Agents of SHIELD - A Structural Analysis - Part 2

For Part 1 of this post, which explores the character-driven structure of Agents of SHIELD, see this post. Part 2, below, explores how the showrunners experiment with differently structured plots each season.

2) Gradually More Complex Narrative Arcs

Part 1 demonstrated that the Agents of SHIELD showrunners have been playing with the structure of their seasons since the beginning, largely through the dynamics of protagonists and antagonists. The reality of “pods” for each season can also be determined through the actual plot that the seasons run through. Sometimes these pods are defined by subtitles (as in seasons 3 and 4). Other times they can only be seen through particular turns in the overarching plot. Within each larger pod the showrunners, even from the very beginning, have inserted “mini-arcs” that pay off particular characters, themes, and questions while pivoting to new ones. These pods and mini-arcs can best be discerned through outlines of the plots for each season. Those outlines are below. The titles for the Pods and mini-arcs (except for some for seasons 3 and 4) are my own.

Agents of SHIELD - A Structural Analysis - Part 1

My partner and I only watch one or two TV shows. With two kids and a lot of other things going on, there isn’t much time for anything else. One of our current must-see shows is Marvel’s Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (and that’s the last time I’ll use the periods). ABC recently renewed SHIELD for a sixth season. In both the week leading up to that decision and in the days since, many have written about SHIELD’s remarkable transition from a show that shed viewers like a molting starling into a vital (but little-watched) phoenix program, renewed every year.

One article on the subject caught my eye both for its attention to one of the show’s much-heralded innovations -- the use of “pods” in its creatively rich season 4 -- and for the ways in which I realized that the articles’ analysis of the seasons missed the mark. The article traces a trajectory of development from a mostly procedural first season, through a serialized second season, into a subtitled third season, and a “pod-ed” fourth season. What this narrative does not see is the way that the showrunners -- Jed Whedon, Maurissa Tancharoen and Jeff Bell -- have been playing with structure and narrative since the very beginning. In reality, SHIELD has been doing "mini-arcs" with internal, compounding climaxes since the very beginning. It's just experimented with seasonal structure in several different ways.

SHIELD's experimentation with structure can be observed through two lenses: 1) the use of protagonists and antagonists; and 2) gradually more complex narrative arcs from season to season. Let’s explore both lenses. In order to reduce the amount of scrolling, I've divided this into two posts. You can access the second post through a link at the end of this first one. Obviously, there are spoilers for all five seasons of Agents of SHIELD.

Scheduling Update

Dear Readers,

I will, God-willing, finish my read-through of James Cone's The Cross and the Lynching Tree next Monday. I will write about both Chapter 5 and the Conclusion. Thanks for your patience as I sort through some personal matters and a busy schedule. These last two sections of the book are very powerful and I want to do them justice.

-Marc

Scheduling Note - 03.30.2015

Dear faithful readers,

Today's regularly scheduled post has been postponed until later in the week. A weekend on retreat + a very sick toddler has pushed back my reading and writing. Thanks for sticking with me --

Marc

A Brief Life Update

And now, for those interested, a life update.

Sarah and I still live in Princeton, NJ. I’m heading into my final year at Princeton Theological Seminary. I added a second masters to my degree program, so it’s taking me four years to graduate instead of three. When I walk down the aisle of the University Chapel next May I’ll have both an MDiv and a Master of Arts in Christian Education.

A History of Caedmon’s Call and a Review of Their New Album, Raising Up the Dead

It took a Caedmon's Call album to break me out of my blogging silence. Go figure. Of course. Sometime soon I'll update on my life and other things, as well as, hopefully, begin a secondary blog on the Psalms that I've been working on over the summer. What follows is a history of my interaction with the band and a review of their most recent album. If I get some historical facts about the band wrong, it's all my fault (and possibly wikipedia's, which really means mine for using wikipedia).

I have been listening to Caedmon’s Call for nearly a decade. A late-comer to the CC fandom, I only started paying indepth attention to them during my senior year of high school and first year of college (2002-2004), when I was learning to play guitar. For those unfamiliar with the band and its history, this two-year time period was one of dramatic change for the group. Their first three wide-release albums, My Calm, Your Storm (Storm), Caedmon’s Call (CC), and 40 Acres (Acres), were characterized by folk-rock sensibilities, introspectively philosophical lyrics with obscure biblical references, and a deeply Calvinist theology. Their fourth album, Long Line of Leavers (Leaver, 2000), represented a musical experiment, with horns and a more “electronic” sound. It also marked a slight shift in the balance of writing between the two primary lyricists – Aaron Tate (who had always written for the band, but only played with them in the very early days of their formation) and Derek Webb. Tate’s work had dominated Storm, and they had shared about even duties on CC and Acres. Webb’s work became more dominant in Leavers, and Cliff and Danielle Young, two of the band’s lead singers, contributed more explicitly to the lyrics of a couple songs. Webb, rightly or wrongly, became known for his songs about relationship and young adult feelings of alienation.

