Nothing To Say

I have nothing to say today, but don’t think for a moment that will stop me from saying it. I mean, people with nothing to say say things all the time. In fact, you can’t seem to shut them up. The harder you try, the more they apparently have to say. They keep saying nothing, over and over again, sometimes for weeks, months, even years. It’s amazing how much people can say without really saying much of anything. And how much listening can happen as a result. Listening that seems like it’s important, which falsely, and even destructively, affirms the one saying nothing, but in the end it doesn’t take anyone anywhere. Why? Because listening to nothing is just that. But I do admire the effort, and the confidence, and the passion, in a strange way, of those who can say so little with so much.

But I will say this:

Peace to you.

© LW Publishing 2011

Losses

 My youngest daughter still has a few words that she gets wrong, and we’ve learned not to make a big deal out of this kind of thing. I actually enjoy it. They get it figured out in the long run. But when they do, when the particulars of childhood are left behind, it makes me sad sometimes.

The current word that I love, that she gets wrong, is when something grosses her out. She says, “That’s exgusting.”

Frankly, I think it’s a better word than the original. It has a little more bite to it.

There are lots of things that you hate to see go with the kids as time passes on. The way you can hold them when they’re really small. The way they mangle certain words and make faces and laugh about certain things. The moments when they first try to be funny. Those cute little baby teeth, all lined up so perfectly straight and even, which get ejected and replaced by over sized, out of place teeth that are way too big for their current faces. And sometimes it seems to take forever for some of the gaps to fill in their smile.

You realize that kids lose so much as time goes by. Sweet things, like the ability to hide under small tables and watch the feet of the grown ups go by or fitting completely in the arms of your mom or dad, wrapped up with your head tucked under, feeling safe. Or the simple joy of playing with an empty card board box or the feeling of running on the grass, barefooted, with the belief that you are the fastest creature on the planet.

Sometimes we also lose trust in the people we look up to at way too young an age, which can be very hard to get back. And sometimes, unfortunately, we lose our innocence.

When I stop to consider all of the loss, all of the things we can lose as we leave childhood behind, frankly it’s kind of...

exgusting.


Matthew 18:2-4




Peace to you.

© LW Publishing 2011

Keep Your Eyes On The Navel

I recently discovered this word: “omphaloskepsis”

Isn’t that great? It sounds like something out of a Dr. Seuss book.

Webster’s Dictionary says it means “contemplation of one's navel as an aid to meditation.” It comes from the Greek language (doesn’t everything?). “Omphalos” is "navel.” Without the “om” (a meditative vowel all to itself, for those who are into such things), the word sounds suspiciously like something else we won’t get into here. And “Skepsis” means "examination." It’s probably related to the word “skeptical.” Who knows. But what gets me is that there’s a word for the act of contemplating one’s navel. How cool is that?

I suppose there must be a word for everything, or at least we have the power to create a word for pretty much anything. I just love this, how we find ways of saying things that no one would ever really say, but we could if we wanted to.

The thing is, what I’m most concerned about here is the important issue of individuals who are omphaloskepsistically impaired. Consider how it makes a person feel who wants to meditate, but they can’t actually see their navel due to a distended mid-section resulting from hyperphagia.

Hyperphagia is a word for the problem of eating too much. Do you, too, suffer from this tragic, crippling disorder? Oh, the humanity! Perhaps we should start a foundation or a telethon or something to deal with it. A support group at the very least.

Hi. My name is Dave. And I’m a hyperphagic.

Frankly, I’m just happy that I don’t suffer from autocoprophagy. I would tell you what that is, but it might make you disgorge whatever your hyperphagia led you to recently consume.

I’ll just leave it to you to use what I’ve offered here as a starter for spending some quality time omphaloskepsising.


Peace to you.



© LW Publishing 2011

Prose

Prose: b : a literary medium distinguished from poetry especially by its greater irregularity and variety of rhythm and its closer correspondence to the patterns of everyday speech.

One of the things I find interesting about the world of blogs is the resurgence of prose. I’m sure some literature professors would frown at the idea of good prose arising out of the morass of self indulgence that accounts for so much blogging (and I don’t exclude myself from that). But, why not? When was literature ever NOT heavily driven by self indulgence?

“I’m sorry daaaaahling, but I have something to say to the woooorrrld. You shall simply haaaaave to wait until I finish my new novel, and then, perhaps, we can discuss the taaaaawdry and insignificant business of children and a home.”

I have a degree in literature, but this has not left me with a snobby attitude about it. I don’t know if that means I was educated well or poorly, but who cares. I think that I have the heart of a teacher, and that means I am more interested a lot of the time in people attempting poetry or prose or novels or whatever other art forms they might pursue. Most of the learning is in the production of things, not the finishing of things. It is the attempt that I find most interesting sometimes. And occasionally, we’re all filled with wonder when someone finishes a great novel or a great movie or a great song.

