2.24.2011

Of Passion

I've never run up a hill with my arms thrown wide in a nun outfit belting in song. Have you?


I have however, run around a bedroom on stage in pajamas...belting in song. The Sound of Music is the one real play ever to receive my secret acting talents upon its memory. I had a prestigious role: VonTrapp daughter, Louisa. Approximately 7 lines in the entire play (not counting songs) and one fluffy pink party gown (the highlight of my acting career). I was fourteen.

"Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens, bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens, brown paper packages tied up with strings, these are a few of my favorite things."



I sang this song (and danced to it, too!), but apart from the "raindrops on roses" (only if they're yellow), the lyrics listed very few of my favorite things. Bright copper kettles remind me of scrubbing for hours. Warm woolen mittens make me want to buy anti-itch cream. But we all like to talk about our favorite things. We all like to share what quickens our hearts, what widens our eyes, what makes us gasp, what makes us smile, what makes us secretly want to throw out our hands and run up a hill in song (okay, maybe not that far).

Everyone has loves and hates. A professor of mine started a semester class with, "Write down two loves and two hates." Then, "Share them with your neighbor." The room exploded with passion--from hatred of celery to the love of waltzing. From loathing fruit-scented candles to joy in a baby's giggle.

We. Have. Passion.

"passion"--n. strong and barely controllable emotion

We have passion from the small to the unfathomable--from pet-peeves to life-long beliefs. It is meant to be shared, like smiles, hugs, and scar-stories. So (accepting that God and His Word are givens and in a different category anyway), here are some of mine.

Small loves:
Yellow Roses
Sunrises
Laughter

Small hates:
Crinkled paper
Black licorice
Darkness

Serious loves:
Unity among people
Communication
Passion

Serious hates:
Arguments
Being fake
Crude humor/sarcasm

I know you have passions--loves and hates. Write them down somewhere--recognize your passions. Why? Because it reminds us how real we are and how much depth we have. It reminds us that there are things we love and cherish, that there are things to cherish--things we want to weave through our lives with thicker strands.

Passion can't be faked.
Passion can grow.
Passion is always beautiful.
Passion is real.

I pray that I act on my passions--that someday I encourage unity, I pursue communication, and I maintain and grow in my passion. And maybe someday I'll stop my arguments, avoid being fake, and preserve clean/wholesome humor.

2.16.2011

The Positive Magnet

What if...

...we only looked at the positives in other people for a single day?

Slide on a whole new set of glasses, just for a moment, to dim the brightness of the negatives. Yes, negatives are bright. Negatives are blinding. We tend to associate the word "negative" with negative words: dark, gloomy, unpleasant, mean, ugly. But in all reality, negatives are far brighter than positives. I know this, because it's not until I put on those sunglasses that I can see past the negatives. The positives may not be brighter, but they're far more beautiful. They take more choice to look at.

My dad: he's giving--selflessly and without reserve.
My mom: she cares about everyone with a sincere mother's heart.
My brother-in-law: he's selfless and genuine.
My older sister: she's fiercely protective of those she loves.
My younger brother: he's helpful, ready to drop what he's doing to do what needs doing.
My younger sister: she's good-hearted. If she sees an ounce of hurt, she looks for emotional and physical band-aids.

Choosing to look at the positives doesn't mean pretending the negatives don't exist--it's a + and - magnet, forever stuck to our refrigerator of life. I know there are negatives in my family members. I've grown up with them. But when I flip the magnet to the + side, it makes my heart swell with pride. I am reminded how good they are. I can't believe this is my family.

What if I did this with everyone? Even the people who are harder for me to love?
A boy in junior high may have tormented me for two years...but he loved to make others laugh. He loved to see people smile. And in the end, he apologized with true sincerity. He cared about others' well-being.
A girl I know may have stolen from those providing for her, but she relished companionship. She loved to be loved and she adored pouring quality time into others. A pastor I know may have left his congregation burning, but he loved his family with every ounce of his existence.

Sometimes negatives make us flare up. "Why should I look at her positives? She doesn't deserve it."
But do you deserve it? Don't you want people to see the positives in you? To know that there is more to you than your mistakes, your gloomy days, or your selfishness that always seems to pop out like a jack-in-the-box? Don't you want people to look for your heart? To know you have a heart?

