I need a paper topic by Friday afternoon. It's for Isaiah-Malachi, hence it needs to be from a book in that range. I like Jonah. Ok, I really like Jonah. It's short and sweet and to the point. The story flows, and there are no strange visions or really difficult theological problems. (Like, say, why does God tell Hosea to marry a woman of ill-repute? I could take that topic but I don't find it all that interesting and don't really want to write about it for 15 pages.) Back to Jonah... Sure, there's the whole whale bit. Oooo... controversy that I once again don't care about. Jonah's raw, and told from the outside, we never really know what Jonah himself is thinking. I like Jonah's stubborn self-righteousness. It's real. It's authentic and human. How many times do I shake my fist at God, shouting, "But I wanted pearls, not diamonds!" Jonah, like the rest of Israel, wanted salvation as he envisioned it. So, how do I turn that into a paper topic?
Grandma didn't get my little experiment. She got the letter and was "tickled." Then she proceeded to direct me to cousin Sharon's cookbook for the recipe to make butter. Hum... not exactly what I was going for. (Not that I won't try making my own butter.) No, Grandma, I want the story behind the making of the butter. Well, she was sure it was just like Dad said it was. No, Grandma. In your words, your memories, your handwriting. She supposed she could do that. We'll see.
26 March 2008
14 March 2008
Six Inches and Homemade Milk
Tangent: Yesterday afternoon I got a hair trim. These are rare occasions for me. And I do say “trim” deliberately, as opposed to “cut.” She promised not to take more than ½ an inch. Feels like she took three. I’m trying to grow out some ill-placed layers with the intention of donating my hair. The minimum for this is 10 inches, which leaves me to decide how long I want my hair minus the 10 inches. I think another 6 inches will do! Sure will save on shampoo.
At the salon, I overheard another stylist and his customer discussing their grade school days. Specifically, they reminisced about a time before ball point pens, when they would get ink smudges all over their hands from using ink wells. My mind proceeded to thoughts on the progress of access to information versus the degradation of communication and relationships. I can sit at my desk and look up any topic on the internet but I’ve lost the art of writing letters to my Grandma.
The other night while conversing with my dad, I stumbled upon a story, and an idea. Dad started sharing about making their own pasteurized milk. Really? Didn’t even realize the corn-and-soy bean farm I knew ever had cows on it. But yes, for a time, Grandpa sold milk, too. Not much milk – only six cows (that Dad remembers). And after they stopped selling milk, “we had all the milk in the world.” So, they pasteurized their own milk on a machine that looked like a hot pad. It would heat the milk for 30 minutes, and then after cooling they would scrape the fat off the top, making “cream so thick you could spread it like butter.” “Imagine what you think of as heavy cream and triple it.” This would be served as sugar and cream sandwiches. Yes, sugar and cream sandwiches. Thank God we all got Grandma’s cholesterol genes. Butter, too, would be homemade, and sometimes cottage cheese.
To this, I responded, “Dad, I want to be a city girl but with a cow. Can I do that?” He laughed. I understand why after 20 years of city living he’s moved back to the Midwest. I understand because, as much as I am a city girl and cannot thrive in small towns, I’m still drawn to my roots. I’m still the product of generations of grain farmers, sharp as tacks but with an insatiable desire to work with their hands, toiling the land. Too bad I don’t have an ounce of green thumb in me.
My mentor encouraged me a few weeks back to dig into my history, specifically for hints of the Lord working in my family line. Like me, she came from a very non-Christian and dysfunctional family. Sometimes it’s difficult to see that the Lord has pursued me – not just in my own life time – but over generations. It feels like I’m a first bud, prone to frost and disease, and if I don’t succeed, my spiritual lineage will wither and die with me. That’s a lie in more ways than one.
For Christmas, I gave Dad a copy of NPR’s StoryCorps Listening is an Act of Love. He’s been encouraged by this to write down more memories: life on the farm, growing up in small town middle-America, etc. I’ve grown more aware that I should draw these stories out of him now, while my last living grandparent is alive. My thought is to listen to Dad’s stories and then write a letter to Grandma asking about the same thing. In the process, three generations will be involved in writing our story.
So, Grandma, tell me all about making cream and butter.