Or a great piece of prose.

I’ve always enjoyed prose, and to my way of thinking, it’s a compelling format with a few simple rules.

1. Keep it short or we’ll get bored.
2. Keep it interesting or we’ll get bored.
3. Let it show a love for language.
4. Let it lead me into wondering: about an idea, a viewpoint, an emotion, or even confusion over the prose itself. Perhaps deeper into my own mind to see what I might find there.

Just a few rules. But it’s actually a very tall order. Especially number 4. But it’s nice to have goals, don’t you think?

As for form: Poetry and song writing both have certain accepted (or self imposed) limitations, which is what makes them what they are. And that’s good. But those limitations can sometimes be a little stifling. On the other hand, full out novels often require a reasonable grounding in reality, or people just won’t keep up. (But some novels, like Joyce’s Ulysses, or the novels of writers like Toni Morrison, are often referred to as “prose,” or these works are thought to have large sections of prose in them because of the “poetic” use of language. A more popular (populistic?) example of this would be the writings of Ray Bradbury.)

Short stories are prose, in their way, and I wouldn’t argue with anyone about them not being prose. But prose, to my way of thinking, is shorter writing that has elements of poetry and story and even song writing. Yet, when you use the word “prose” you have a certain freedom, without the boundaries of rhyme or verse, to be cryptic or not, to be musical or not, to be focused on the sounds of words as much as the meanings of the words, etc. To suggest things that can stimulate thought without necessarily telling people what to think, and the personal views or ideas of the writer might be in there, or not. Which keeps it interesting.

One of my favorite bloggers, Zombie, just put this sentence in his latest post:  "I swear this summer is worse than any winter I have weathered while wearing a woolen wetsuit."

Now, that's a prosaic sentence. In the positive sense. The astonishing Dr. Seuss is smiling somewhere, me thinks. Satisfied.

I’ve posted a little prose here and there over the past few months. And, for fun, I’m going to post some of my prose over the next few days, and probably a little more down the road, when the mood strikes. I’ll tell you up front: it’s not great stuff. At least I don't think so. Just because I like prose doesn’t mean I’m very good at it. But if I thought it totally stunk, I'd never show it to you. Still, I enjoy the process. And, who knows, maybe something decent might come crawling up out of the attempt.

You never know.

Peace to you.


© LW Publishing 2010

What?

I was in da kitchen when a idea came ta me. I went acrossed da fambly room ta my computer ta rite aboud words dat people misponounce all da time. Ahm not sayin a don do it maseuf sometime, but id still bother me. Me and da kids were makin frengh toast wit egg yokes in da kitchen and I snuck away ta do dis. Hopefully dey won burn da house down. I wadn feelin mean aboud id. Id jus gah me thinkin aboud how some people say nuculer instead a nuclear and theens lite dat. Nuculer id my paticular pet peeb. Geord W. Bush, who I don hate, even doh um apparenly suppos to, accordin to popalar seniment, he use to say dis wrong all a time. It drobe me crazy. But dats jus me. I don take id for granite dat you feel da same way. Supposably everbody has dere own pet peebs aboud words. Pronounciation idn auways easy. I guess dis is jus my perscription fer findin peas aboud id. Ostensively anyway. Ostensibly? Laugh er cry.

Okay. I’ll stop writing now. This is making me tired. I don't want to start prespiring.





1 Corinthians 14:8-9
Peace to you.


© LW Publishing 2010

Shy

If you know me personally, what I’m about to write may make you laugh derisively with incredulity. But it’s still the truth: I am a shy person.

I can talk. I can make conversation. I can connect verbally. I’ve learned to do these things the hard way, but it’s almost never comfortable for me. It’s work. And the odds of my saying something odd or stupid are always high because I’m usually a little bit nervous when I speak. Why? Because I’m shy. I am emotionally hesitant and it effects my communication.

Let me give you an example of how shy I am. This really happened.

When I was a kid I went to a Baptist church. In fifth or sixth grade, some of the kids at church started “going out,’ which didn’t mean they actually went out, it meant they had agreed to be boyfriend and girlfriend when the Sunday School class went on trips and such. Like skating or going to Cedar Point. So. There was this girl. I thought she looked nice. I don’t remember her name. I almost remember what she looked like, but not really. It’s all vague. But I do remember getting my friend to ask this girl if she would “go” with me. Which he did. And she said “yes.”

So far so good.

But that meant I was probably supposed to actually talk to the girl, right? I mean, I should say something. “Hello,” maybe, or “What’s a nice girl like you doing in a church like this?” Hardy har har. But I had never spoken to the girl before and for the life of me I couldn’t think of anything to say to her. We smiled at each other across the room a few times for a few Sundays in a row — which made me nervous — but I could not get up the nerve to talk to her. So a few Sundays later she talked to my friend and told him it was over. We would have to break up because I was too . . . shy.

