God and Socks
For Julie.
I bought the wrong wrapping paper recently...it was for Christmas, but the paper said 'Happy Birthday', so I just wrote 'Jesus' under that...I hope they don't notice.
- Demitri Martin
I've been thinking a lot about God lately.
God's one of those things where every time you think you have it understood the rug comes out from under you and you try to figure out how you ended up on the other side without even realizing it.
Mostly I've been thinking the same thought I've had for a while now, which is God, and socks.
God is hard to understand.
Socks are hard to knit if you've never knitted a sock before.
My teacher Ms. Ragland is a nice lady, very concise, intelligent. She genuinely cares about her students and about our grades and how we're doing, and the methods we go about learning. I stare at her a lot in class because I always finish my assignments early, and when I'm not busy drawing oodles of Young Justice fan-art I like to muse on what it would be like to live as her. She's unmarried, she's pretty (great skin), and she dresses well. She's soft spoken, but affirmative.
She would make a really good Christian (of course, I don't know if she is, but if I had to guess, she probably is), a person who is thorough about reading, about actually knowing what she's reading, about a lot of things. She'd be a killer Sunday School teacher.
I like Rob Bell too, but only as much as I like my economics teacher. It's sad to admit, but I probably would only like the majority of Christian influences I've met as much as my economics teacher - they are great people with great ideas, but their religion somehow doesn't really make a big enough difference to me. I think that's why it's so easy for me to accept the wisdom and teachings of other religions too - the whole religion thing doesn't always factor in.
I think this started when I began to try and pin God down.
Everyone wants to pin God down.
(Here come the socks, if you were wondering.)
Everyone wants to give God a zip code or an address, or a suite number at a hotel. They want to give God names and faces. They want to get invited to God's birthday parties, and invite God to theirs. They want to bring awesome hostess and host presents. They want God to be human that they can buy presents for at Christmas. They want to figure God out. Really, really, really bad.
Because it's easy to buy Christmas gifts? Or make them.
People get crazy about it - they want to get God exactly what he wants , they want to figure him out so badly, they want to buy him the perfect present, and they brag to their friends about how they're going that extra mile to make the present by hand, and God's just going to love them and not just wear them when they go to visit, and God's so hard to shop for so they figured something from the heart means more anyway, right?
God take their theology, their ideas and say: "I know this so well, you won't even believe it. Look at my ideas, look at my philosophy on heaven and hell, how it's so much more than those other peoples, so much deeper and cerebral. I stayed up all night making this, it took me months, I pined and slaved, and I think I've gotten it!"
We all put our gifts under the tree, and one by one God opens them, folding the wrapping paper because I imagine my God as kind of anal like that.
In the words of Jim Gaffigan, God holds up the socks and finds that it's barely a sock, that the socks are all mangled, and most of them don't even have a matching pair, and says "Not even close." in that beautiful deadpan manner.
I've never knit a sock before. As far as I can tell, I've never lived another life except this one, so how do some people claim that they're so sure about everything?
How do you compare God Socks when it's the first time anybody has made one?
I don't think there's a pattern for God Socks.
I don't know.
I think the most important thing is that as I bumble through my life and think about God and socks at least I recognize that I'm trying. I know for a fact that whatever I say here is virtually meaningless, because honestly I have no. idea. what. the. hell. it'll really be like. So, I won't even attempt. I'd rather just try to get through this life with God's help instead of trying to figure out God's. God's always saying about his plans for us, and then, by osmosis or something like that, the God becomes more apparent.
I don't think it has to be the other way around - I mean, people think they have to learn to knit first, and then God will take the wheel.
I think God wants us to stop trying to make those mangled socks, so that by the time we get to heaven and we open the box up ourselves, we realize that he's the only one who really knows how to make a pair of socks, and honestly, he made them for you for now so that you wouldn't do something so stupid as get distracted with emulating them.
This is merely a wandering of my mind, nothing more or less, wrong or right or in between. Just a thought that became a bigger thought, and maybe it will make you think too!
Peace, God, and Socks
xoxo,
Hannah
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Sunday, February 6, 2011
2/6
Building. Breaking. God. Maiko.
It's a beautiful moment when the first words out of your best friend's mouth after telling her what you told her are excited.
"That means we'll be closer!"
Whitney, you don't know how much I needed those words, unpromted.
