Microwave

from here

After the time’s up on our microwave, it continues to beep every 10 seconds or so until the door’s opened. I understand that the function is designed to be helpful, but the beeping is annoying and has led to me talking to the machine far more often than can be healthy, and even snapping at it daily every now and then (“I GET IT, YOU’RE DONE!! You may have noticed that I have my hands full right now, so just CHILL OUT, MAN!!! Gosh.”).

I think if it spoke rather than beeped I’d be far more grateful for its reminders - just a sweet, “I’m so sorry to interrupt you, you’re obviously very busy! I’m just letting you know the broccoli’s still in here – wouldn’t want you to discover it tomorrow and realise you’d left it out! Smells great, by the way!” 

I thought we’d all be getting around on hoverboards by now; surely polite and chatty microwaves can’t be too far off?

Addictions

from here

I used to smoke. Only socially, which means that over a couple of years I managed to train my brain to believe that moonlight + being out + drinking Jack Daniels = cigarette needed. Despite the fact that I haven’t smoked in years, I know that this equation lives on in my head; it’s led to a strange glitch where if you smoke at a table next to me at a café, I’LL MOVE OR LEAVE, and if you smoke in your apartment and the smell drifts into mine, I’LL NOISILY CLOSE ALL OF MY WINDOWS WHILE MUTTERING ABOUT THE RIGHT TO BREATHE CLEAN AIR IN MY OWN HOME, and if you smoke next to a playground, I’LL PASSIVE-AGGRESSIVELY LET YOU KNOW THIS IS NOT COOL, but if it’s night time and I’m out and I’ve had a drink or two, I WILL FOLLOW YOU, precious smoking person, IN THE HOPE THAT I WILL BE ABLE TO SUCK IN SOME OF YOUR FUMES.

I’ve been thinking about addictions lately, because I tend to feel smug about the fact that I don’t need caffeinated beverages to wake up and I spend none of my time playing mobile phone games. My “How flipping wonderful must I be?!” illusions came crashing down the other day, though, when a naturopath on the radio mentioned that it’s harder to give up sugar than cocaine. I’d already been thinking about sugar and salt thanks to Michael Pollan’s wise little food guide Food Rules: An Eater’s Manual, which made me firmly resolve to eat far less (to none) of both. Ha! The cocaine comment made it clear why I’d had no luck over the previous weeks with this resolution.

I knew that sugar would be a tough one (for a start, my brain has also been taught that the end of dinner = dessert). I’ve had a long love-love relationship with sugar, with many happy memories attached to our fun times together. My mother went through a hippy phase when we were in primary school, which meant she made kelp bread for our sandwiches and fed us something called Total Vegetable Protein, which made me gag. I therefore didn’t eat much when I wasn’t being watched (I used to either throw the sandwiches in the bin at school or leave them to go mouldy at the bottom of my bag; I still remember the smell of them in my particularly horrible nightmares) and instead sought out sugar as a speedy pacifier for my rumbly tummy.

Because it was clear that my cravings for sugar would not be satisfied at home, I spent a lot of my non-home time sniffing out sweet snacks. After-school youth group = jelly babies. Friends’ houses = chocolate bars. Visiting my dad for holidays = cordial and sugar on toasted muesli. All of my pocket money went towards a variety of artificially-coloured and -flavoured treats. My siblings used to stop at the petrol station on our walk to school to get our daily dose of lollies. When my sister and I ran out of money, we’d borrow some from our brother; he kept a log of how much we owed him, and charged interest on our small loans. It also helped that a couple of boys at school offered me money to go out with them for a week or so (I married one in the playground for $5; it wasn’t my proudest moment, but a girl needs her gobstoppers).

I was expecting to have little problem with letting go of salt, until I spread my toast at Mum’s place the other day and after my first bite shrieked, “THERE’S SOMETHING TERRIBLY WRONG WITH THIS PEANUT BUTTER!” only to be told that it was not rancid, just a salt-free version of the paste. It was awful. And then I tried salt-free pistachios and popcorn which forced me to question whether I really liked either of these things at all, or whether I’d just appreciated the different textures upon which to find my salt.

I tend to do pretty well at avoiding salty and sugary foods as long as we keep them out of our house; when they’re around, my self-control spots them, says, “Right, well I’m off then!” and marches out the door, leaving me to put up an embarrassingly weak fight against temptation, if I bother with resisting at all. It really must stop eventually. But can an old brain be taught new maths? Is it doable without hypnosis? Is there some kind of support group for this?! I’m sorry for all the judging, addicted people. *assumes foetal position and cries*

Ramblings and reflections on what I (don't) know about the Bible

from here

There’s a song on one of our Christian CDs for kids that says of the Bible (paraphrasing 2 Timothy 3:16):

[God] spoke it

they wrote it

and now we can read it.

