A friend loaned me this popular Christian book last week, and in an effort not to have it in my possession for months on end, I've plowed through it in a week and a half. Luckily it was interesting which aids in speeding through a book. But the fast read also gave me some interesting insight into it that I might have missed had I taken a slower pace.
The book is touted as one of the best out there to "prove" the crux of the Christian faith, namely that a carpenter from Galilee who lived on earth 2000 years ago is the Son of God, the promised Messiah, the Christ. A successful journalist takes a "hard look" at the evidence out there, interviewing 13 different authorities on areas including archeology, history, language, New Testament, and others. The author gives himself some good credibility by providing examples from his career as a crime journalist, covering many controversial murder trials and other sensational court cases.
Being a history-lover, I was interested in reading some of the historical evidences for the New Testament gospels. But to be honest, if I wasn't already a committed Christian, I think this book might have tipped the scales to atheism for me! It was poorly argued and immaturely laid-out. The arguments contradicted each other from one chapter to the next. The author posed a question and accepted a superficial answer as a "knock-out punch," when in fact I could think of at least 5 or 6 more probing questions I would have posed.
Perhaps most unnerving was the forceful conclusions drawn for the reader. In a book where the author claimed to want to research the evidence, examine it all closely, and then draw his own conclusions, I found it bordering on dangerous how manipulative his conclusions were. Many people reading would be guided to simply agree with the author rather than process the information personally. In this way, the book borders on propaganda disguised as impartial - a dangerous combination.
I think, too, that this is a good example of how most people of faith react to their own religions. They are aware of the surface answers to questions. Sitting in a bible study or Sunday School class they would offer up these textbook answers, confident in their knowledge and grasp of key doctrines and principles. But they have neglected to dig deeper and yearn for understanding of the concepts to which they cling. I am not saying that religion is bad, but it does help me understand the Marxist quote "religion is an opium for the masses." Too often people lazily rely on others to hand them a watered-down, easily-digested version of faith and never take the time to immerse themselves in the beautiful ideas beneath.
I already stated I am a committed Christian, and a firm believer in my own faith (The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints). Gratefully I have been taught both the skill and the importance of critical thinking and I love to spend time pondering on the deeper meaning of scriptural teachings. There is much treasure to be found if one digs deeper into the sand rather than just sifting through the top layer. Certainly there were some interesting ideas presented in "The Case for Christ," once I looked past the formal presentation. I learned much in some areas and was given food for thought in others. But although I think the theories are worthwhile, I would definitely look for a different, less pushy source.
Tuesday, 20 April 2010
Monday, 19 April 2010
An Education
I saw an excellent film this weekend. I rented it on a whim - James was going out with the guys and I had about 3.2 minutes to choose something. Now granted, it was a Best Picture nomination and I think the actress won the Best Actress category, so I knew I was starting with something at least critically acclaimed.
First of all, let me say how pleasant it was that the film was rated PG. I'm not one for movies where they swear like sailors or have sex scenes just shy of pornography, or violence that makes me close my eyes and miss most of the film. And, sad to say, most films that aren't animated these days run in one of these categories. What I found astonishing was that it would have been very easy for the screenwriter to make this an R rated film. The sex scenes could have been more graphic and the characters language could have been coloured more on the blue side. But it wasn't. And what that shows more than anything is how easy it would be to turn many R rated films into PG films. We don't need the exhibitionism. Granted, there are times when the story calls for something more graphic. But for the most part, it's gratuitous.
But what really struck me about the film was the theme, the moral at the heart of it. (Spoiler alert) Here is a film about a young girl who eschews her chance at a formal ivy-league university education to run wild with an older, more alluring and seemingly sophisticated man. In today's culture, this kind of behaviour is usually celebrated. Shake off the chains of oppression! Forget responsibility! Live a little (or a lot)! Run on the wild side! Live for yourself! We live in an instant gratification, self-centered society and our films reflect it perfectly. Except this one. "An Education" is more of a cautionary tale about the real possible consequence of living a self-indulgent lifestyle. Even though there are mature themes involved, I think this a must-see film for teen girls today. A wake-up call to reality, for sure.
All in all, it makes me happy to enjoy a film. I'm so rarely taken heart and soul by movies these days, and it is such a delight when it happens, even more so when it is unexpected.