So, yesterday I broke, but today I'm building.
It's kind of the title idea of this, if you haven't noticed.
Life, as cliche as you want to make it, is a series of constant breakings and buildings.
The funny thing about broken bones is that they are normally stronger than they would have been following their natural repair. The human body is a constant source of beautiful little miracles like that - they give me hope when I would otherwise be hopeless.
The other funny thing about broken bones is when you first get them I hear they are quite excrutiating, but typically (unless you've been hit by, say, a sledgehammer,) really not that bad.
But enough about bones.
The plans I'd made for Auburn straight after high school are being altered. Tailored, I guess. I'll stick around for another year, go to lonestar and get my core classes out of the way, mostly for financial security. I really don't want debt when I get out of school and with the life I've been thrown the last six months, I figure I could use some down town between two phases of time to get my world straight.
Last night though, I was pretty furious. I was bitter and angry and I felt like all my 'giving it up' to the Jay-man had been futile and a complete kick in the face.
I was doubting. As soon as I wrote that blog I immediatly thought about Job and what he had faced - his whole life was taken from him and he was blessed ninety times that again, but I am not Job and I will never try to be Job. Job had lived an innocent life.
Not this girl.
I've done my share of cheating and stealing (figuratively).
If anyone would essentially deserve this, it would probably be me. I in no way can account for the blessings of my life - but I'm not Job.
So I didn't throw confetti.
I was pissed.
My mom asked if I thought it was a good idea to keep that blog up, with all the anger and the profane feeling to it. I think our society is getting really deep into this 'instantly starting over' internet business. If I wanted to, I could erase it and you guys wouldn't ever bother to look for it again.
But what's so wrong with being angry? The more we defect to this instant gratification of high-speed living we're going to start repressing our true emotions more and more. We'll teach our kids to be ashamed of comments that 'seem mean' or improper wording should be completely excused with the click of a mouse. You should never, never, ever be ashamed of feeling someway. I've learned with difficulty that the things i try to 'delete' really just sit there.
And they get heavy.
And they hurt.
So, I don't mind if you think I was being ridiculous or even outlandish. I don't care if my facebook statements are over-charged with emoiton sometimes. I'd rather deal with them in the open.
Back to God.
I'm reading Blue Like Jazz by Donald Miller.
Beautiful book.
It seems simple, but 'truth resists simplicity', so it's more complicated than that.
It's a lot of things.
Namely a guy named Don trying to figure out what Christianity is and what Spirituality is and how the two somehow reconcile.
But it has birthed a thought in me.
I think the beautiful thing about Christianity is it takes an otherwise difficult mistake - an angry outburst, a lost scholarship - and even if it may be hypothetically 'contrived' (because I always imagine God pulling out those socks and saying 'not even close', but that's a story for another blog, but I'll tell it) by me, a stupid dinky little human girl-earthling, it can become beautiful.
I think that's where people get scared. They have to admit the mistake, let the blog sit there, let the words erupt, gotta make the problem happen, but then, like something magical (and not illusion) it is...something else.
A dye in a thread in a bundle in a tapestry.
You've got it God. I know, somewhere in there, this celestial plan will come to fruition.
I want to see it now, but I'll be patient.
I'll just wade through it, like I always do, kicking up sparks when I decide to drag my heels like yesterday.
Or something along those lines.
Picture of The Day:
These girls are not prostitutes - they are living relics of culture. They pretty much never sleep with a customer - they value a lifestyle of feminine grace, virtue, and purity. Just looking at them you can see their gentleness, but also, this strange and almost supernatural (cross-time) kind of element. They usually work multiple jobs other than being Maiko, so when they appear it is only briefly because they are in a hurry to make it to their clients on time.
They perform traditional dance and music and are supposed to be well-versed, graceful entertainment. I think they are gorgeous and so...just...exquisite?
Maiko are distinguished by the mandatory red strip on the back of their neck, on the inner strip of the kimono and the kanzashi ( the beautiful silk hand-folded flowers in their hair). The more red in their Kanzashi and Kimono collars the lower their rank (typically younger and less experienced, naturally). A mature Geiko wears a black or solid kimono and a wig with more white or muted color Kanzashi.
Lots of girls can and will pay to be dressed up as Maiko, but they just look tacky to me and are easy to spot in the pictures I've seen. True Maiko and Geiko have this humbleness about them, this pleasant, gentle, secret, aura to them that is very palpable.