I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately, thanks to my Awful Jeremiah Essay Experience (as it shall henceforth be known). I know that there’s only so much theology one can (and should) fit into a ditty for young’uns, but this is such a painful oversimplification that I now skip the song each time it begins so that Moses won’t start to believe it. Here’s what Jeremiah taught me about how some of the books of the Bible actually came to be:

He wrote some,

his scribe wrote some too,

an editor came along later and reshaped their words, weaving a message of hope and encouragement where before there was only judgment,

a group of people way later decided that the work should be included in the canon,

another group of people translated this from Hebrew into English,

and now we can read it.

And God oversaw the entire process, of course, even using human mistakes to make the Bible what it is today (it’s likely, for example, that the book of Hebrews was only included because back when they were deciding what was in and what was out, everyone thought that it was written by Paul).

If studying the Bible at college has taught me anything, it’s that I know very little about the Bible. I’m wondering if that’s the main goal of Bible college, or if at least it should be, so that rather than spitting out bunches of people who have all the answers, it instead spits out people who are more ready to listen, more ready to acknowledge they might be wrong, more ready to admit they’re not entirely sure about lots of things, more ready to see greys where before they saw only blacks and whites. I liked having front-row seats to a display of this kind of humility while researching for my essay; one scholar may passionately disagree with another’s approach to a text or a book, but they seem so respectful of the godliness of the one proposing it, the study that’s gone into it, the opportunity for further theories to spring from new ideas. It made a sweet difference to those Christian blog posts and books and internet articles and reviews that proclaim that their view is what the Bible really says, as if they have special access to God’s true thoughts that’s somehow denied to those who disagree with them.

I remember my first huge epiphany at college happened during a theology class – I have absolutely no idea what we were talking about, but quite suddenly it was like a part of my brain was split open and light shone in for the first time, while angelic music played. I wrote on my notes, “The Bible does not contain everything God has to say about everything!!!” I’m still moved by its profundity; too often I assume that the Holy Spirit’s there for working out a Christ-like perspective on things like climate change or hobbies (along with other things not talked of in the Bible), but if there’s a mention of anything (women, church, whatever), I think “I guess that’s all of it, then.“

But it’s not all of it; the New Testament is made up mostly of letters, written to specific people in specific circumstances. They didn’t have televisions or internet, so Paul never has a need to figure out and share his thoughts on whether or how or how much to use these things. They hadn’t yet noticed that the world was getting hotter, and so Peter has no concept of global warming, let alone a desire to speak to his churches about carbon footprints. It was a very different culture to ours, as recorded and reflected in these letters. As Fee and Stuart put it in How to Read the Bible for all its Worth, reading the Bible today is “much like listening to one end of a telephone conversation and trying to figure out who is on the other end and what that unseen party is saying. Yet in many cases it is especially important for us to hear ‘the other end,’ so that we know what our passage is an answer to” (pages 45-46).

I had another, slightly less striking, moment realising for the first time that the early church didn’t have the Bible as we read it today. I knew that, but I didn’t really know it. You know? The Philippians may never have read the letters to the Corinthians or the Ephesians! There might have been many different ways of “doing” church back then as they all worked out how to live their new faith in their particular contexts, guided by the Spirit and encouraged by the leaders who dropped in and wrote when they could.

I know this has been a long post, but I want to stick this in while I’m on the subject. Since finishing A Year of Biblical Womanhood by Rachel Held Evans last weekend, I’ve been mulling over a quote she includes in the final pages (by Peter Rollins):

By acknowledging that all our readings [of Scripture] are located in a cultural context and have certain prejudices, we understand that engaging with the Bible can never mean that we simply extract meaning from it, but also that we read meaning into it. In being faithful to the text we must move away from the naïve attempt to read it from some neutral, heavenly height and we must attempt to read it as one who has been born of God and thus born of love: for that is the prejudice of God. Here the ideal of scripture reading as a type of scientific objectivity is replaced by an approach that creatively interprets with love.

Evans goes on to write that we find whatever we’re looking for in the Bible (“If you are looking for reasons to wage war, you will find them. If you are looking for reasons to promote peace, you will find them. If you are looking for an outdated and irrelevant ancient text, you will find it. If you are looking for truth, believe me, you will find it”), and there will therefore be times when “the most instructive question to bring to the text is not, what does it say? but what am I looking for?... If you want to do violence in this world, you will always find the weapons. If you want to heal, you will always find the balm.”** Did I mention that I loved this book?

And have I mentioned that I love the Bible? I love that I love it more now that it is alive and active in a way I never fully understood until my assumptions about this book (these books! These poems and genealogies and letters and stories and records and glimpses into my Christian heritage and gospels!) were chipped away and I was forced to realise that it was much, much bigger and harder and less solvable than I’d wanted it to be before. May I never think I’ve understood it once and for all. May I always strive to know it better, so that I may be continually reminded of how very little I know. And may all future essay questions be far easier now that I’m actually paying attention to the importance of this lesson.

