Yesterday I went to the Coptic Christian Church more or less blind because the internet had failed to prepare me adaquately. There was a humorous exchange of clergymen talking about what to wear, but nothing for women, so here's a guide for you, should you choose to visit:
1- bring a headscarf. Like Eastern Orthodoxy, you'll need to over your hair during the service. A small scarf will do.
2- wear comfy shoes and clear your schedule. The entire service is around 3 hours long. Most of that will be standing (although you can sit during the sermon).
3-don't take communion. Only baptized members are welcome to communion, which you'll notice that they do shoeless, like Moses did before divinity.
4-dress nice-ish. There's a wide range of clothes--some folks (guys and girls) are in jeans, while some are dressed in suits. Pants are okay for women to wear, but it's probably better to stray on the side of formal and modest. No one wore shorts or very short skirts.
5-be comfortably with being confused. Some of the service might take place in Coptic or Arabic as many of the older people might not know English. Most Coptics in my visit were Egyptian, or generation 1.5.
6-sit with others of your same sex. Women will be on the side with the picture of Christ, and men on the side with the picture of Mary. In both cases, women sit on the right hand of the men.
7-get ready for a sensory experience. The music, which is only chanting, one cymbol and one triangle, is really layered and complex. The incense was wonderful, too, and I could smell it in my clothes and hair afterwards. Also, I got a big splash of holy water through my veil. (This proves I am not a demon or vampire.)
8-everyone is friendly. The guy who is being ordained a priest next week took time from his preparations to give me the low-down on how the service would progress (readings from the epistles, from Acts, and from the Gospels; lots of standing; the priest chooses which loaf of bread for the communion and the remaining loaves are given to all the people after the service--I love this, incidentally). Another, older woman, introduced me to people before and after the service, including a younger woman whom I could follow throughout the service on when to pray, stand or sit in silent prayer. After wards, we had lunch. Everyone was extremely hospitable.
My one sadness is that I didn't know how to donate to the church. They never passed the plate and I didn't see any prominent boxes for donations. I wish I had asked because it was a wonderful congregation and I want to support them.
But don't take my word for it--go see for yourself!
(LaVar Burton will sue now.)
Sunday, March 4, 2012
February/March
Well, February was a wash.
It wasn't all wrenching heart-ache, although there was some of that and it wasn't all nerve-straining stress, although there was a little of that, too.
I've always tried to make the best of the month, but it never quite turns out. It's nice when you get Presidents' Day off (UT doesn't) and I do like my mom and her birthday quite a deal, but still have a difficult time with the month. I'm bored of it being cold, and if there's snow (there isn't any here), it's all slush. If there isn't snow, the days change so rapidly.
But March!
March is always green calendars and kites in my mind, which is probably the result of years of construction-paper die-cuts from childhood. It's little tiny white flowers, and whole sprays of yellow ones. It's "nature's first green" gold and waking up to birdsong and a cool breeze through a warm day. I like March.
I like things beginning, like spring, or the school year, or a new calling, or friendship. I am less good as the Februaries of my life.
If I marry and have a daughter, I'd like to name her Diligence because I need more diligence in my life. I have enthusiasm and creativity out the back door, but to keep at something, even when it's something I like, I need to grit my teeth, set a regimen and look towards completion and the start of something new.
I started a novel last September and cruised through several chapters, but now it's a drag to get a half-dozen pages out. I started a dance class of my dreams, but cut two classes. I'm finally taking Croatian, but I haven't done my homework for Monday yet. Even spring gets old.
But I'm not a flake. I do get things done, given a deadline and enough things that I dread doing even more. I've gotten two degrees. I wrote my Master's thesis. I took my field exam. I trained for and ran a half marathon. I've gotten past the thrill of new friendships and matured them into genuine life-long friends. I wrote that first novel. I can stay out the Februaries through consistent effort, renewed perspective and..what else? Grace, to some degree, in the "ennobling power" sense. And I will be Sabbath enough to point out that "enduring the end" is almost raised to ordinance level in my religion.
I'm not sure how I do it or how'll I do it, but I hope I do. I hope I stick to the things that matter. Of the failed persistence enterprises (reading books aloud for Librivox, actually getting through all 30 days of Jillian Michaels' shred, dozens of aborted writing projects), I do get done some of the better ones.
March, as they say, March 4.
It wasn't all wrenching heart-ache, although there was some of that and it wasn't all nerve-straining stress, although there was a little of that, too.