By the time I started listening, their earlier albums could not be easily found in stores and Amazon.com was not yet in my ken. Caedmon’s also never played in my home state of Utah, as far as I know. Leavers was, therefore, the first album of theirs that I owned. It was followed by In the Company of Angels: A Call to Worship (Angels 1), an album that their record label required in lockstep with the early 2000s worship fad, but which emphasized the band’s unique musical and theological take on praise music. It also marked the beginning of Aaron Tate and Derek Webb’s departures. The group’s next effort, Back Home (Home, 2003), was basically devoid of any of Tate’s work and included only a few songs by Webb. This writing gap was filled by Randall Goodgame, Joshua Moore (who had taken over keyboard and general crazy instrument duties from Randy Holsapple back in the Leavers era), and Webb’s wife Sandra McCracken. Tate’s mythological, philosophical and biblical introspection was replaced by hymn-like language and folk storytelling. Webb left the band at this point to pursue a solo career. This also happened to be the exact time when I first went to see a Caedmon’s Call concert. They had hired an up-and-coming singer-songwriter to fill in for Webb – Andrew Osenga, who had formerly fronted the group The Normals.

I now owned Acres, Leavers, Angels 1, and Home, which meant that my exposure to Caedmon’s basically extended only slightly across the divide between Old Caedmon’s and Emerging Caedmon’s. Some fans of the band see Angels and Home as the band’s low-point. The lyrics were simpler, the sound formulaic and the band’s heart didn’t seem in the music. For me, it was all I knew. Yet I still longed for the tighter lyricism and acoustic sound of Acres. I was thrown for a loop, then, when I purchased the first album in which Osenga had a hand, Share the Well (Well, 2004). At first I hated it. This wasn’t Caedmon’s! Their earthy guitar sound had been replaced by tenor-heavy rhythms and picking, sitar-sounding electric riffs, strange drums and atmospheric background noises. Despite all of this, I decided to acclimate myself to the new sound by playing the CD over and over again. It formed the backbone of my study time for nearly a semester. Soon I fell in love with the “New” Caedmon’s. The urgency of the story in the lyrics, and the otherworldly beauty of the music captured my heart. I learned that the band had actually travelled to India, Brazil and Ecuador, recording and writing on the road, including instruments and vocals from the people and cultures they encountered. Whereas many of their previous efforts had focused thematically on God’s grace, human sin, and the individual soul, Well turned its gaze to God’s love for the whole world and justice for the poor and oppressed. But these were not faceless poor, not statistics. Instead of slamming the message through with overwhelming numbers, Caedmon’s simply told the honest, beautiful stories of the people they encountered. While Home had seemed, in some ways, directionless, a meaningless collection of one-off tales and generic do-overs of the band’s previous themes, Well utilized the same storytelling sensibilities to paint a coherent picture of parts of the world that most folks in America have never seen. Well quickly became my favorite Caedmon’s album. The strange sounds that had been off-putting now became windows into the souls of my fellow brothers and sisters, children of God.

Following this stellar music masterpiece, Caedmon’s record label forced them to produce another worship album, In the Company of Angels II: The World Will Sing (Angels 2, 2006), which also coincidentally fulfilled the band’s contract with the company, allowing them to break ties with a corporation that had pressured them to do things with which they were not comfortable. Very little of the unique, multi-cultural sound that the band had fostered while overseas had been allowed to suffuse the album, most likely do to Well’s underwhelming sales and reception. After all, above everything else, large corporations want consistency and a safe bet (see the recent penchant for sequels and reboots in Hollywood). Despite the album’s compulsory nature, I still found songs to love amidst the general dross. Most of these favorites were written by Osenga, who has become one of my favorite storytellers.