Anyway, something interesting.
It's a beautiful moment when the first words out of your best friend's mouth after telling her what you told her are excited.
"That means we'll be closer!"
Whitney, you don't know how much I needed those words, unpromted.
So, yesterday I broke, but today I'm building.
It's kind of the title idea of this, if you haven't noticed.
Life, as cliche as you want to make it, is a series of constant breakings and buildings.
The funny thing about broken bones is that they are normally stronger than they would have been following their natural repair. The human body is a constant source of beautiful little miracles like that - they give me hope when I would otherwise be hopeless.
The other funny thing about broken bones is when you first get them I hear they are quite excrutiating, but typically (unless you've been hit by, say, a sledgehammer,) really not that bad.
But enough about bones.
The plans I'd made for Auburn straight after high school are being altered. Tailored, I guess. I'll stick around for another year, go to lonestar and get my core classes out of the way, mostly for financial security. I really don't want debt when I get out of school and with the life I've been thrown the last six months, I figure I could use some down town between two phases of time to get my world straight.
Last night though, I was pretty furious. I was bitter and angry and I felt like all my 'giving it up' to the Jay-man had been futile and a complete kick in the face.
I was doubting. As soon as I wrote that blog I immediatly thought about Job and what he had faced - his whole life was taken from him and he was blessed ninety times that again, but I am not Job and I will never try to be Job. Job had lived an innocent life.
Not this girl.
I've done my share of cheating and stealing (figuratively).
If anyone would essentially deserve this, it would probably be me. I in no way can account for the blessings of my life - but I'm not Job.
So I didn't throw confetti.
I was pissed.
My mom asked if I thought it was a good idea to keep that blog up, with all the anger and the profane feeling to it. I think our society is getting really deep into this 'instantly starting over' internet business. If I wanted to, I could erase it and you guys wouldn't ever bother to look for it again.
But what's so wrong with being angry? The more we defect to this instant gratification of high-speed living we're going to start repressing our true emotions more and more. We'll teach our kids to be ashamed of comments that 'seem mean' or improper wording should be completely excused with the click of a mouse. You should never, never, ever be ashamed of feeling someway. I've learned with difficulty that the things i try to 'delete' really just sit there.
And they get heavy.
And they hurt.
So, I don't mind if you think I was being ridiculous or even outlandish. I don't care if my facebook statements are over-charged with emoiton sometimes. I'd rather deal with them in the open.
Back to God.
I'm reading Blue Like Jazz by Donald Miller.
Beautiful book.
It seems simple, but 'truth resists simplicity', so it's more complicated than that.
It's a lot of things.
Namely a guy named Don trying to figure out what Christianity is and what Spirituality is and how the two somehow reconcile.
But it has birthed a thought in me.
I think the beautiful thing about Christianity is it takes an otherwise difficult mistake - an angry outburst, a lost scholarship - and even if it may be hypothetically 'contrived' (because I always imagine God pulling out those socks and saying 'not even close', but that's a story for another blog, but I'll tell it) by me, a stupid dinky little human girl-earthling, it can become beautiful.
I think that's where people get scared. They have to admit the mistake, let the blog sit there, let the words erupt, gotta make the problem happen, but then, like something magical (and not illusion) it is...something else.
A dye in a thread in a bundle in a tapestry.
You've got it God. I know, somewhere in there, this celestial plan will come to fruition.
I want to see it now, but I'll be patient.
I'll just wade through it, like I always do, kicking up sparks when I decide to drag my heels like yesterday.
Or something along those lines.
Picture of The Day:
These living artworks are Maiko, Japanese Geisha in training.
There are only a handful of true Geiko and Maiko left in all of Japan (numbers range from 200-500 respectively from the sources I've found) and pretty much the only way you will see them is starting at about 6:00 in the Gion district of Kyoto.
There are only a handful of true Geiko and Maiko left in all of Japan (numbers range from 200-500 respectively from the sources I've found) and pretty much the only way you will see them is starting at about 6:00 in the Gion district of Kyoto.
These girls are not prostitutes - they are living relics of culture. They pretty much never sleep with a customer - they value a lifestyle of feminine grace, virtue, and purity. Just looking at them you can see their gentleness, but also, this strange and almost supernatural (cross-time) kind of element. They usually work multiple jobs other than being Maiko, so when they appear it is only briefly because they are in a hurry to make it to their clients on time.