I've always tried to make the best of the month, but it never quite turns out. It's nice when you get Presidents' Day off (UT doesn't) and I do like my mom and her birthday quite a deal, but still have a difficult time with the month. I'm bored of it being cold, and if there's snow (there isn't any here), it's all slush. If there isn't snow, the days change so rapidly.
But March!
March is always green calendars and kites in my mind, which is probably the result of years of construction-paper die-cuts from childhood. It's little tiny white flowers, and whole sprays of yellow ones. It's "nature's first green" gold and waking up to birdsong and a cool breeze through a warm day. I like March.
I like things beginning, like spring, or the school year, or a new calling, or friendship. I am less good as the Februaries of my life.
If I marry and have a daughter, I'd like to name her Diligence because I need more diligence in my life. I have enthusiasm and creativity out the back door, but to keep at something, even when it's something I like, I need to grit my teeth, set a regimen and look towards completion and the start of something new.
I started a novel last September and cruised through several chapters, but now it's a drag to get a half-dozen pages out. I started a dance class of my dreams, but cut two classes. I'm finally taking Croatian, but I haven't done my homework for Monday yet. Even spring gets old.
But I'm not a flake. I do get things done, given a deadline and enough things that I dread doing even more. I've gotten two degrees. I wrote my Master's thesis. I took my field exam. I trained for and ran a half marathon. I've gotten past the thrill of new friendships and matured them into genuine life-long friends. I wrote that first novel. I can stay out the Februaries through consistent effort, renewed perspective and..what else? Grace, to some degree, in the "ennobling power" sense. And I will be Sabbath enough to point out that "enduring the end" is almost raised to ordinance level in my religion.
I'm not sure how I do it or how'll I do it, but I hope I do. I hope I stick to the things that matter. Of the failed persistence enterprises (reading books aloud for Librivox, actually getting through all 30 days of Jillian Michaels' shred, dozens of aborted writing projects), I do get done some of the better ones.
March, as they say, March 4.
Friday, January 20, 2012
Mary and the End of the World
So it's 2012, which, if you believe some Mayan conspiracy folks and a terrible disaster movie, portends the end of the world. Naturally, the end of the world has been on my mind lately. I read World War Z, which is a great zombie book, in one day on my brother's insistence. The other book I read over winter break was A Distant Mirror, which eerily mirrored not just World War I, but also World War Z. Both of these books remind me of Holocaust books, especially Schindler's List, which are gripping and painful because (a) people are incredible skum-balls and (b) people are incredibly noble.
And most disasters--from ice storms to ends of the world like the the plague-- equally impact the good and the bad. In other words, we're all in this together. The rain and nuclear fallout descend equally on the righteous and the wicked. It's a fact that I noticed when I was reading 3rd Nephi concurrent with World War Z. Those people that Christ heals when he comes in glory? Many of them were probably injured during the calamities leading up to his coming. Recall that the people who survived were not overly cheerful about their survival. I imagine some of those people thought, "Couldn't you just have not dropped that bolder on me in the first place?" Unfortunately it doesn't get to work that way. Even the Second Coming, it looks pretty clear that the saints are going to have to suffer alongside the sinners for a while. You don't get raptured on Day One.
So we have to be prepared for that. I, especially, have to work on that preparation because no sooner did I get home (actually, sooner--in the airport) than I got called to be Ward Emergency Specialist, which is a unique challenge in a singles' ward anyway. We're transient. We don't have large reserves of food, and often, we are in the poorest times of our lives. We usually have family in areas that won't be affected by a tornado, or hurricane, or whatever. It's a fun puzzle for me to figure out how to help people to be prepared. I even came up with lectures, field trips and prizes for preparedness. (Give a mouse a calling...)
Turns out that not only is this overkill, but actually our ward theme for this year is kind of The World's Probably Not Going to End, but If It Were Would You Be Prepared? The idea being that if we procrastinate repentance, being the sort of people we want to be and just living, then we're falling far short. We want to be living good lives now, and getting prepared for whatever may come, which includes spiritual, emotional, physical, and zombie-shooting preparedness.
The biggest part of the this preparation, the scariest part to me, is when it comes down to survival, will I be as noble as I'd like to be? I don't want to be the one pushing people out of the lifeboat. I don't even want to be the person who's sweetly hysterical and incompetent. No, man, I want to be the freakin' action hero of disaster. I want to save others, have a plan, have materials, and occasionally throw out a roundhouse kick. I want there to be a made-for-TV movie based on my actions in a disaster situation.