At the salon, I overheard another stylist and his customer discussing their grade school days. Specifically, they reminisced about a time before ball point pens, when they would get ink smudges all over their hands from using ink wells. My mind proceeded to thoughts on the progress of access to information versus the degradation of communication and relationships. I can sit at my desk and look up any topic on the internet but I’ve lost the art of writing letters to my Grandma.
The other night while conversing with my dad, I stumbled upon a story, and an idea. Dad started sharing about making their own pasteurized milk. Really? Didn’t even realize the corn-and-soy bean farm I knew ever had cows on it. But yes, for a time, Grandpa sold milk, too. Not much milk – only six cows (that Dad remembers). And after they stopped selling milk, “we had all the milk in the world.” So, they pasteurized their own milk on a machine that looked like a hot pad. It would heat the milk for 30 minutes, and then after cooling they would scrape the fat off the top, making “cream so thick you could spread it like butter.” “Imagine what you think of as heavy cream and triple it.” This would be served as sugar and cream sandwiches. Yes, sugar and cream sandwiches. Thank God we all got Grandma’s cholesterol genes. Butter, too, would be homemade, and sometimes cottage cheese.
To this, I responded, “Dad, I want to be a city girl but with a cow. Can I do that?” He laughed. I understand why after 20 years of city living he’s moved back to the Midwest. I understand because, as much as I am a city girl and cannot thrive in small towns, I’m still drawn to my roots. I’m still the product of generations of grain farmers, sharp as tacks but with an insatiable desire to work with their hands, toiling the land. Too bad I don’t have an ounce of green thumb in me.
My mentor encouraged me a few weeks back to dig into my history, specifically for hints of the Lord working in my family line. Like me, she came from a very non-Christian and dysfunctional family. Sometimes it’s difficult to see that the Lord has pursued me – not just in my own life time – but over generations. It feels like I’m a first bud, prone to frost and disease, and if I don’t succeed, my spiritual lineage will wither and die with me. That’s a lie in more ways than one.
For Christmas, I gave Dad a copy of NPR’s StoryCorps Listening is an Act of Love. He’s been encouraged by this to write down more memories: life on the farm, growing up in small town middle-America, etc. I’ve grown more aware that I should draw these stories out of him now, while my last living grandparent is alive. My thought is to listen to Dad’s stories and then write a letter to Grandma asking about the same thing. In the process, three generations will be involved in writing our story.
So, Grandma, tell me all about making cream and butter.
11 March 2008
Delivery
A month ago, my Hebrew prof said, "order this book."
Obediently, I did. And then I waited. My other books from Amazon came in the next few days. I checked my order. "Out of Stock." Really? Had no idea Hebrew Bibles were so popular.
Yesterday, after three weeks of waiting, I got irritated with Amazon and cancelled my order.
I proceeded to order the same book from Westminster Seminary's bookstore. I believe this was around 2pm.
It was waiting for me when I got home this afternoon. :)
And, they've got $5 flat-rate shipping. Guess I know where I'll be ordering my textbooks next semester.
08 March 2008
Prophetic Profile: Jonah
I'm a fan of the book of Jonah. In fact, I've blogged about it before. And everytime I study it, I learn something entirely new. Below is my "prophetic profile" for class.
~ ~ ~
Little is known about the prophet Jonah. He was the son of Amittai and lived in Gath-Hepher, just north of Nazareth. 2 Kings tells us Jonah was a prophet, and there are indications that he prophesied in Israel before his journey to Nineveh. The book of Jonah gives little indication of the historical situation of Jonah’s time. We know he lived in the 8th century under Jeroboam II’s rule (786-746).
Jonah is unusual in that it only contains one line of prophecy. It is not a collection of oracles like other prophets. In fact, its function seems to be to tell Jonah’s story, rather than record the prophecies Jonah gave. Jonah is sent unwillingly to Nineveh. At first, he rejects this mission, runs from God and winds up in the belly of a great fish. There is a stark contrast between the faith of the pagan ship crew that throws Jonah to the sea, and Jonah’s apathy toward the Lord.
The “King of Nineveh” is the only foreign king mentioned, but this title is unusual because Nineveh was a capital city, not a country. However, this leader responds to Jonah’s warning, despite the fact that God is not mentioned, and commands his city to do likewise. Much to Jonah’s dismay, Nineveh, the city of Gentiles, is spared.