And I was. And I still am. Inside, I feel the same way now as I did then.

But over the years I’ve learned to talk to people. My wife helped me with this a lot. She is a very social person. And I’ve had good friends over the years who listened, even when I was saying some profoundly stupid things. So I learned. I learned to ask questions. I learned to articulate. And I do like stories and ideas, I like to pass them on. I even do public speaking now, but it’s never easy.

Overall, I would be content to say much less than I do, but it’s important to talk, even if you’re not completely comfortable doing it, even if you sound dumb sometimes. It’s important to connect with people verbally. In fact, the more you do it, the easier it can become. And you will likely get better at it, which can be important too. A day may come when you wish you had prepared yourself to communicate. It can be devastating to know something needs to be said, for your own sake or for the sake of someone else, but you don’t have the words because you haven’t learned the art of expressing yourself.

Words are complicated things. They take practice. Especially for shy people.







Luke 21:15
Peace to you.



© LW Publishing 2010

Playing With Words

I love playing with words, with language, and for some reason I find it to be very funny. Usually more funny than the people around me do. I’m sure this post will be another example of that. But there is an irony to how words are so important and yet aren’t. Maybe it’s because I’ve spent so much time studying words and language, I don’t really know, but this stuff even gets into my dreams sometimes.

One night I dreamt I was in ancient Rome. I was standing on some huge portico with miles of giant steps leading up to it, just finding myself there for some unknown reason, hearing people talking all around me. In my dream I was looking for someone or something, I don’t really know what. Then I saw, a short distance away, wearing a toga and everything, my friend Justin Quick. And Quick is a good name for him. He’s quick to care. Quick to help. Quick to show kindness. He’s great. But I have no idea why he was in my dream. So I called out to him and, no kidding, without a single thought, my dream self shouted out, “Justinian Quickenus! Justinian Quickenus!” He turned to me and started walking towards me and that’s when I woke up. Laughing. I literally made myself laugh in my sleep with my insane dream.

I told Justin about this dream. I think it just confirmed my weirdness. What can one think about such dreams?

But it doesn’t stop with the dreams. I have a phrase I use for my daughters. They are “Beauteous Maximus.” Sometimes they are “Smucha Muchas” or “Shweety Hearts.” Our house is “The Humble Abode.” I do things that aren’t very “pastorly,” and the lifestyle my wife and I live with three kids and too much going on is “coitus interruptus.”

Go ahead. Laugh at me if you want. I can take it.

But seriously. Don’t you find words to be funny? And some words are just weird. The word “the” for instance. The? Who came up with that? Why is a knife called a nyf? Back in the day it was a knyf, but we didn’t like the k in there, so we just dumped it. And I’m sure someone knows why, but if we knew it wouldn’t be as funny.

Or how about how doctors put the suffix -itis on things to make you feel like they’ve really told you something? Laryngitis, Appendicitis, Sinusitis, etc. etc. The suffix -itis simply means “irritating” or “irritated.” Isn’t that helpful? How about “Eyebrowitis” or “Mykiditis?”

This is all just the tip of the iceberg. No wonder communication is so hard. I just thank God for words like love and forgiveness. Without them this world would be all nonsense.




Peace to you.


© LW Publishing 2010

Reified Beans

Hey!

I’ve been reading this book on economics called Wealth and Poverty by a guy named George Gilder. This is not my usual turf, but I was drawn into it by a bunch of different things it would take too long to explain. It’s a good book. Talks about distinctions between “supply” oriented and “demand” oriented economics and the philosophical ideas behind both. Yawn. But this book turns out to be pretty good because this guy is a good writer. He appreciates the taste of words.

What I’ve found especially interesting so far is this one section where the author goes over what he calls “fallacious modes of reasoning.” Even if you have no idea what he’s talking about, you’ve got to like that combination of words, don’t you think? Sounds like a song title from an east coast indie band.

So. One of those “fallacious modes of reasoning” he talks about is the act of “misplaced concreteness” or “reification.” I didn’t remember hearing that word before. It’s where you treat something abstract as if it was a real thing instead of an idea, and the worst example of this kind of thing is when we create a label for something we observe and then use the label as if it’s the cause of the thing. A common way of explaining this is with the idea of gravity.

1. We notice that when we let go of a pencil it falls to the ground.
2. We call the “pull” that takes the pencil to the ground “gravity.” “Gravity” is the label.
3. Someone says, “why does the pencil fall to the ground?”
4. We respond by saying “gravity.”
5. No real knowledge or understanding has taken place. Nothing has been explained. A label has been falsely used to “explain” something. The label of “gravity” has been reified.

Here’s the truth. No one really knows what pulls the pencil down. We can only explain the conditions under which it may fall.

I heard a theologian at a conference once say, “You say it’s gravity. I say it’s God.”



Peace to you.

© LW Publishing 2010