I'm scared I won't be that person. I'm scared I'll be all "Eh, maybe I'll just die now." Sometimes I feel that way now when, for example, there's a rerun of 30 Rock or if vending machine soda costs a dollar. I need to prepare myself for that. And it takes a lot more than just some water bottles in the back of my car.
And most disasters--from ice storms to ends of the world like the the plague-- equally impact the good and the bad. In other words, we're all in this together. The rain and nuclear fallout descend equally on the righteous and the wicked. It's a fact that I noticed when I was reading 3rd Nephi concurrent with World War Z. Those people that Christ heals when he comes in glory? Many of them were probably injured during the calamities leading up to his coming. Recall that the people who survived were not overly cheerful about their survival. I imagine some of those people thought, "Couldn't you just have not dropped that bolder on me in the first place?" Unfortunately it doesn't get to work that way. Even the Second Coming, it looks pretty clear that the saints are going to have to suffer alongside the sinners for a while. You don't get raptured on Day One.
So we have to be prepared for that. I, especially, have to work on that preparation because no sooner did I get home (actually, sooner--in the airport) than I got called to be Ward Emergency Specialist, which is a unique challenge in a singles' ward anyway. We're transient. We don't have large reserves of food, and often, we are in the poorest times of our lives. We usually have family in areas that won't be affected by a tornado, or hurricane, or whatever. It's a fun puzzle for me to figure out how to help people to be prepared. I even came up with lectures, field trips and prizes for preparedness. (Give a mouse a calling...)
Turns out that not only is this overkill, but actually our ward theme for this year is kind of The World's Probably Not Going to End, but If It Were Would You Be Prepared? The idea being that if we procrastinate repentance, being the sort of people we want to be and just living, then we're falling far short. We want to be living good lives now, and getting prepared for whatever may come, which includes spiritual, emotional, physical, and zombie-shooting preparedness.
The biggest part of the this preparation, the scariest part to me, is when it comes down to survival, will I be as noble as I'd like to be? I don't want to be the one pushing people out of the lifeboat. I don't even want to be the person who's sweetly hysterical and incompetent. No, man, I want to be the freakin' action hero of disaster. I want to save others, have a plan, have materials, and occasionally throw out a roundhouse kick. I want there to be a made-for-TV movie based on my actions in a disaster situation.
I'm scared I won't be that person. I'm scared I'll be all "Eh, maybe I'll just die now." Sometimes I feel that way now when, for example, there's a rerun of 30 Rock or if vending machine soda costs a dollar. I need to prepare myself for that. And it takes a lot more than just some water bottles in the back of my car.
Monday, January 2, 2012
New Year's Posters
For my New Year's resolutions this year I made a series of propaganda posters to motivate me...
Friday, December 9, 2011
Let's Give Thanks to the Lord Above 'Cause Santa Claus Comes Tonight
Santa Claus and Christianity have rather a rocky relationship, don't they? Is he a saint? A decadant example of rampant commercialism? Does he encourage or erode faith in things neither seen nor heard? Are his gifts alms or mammon? It's no wonder that some Christians are rather skittish about the Old Man. Still, I consider myself a great Santa apologist. Here's why:
This isn't to say that I'm thrilled about all aspects of Santa-ism (he probably should lay off the cookies, and elf workshops sound distressingly like slave labor), but over all, I'm in the Old Man's corner.
- Santa Claus Knows That We're All God's Children. It's funny to think that being poor could have been such a stigma that the singer had to emphasize that Santa will love you even if you aren't rich. We've sort of come to take it for granted that gift reception shouldn't depend on wealth. There are enormous resources to mobilize all and any into providing "a Christmas" for the disadvantaged, and it's no accident that often these organizations are called Sub for Santa, or Santa's Helpers or an equivalent of that. Christian obligation to the poor fits in nicely to the Santa myth--everyone deserves to have not just what they need, but also what they want. While some kids may have a meager Christmas indeed, they wouldn't if Santa had his way. No, if Santa were running this show, if you aren't going to get any presents, it's not because you're poor, or because of who your parents are, but because you were naughty.
- Be Good for Goodness' Sake. Admittedly, this is the element of Santa that I'm least comfortable with: good kids get gifts, but bad kids do not (and in some cultures, they get a sound beating, or the threat of it). In actuality, the material wealth of families matter in gift-reception (see above), but threat of reward and punishment is a part of the Santa myth--and of Christian doctrine. We don't really like to talk about heaven and hell, and especially not of a threat (it conjures images of a self-righteous Christian saying "do that and you'll go to hell), so we often talk about natural consequences. "You can't really be happy and sin," we say. But part of that is because blessings are stopped up through sin. Obey the commandments and prosper in the land. Hopefully, our goodness becomes something intrinsic rather than just a quid pro quo arrangement, but it's hard to see how doing good is its own reward all the time. Sometimes the reward or threat gets you through the day.
