battling against bland. May 31, 2008

“let your speech always be gracious, seasoned with salt . . .” (esv)

“let your speech at all times be gracious (pleasant and winsome), seasoned [as it were] with salt . . .” (amplified)

“be gracious in your speech. the goal is to bring out the best in others in a conversation, not put them down, not cut them out.” (message)

to “bring out the best.”  that’s the point of salt.  to find the good in food and accentuate it.  to make it taste the best it can.  that– THAT– is the point of our speech.  to use our voices as instruments of grace and as a means of edification.

i just got done reading pages of comments from people who i KNOW know this verse.  in their conversation, feeding on each others’ comments, i had a very hard time seeing grace.  i tried to see it.  i tried to taste any grace that they might be depositing.  but their words–typed weapons posted for people to see– left a very, very poor taste in my mouth.

now, am i of the belief that we shouldn’t talk about problems that we see?  flaws in systems?  mistakes in life?  absolutely not.  don’t cover things that can be improved.  don’t ignore mistakes.  bring them to the surface.  FIX them.  that is a means of grace– constructively deciding to expose in order to build better.  in order to truly edify.  to make grace clearer as the problems are seen and extracted.

this isn’t what i’m seeing.  i’m not reading words that want to invoke change.  i’m not noticing that conversations like these want to build anything.  i’m hearing the clashing brass of graceless speech determining to damage.

it saddens me.  it really does.

generally, i believe the old proverb that speech, truly, is like silver.  it’s a good, precious thing.  but there’s another half to this old saying that i believe applies to this salt-lacking speech situation and others like it and that is that . . .

silence, absolute silence, is golden.

quotation of the day: 05.25.08. May 25, 2008

“we are only asked to love, to offer hope to the many hopeless. we don’t get to choose all the endings, but we are asked to play the rescuers. we won’t solve all mysteries and our hearts will certainly break in such a vulnerable life, but it is the best way. we were made to be lovers bold in broken places, pouring ourselves out again and again until we’re called home.”

–to write love on her arms

of pools and pirates. May 20, 2008

(disclaimer: if you have no idea what in the world a jolly roger is, stop reading now . . . 😉 )

background:

for those of you who don’t know, i’m working at a daycamp this summer. (talk about going from the sublime to the occasionally riduculous . . .) this work environment, except on rare–very rare– days, is never boring.

so, on to the story:

due to unfortunate circumstances, one male leader at daycamp found himself temporarily stuck with all of the younger-aged boys (2-6th grades) yesterday in the locker room to the pool by himself. struggling to maintain some method to the madness while the boys impatiently waited to get wet, he wrangled as many boys that he could to sit until the lifeguards would let them in.

just as the decibels were returning to undeafening status, and the leader breathed a sigh of nervous relief, the outside door to the locker room opened.

who should walk in but . . . <<insert dramatic music here>>

patch the pirate.

the locker room ex-plod-ed.

“patch the pirate! it’s patch the pirate!,” the chorus of young boys sang as they jumped up and practically assaulted the fundamental celebrity.

the leader (according to his own testimony), vainly tried to resecure the premises as half-naked little boys who were changing jumped from stalls and showers to get a personal glimpse of the pirate.

“ahoy, mates!” the pirate chanted.

the chaos turned to mayhem as the leader, shouting, could not restrain the admirers in swimmies anymore.

luckily for him, the lifeguard opened the door.

first time for everything . . .

last night was absolutely perfect. it was in the mid-70s with a light breeze. the full moon offered enough light to look and listen to a good friend as we walked and talked. the field, with its short, full grass, tapered drastically to our right.

i looked over at my friend and said, “you know, i’ve never rolled down a hill before.” the shadows of her face revealed her astonishment.

“really?!”

“never.”

we walked a few more steps before i stopped and looked at her again.

“hey . . . i will if you will.”

we put our stuff down (i took my glasses off) and positioned ourselves at the top of the hill.

we counted down before we tipped ourselves, rolling until the field leveled itself again.

we finally stopped and sprawled across the grass at the bottom and laughed until the dizziness passed . . . or was close to passing.

i looked at the stars, my fingers lacing around the grass, and thought to myself, “this is a happy moment.”

it was . . . a simple, happy moment.

i’ve decided i definitely need more of those (especially when my mind finds itself heavy. unfortunately often, recently.).

however, i’ve found that simple, happy moments don’t take much . . .

just some spontaneity, a good friend, and a grassy hill.