First of all, let me say how pleasant it was that the film was rated PG. I'm not one for movies where they swear like sailors or have sex scenes just shy of pornography, or violence that makes me close my eyes and miss most of the film. And, sad to say, most films that aren't animated these days run in one of these categories. What I found astonishing was that it would have been very easy for the screenwriter to make this an R rated film. The sex scenes could have been more graphic and the characters language could have been coloured more on the blue side. But it wasn't. And what that shows more than anything is how easy it would be to turn many R rated films into PG films. We don't need the exhibitionism. Granted, there are times when the story calls for something more graphic. But for the most part, it's gratuitous.
But what really struck me about the film was the theme, the moral at the heart of it. (Spoiler alert) Here is a film about a young girl who eschews her chance at a formal ivy-league university education to run wild with an older, more alluring and seemingly sophisticated man. In today's culture, this kind of behaviour is usually celebrated. Shake off the chains of oppression! Forget responsibility! Live a little (or a lot)! Run on the wild side! Live for yourself! We live in an instant gratification, self-centered society and our films reflect it perfectly. Except this one. "An Education" is more of a cautionary tale about the real possible consequence of living a self-indulgent lifestyle. Even though there are mature themes involved, I think this a must-see film for teen girls today. A wake-up call to reality, for sure.
All in all, it makes me happy to enjoy a film. I'm so rarely taken heart and soul by movies these days, and it is such a delight when it happens, even more so when it is unexpected.
Friday, 16 April 2010
Feeling-
I'm not even sure how I describe the feeling. It's another part of me, something in complete diametric opposition to the part of me I am these days. It's as though I have two sides to myself that are incompatible. Split personality is the Hollywood glamourized way of saying it, although it doesn't feel as psychotic as that. Moreso like a teeter totter in an ocean. One side of me soars above the water while the other is submerged, then the other rises from the waves and the first side descends into the deep. I never feel like the side underwater is drowning; in fact, I hardly notice it while I have my head up and in the saltwater sky. I only ever feel this feeling when I take that first breath of air after that side has been beneath for a time.
Enough analogy. I am at once a mother, wife, homemaker, and an artist, free spirit, wanderer. I suppose some people find a way to reconcile the two sides, but most don't. I think an artist by nature is a loner. She has a need to process life without distraction, to descend into loneliness in order to birth an artistic creation. Misery loves company, but melancholy inspires brilliance. It is true that I can feverishly write and compose when I am unsettled; when I am satisfied I find myself empty.
When I embark on an artistic journey, it is not long before I yearn for the stability of home. When I nest among family I inevitably feel the tug of wings wanting to fly.
Art is all romantic notions. Not romance, but romantic - overflowing with emotions at impossible levels. Impossible in that one could never sustain an entire life living at that sort of emotional height. The great balance of life demands a continuous circle of ups and downs. I don't think my teeter-totter is supposed to level out permanently; but each end must be given its due time in air and in water, up and down.
This sort of mood settles on me after a certain book, movie, melody, poem, or vista. I can see the poetry of a lonely oak tree bending in a field as readily as in lines on a page or a beautifully crafted scene in a film or a haunting tumble of notes in a song. This evening it was a film: "An Education." It was a deadly combination, rather, not deadly, but obvious. The combination was an obvious one to bring on such a mood. Literature and French and Paris and youth and love and heartache and whimsy and reality. Watched in the darkness of my home, alone, with only a streetlight spilling its orange glow - a romantic set piece in itself.
Can you feel the difference in me as you read this post? I can feel that other self emerging in the way my thoughts form and flow onto the page. I feel lyrical, poetic, and expressive.
This self has been submerged a while. In these days of early motherhood, with babies and toddlers and day after day inextiguishable from the previous or the next, there is not much place or time to let the wandering artist free. One day, though, one day there will be a time when both have a chance to rise as often as the other. Perhaps then I, too, will find some sort of reconcilliation within.
Enough analogy. I am at once a mother, wife, homemaker, and an artist, free spirit, wanderer. I suppose some people find a way to reconcile the two sides, but most don't. I think an artist by nature is a loner. She has a need to process life without distraction, to descend into loneliness in order to birth an artistic creation. Misery loves company, but melancholy inspires brilliance. It is true that I can feverishly write and compose when I am unsettled; when I am satisfied I find myself empty.
