January 9th, 2010 at 6:50 pm
by sillyjoe (Feeling Bookish)
Here’s part two of my 2009 retrospective (here’s part one: favorite albums of 2009), the books I read in 2009.
Here’s my list
I can’t say for sure that 2009 was the year I read the most I have in my life, because it’s the first year I’d actually kept track of how much I read. However, I can say that it was the most eclectic reading year of my life. I read 53 books, just over a book a week, and that includes graphic novels, fantasy series, mystery/thrillers, memoirs, theological works, Pulitzer-winning literature, modern literature, classic literature, YA literature, even a manga or two.
Maybe this year I’ll cross the 100 mark!
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February 7th, 2009 at 12:15 pm
by sillyjoe (Feeling Bookish, Life and Introspection, Religion)
And I run to the arms of another song, another story by a man who’s dead and gone; When will I run, when will I run to the arms of God?
– Andrew Osenga – “When Will I Run?”
Now–here is my secret:
I tell it to you with an openness of heart that I doubt I shall ever achieve again, so I pray that you are in a quiet room as you hear these words. My secret is that I need God–that I am sick and can no longer make it alone. I need God to help me give, because I no longer seem to be capable of giving; to help me be kind, as I no longer seem capable of kindness; to help me love, as I seem beyond being able to love.
– Douglas Coupland – Life After God
I’ve been putting off writing this post for several months now, but a post over on Kari’s blog encouraged me to finally take the plunge. Right now, I’m listening to Andrew Osenga’s “Too Far To Walk” from his Photographs album. I could post all the lyrics to this song and they would apply to what I’ve been going through, but you’ll have to search them out for yourself. I need to get this out, and quick before I change my mind. If you read this blog, you know about the things I went through last summer (here’s the post about it), but I left out a crucial part because of the hurt that I feel when I think about it. I dream about it at least once a week, and it’s been the hardest struggle my mind has ever gone through. When my panic attacks started, I stepped down from leading worship at my church “temporarily,” until I could get things straightened out. I felt it was what I needed to do. I didn’t believe I could adequately lead the people of my congregation in worship when there was so much weighing down on me. This was supported by nearly everyone I know, including my family, my girlfriend, my friends, and the church’s pastor. After one failed restart (I had a panic attack on the way to practice on the day I decided I was ready to come back…I wasn’t ready, apparently), I finally knew, knew, mind you, that I was ready. That God had made me ready to do what I needed to do. I must digress to tell you that I believe more than anything in my heart that I’m supposed to use the musical talent God has given me to lead others in worship. So, I was ready. I met with my pastor and told him where I was at and how I felt. This meeting didn’t go the way I had hoped. I learned that my pastor believed the reason for my panic attacks, the reason for my depression, the reason I had struggled for three months was because I had somehow failed morally. He hinted that maybe it was because my girlfriend and I had slept together. This isn’t true, and to be honest, I was offended. I was hurt. I’d worked at the church for more than three years, and this man, my pastor, my friend, his first guess as to what has caused my problems is that I (pardon the commonness of this term) was screwing my girlfriend. Again, this isn’t true. Our conversation didn’t end there. He informed me that he would be happy for me to come back to leading worship at the church, after a four month probationary period, in which accountability would have to established, and I would have to earn back the trust of the church and its congregation. Let me restate that I stepped down from my position temporarily of my own accord, so I was confused as to where I betrayed the trust of the church. The meeting didn’t end well, and I haven’t been back to the church since. I’m fairly sure that no one there knows exactly what happened, and I haven’t talked to anyone from the church with the exception of a couple of folks. I regularly have dreams where I confront the pastor, asking him why he did things the way he did them, but the truth is I’m scared to talk to him. I know I should. I know it’s biblical (Matthew 18), but I’m afraid of what I might do. Yes, I’m really afraid I could become violent. I have so many feelings and emotions inside of me that I don’t know how I might express, or even how I could. My girlfriend and I attend church with my parents now, at a place where we feel welcomed and loved. I miss my old community so much, but I know in my heart I can never go back. I hope someday there can be reconciliation, but I fear there may never be. I pray there will at least be closure.
This situation has taught me, more than anything, and more than ever, that I need God. I need him more than the air that I’m breathing, and more than the blood pouring through these veins of mine. I know He’ll never leave me. I pray I never leave Him.
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January 15th, 2009 at 5:13 pm
by sillyjoe (Feeling Bookish, Life and Introspection, Religion)
I’m currently reading A.J. Jacobs’s second book, The Year Of Living Biblically: One Man’s Humble Quest to Follow the Bible as Literally as Possible. Jacobs is a secular Jewish man (He says he’s Jewish like “the Olive Garden is Italian”) who decided to take a year to immerse himself in the Bible. To see what it would look like to follow the Bible as literally as possible, to the letter. Every jot and tittle, as they say. What results is a sometimes funny, sometimes profound, sometimes moving memoir. I’m about 3/4 of the year through and this passage I read this morning moved me so that I felt I had to put it somewhere for posterity. For context, this excerpt was written from Jerusalem during a short trip Jacobs took there.
Today I’m taking a rest from a walk on a set of stairs near the Jaffa Gate. Or maybe near the Lion’s Gate. I’m not sure. Frankly, I’m lost. But I’m resting here on the stone steps, which are cool and shaded and have a bumpy surface that makes them look like a Rice Krispies treat. I have my head bowed and my eyes closed. I’m trying to pray, but my mind is wandering. I can’t settle it down. It wanders over to an Esquire article I just wrote. It wasn’t half bad, I think to myself. I liked that turn of phrase in the first paragraph. And then I am hit with a realization. And hit is the right word– it felt like a punch to my stomach. Here I am being prideful about creating an article in a midsize American magazine. But God–if He exists–He created the world. He created flamingos and supernovas and geysers and beetles and the stones for these steps I’m sitting on. “Praise the Lord,” I say out loud. I’d always found the praising-God parts of the Bible and my prayer books awkward. The sentences about the all-powerful, almighty, all-knowing, the host of hosts, He who has greatness beyond our comprehension. I’m not used to talking like that. It’s so over the top. I’m used to understatement and hedging and irony. And why would God need to be praised in the first place? God shouldn’t be so insecure. He’s the ultimate being. Now I can sort of see why. It’s not for him. It’s for us. It takes you out of yourself and your prideful little brain.
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November 25th, 2008 at 9:09 pm
by sillyjoe (Around the Interweb, Feeling Bookish)
(to remind myself)
i
Make a place to sit down.
Sit down. Be quiet.
You must depend upon
affection, reading, knowledge,
skill—more of each
than you have—inspiration,
work, growing older, patience,
for patience joins time
to eternity. Any readers
who like your poems,
doubt their judgment.
ii
Breathe with unconditional breath
the unconditioned air.
Shun electric wire.
Communicate slowly. Live
a three-dimensioned life;
stay away from screens.
Stay away from anything
that obscures the place it is in.
There are no unsacred places;
there are only sacred places
and desecrated places.
iii
Accept what comes from silence.
Make the best you can of it.
Of the little words that come
out of the silence, like prayers
prayed back to the one who prays,
make a poem that does not disturb
the silence from which it came.
(HT Rabbit Room)
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