They perform traditional dance and music and are supposed to be well-versed, graceful entertainment. I think they are gorgeous and so...just...exquisite?
Maiko are distinguished by the mandatory red strip on the back of their neck, on the inner strip of the kimono and the kanzashi ( the beautiful silk hand-folded flowers in their hair). The more red in their Kanzashi and Kimono collars the lower their rank (typically younger and less experienced, naturally). A mature Geiko wears a black or solid kimono and a wig with more white or muted color Kanzashi.
Their Kanzashi are so pretty ( they sell them at cons sometimes, but they are never as beautiful.)
Lots of girls can and will pay to be dressed up as Maiko, but they just look tacky to me and are easy to spot in the pictures I've seen. True Maiko and Geiko have this humbleness about them, this pleasant, gentle, secret, aura to them that is very palpable.
Anyway, something interesting.
xoxo
Saturday, February 5, 2011
2/5
Wrenches and other tools.
Just when I think everything has finally settled is apparently the prime time to throw a wrench into the machine.
I can almost imagine God standing above the conveyer belts, the cogs and steaming pistons, and he in all his white-beared Gandalf-appearing goodness simply leans over and 'on accident' drops a huge piece metal straight into the heart of it.
Oops - he says innocently enough, Mah bad..., kicking aside the huge pile of chewing gum, paperclips, rubberbands, sinks, and other paraphanalia that seems to have found its way into the factory grade mechanics of my world - all having been pulled out, everything about to be restored.
The machine begins to pressurize, smoke belching out of several exhaust towers until the engine thermometer begins to wig out.
The whole thing shudders, and explodes when a tiny bolt is pried loose form the bottom.
Somtimes I don't think its very fair.
I don't think its fair that my dad decides to lose his freaking mind during my Senior Year.
Yeah, I hope you read that.
I hope you know that if you comment I'll be tempted to throw my own wrench at your head.
Stay out of my life. You've wrecked it enough, so go be happy.
I don't want to go to dinner with you. I don't want your stupid cards.
I don't want to go to your house. I don't want to see you or talk to you or have you text me.
I want you to pay for my education because at this point, it's probably the only redeeming feature I see in you.
I want to pretend you don't exist. STAY AWAY.
I can't stand you.
I can't stand you.
I'll just be here, trying to figure out how it was that the 60000 dollars I was pretty much guaranteed at Auburn is not mine anymore, so how the hell am I supposed to go now? Oh yeah, because maybe while I was trying to figure out why my life was falling apart I forgot to hit submit on one stupid document three days later than I was supposed to (even when everything else was in weeks in advance)).
How do I go out of state whithout that 2/3 scholarship?20000 freaking dollars a year. AND I EARNED EVER PENNY OF IT.
I can't. I'll have to scour through every scholarship available, but thanks to what seems to be some holy divine plan, I am not.
I just really want to say that I haven't complained very much. I tried to put it all with Jesus. I tried to just be mature about it, this whole family thing, this whole 'I just want to happy' shit or whatever it was that he called it.
I don't know what to say. I figured it was enough, that this would be the silver lining, that I would get away and everything would reveal itself. Damnit. DAMNIT DAMNIT DAMNIT IT ALL TO HELL.
IT WAS ALL I ASKED FOR AND I LET MY GUARD DOWN FOR ONE FREAKING SECOND AFTER MONTHS OF DEALING WITH THE STRESSS AND NOW ITS ALL GONE.
Words really don't do it justice.
I hope God knows what he's doing, because I sure as hell don't see how this is going to be resolved.
I don't have a picture.
Go look one up yourselves.
Just when I think everything has finally settled is apparently the prime time to throw a wrench into the machine.
I can almost imagine God standing above the conveyer belts, the cogs and steaming pistons, and he in all his white-beared Gandalf-appearing goodness simply leans over and 'on accident' drops a huge piece metal straight into the heart of it.
Oops - he says innocently enough, Mah bad..., kicking aside the huge pile of chewing gum, paperclips, rubberbands, sinks, and other paraphanalia that seems to have found its way into the factory grade mechanics of my world - all having been pulled out, everything about to be restored.
The machine begins to pressurize, smoke belching out of several exhaust towers until the engine thermometer begins to wig out.
