‘My son, [. . .] if you call out for insight and raise your voice for understanding, [. . .] then you will understand the fear of the Lord [. . .] For the LORD gives wisdom; from his mouth come knowledge and understanding; he stores up sound wisdom for the upright; he is a shield to those who walk in integrity, guarding the paths of justice and watching over the way of his saints’ (Prvb 2:1-8)

I desire such as is commanded, and yet my actions are deaf to my commands; that is to act with wisdom, for such I lack. How do I answer questions which assail from every side? How do I crystallize a picture for mother, friend, and stranger, when I as yet have no answers and am myself reciting a prayer of faith, faith in a God who knows everything, but whose thoughts I cannot penetrate? Tell me how and I will give you answers. Answers thick and surfeit. But then what?

I don’t know what I would do without Christ. All of life’s hopes, all of life’s disappointments – it is not hard to feel even a little bit overwhelmed at times. Many times I find myself at a loss or I find myself frustrated in so many ways: in my search for a job, in my desires for my relationships, in my thirst for a life built on community. But even if I don’t know how to act on it, there is this peace after reflecting on Christ. This Sunday’s sermon was a good reminder of all that we should hope for and who is the source of that hope. I really hope I remember Jesus this week – his body, his Word, his ministry.

gripping and slipping -

gripping and gripping

slipping, slipping, slipping.

It all slips away.

There are nights where I just need everything to pass away and for the dawn to break. These are the nights where everything seems so impossible, where time is so dilated, where the silence is deafening and the solitude is unbearable. These are the nights where I need you the most, but where you can’t be found because as I call out to you, heart wrenching, we know it is too much to bear.

Gripping, gripping, slipping slipping.

You all slip away.

tonight.

The quite pathetic thing is that these questions weren’t out of the ordinary. Some would even say that they were rather run-of-the-mill. For instance, when I was asked how I saw the integration of faith and learning and thus how I saw myself in a faith-based institution like this one? Or, what are my views on literary theory, especially in regards to my faith? In my thinking about all of this, the Chair wanted to know, what comes out in the wash? To my horror, I think I stammered something about the Harvey Fellows program (as re: the integration of faith and learning) and C.S. Lewis as an influential thinker. It took nearly everything in me not to crawl away in shame. Thankfully, we got started on another topic and I was able to respond more thoughtfully to questions about how I might teach a literary theory class; how I would appreciate being able to present an essentialist perspective to balance more relative perspectives. But the indictment is still there: unless I hit some sort of sweet spot, I am guilty of being completely tongue-tied in nearly all social conversations.

General verbal skills aside, I lament how much my brain has rotted away, which only compounds my inherent problem. In not reading, thinking, writing or even speaking/interacting as much as I had been previously, my ability to comprehend, synthesize, and respond quickly has rapidly deteriorated. I hate that I waste my time. One would think that with all the time that I have, I should be researching/publishing like mad. And yet, without that external stimulus of the academic setting, and that academic pressure, I am wasting away. It makes it all clear to me just why I was so happy to be in and out of the department during the spring months, popping by the offices of former professors/now colleagues, and engaging, dialoging, each time forming some new neural pathway and becoming a better thinker. Critical thinkers cannot be formed in a vacuum. How true it is that Cambridge and Oxford became the premier institutions that they are because of the intellectual networks which they both created and fostered.

So what next? Better motivation next week. A new start. The Lord knows that I am weak and so I pray that He would give me that structure to push me forward. So I hope for His grace.

vacant

space

wanting, thirsting for thoughts poured out
honestly and truthfully.

The difference between the two?

Honesty is not always truthful, and truth is never honest.
Truth tells you that you will be okay, that God is good (because He is and always will be).
But honesty -

Your feeling now is reality through fractured emotion.

Evidently topical, the article, polemically titled ‘Why Chinese Mothers are Superior’, hazards the argument that ‘stereotypically successful’ children are the product of a parenting strategy that champions hard work and negative reinforcement. The term of interest here is ‘stereotypically successful’. Tried and tested, rote repetition and the refusal to accept anything below an A does indeed instill in children a sense of fortitude as well as building a foundation for success. Yet my query is with the strict Asian definition of ‘success’. Once a child has acquired the discipline and perseverance to go beyond his or her personal limits, how is it productive for them to find that ‘success’ is limited to four occupations? Doctor, Lawyer, Accountant, Engineer.

