Flux

http://benjaminwblog.com/2014/06/flux/

I read an article recently on divorce, whose author suggested that America's concept of marriage is tremendously skewed into believing you are marrying an instant of a person, a daguerreotype. People change, year by year, day by day, moment by moment, and if you love someone as an instant, as a trophy mounted on the wall, it's no wonder that divorce rates skyrocketed. There's no value in a person as a person, but only a value in the haloed, sanctified idol we’ve replaced them with.

I’ve never been in a relationship before (until now!), but I can’t tell you how excited I am to change, and see change moving through us as we grow in relationship, Christ, and simply as persons.

An ancient Greek philosopher, Heraclitus, said that no man ever steps in the same river twice. He invented the concept of “flux”, the constant shifting of things, organic and inorganic. There is a hint of truth in his words, in that things are constantly changing, new molecules pass down the river instant by instant, and experiences mold the clay that makes a woman or a man. But there is some quality, a consistency of being, that stays.

Life, being, persons, everything is in flux, perhaps, and it is this which makes the “daguerreotype love” so precipitous, and enduring love so beautiful, even divine.

Your first love for somebody can last ... but it changes too after promises have been made and time as passed and knowledge has come.
Wendell Berry (in Hannah Coulter)

At the same time, the rustling zephyr canters

Through the leaves of trees and pushes clouds

Across the countryside, a gentle scythe over wheat

It transforms fields into a great, golden sea;

And a newspaper tumbles like a wheel of weed

Down soggy streets whose only light bounces down

From building window to window until it drowns in the road

And makes alchemy of oil, puddles, and spilt drinks;

And the clever man tips back his tumbler and taps his feet

To the beat of the jazz hands stumbling up the bass, down the piano

While a hundred classy customers celebrate with feast and dance;

And the same stars rise, climb, and fall where a boy sits

In the hospital and glances out the screen, remembering

That in the relativity of things, the heavens are a great eternity

Tonight was soccer night, coffee night, and the beginning of the weekend. There is nothing like soccer to end a week – I wish every night ended thus, sometimes: the adrenaline, the friends, the grass between my toes, the goals, the smiles, the joy at understanding how to run and kick and play.

Barefoot Soccer

This, this is not beautiful, not good; I cannot believe that. As God glanced over creation, a day of rest was deserved, but these scribblings on tortured wood are none such, not the perfect world. They are refined silver, not even gold, not yet. And it’s the first day, and five remain before I rest, before the coup de grâce following the fall from cleverness. Then is Sabbath, if I flood the world not, nor destroy it in fire, and I deem it worthy to breathe life up from dusty pages into my own.

oh, the doe, how graceful in motion

across the grasses, I envy your blur

of elegant, tangible wind

and the kite, swooping low,

up again, swimming in sky,

I jealously admire every dive -

and what of I?

barefoot in spotty grasses,

a long-limbed fawn

with wobbly legs,

existential mud between my toes -

when the spirit moves,

I imagine it thus: lovely

and untouchable, I feel it

tugging every string of me

asking me to run

as it brushes by with eyes

bluer than the heavens can be

melting my heart, my being,

by someone I cannot

imagine leaving I’ll never see again

Schrodinger, why me?

I crave what’s killing me

because it’s keeping me alive

holy spirit, have mercy on me

Where are you going, where do you go?

Are you looking for answers, to questions under the stars? (Dave Matthews)

Playing soccer as evening drew to a close, the sunset lighting the tips of the evergreens with slow fireworks, ribbons of red, streamers of purple cloud, golden sparks flying between the branches, roman candles celebrating the end of day. And the short green grass; the goals like the pearly gates of heaven: nothing can stop me entering; the laughing voices and comraderie, ah, it is everything.

If this is not heaven, what can it be? I’m just thankful Yeshua is on my team, because I’d hate to lose when everything is drawn so exquisitely.

http://benjaminwblog.com/2014/05/barefoot-soccer/

Homeward Bound

We played soccer tonight, and I managed to hit a girl in the face almost immediately. I felt TERRIBLE. So I played defense for half the game. Following the game, Peter and I raced for the swings and the ginger beer (no alcohol content, thankfully), and discussed our weeks. It was, perhaps, the hardest day of work I've had in some time. I had such a simple task, but could not seem to get anything to work. I basically had 10 hours of poor excuses for my boss today, because I may as well have been not working.
And tomorrow I'm going home (family's home).
I think I spent an hour thinking about what books I wanted to bring with me before I realized I should probably pack other things, too. Hopefully labor-day weekend traffic isn't abysmal. Anyway, when we finished soccer and swinging, Peter and I walked back to our respective vehicles, and Peter asked if he could have his keys back from my tote bag. However, his keys were not in there. It was getting dark (8:15? 8:30?) and was nearing nautical twilight. We scampered back out to the field and carefully perused the grass. I even took off my shirt and rolled through the grass, because we couldn't see anymore, hoping I might roll across his keys. I just got incredibly itchy. Frantic, we called D and asked if anyone else had picked up keys, and he said no, so we checked the cars again. D mentioned that sometimes smart phones have flashlight apps, so we could try that. I found a flashlight in my car and we used one of our phone's flashlight apps and began searching in earnest once more. It was astronomical twilight at this time. Without the flashlights, we saw nothing. We strafed across the field and eventually, on my way back, we found the keys.

We were both, in a sense, at the edge of our faith. We shared an extra ginger beer and prayer of thanksgiving before each driving home. It was near 10. Still, I'm thankful so much for friends that will roll about in the grass with you to find keys, and friends who will pray and share their deepest fears with you while swinging and drinking ginger "beer" while sitting on the backs of cars. It was a gentle reminder of rest and a difficult week finally finished. And now, in the morning, I'll be homeward bound.