The whole thing shudders, and explodes when a tiny bolt is pried loose form the bottom.
Somtimes I don't think its very fair.
I don't think its fair that my dad decides to lose his freaking mind during my Senior Year.
Yeah, I hope you read that.
I hope you know that if you comment I'll be tempted to throw my own wrench at your head.
Stay out of my life. You've wrecked it enough, so go be happy.
I don't want to go to dinner with you. I don't want your stupid cards.
I don't want to go to your house. I don't want to see you or talk to you or have you text me.
I want you to pay for my education because at this point, it's probably the only redeeming feature I see in you.
I want to pretend you don't exist. STAY AWAY.
I can't stand you.
I can't stand you.
I'll just be here, trying to figure out how it was that the 60000 dollars I was pretty much guaranteed at Auburn is not mine anymore, so how the hell am I supposed to go now? Oh yeah, because maybe while I was trying to figure out why my life was falling apart I forgot to hit submit on one stupid document three days later than I was supposed to (even when everything else was in weeks in advance)).
How do I go out of state whithout that 2/3 scholarship?20000 freaking dollars a year. AND I EARNED EVER PENNY OF IT.
I can't. I'll have to scour through every scholarship available, but thanks to what seems to be some holy divine plan, I am not.
I just really want to say that I haven't complained very much. I tried to put it all with Jesus. I tried to just be mature about it, this whole family thing, this whole 'I just want to happy' shit or whatever it was that he called it.
I don't know what to say. I figured it was enough, that this would be the silver lining, that I would get away and everything would reveal itself. Damnit. DAMNIT DAMNIT DAMNIT IT ALL TO HELL.
IT WAS ALL I ASKED FOR AND I LET MY GUARD DOWN FOR ONE FREAKING SECOND AFTER MONTHS OF DEALING WITH THE STRESSS AND NOW ITS ALL GONE.
Words really don't do it justice.
I hope God knows what he's doing, because I sure as hell don't see how this is going to be resolved.
I don't have a picture.
Go look one up yourselves.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
2/1
February. Valentines. Laaaaccccyyyy? Shaaaaay? Whitney Hill.
Oh yes.
Valentines Day. That pagan celebration of loooooooooveeeeeeee.
In ninth grade I gave a valentine to my friend who was a boy in the hopes that he would fall hopelessly in love with me. He gave me this petrified stare and then things were weird. I never knew candy could change a relationship so drastically!
This years valentine of choice is Byakugan! (and a few special ones for some extra-special people *cough*)
Get ready for some intense Valentines proclaiming our friendship!
Scotty. GET THE HELL OUT OF THE MIDDLE OF THE HALLWAY. YOU ARE DISTRACTINGLY TALL. HAYZEUS CREESTOSE YOU ENRAGE MY KIDNEYS. (haha. JUST KIDDING. OR AM I?)
It's flippin' freazing out here.
I'm in a dangerously good mood.
I went see Linda today.
She told me some...awesome stuff.
HEY WHITNEY HILL. I'M SHOUTING AT YOU FROM MY BLOG.
How's that for friendship?
Picture Of The Day:
Oh yes.
Valentines Day. That pagan celebration of loooooooooveeeeeeee.
In ninth grade I gave a valentine to my friend who was a boy in the hopes that he would fall hopelessly in love with me. He gave me this petrified stare and then things were weird. I never knew candy could change a relationship so drastically!
This years valentine of choice is Byakugan! (and a few special ones for some extra-special people *cough*)
Get ready for some intense Valentines proclaiming our friendship!
Scotty. GET THE HELL OUT OF THE MIDDLE OF THE HALLWAY. YOU ARE DISTRACTINGLY TALL. HAYZEUS CREESTOSE YOU ENRAGE MY KIDNEYS. (haha. JUST KIDDING. OR AM I?)
It's flippin' freazing out here.
I'm in a dangerously good mood.
I went see Linda today.
She told me some...awesome stuff.
HEY WHITNEY HILL. I'M SHOUTING AT YOU FROM MY BLOG.
How's that for friendship?
Picture Of The Day:
Seriously, I think if I somehow *couldn't* be a Christian (which is...impossible?) I would worship these guys. Jackson Publick. Doc Hammer. If I was actually okay with the idea, I would have your babies. Seriously. SERIOUSLY.
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