Everyone has a heart. One of my favorite things to do is try and find it, because once I do--once I see that teensy glimpse in someone--there's no forgetting it. I'll always know that, underneath the hard, tough, slimy exterior, there's desire--desire to be something more. To be something genuine. To be something beautiful and worthwhile.

I know it's in you. I know it's in me. It's in everyone. All we need is to make a choice, for a single day...a single hour even...to block out the negatives with those glasses. Even if it just consists of writing a name on a grocery list and forcing ourselves to think of a minuscule positive. Let's not doom those around us to our negative gazes. God's given us an ability to look deeper. Let's not waste it.

2.05.2011

Remember Love

I walked into the grocery store a few weeks ago and almost walked right back out at the sight that greeted me.


I've never been a fan of Valentine's Day (shocking, coming from a woman). Maybe it's because I never really had a reason to celebrate it before. Maybe because I don't know why we celebrate it. Maybe it's because my tomboy childhood friend taught me that the color pink is an evil gremlin-lord that requires mud-domination. No matter the reason, I almost always forget about Valentine's Day until I'm backhanded by the pink chocolates, stickers, cards, balloons, and....owls?


Seriously...would you want a pink owl planter? The Valentine designers are growing desperate.

Take a moment and think about the men on Valentine's Day. Firstly, pink is not a "man's color". In desperation (partially thanks to Valentine's Day), men have been forced to accept pink into their wardrobe and wear it proudly (or at least fake pride and confidence). Not only that, but look at Valentine's Day commercials--jewelry, flowers, chocolate....this is clearly not a holiday (for lack of a better word) for men. It should be a holiday for both guy and girl, but the girls got a bit greedy somewhere down the line.

Think about it. Do men stress about this holiday?
Yes.
Why? Because they're forced to be creative, to dig through their bank accounts, and to balance multiple expectations on their shoulders. There's pressure and that's not nice.
Does a woman stress about this holiday?
I doubt it (I clearly don't).
Why? Because she's sitting, waiting for the guy to "surprise" her (as if she doesn't know something's coming). If he doesn't, she's disappointed...which leads to strife.



I speak of all this in broad terms. I know there are wonderful girls out there who shower the guys with pink-less, manly gifts. There are guys who don't feel pressured. There are couples who love the celebration (and each other). They ought to teach classes.

But why do we celebrate Valentine's Day? How did it start? Naturally, I leap to the endless electronic archives and dig with my dot-com shovel. Valentine's Day celebrates the martyrdom of three different men with different variations of the name Valentine. They died at different times. They lived different lives. And that's all we know. That is the basis of our knowledge, the cornerstone of the pink gremlin-lord. After that, come only myth and legend. There must have been love in there somewhere. Maybe even the color pink.

Something deep inside me wishes the truth lay within grasp--the real truth. Three men died for their faith. Their faith. That is the only fact we carry and we celebrate it with chocolate and flowers. But do we really? Do we honor these men? Does anyone even think of them on Valentine's Day anymore? Do we see postcards with stories of their deaths?
I would love to know their stories. There is depth there. So much depth. Think of what it means to be a martyr.

"Somebody who suffers persecution and death for refusing to renounce a belief or cause, usually religious."

"One who makes great sacrifices or suffers much in order to further a belief, cause, or principle."

Imagine if you stood on the brink of martyrdom.
You have a choice--renounce your faith and beliefs or die in whatever way your persecutor decides. How do you feel at this moment? Brave? Strong? Terrified? Calm? It's the pinnacle of your life and you can only hope, with one shaky breath, that someone somewhere will understand how important this moment is for you. You want everyone to know why you are going to die--because you have faith. Because you believe it's right. Because you trust in God.
But will anyone ever know? Could they understand the internal struggle and external fear that hold you frozen at this moment? Or will they laugh and draw pink chalk hearts on the sidewalk, practically forgetting your name?

This Valentine's Day, let's spare a sober thought among the many joyful ones and remember, not just these three Valentine martyrs, but martyrs around the world, around our Earth's time-line. Even if we don't know their stories. Think of their tense, quickened heartbeats as they give themselves up for what they trust and love--God, faith, friends.

That is a love we often don't celebrate.

.