Trying out tumblr for a bit. I know it's more of a reposting thing, but I'd blog and post/repost random things as well. If it doesn't work out I may come back here, or wordpress.

http://hsiehthanksyou.tumblr.com/

Saving Face

Someone I respect told me recently that his motto is to not learn from his mistakes, but rather to avoid making the mistake altogether by observing other people so that he doesn't make the same. I'm not like that. I see other people make the mistake then make the mistake of thinking it won't happen to me. Call it being naive, or call it stupidity, but the only way I can really seem to learn is if it actually happens to me. I somehow managed to get all of my important documents stolen while I was in Paris while staring at the gold gilded ceilings at the Palace of Versailles, taking photos with two different cameras. Easy target population one. Alright maybe I'll give myself some slack. Population three or four. Something needs to change though, and I'm trying to be more attentive and careful with my things.

This week I put up some photos in the student gallery entitled with the verse, "For with you is the fountain of life; in your light we see light," which comes from Psalm. I didn't think much about why I chose it until someone asked me (yeah I know, bad). The photos are kind of a diary of "light," interpreted in memories and shown through vast spaces within the compositions. Some are unusual scenes, like a photo of two horse butts, and one of me crying on my grandmother's lap. That's my favorite memory of her--me crying on her lap as she shooed my grandpa away when he tried to take a photo of my blotchy face. It's interesting how something so scarring on my 5 year old self can be so funny now. There were also two photos taken from an old family album: one of my grandparents in the early 50s standing next to a horse, and one of my mom and her siblings as little kids standing in height order. I guess I chose the Psalm for this piece because it's by God's grace that I can see beauty, that I can laugh, that I can find pleasure in small, unextraordinary moments. By choosing to give me life, by giving me sight, by giving me grace. It's a scary thing to put a photo of your crying self on a gallery wall. I feel somehow that I'm plastering a private memory under glaring lights for strangers to judge and see and judge. And Grandma, frowning so loyally for my sake, with the lampshade behind her head making strange shapes with her permed curls.

It has always been my struggle to fear man over fearing God. I'm a people pleaser, but under a more critical self-evaluation, I realize there's a selfishness in it as well. A friend was discouraged today and I wanted to encourage him, but realized I didn't really know how. It made me upset that I couldn't help, and it dawned on me that being encouraging only provides instant gratification when that person is encouraged by it. If I encourage and there's no response or lack of appreciation or no recognition, there's a lot less incentive to encourage. See? Totally selfish. The hardest is encouraging without expecting anything in return, whether it be gratitude or anything else. I guess it comes down to love. Loving someone with complete selflessness and with a passionate pursuit and perseverance that sustains through any circumstance. I think that's what Christ's love looks like, even if I can't always see it or feel it. I think that's what a great marriage looks like too.

To really be genuine and honest, with others and with yourself, is a hard thing. I'm so tired of saying trite things, repeating and regurgitating words like a parrot, leaving an empty feeling on my tongue where the words just came out. At the risk of this being a long post (I think it already is, perhaps to make up for my lack of blogging), I wanted to repost something I read from someone else's blog. Someone I don't know but know of, and loves Jesus, and has such a way with words to echo those stirrings and frustrations that elude words. Except he uses his words, and somehow it works.

"This I’m learn­ing: laugh­ter is my cover and cloak. Hav­ing the right answers is my defense.

I tried to describe to Jeff this morn­ing how it felt, and I was sur­prised I couldn’t fig­ure it out. Well, it was a sorta lonely feel­ing. I’ll start from there. I real­ized in the shower the other morn­ing that I hated wait­ing. Recently I’ve been try­ing to dis­tract myself. I know it’s not help­ful, but I’d much rather be with the noise, the shiny stuff, the city din, the glitterati.

Henri Nouwen talks about allow­ing lone­li­ness to drive you to the seat of your true desire: being close to the Father. Father, I won­der some­times what the hell I am doing with my life. I want to know I want to know I want to know. When I was younger I used to pray: Jesus, be my only sat­is­fac­tion with total abandonment. It sounds com­pletely ridicu­lous, but I hon­estly didn’t expect to be here being asked of that now. I want human hands, I want tan­gi­ble touch, I want a gen­uine expe­ri­ence, and soul-connection and laugh­ter and tears.

It’s self­ish, Jesus, but on the other hand it’s not. I just want to believe it is from you, and I can expe­ri­ence it, and I can wait and say you met me on the other side. Can I ask that? Dare I ask that? I don’t want trite answers. I want to sit in the seat of the val­leys and remain there and say I waited patiently and he came, he really did.

Jonathan men­tioned that at our home group the other week. What do you want, I asked him. I want to hear him say he’s proud of me, he answered, and I thought it the most gen­uine thing I’ve heard in a while."