cell phones.

Check out this video.
Is this what our world has come to?

A world where everyone is connected to a piece of plastic that sends messages to space and back (note the reference to this Conan O'Brien clip) may be interesting, but how can it possibly be the most important thing?

Part of living each moment means enjoying the one you're in, not the extra texting conversation that you're in at the same time.  Not the e-mail that is so important you can't wait until you arrive home to respond to.


While I don't have a major problem with my cell phone, when I'm home, my computer is never far away.  I make a pledge to enjoy moments with my roommates instead of spending them with our computers on our laps.  Beth and Rebecca, hold me to this. :)

troves of knowledge

This morning the girls and I took a walk to the local library.  The girls love our library days and wait with anticipation for the moment that we arrive at this beautiful place with pages of adventures just waiting to be explored.

I was especially grateful for the library as we sat and read book after wonderful book.  The girls scurried from shelf to shelf, arbitrarily choosing the next books to read.  Perhaps they search for bright colors or pretty covers.  I taught them to look for the books with the shiny Caldecott Medals and Newberry Honors on the covers, because then you know you have found something great.  But I doubt the girls cared much, as it hardly influences their choices now, several months later.

I think I take libraries for granted.  Where else can you find knowledge and creativity from across the globe flooding from shelves, begging to be experienced, to be learned, and to be used by so many visitors.  Novels about the hardships of living in Europe in WWII, atlases from during biblical times, architectural blueprints of medieval castles, light stories of fairies and princesses, encyclopedias of medicine, ABC board books, Hispanic culinary traditions... the world is in these pages.

Earlier this week, I spent a night at the library downtown: the Harold Washington Library Center.  This place combines the wonder of books with the fantastic beauty of architecture.  With ten floors of novels, music, reference libraries, computer labs, children's libraries, and so much more, there is no end to what one can learn in a place like that.

I found scores of books on the Chinese immigration experience to America.  Yet dozens of them were left unopened, as anything more I would learn could not possibly fit into my 10-12 page paper.  I love to learn.  Organizing it into a paper, on the other hand, is not quite so pleasant, which is why I find myself blogging about libraries as treasure troves of knowledge instead of writing about how the Chinese were treated when they began coming to this country.


I had better fix that.  Stat.
Page three of twelve, you are mine :)

with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength.

This morning, I learned that in some Asian cultures, it is customary to put a finger on one's nose while speaking.  While I find this to be odd, and would probably be a bit thrown off in conversation if someone did this, I find it fascinating.

In these cultures, they believe that the soul is not in the heart, but in the head.  By touching their noses, it is a sign of sincerity, that they really mean what they are saying, similar to the way we put a hand over our heart when we say the pledge of allegiance (I'm only half kidding :)), when we refer to a heartbreaking memory, or something of the utmost importance.

The idea of the soul being in the head sheds some light on the idea of "in spirit and in truth."  Not only do we believe things deep in our souls based on emotions and feelings, but also on an assurance of knowledge.

In the book A Severe Mercy, VanAuken writes upon his conversion:

"I choose to believe in the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost - in Christ, my lord and my God.  Christianity has the ring, the feel, of unique truth.  Of essential truth.  By it, life is made full instead of empty, meaningful instead of meaningless.  Cosmos becomes beautiful at the Centre, instead of chillingly ugly beneath the lovely pathos of spring.  But the emptiness, the meaninglessness, and the ugliness can only be seen, I think, when one has glimpsed the fullness, the meaning, and the beauty.  It is when heaven and hell have both been glimpsed that going back is impossible.  But to go on seemed impossible, also.  A glimpse is not a vision.  A choice was necessary: and there is no certainty.  One can only choose a side.  So I - I now choose my side:  I choose beauty;  I choose what I love.  But choosing to believe is believing.  It's all I can do:  choose.  I confess my doubts and ask my Lord Christ to enter my life.  I do not know God is, I do but say:  Be it unto me according to Thy will.  I do not affirm that I am without doubt, I do but ask for help, having chosen, to overcome it.  I do but say:  Lord, I believe -- help Thou mine unbelief."

Upon reading this several days ago, I realized that I need to do the same:  To choose to believe what I know to be true, instead of waiting for all of my doubts to be resolved.

To put this all together - sometimes we validate our beliefs by the feelings we have with the church body, the emotions that arise while worshiping.  While these emotions are not bad, they are not enough to constitute a real faith.  A real faith must come from the conscious decision to believe in what is True and Right and Good.

"Lord, I believe - help my unbelief"