I want to qualify the above reflection by stating that I would be more than happy if my child were to become a doctor, lawyer, accountant, or engineer. But only if that is what he or she wanted. And only if he or she were that way inclined. In other words, if he or she considered it ‘fun’. Among other insights, the article sharply points out that something is ‘fun’ once you become good at it. This is one of the virtues of Asian parenting: It enables you to make not-so-fun activities fun. Through tenacious hard work, you might discover an aptitude you would not have otherwise considered. But such a skill set is broadly applicable, and as my boyfriend pointed out last night, ‘success’ is defined as ‘the level of achievement and not by the field in which that achievement is attained’.

There is perhaps a greater issue lurking in the background. For while ‘success’ is measured by achievement, it is also characterized by the ability to dream. This is what Confucian filial piety and the feeling that you owe your parents everything and so will do whatever it takes to make them proud cannot teach you, but what – forgive me Chinese mothers – being ‘villager number six’ in a school play just might. The issue here is autonomy. If you never let your children to choose for themselves, then how will they have the courage to choose when they need to?

Exceptions notwithstanding, if we were to accept the Asian parenting model of coercion, indebtedness, and guilt, then we might consider the limitations that one might face when he or she needs to set goals for him or herself, when he or she needs to define his or her own ‘success’. The Asian parenting style might teach you discipline, but it might not be so good at teaching you how to risk. Having attained the skill set to make things happen through hard work, it is the ability to imagine and the courage to fail that is essential to pushing oneself beyond anything or what anyone could think of. Positive motivation always trumps negative motivation. Inspiration over fear. As children, we need our parents to believe that we are strong, that we can be and do anything if we put our minds to it (Asian style of parenting). We need them to tell us that we can do something that we did not think we could. But somewhere in those years of learning discipline, we must also learn what it feels like to choose, even if that choice does not bear fruit.

A fusion style of parenting might look like this:

I will teach you that you can go beyond your personal limitations. I will teach you that through hard work you can become good at something and make it fun. But I will also show you how to make good choices, and even allow you to make bad ones. I will give you the freedom to pursue those choices to success or failure. In those choices, I will not let you give up. Be a doctor, but do it well. Be a ballerina, but be prepared to train eight hours a day, six days a week. Be an artist, but create for me something I have never thought about. So you want to be a PhD in Physics? Now how about that Nobel Prize?

There’s apparently a blizzard taking place outside my house. According to the Calgary Herald, this week will see temperatures averaging -15 degrees Celsius or lower during the day. I actually ventured outdoors this afternoon to see what all the fuss was about, having recently survived a prior ‘snowstorm’ that had me grounded in England for an extra week. To my surprise, my toes didn’t immediately freeze; a major contrast to what happens when in Cambridge. Same shoes, very different experience. However, while I complain that the damp cold in England is far worse than any kind of blizzard we might have over here, I will admit that the kind of weather we experience here is quite debilitating.

However, we do have the proper clothing, equipment, and housing to deal with what the English might consider to be the apocalypse. Case in point: the mega-mansion next door. The main floor is a mammoth 3600 sq. ft (multiply by 2 and add the sq. ftge of the basement and you get something close to 8,000 sq. ft in total). Forget the heated garage; the actual driveway is heated so my neighbour never has to shovel. Witness the steam rising from his carefully pieced together stone floor amidst blankets of white. While part of my counter-culture shock has included being a bit ‘put-out’ by the ostensibly indulgent use of space, my foray into the white wilderness today has given me some perspective on such mega-mansions.

Simply put, we need the space. Since we can’t be like the English, who, in my experience, spend more time outdoors than us supposedly ‘outdoorsy’ Canadians, we need to have enough livable indoor space to conduct our daily lives without experiencing cabin-fever. Our homes are like mini-worlds, with entertainment centres and multiple rooms. We don’t really need to congregate in a town centre; there is no incentive or reason to. That said, I wonder how much of our predilection for mega-mansions is about the weather than about our differing conceptions of space. If our city was constructed to have an actual centre, at a reachable distance, and at which we could find all our amenities, resources, and social entertainment, might we not spend our time there rather than podded up in our own homes?