- Leave a Peppermint Stick for Ol' Saint Nick. Santa wants to have a relationship with you. He wants your letters, wants you to leave a note with the cookies, wants you on his lap whispering in his ear. No one ever thought much about communication with the Easter Bunny. If Santa Claus isn't always checking in on you, it's because he lives so very far away. It's always about more than the Big Night, and I find that striking. He's an adult who wants to tend your needs, and unlike teachers, coaches or even parents, he had no other motive than making you happy. That's incredibly similar to what I imagine God's motives being.
- Ho, ho, ho, Who Wouldn't Go?My favorite part about Santa is that he isn't your parents. He is, but he isn't. They can give their children all the gifts that they would like without any threat of appreciation or thanks. You don't even have to write him a card. Santa represents selfless service, the opportunity to give our alms not before men. Parents, especially, who sacrifice constantly for their children--not just for fun things like gifts and candy, but for heating bills and orthodontics--can pretend that they didn't sacrifice at all and that the children can just enjoy their gifts gratis. What applies to parents and children can apply to anyone. Want to donate money to a charity anonymously? Leave food for a struggling family? Santa is the perfect cover.
This isn't to say that I'm thrilled about all aspects of Santa-ism (he probably should lay off the cookies, and elf workshops sound distressingly like slave labor), but over all, I'm in the Old Man's corner.
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Better
I was thinking about it this week and I realized that I'm happy with who I am, but not content. It's a really good place to be in, actually.
I adore setting goals. I make New Year's Resolutions. And new semester's. And right now I have three pages of sticker-chart hanging on my bathroom wall. (Yes, one of the rows is for "write in journal/blog.") It's nice to keep in mind the things that I want to do, the person that I want to become.
And I understand that, while my intentions may be good and my effort admirable, I probably won't make all of those goals. I might not get to the Serengeti before I turn 30 to cross it off my list. It's getting to the time of the year when I can look at the goals I made for 2011 and realize that I probably won't lose 10 pounds before Jan 1, nor will I pass my prospectus exam, unless the university system radically changes during finals week. And similarly this week there are several rows on the sticker chart that are relatively barren. "Don't eat after 8:00" for example, and "do >15 min. of service." I still think those are worthy goals, but for one reason or another, it didn't happen this week, and I think that's okay.
After all, there are some pretty cool ones I did keep: I'm a regular flosser for 3 weeks now, and I've been pretty good about reading the Book of Mormon, getting to bed by 11:00 pm, tidying up and, yes, writing something on here or in my journal. This year I did lose weight, and I did pass my field exam, and I cross several things off of my "30 before 30" list this year, including a traditional hike through the English countryside and making a wedding cake. I like to look back on these accomplishment and think about them.
So why do I do this? Why do I have to set a goal on Goodreads for books to read this year, or try to visit 10 Christian denominations while I'm in Texas, or read everything Shakespeare wrote? Part of me worries that this is a "list-worth" problem, that my self worth is tied up in doing good things, proving to others that I've done cool things. For example, I read all those books, but was it close enough? Did they enter into my soul?
I love even my failed goals, though, and I don't want to hate myself if I don't achieve a goal, or if I end up modifying that dream. One reason I love my failed goals is that something is better than nothing. Even though I only did creative writing 3 times this week, one of those days was an obsessive day where I pondered a lot and ended up with 11 single-spaced pages. Even though I only did service for 15 minutes, it's 15 minutes more than I perhaps would have without the reminder. I got something from it.
Another reason why I love even my failed goals is I think that the goals I set describe who I want to be, and who I want to be determines a lot about who I am. The half-marathon I ran this year represents my becoming an athlete, a runner, which, if you had asked my 14-year-old self (the one, may I point out, on the track & field team) if she was a runner, or wanted to be, I don't think she'd concur. But, after running a half-marathon was on my "someday" list for several years, I actually started running more often and longer and I did it. That one I achieved, yes, but there are many failed goals, like my plan to do 100 hours of service in the summer, that still represent a good change in my intentions, an ideal that means something to me.
Finally, I think goals represent a sort of optimism. I can get better. I will get better. Of course, ideally the goals that you set will fall into those business school acronyms and be properly specific, measurable, etc., but any goal (and a real goal, not just a fantasy) suggests a path from where I am to where I want to be, a path that exists, that's a possibility, and that's wonderfully reassuring.