When I embark on an artistic journey, it is not long before I yearn for the stability of home. When I nest among family I inevitably feel the tug of wings wanting to fly.
Art is all romantic notions. Not romance, but romantic - overflowing with emotions at impossible levels. Impossible in that one could never sustain an entire life living at that sort of emotional height. The great balance of life demands a continuous circle of ups and downs. I don't think my teeter-totter is supposed to level out permanently; but each end must be given its due time in air and in water, up and down.
This sort of mood settles on me after a certain book, movie, melody, poem, or vista. I can see the poetry of a lonely oak tree bending in a field as readily as in lines on a page or a beautifully crafted scene in a film or a haunting tumble of notes in a song. This evening it was a film: "An Education." It was a deadly combination, rather, not deadly, but obvious. The combination was an obvious one to bring on such a mood. Literature and French and Paris and youth and love and heartache and whimsy and reality. Watched in the darkness of my home, alone, with only a streetlight spilling its orange glow - a romantic set piece in itself.
Can you feel the difference in me as you read this post? I can feel that other self emerging in the way my thoughts form and flow onto the page. I feel lyrical, poetic, and expressive.
This self has been submerged a while. In these days of early motherhood, with babies and toddlers and day after day inextiguishable from the previous or the next, there is not much place or time to let the wandering artist free. One day, though, one day there will be a time when both have a chance to rise as often as the other. Perhaps then I, too, will find some sort of reconcilliation within.
Thursday, 15 April 2010
Caleb's speech
I am experiencing the most unusual speech issue with Caleb. He has a huge vocabulary, most of which he pronounces fairly accurately. He has a little lisp, and tends to imitate Colin's tendency to pronounce "b" as a "v" in the middle of words (like "tavel" for "table"). He even uses big words like "normally" and "usually" and specific words like "craft" and "indeed."
But over the past month or so he has started to put a "g" at the beginning of many of his words. Some of the ones he uses are "grotato" (potato) "gasagna" (lasagna) "guseum" (museum). There is no consistency to which letter he is replacing with the "g" sound. He says "lunch" but not "lasagna." He says "Mommy" but not "museum." Not only that, but he used to say all these words properly before. There seems to be no thought process before hand, as though he wanted to mix it all up for fun. He continues speaking in his usual conversation fashion, but is putting "g" sounds everywhere! When I correct him, he says the word a few times incorrectly before imitating my drawn-out pronounciation, inserting the correct letter.
I had a fleeting thought it might be related to new baby syndrome, a little toddler regression in light of the new arrival, but after observing the situation for a couple of weeks, I am convinced that is not an issue.
Has anyone out there run into this before? Those of you in education and child care, or others who work with kids?
But over the past month or so he has started to put a "g" at the beginning of many of his words. Some of the ones he uses are "grotato" (potato) "gasagna" (lasagna) "guseum" (museum). There is no consistency to which letter he is replacing with the "g" sound. He says "lunch" but not "lasagna." He says "Mommy" but not "museum." Not only that, but he used to say all these words properly before. There seems to be no thought process before hand, as though he wanted to mix it all up for fun. He continues speaking in his usual conversation fashion, but is putting "g" sounds everywhere! When I correct him, he says the word a few times incorrectly before imitating my drawn-out pronounciation, inserting the correct letter.
I had a fleeting thought it might be related to new baby syndrome, a little toddler regression in light of the new arrival, but after observing the situation for a couple of weeks, I am convinced that is not an issue.
Has anyone out there run into this before? Those of you in education and child care, or others who work with kids?
Conversation with Colin
Mommy: Yes! A pull-through!
Colin: What's a pull-through?
Mommy: It's when no one has parked in front of you in the parking lot and you can drive right through instead of backing up.
Colin: Is that good?
Mommy: It's easier.
Colin: But Mommy! You just drove over a yellow line!
Mommy: Oh, those yellow lines are just to know where to park. It's okay to drive over those ones.
Colin: But not the ones on the road.
Mommy: No.
Colin: Hmm. Okay, here are the rules of the road. Number one: if you drive fast, you will get a ticket and go to jail.
Mommy: Well, you might get a ticket, but you won't go to jail if you just do it once. Maybe if you keep doing it and drive dangerously, you might go to jail.