The whale event is a topic of much debate, with opinions falling on two sides: historical narrative or parabolic interpretation. Sparse in details at times, Jonah clearly reads as historical narrative. Other odd information, such as the repentance of animals (3:7-8), and the apparently exaggerated size of Nineveh (3:3-5), have also lead to speculation about the historic accuracy of Jonah. However, the single largest indictor that Jonah should be accepted as the word of the Lord is Jesus’ reference to Jonah in Matthew 12 and Luke 11.
The book of Jonah is most appropriately characterized as stylized prose. It can be divided into two main sections each with two sub-sections. There is a First Commission, which Jonah rejects, that leads to the episodes on the boat and in the belly of the whale. The Second Commission, which Jonah reluctantly manages, leads to Nineveh’s repentance, followed by Jonah’s struggles to comprehend God’s warmth towards a non-covenant community. Thematically, Jonah is representative of disenchanted Israel, contrasted with eager Gentiles. Though a member of the covenant people, Jonah appears more the common man, while the ship crew and Nineveh, both outsider Gentiles, are given special grace. Simplistically, Jonah’s nature is constant throughout, with one divergence in Jonah’s prayer, culminating in 2:9, “Salvation belongs to the Lord!” Both prior to and after this, Jonah is the Reluctant Prophet.
~ ~ ~
Little is known about the prophet Jonah. He was the son of Amittai and lived in Gath-Hepher, just north of Nazareth. 2 Kings tells us Jonah was a prophet, and there are indications that he prophesied in Israel before his journey to Nineveh. The book of Jonah gives little indication of the historical situation of Jonah’s time. We know he lived in the 8th century under Jeroboam II’s rule (786-746).
Jonah is unusual in that it only contains one line of prophecy. It is not a collection of oracles like other prophets. In fact, its function seems to be to tell Jonah’s story, rather than record the prophecies Jonah gave. Jonah is sent unwillingly to Nineveh. At first, he rejects this mission, runs from God and winds up in the belly of a great fish. There is a stark contrast between the faith of the pagan ship crew that throws Jonah to the sea, and Jonah’s apathy toward the Lord.
The “King of Nineveh” is the only foreign king mentioned, but this title is unusual because Nineveh was a capital city, not a country. However, this leader responds to Jonah’s warning, despite the fact that God is not mentioned, and commands his city to do likewise. Much to Jonah’s dismay, Nineveh, the city of Gentiles, is spared.
The whale event is a topic of much debate, with opinions falling on two sides: historical narrative or parabolic interpretation. Sparse in details at times, Jonah clearly reads as historical narrative. Other odd information, such as the repentance of animals (3:7-8), and the apparently exaggerated size of Nineveh (3:3-5), have also lead to speculation about the historic accuracy of Jonah. However, the single largest indictor that Jonah should be accepted as the word of the Lord is Jesus’ reference to Jonah in Matthew 12 and Luke 11.
The book of Jonah is most appropriately characterized as stylized prose. It can be divided into two main sections each with two sub-sections. There is a First Commission, which Jonah rejects, that leads to the episodes on the boat and in the belly of the whale. The Second Commission, which Jonah reluctantly manages, leads to Nineveh’s repentance, followed by Jonah’s struggles to comprehend God’s warmth towards a non-covenant community. Thematically, Jonah is representative of disenchanted Israel, contrasted with eager Gentiles. Though a member of the covenant people, Jonah appears more the common man, while the ship crew and Nineveh, both outsider Gentiles, are given special grace. Simplistically, Jonah’s nature is constant throughout, with one divergence in Jonah’s prayer, culminating in 2:9, “Salvation belongs to the Lord!” Both prior to and after this, Jonah is the Reluctant Prophet.
06 March 2008
Change
Fool that I am
Knowing better than to trust the heart
I did so anyway.
Regret and hope began their dance,
This day one year ago;
And all who love know how much change
A year can bring.
Priorities and jobs changed.
Living locations changed.
Even eating habits changed.
Fool that I am
Praying that change would finally
Land in my favor.
Hope rose and regret was silenced,
If but for a brief moment.
But all who love know how much change
A year can bring.
Knowing better than to trust the heart
I did so anyway.
Regret and hope began their dance,
This day one year ago;
And all who love know how much change
A year can bring.
Priorities and jobs changed.
Living locations changed.
Even eating habits changed.
Fool that I am
Praying that change would finally
Land in my favor.
Hope rose and regret was silenced,
If but for a brief moment.
But all who love know how much change
A year can bring.
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