the same way you feel loved. My friend Melissa loves to give presents, but doesn't necessarily like getting them. As for myself--well, I'm not telling you. That way you'll just have occasionally drop by and spend time with me, shower me with gifts, hugs, kind words, and do my laundry on a weekly basis.

Waiting for winter.

The Thought of You and You and You

I have not written for quite some time, and I feel I should apologize, but what purpose would it serve? And what would you have me apologize for? For being busy? For being too tired? No, the only thing I am tired of is excuses--all of my own devising--and I say, away with them! Yes, I am busy and perhaps I don't sleep as much as I would like, but that is no answer to a question nor the beginning of a good excuse. So there you have it. I have not written anything for your viewing pleasure simply because I haven't. That is not to say I do not enjoy writing blog entries--because I do--or having people read them--because oh, I do--but I have not been trying as hard as I ought to. It seems a common mistake, to give less than what we can, to be less honest than we wish, and to do less good than we can are capable.

Truly, I am happy to have the few readers I do, and I want to improve. I shall endeavour to do better in the future. And what are we, without a hope for tomorrow?

I am spending the weekend with the Czaplickis. They are a wonderful family that I knew from Singapore. They moved into the area before I started college. They are kind enough to invite me in for a taste of the home life. And what a taste it is. It is wonderful to have people around you and beside you, doing things, sitting, watching television, making dinner, going over bills. They need not do anything spectacular at all. It is the thought itself, that familiar action that is comforting to have. Their presence is a tangible thing. Lately, my thoughts have turned increasingly to my own family.

I sit typing by a window overlooking the lake. It rained today, which is a first, considering the strange weather we have had. It is still 14 degrees Celsius outside and not a hint of cold and snow to be seen for miles. They say that it's going to be one of the coldest and snowiest winters in a very long time, and I'm sure my body will be shocked when it does arrive. It has gotten so used to this Indian summer--as they Americans would have it. This is the saddest time of the year. The leaves have gone away--the earth has put aside its summer wardrobe--and naked, it waits for the new seasons trend. White, white, WHITE! Big puffy sleeves and frosted lace and and icy pearls in her hair.

I have a paper to write for Tuesday. (For some reason, I have been paralyzed by it.) I must also read Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, which is a wonderful story. As for other things, I wish I had more to tell you. I have been giving my future a great deal of thought, but I still have yet to come up with any answers. I feel that God is telling me to wait. Methinks I am just too impatient.

I have been reading my friends blog and she posts the most wonderful pictures of her life in Sweden. You may not understand her, but a picture says a thousand words, whatever the
language.

http://www.underbaraclara.nu

Much love,
Sanna