Colin: Rule number two: if lots of people drive fast, then they will all go to jail and the jails will be full. Rule number four: If you hit a car and have an accident, and a little crumb falls off the car, then you have to get out and look with a flashlight for the crumb, and if you find it, you can put it back on and then you don't have to go to jail. Those are the rules of the road. Make sure you follow them, Mommy.
Mommy: Thank you, Colin.
Colin: What's a pull-through?
Mommy: It's when no one has parked in front of you in the parking lot and you can drive right through instead of backing up.
Colin: Is that good?
Mommy: It's easier.
Colin: But Mommy! You just drove over a yellow line!
Mommy: Oh, those yellow lines are just to know where to park. It's okay to drive over those ones.
Colin: But not the ones on the road.
Mommy: No.
Colin: Hmm. Okay, here are the rules of the road. Number one: if you drive fast, you will get a ticket and go to jail.
Mommy: Well, you might get a ticket, but you won't go to jail if you just do it once. Maybe if you keep doing it and drive dangerously, you might go to jail.
Colin: Rule number two: if lots of people drive fast, then they will all go to jail and the jails will be full. Rule number four: If you hit a car and have an accident, and a little crumb falls off the car, then you have to get out and look with a flashlight for the crumb, and if you find it, you can put it back on and then you don't have to go to jail. Those are the rules of the road. Make sure you follow them, Mommy.
Mommy: Thank you, Colin.
Tuesday, 13 April 2010
Whole Wheat Pasta
I don't know why I haven't tried whole wheat pasta before now. I know that there is little nutritional value to all our bleached white breads, flours and pastas. Perhaps a) whole wheat pasta costs a lot more for a lot less and b) it just didn't look like it would taste that great.
As for my first concern, I noticed the cost of whole wheat pasta coming down as the price of traditional white pasta rose. Although they aren't on the same plain yet, all of a sudden it didn't seem outrageously out of the budget to have whole wheat pasta. Even more significant, since pasta is a food I stockpile in my food storage, grocery stores have started to include it in the items that go on sale once in a while, making it more budget and food-storage friendly.
Even while having a couple of boxes of whole wheat pasta on my shelf downstairs, my second concern continued to loom. The boxes sat for a couple of months. The first was given to me by a friend who brought a meal over while I was sick with this last pregnancy. Then I reluctantly picked up a couple more when I saw a sale, unable to pass over the deal.
So last week I finally decided that I would give it a whirl.
I LOVE WHOLE WHEAT PASTA!
Really - it tastes infinitely better than its bleached and unhealthy counter part! I was so astonished. I think James got tired of hearing me praise in wonder as I savoured the thick spaghetti noodles under a plain old jar of spaghetti sauce accentuated with chunks of broccoli. Really, looking back, I wasn't even giving it a real chance when I served it with plain sauce and nothing to embellish but the broccoli. But even in these underdog circumstances, it triumphed over my tastebuds.
I don't even want to eat white pasta anymore. (Too bad since the very morning of the whole wheat pasta dinner I had done the food shopping, including stockpiling on another 3 months of white pasta that was on fire sale!) While I still cling to white rice and often prefer white flour, I have certainly leaped whole-heartedly onto the whole wheat pasta train.
As for my first concern, I noticed the cost of whole wheat pasta coming down as the price of traditional white pasta rose. Although they aren't on the same plain yet, all of a sudden it didn't seem outrageously out of the budget to have whole wheat pasta. Even more significant, since pasta is a food I stockpile in my food storage, grocery stores have started to include it in the items that go on sale once in a while, making it more budget and food-storage friendly.
Even while having a couple of boxes of whole wheat pasta on my shelf downstairs, my second concern continued to loom. The boxes sat for a couple of months. The first was given to me by a friend who brought a meal over while I was sick with this last pregnancy. Then I reluctantly picked up a couple more when I saw a sale, unable to pass over the deal.
So last week I finally decided that I would give it a whirl.
I LOVE WHOLE WHEAT PASTA!
Really - it tastes infinitely better than its bleached and unhealthy counter part! I was so astonished. I think James got tired of hearing me praise in wonder as I savoured the thick spaghetti noodles under a plain old jar of spaghetti sauce accentuated with chunks of broccoli. Really, looking back, I wasn't even giving it a real chance when I served it with plain sauce and nothing to embellish but the broccoli. But even in these underdog circumstances, it triumphed over my tastebuds.