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* found on pages 295-296 of Evans’ book

** all of these quotes are on page 296

A Year of Biblical Womanhood by Rachel Held Evans

For those of you wondering why I’m posting this when I’m supposed to be working on my Jeremiah essay, the answer is this: the essay made me cry two times on Friday, which happened to be the day that Rachel Held Evans’ book arrived at our place, and I don’t think that was a coincidence. I did leave the book on the bench for a good few hours (even for a while after Moses had gone to bed and I continued to work on my essay – I feel I should point this out), which was the most impressive display of self-control I’ve managed to perform in a very long time. But by 8:30pm on Friday I decided I’d earned at least the opening chapters of this book, and then I couldn’t help staying up to finish it last night. (While we’re on this subject, here’s a tip for those of you who may one day find yourselves considering choosing an essay question on Jeremiah: DON’T. The questions on Psalms and Proverbs may look boring, but they probably won’t make you cry. Twice. You’re welcome.)

I discovered Rachel Held Evans’ blog one day while looking at a blog my husband occasionally checks in on. Hans (the blogger) had listed a stack of links along with little comments, and one of them said this: “Rachel Held Evans is spending the next year trying to live as a biblical woman. This infuriated me!” Of course, the words ‘biblical woman’ are like a magnet to me, so I immediately clicked on the link and arrived at Evans’ blog prepared to be likewise infuriated. Instead, the more I read, the more I realised that I agreed completely with everything she was saying, and that Hans’ anger obviously sprang from his complementarian beliefs and quite possibly a misunderstanding of the purpose of Evans’ project. I’ve since followed her blog weekly; I’ve returned to his once.

I love this story, because I see in it the kindness of God, who has faithfully and repeatedly provided just the right voices to speak into my life at just the right moments – I discovered Rachel’s site in the midst of my reading on the topic of what the Bible says about women, and her blog and those who read it have offered encouragement and community at many times when I’ve felt isolated and discouraged and very much like giving up entirely. And this story also reminds me of God’s quirkiness in getting the job done – I’m pretty sure Hans never intended for any readers to devotedly follow Evans’ blog as a result of his link.

I didn’t know quite what to expect from The Year of Biblical Womanhood. After following Rachel’s blog for over a year, I wasn’t sure how much would seem fresh and how much would overlap with posts I’d already read; I was pleasantly surprised to find it sat very much at the fresh end of the spectrum. Of course, this book is a little like A.J. Jacobs’ The Year of Living Biblically, except that where Jacobs repeatedly stopped frustratingly short of grace in his book, Evans* splashes it liberally throughout hers. It’s also a little like Eat Pray Love in that it’s a well-written, honest and thoroughly enjoyable journey alongside someone who’s seeking big answers to difficult questions. But where Elizabeth Gilbert’s desire was to find God, Evans’ was to look into what womanhood in the Bible really looks like in order to challenge the too-common belief that ‘biblical womanhood’ is a simple, one-size-fits-all formula for every Christian woman. As Evans asks at the beginning of her book, “do all the women of Scripture fit into this same mold? Must I?”

The book’s split into chapters based on Evans’ focus for each month of the year (modesty, fertility and silence, among others), interspersed with portraits of women in the Bible and short excerpts from Dan’s (Evans’ husband) journal. The tone of the book is not ranty or mocking; instead Evans approaches each task and interview with warmth and humility and an openness to learn. She camps out in a tent during her period, talks to a wife in a polygamous marriage, works her way through Martha Stewart’s cooking and cleaning books, thinks through modesty with an Amish woman, and spends a couple of days with a battery-operated “baby” (designed to discourage teenagers from having sex!) to get a taste of motherhood. Her stories are often funny and sometimes heart-breaking, and there is wisdom sprinkled throughout the pages that I’m sure even my ultra-conservative, silent-with-head-covered grandmother couldn’t help but “Amen!” to. Looking at the story of Mary and Martha (Martha, who busies herself in the kitchen while Mary sits at Jesus’ feet), Evans writes (on pages 36-37):

Caring for the poor, resting on the Sabbath, showing hospitality and keeping the home – these are important things that can lead us to God, but God is not contained in them. The gentle Rabbi reminds us that few things really matter and only one thing is necessary. Mary found it outside the bounds of her expected duties as a woman, and no amount of criticism and questioning could take it away from her. Martha found it in the gentle reminder to slow down, let go, and be careful of challenging another woman’s choices, for you never know when she may be sitting at the feet of God.

There are many similar pause-and-praise-inducing moments in the book.

On a side note, I love the Evans’ example of an egalitarian marriage. They’re on the same team, working with and for each other: mutual respect, mutual submission, mutual love. It’s a nice glimpse into a good marriage, and Rachel gained an imaginary high-five (one of many) for this.

I’ll be reflecting on the lessons within A Year of Biblical Womanhood  for a long time to come, and will re-read it as soon as I start to forget them. Where most teaching on biblical womanhood leaves me feeling hopelessly deficient and wrong-shaped, this book has left me celebrating the fact that God created me female, and that my sex is not a limitation but a blessing. May many, many women be spurred on to live valorous lives for Jesus because of this beautiful book.

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* ‘Evans’ sounds so impersonal, but I’m going to stick with it to acknowledge the fact that even though I feel like she’s my big sister, she has absolutely no idea that I exist.