I’ve been home for just under two weeks, and I’m feeling pretty good. While back in Cambridge, I had been wary of romanticizing what being home would be like. So far, my assessment has been pretty consistent. I had anticipated some counter-culture shock upon my return, and indeed, I experienced just that the other day while I was shopping in Costco. I don’t think I’ve seen such massive containers of food and materials in a long time. It felt like walking through a world of giants. More pervasive has been this feeling of being unnecessarily wasteful. Example: on said Costco trip, I purchased an electric toothbrush, the container of which could have held ten. It made me reflect on the magic of marketing, and how much more I was willing to pay for the ginormous box than for what the toothbrush would have actually needed. Perhaps the box was necessary to match its giant siblings. In any case, my conscience was then assuaged by being able to dispose the box into one of the blue recycling bins the city now uses.

But in general, settling in has been quite enjoyable. Coming back to Calgary feels like I’m moving forward because the city and its people have changed. This concept of familiar change can be applied to both spaces and relationships. On a city-wide scale, Wilson and I stepped out of our NW bubble during the holidays and delighted in the quaint neighbourhood bistros and antique shops of Inglewood. Back at home, I unpacked my Cambridge life on New Year’s eve. My room is now a little haven, with areas representing the different places I’ve traveled to in the five years away. I especially like my reading corner. The wicker chair, the woollen throw, and simple rug and reading lamp: my dad says it reminds him of England.

The people have grown up. While in essence they are the same, that essence is becoming more and more nuanced as they take on new roles and are allowing those roles to shape them.

Today I’m sitting in the brand new Taylor Family Digital Library at the University of Calgary. In short: I’m impressed. The building is everything I had written about in my proposal, and I hope I will get the opportunity to weave it into a history of libraries. I love the familiarity of the concrete structures on this campus; the U of C certainly has its own character. Now, in a brand new steel and glass building, surrounded by book shelves that look like honey combs, I am smiling at the thin, Indian librarian with the pitch-black sunglasses and tight PVC pants walking past me; this man used to walk the library halls back in 2001-2005. I guess he now has a new stomping ground. Earlier I picked up my alumni card, and then activated it in the MacKimmie Library Tower. I don’t know what the next few months will look like, but I suspect that I’ll be doing most of my interim research/applications from this building. The library has always been my home away from home. And it’s good to be home.

I would like to state at the outset that I am now talking specifically about choices that fall outside the moral realm of right and wrong. I know that we can make this issue much more complex, but for the sake of what I hope to be a rather short entry, let us accept this simple distinction. What I’ve slowly started to understand while waiting for an answer is that there is no absolute ‘right’ choice. I’ve wanted the answer to come to me, when really, it is me who will need at one point to act. And as Nathan (my friend in the entry below) pointed out, God’s will is in the act of choosing.

The assurance is this: that God is sovereign over all our choices. We see this in even the most destructive choices, such as when God was willing to pour out His blessings on Israel even after they had denied Him as king so long as they chose to seek Him (cf. 1 Samuel). Reason being that all good things come from God (David writes ‘You are my Lord; apart from you, I have no good thing’ in Ps. 16:2) and He knew that they could only have those things by being close to Him. Unfortunately, as 1 Samuel shows, the human heart is many times unable to surmount the hardships that result from a bad choice; and this is a reality that we need to take responsibility for.

But while there is no ‘right’ choice, there is a ‘best’ choice. And in the words of John Piper, the ‘best’ choice ‘always involves more decisions than the one you are making at the moment’. It involves the whole thing. And the best is found when we abide in the one who created us, who knows exactly what we need.

The comfort taken in this assurance fits well with one more nugget of wisdom, this from my best friend last night. She noted that at the end of the day, whatever job you choose, you won’t remember the technical aspects of installing a bar (she is an occupational therapist), marking assignments (if you’re a teacher), or whatever have you. You will remember the people. You will remember helping someone find a home, teaching someone a new concept, creating a new paradigm through the act of writing a book. It’s not about the job; it’s about the vocation. And that vocation is about seeking God and serving His people. Of course, this essential element needs to be held in tension with your specific skills and giftings. But I like the freedom that this knowledge brings, especially as it only requires you to look up, not left or right.