Free of their fetters, the group cast about for a year, while also dealing with the fact that many of their members were now married with children. Touring became more and more difficult and some of their earlier themes of introspective alienation did not resonate in their new family-oriented lives. At this critical juncture, Webb, who had been absent from the band for nearly four years, found himself pulled back into their music-writing field. He had grown as a writer, and as a music producer, finding his voice in social and political criticism as a musical prophet of sorts. His insightful and cutting lyrics paralleled the sense of God’s justice for the oppressed that Caedmon’s had found overseas, but directed their gaze toward the injustice in the United States in a more biting way. In a strange turn, Webb and the rest of the band had gone different routes to arrive at a similar place, which allowed them to come together again to create Overdressed (2007). This album marked another shift for the group. Musically, it was a complete mish-mash. Osenga’s spare rock sensibilities mingled with Webb’s sparse new propheticism and the world music traits from Well. Once again, I found myself put-off by the album at first. Once again I played it non-stop for weeks. Soon I found a beauty in the collision of styles and themes and sounds.

The album title described the place of our souls before God. Trying to hide our sinfulness in our good works and a thin veneer of cultural Christianity, we are overdressed. Yet it also acted as a counter-theme to the state of the band. Utterly fearless and stripped of the constraints of their label, they were laying themselves out for everyone to see. The music was messy and unrefined, yet paradoxically more pure and alive than ever before. Many of the songs ended in unstructured jam sessions, or began with odd snippets of conversation from the recording process. Lyrically, the album laid bare the personal lives of the band members in a way that had been missing since their earlier works. Issues of lust and doubt were placed alongside a recognition of God’s work in the everyday life of laundry and parenthood. Social criticism was coupled with a realization of our culpability in injustice. A grand view of the world and the recognition of the smallness of our efforts at changing it lead to a realization of God’s largness and ability to change the world’s brokenness by the slow, careful work of healing the brokenness of every soul through openness and honesty with each other. Our imperfections become clear in the light of God’s grace and love, which makes us painfully ashamed of our nakedness yet also purifies and cleanses us.

During the tour for Overdressed I was finally able to see the band in concert with both Webb and Osenga. I also purchased their first two albums and one of their Guild CDs, which are fan-centered recordings of special concerts and studio rares from their early career. I began to truly understand what had upset people about Home and the worship albums. “Early” Caedmon’s was a thinking person’s Christian folk-rock group. Their lyrics were labyrinthine and obscure, yet their music was catchy and simplistically rich. You could listen to them and simply enjoy the tight three-part harmonies, thrumming layered guitars and percussive drive. Yet, if you paid attention at all to the lyrics you were nearly forced to look up matters relating to random Old Testament texts, Greek mythology and philosophy, and Reformation theology. New testament metaphors and verses were also reinterpreted in ways that made them fresh and interesting. Take, for instance, this restatement of John 3:16: “For you so loved the unlovable/That you gave the ineffable/That who so believes the unbelievable/Will gain the unattainable,” which not only restates the the verse in terms of rhyming “able” language, but also adds some reformation theology and sets you running toward the dictionary to figure out what “ineffable means.” Or, try this mixture of mythology and hymnology: “I mount up with waxen wings/High to reach the sky/But I am no further than/Than when I first begun.” Icarus and Amazing Grace in one stanza.

After the creative explosion of Overdressed, the band focused once again on their families. Andrew Osenga left the band to pursue his own solo career, much as Webb had done five years earlier. I wondered whether there would be another album. At the end of 2009, I heard whispers that Webb had rejoined the band for another upcoming album, which he was producing, and that the songs were being written by Webb, along with Cliff and Danielle, who had written only a few before, and the bassist Jeff Miller, who had one previous writing credit. For the first time in the band’s history the songs were all being written by people who were actually performing with the band. I was stoked. Raising Up the Dead was to be a unique album. Only 1000 physical copies of the work were being produced, and were going to be sold as collector’s items. Most people would have to download the album off of the group’s website, not even through channels like iTunes. In subtle and not-so-subtle ways, then, this was bascially a “fans-only” album. Unless you already knew about Caedmon’s, you wouldn’t know about this album.

In early August 2010, I downloaded Raising Up the Dead and even purchased the $50 deluxe edition, which included a t-shirt, the Guild CDs that I had missed, a Guild DVD and a physical copy of the CD, signed by the band, with lyric sheet. All of the physical materials wouldn’t arrive until September 14, so I simply listened to the CD on my computer. As with Share the Well and Overdressed, I was initially extremely disappointed. The album felt slow to me, with only medium-tempo songs. The world music influence had been laid completely by the wayside, along with some of the rock orchestration that Osenga had brought to the group. As much as I could tell from trying to catch the lyrics, much of the focus on God’s justice had also faded away. Essentially, the Caedmon’s that I had known for much of my experience with the band was gone.