Also, it helps when you get stickers everyday. I love stickers.
I adore setting goals. I make New Year's Resolutions. And new semester's. And right now I have three pages of sticker-chart hanging on my bathroom wall. (Yes, one of the rows is for "write in journal/blog.") It's nice to keep in mind the things that I want to do, the person that I want to become.
And I understand that, while my intentions may be good and my effort admirable, I probably won't make all of those goals. I might not get to the Serengeti before I turn 30 to cross it off my list. It's getting to the time of the year when I can look at the goals I made for 2011 and realize that I probably won't lose 10 pounds before Jan 1, nor will I pass my prospectus exam, unless the university system radically changes during finals week. And similarly this week there are several rows on the sticker chart that are relatively barren. "Don't eat after 8:00" for example, and "do >15 min. of service." I still think those are worthy goals, but for one reason or another, it didn't happen this week, and I think that's okay.
After all, there are some pretty cool ones I did keep: I'm a regular flosser for 3 weeks now, and I've been pretty good about reading the Book of Mormon, getting to bed by 11:00 pm, tidying up and, yes, writing something on here or in my journal. This year I did lose weight, and I did pass my field exam, and I cross several things off of my "30 before 30" list this year, including a traditional hike through the English countryside and making a wedding cake. I like to look back on these accomplishment and think about them.
So why do I do this? Why do I have to set a goal on Goodreads for books to read this year, or try to visit 10 Christian denominations while I'm in Texas, or read everything Shakespeare wrote? Part of me worries that this is a "list-worth" problem, that my self worth is tied up in doing good things, proving to others that I've done cool things. For example, I read all those books, but was it close enough? Did they enter into my soul?
I love even my failed goals, though, and I don't want to hate myself if I don't achieve a goal, or if I end up modifying that dream. One reason I love my failed goals is that something is better than nothing. Even though I only did creative writing 3 times this week, one of those days was an obsessive day where I pondered a lot and ended up with 11 single-spaced pages. Even though I only did service for 15 minutes, it's 15 minutes more than I perhaps would have without the reminder. I got something from it.
Another reason why I love even my failed goals is I think that the goals I set describe who I want to be, and who I want to be determines a lot about who I am. The half-marathon I ran this year represents my becoming an athlete, a runner, which, if you had asked my 14-year-old self (the one, may I point out, on the track & field team) if she was a runner, or wanted to be, I don't think she'd concur. But, after running a half-marathon was on my "someday" list for several years, I actually started running more often and longer and I did it. That one I achieved, yes, but there are many failed goals, like my plan to do 100 hours of service in the summer, that still represent a good change in my intentions, an ideal that means something to me.
Finally, I think goals represent a sort of optimism. I can get better. I will get better. Of course, ideally the goals that you set will fall into those business school acronyms and be properly specific, measurable, etc., but any goal (and a real goal, not just a fantasy) suggests a path from where I am to where I want to be, a path that exists, that's a possibility, and that's wonderfully reassuring.
Also, it helps when you get stickers everyday. I love stickers.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Diary of a Wii Fit Mii
What a great day! I started my morning with my standard run along the island. It's a good thing our island doesn't have any cars, because then it would be harder for everyone of us to go for a morning run. But then, who would be driving? Ha, ha. It was a great run. Guess who I saw? Everyone. Even old man Parkins was out there hitting the pavement, then fluffly grass, then pavement again. Do you know who else was there? Puppies. Lots of puppies. I love the herds of puppies that run around the island. It's so friendly.
After my run, I couldn't help but stand around the finish line and watch all the other people come in from their morning run. I clapped and clapped. I'm so proud of them for finishing. Sometimes I don't know which I enjoy more: running and waving to the people behind me, or standing and jumping up and down clapping.
When I finally got home, boy was I in for a treat! There was some crazy person walking a tightrope over my building! I kept frantically gesturing for my friends to come and see, but they never came to the window--I don't know why. It was especially exciting when that black blob tried to eat the tightrope walker--don't worry, she jumped over it!
After all that excitement, I was happy to enjoy watching some soothing hula hoop. I even threw a few hula hoops myself, after raising them up over my head. Great times.
And what would end the perfect day? Why, going to a step aerobics concert! I love watching that ensemble of diverse people rhythmically stepping on, then stepping off, then stepping on again onto a slightly raised surface! I got so caught up in it that I started clapping my stubs along with the rest of the audience--what entertainment!
This truly is the best of all possible worlds.
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