I don't even want to eat white pasta anymore. (Too bad since the very morning of the whole wheat pasta dinner I had done the food shopping, including stockpiling on another 3 months of white pasta that was on fire sale!) While I still cling to white rice and often prefer white flour, I have certainly leaped whole-heartedly onto the whole wheat pasta train.
Saturday, 10 April 2010
Quilting
I love quilts. They have a beautiful quality to them, like a memory sewn right into the very threads of a blanket. I have made a few easy baby blanket quilts, but that's it for my experience. Not much time right now. But I do get a weekly email from a website called "All People Quilt" which links up to pictures and patterns of hundreds of different quilts. I don't usually even get to read it; I just like that it comes to my inbox so that one day down the road when I do have time to quilt, I'll have a ready resource to get me going.
A few weeks back the email was titled "All about Antique quilts." Well, that's right down the alley ( eventually want to be going down! So let the email linger in my inbox (something I don't usually do - I like a neat and tidy inbox!) Today I got around to clicking into the featured article called "traditions remembered."
There were 22 posted photos of beautiful antique quilts, each with an accompanying quote from someone in the past - a little memory about their thoughts on quilting. Even though the quotes were only a sentence or two long, some were inspiring.
I made quilts as fast as I could to keep my family warm, and as pretty as I could to keep my heart from breaking.
A pioneer woman’s diary
At the quilting bee, one might have learned . . . how to bring up babies; how to mend a cracked teapot; how to take out grease from brocade; how to reconcile absolute decrees with free will; how to make five yards of cloth answer the purpose of six; and how to put down the Democratic Party.
Harriet Beecher Stowe
I have found nothing so desirable for summer covers as the old-fashioned scrap quilt of which our mothers were so proud. Every girl should piece one at least to carry away to her husband’s house. And if her lot happens to be cast among strangers, the quilt when she unfolds it will seem like the face of a familiar friend, bringing up a host of memories . . . too sacred to intrude upon. Annie Curd, Good Housekeeping, 1888
A few weeks back the email was titled "All about Antique quilts." Well, that's right down the alley ( eventually want to be going down! So let the email linger in my inbox (something I don't usually do - I like a neat and tidy inbox!) Today I got around to clicking into the featured article called "traditions remembered."
There were 22 posted photos of beautiful antique quilts, each with an accompanying quote from someone in the past - a little memory about their thoughts on quilting. Even though the quotes were only a sentence or two long, some were inspiring.
I made quilts as fast as I could to keep my family warm, and as pretty as I could to keep my heart from breaking.
A pioneer woman’s diary
At the quilting bee, one might have learned . . . how to bring up babies; how to mend a cracked teapot; how to take out grease from brocade; how to reconcile absolute decrees with free will; how to make five yards of cloth answer the purpose of six; and how to put down the Democratic Party.
Harriet Beecher Stowe
I have found nothing so desirable for summer covers as the old-fashioned scrap quilt of which our mothers were so proud. Every girl should piece one at least to carry away to her husband’s house. And if her lot happens to be cast among strangers, the quilt when she unfolds it will seem like the face of a familiar friend, bringing up a host of memories . . . too sacred to intrude upon. Annie Curd, Good Housekeeping, 1888
You can spoil the prettiest quilt pieces that ever was made just by putting them together with the wrong color, just as the best sort of life is miserable if you don’t look at things right and think about them right.
Eliza Calvert Hall, Aunt Jane of Kentucky
We learned to sew patchwork at school while we were learning the alphabet; and almost every girl had a bed quilt of her own begun, with an eye to future house furnishing.
Lucy Larcom, A New England Girlhood
We learned to sew patchwork at school while we were learning the alphabet; and almost every girl had a bed quilt of her own begun, with an eye to future house furnishing.
Lucy Larcom, A New England Girlhood
It took me more than 20 years, nearly 25, I reckon, in the evenings after supper when the children were all put to bed. My whole life is in that quilt . . . All my joys and all my sorrows are stitched into those little pieces . . . I tremble sometimes when I remember what that quilt knows about me.
Marguerite Ickis, quoting her great-grandmother
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