Yet, once again, I decided to work through repeat listens. Once again, I was rewarded. In many ways, Raising Up the Dead feels like the Caedmon’s album that should have followed Long Line of Leavers. Themes of sin and grace have returned in strength as well as obscure lyrics and slight references to verses of scripture and even mythological notes. Despite the inclusion of some of Webb’s recent experiments with electronica and production, the album is also much more acoustic and folksy than the last few. And yet. And yet it is also feels like their most mature output to date. Instead of viewing sin and grace through college-age alienation and singleness, the songs focus on finding grace in imperfect community. Family comes through as the most important hermeneutical lens through which the band contemplates theology. The music is also extremely dense. It is not showy. It is not “radio-single” worthy. Instead it is intimate music, pondering music, music that makes you think as much as the lyrics do. It is music that requires the listener to work. It isn’t music to be memorized, like the earlier hits that hooked themselves instantly into the brain. It is music that engenders relationship. It is not the exuberance of first love, when every moment is alive and bright and memorable, but the slow beauty of marriage, when even the subtle moments mean something and the quiet rest of the other’s arms means more than flashy jewelry. It is music made of mystery, whose beauty is that you will never fully understand it, but every day you will want to learn more.

In these and numerous other ways, Raising Up the Dead represents the culmination of Caedmon’s Call’s wandering journey. Once again the title expresses both the themes of the work and the state of the band and its music. The introspection and theological heft of their early albums is combined with the themes of honesty and family from their later years. The old acoustic sound is filtered through the patience and naked dedication of Overdressed and the intricate musicality of Share the Well. The comfortable three part harmony is now sung through voices that are rougher, grainier and more expressive than the pop sound favored in their middle work. I want to follow up this post with one going through each song and what I'm currently experiencing through it. Look for that possibly tomorrow.

I regret that many will not know about this album. If you're reading this, download it from their website (caedmonscall.com). Tell your friends. Listen to it five times in a row at least. Let yourself fall in love with it. This is an album worth putting on repeat.

Thanks, as always, for your time and love, faithful readers.

The Beginning of a New Blog Cycle: Thoughts on Issues in the Theology of Scripture

Well, it has been a long time since I've blogged. Life became extremely crowded last semester, what with a 15-hour a week job, a 15-hour a week internship and three intense classes (oh, and living life and loving my wife as well). Right now I'm taking a month-long course on Issues in the Theology of Scripture, which meets for three hours in the morning, leaving a little bit more time on my schedule. I've decided that this class, which so far has been wonderfully thought-provoking, might provide some good fodder for blogging. What I'm proposing to do is to post thoughts on the course (which began on Monday and so far has involved writing a 1500 word essay) every day that I can. I've asked my professor -- who will be referred to as Shane in the posts -- if I can quote him, or refer to his ideas if they are the seeds of my thought for these posts, and he has agreed that I can refer to him as long as the references are not wholesale transcriptions of his lectures or audio files (which they won't be) and that I accurately represent his views.

I hope to ponder the theme of the course, which Shane put before us on Monday, of wandering around in the gap between theology and biblical studies. I will go more into detail of what this gap entails and why it exists as Shane explains it to us in class, but in brief, let's just say that in higher education there exists a separation of disciplines. In most higher ed institutions divisions are placed between the sciences and the arts and the humanities, and also within each of these between history and english or philosophy, for instance. In Seminary, you often see this division of disciplines into: Biblical Studies, Practical Theology, Theology and Church History. The difficulty that sometimes arises in pursuing these studies is that the folk in the Biblical Studies department take very seriously the questions that have come from a historical-critical way of looking at the Bible: reading texts in original languages, studying their cultural, historical and political contexts, trying to work out how the texts were written, formed, passed down, etc. This method is a product of the Enlightenment. Meanwhile, the Theology department spends perhaps a class period on a theology of scripture, often avoiding questions that deal with the difficulties presented by the historical-critical method. These problems sometimes involve the inerrancy or infallibility of the Bible, the contradictions that can be found in the Bible (or seeming contradictions, I'm sure we'll get into this later), the grammatical differences between different copies of the Bible, what it means for the Bible to be divinely inspired and how this bears out when the Bible gets into human hands or when it is translated into different languages. So, the Biblical Studies department takes these questions seriously, but they are often in the background and understanding why these questions are important and what they mean for the life of faith and everyday living is not considered. Or, on the other hand, the Theology department discusses briefly a theology of scripture but does not consider how this might come to bear in practice or what a theology of scripture that takes into account the questions might look. This course tries to put these background questions into the foreground and to address them in a thoughtful and sensitive way.

It also attempts to equip students with tools to read what Shane calls the "Barnes and Noble School of Theology and Ancient Scriptures." By this he means the popular books that are widely available in major bookstores and have entered the general culture and conversation: Bart Ehrman's Misquoting Jesus, or Dan Brown's The DaVinci Code, for instance. While these books bring up interesting points that speak to the Historical-Critical method, the outcomes of their discussion can be misleading and they do not always speak to the theological or practical outcomes of the difficulties they mention. If you want a good introduction to this debate, check out Stephen Colbert's interview with Bart Ehrman, which Shane used as a catalyst for his initial lecture. The video is embedded below:

The Colbert Report	Mon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c
Bart Ehrman
www.colbertnation.com
Colbert Report Full Episodes Political Humor Economy

So, now that you know a bit about the course, you can follow along on this blog for the next few weeks as I share with you what I'm learning and what I'm thinking. I'll begin with the essay that we had for the course, which answers the question: "What do we mean when we say that the Bible is true, and what methods of Biblical interpretation help us to appreciate its truthfulness." This essay will be revised at the end of the semester. I'll post it in a separate post from this.

Thanks, as always, for sticking with me faithful readers!

A "Brief" Update from the Newsdesk and a Meditation on Trains and Railroad Tracks

Just a brief update from the life of Marc. Life is good. Hectic? Yes. Sleepiness-inducing? Yes. Good? Definitely. My current schedule involves waking up between 6:30 and 7:00 AM after ignoring a beeping alarm for at least half an hour. Sarah and I then do crunches while listening to a worship song. Shower, breakfast and checking morning e-mail usually follow in some sort of order. Then, we're off to school at around 8:20, give or take ten minutes. From there, Monday through Thursday, I'm either in class or at work at the bookstore until 5:30/6:00 PM, at which point I (and sometimes Sarah) head home to cook and eat dinner and check evening e-mail. This concludes at approximately 7:30PM, after which I study/puttz around/occasionally harvest on farmville until around Midnight, at which point I flop in bed to read a chapter of a fun fiction book, then collapse for a good six hours of sleep and start the cycle over again. Friday's a little bit more relaxed, with class in the morning and then a lunchtime meeting with my church supervisor. Friday afternoon through Saturday are then recoup/relax/get other things done days. Sunday we wake up around 7:00 in order to leave for church at 9:00 (it's a one-hour drive each way), are at church from 10:00 til approximately 1:00, and drive back home to eat lunch at 2:00. Then I'm studying for classes on Monday.

This, at least, is the ideal week, and the rhythm for now. Last week I also helped to lead a Taize worship band (practice on Monday for an hour and a half and on Tuesday for 45 minutes). I will be doing this once a month. This past Saturday I was honored to play in the wedding of a friend's daughter and spent the day driving two hours to the wedding and two hours back. The wedding was beautiful, and I ended up playing the song that I used to propose to Sarah. Ah memories!

In a few weeks this rhythm will change as I become more engaged in my field education placement. I need to start allotting at least 4 hours a week to planning curriculum for two Adult Education classes I'm leading. I will also be preaching twice in November, which will require at least 8 hours of research and writing per sermon smashed somewhere in to my schedule. I will also start to attend meetings at the church on Tuesdays, cutting 4 additional hours out of my study week. Once I start to lead classes, a further 4 hours (including driving time) will need to be devoted to something other than studying. All of this means, if my calculations are correct, that Fridays and Saturdays, instead of days of rest, will need to be days devoted to studying.

So. You might not read from me much this semester! Or next semester. But I will try to update as much as possible.

On a positive note, the previous paragraphs were actually not complaining! I'm enjoying all of my classes and am very excited to dive into teaching and preaching and getting to know folk at the new church. I know quite a few people who have busier lives than I, and I am thankful to be involved in things I love.

On a further positive note, I present to you a short meditation on Trains and Railroad Tracks. Seriously. This is presented, for those who will understand what I am saying, in President Iain Torrance style: throwing a few random, seemingly unrelated stories together, then binding them up at the end.

On one of the Appendix DVDs for Peter Jackson's version of The Lord of the Rings, Jackson describes the process of writing and directing the massive three-film undertaking as "frantically laying down the tracks" in front of a moving train. He and his co-writers on the film would literally be revising scenes and, in some cases, planning shots the morning before shooting them. He was often exhausted.

In the Presbyterian Church, folk often refer to people who are seeking to be ordained as being "on the ordination track." It's a track meticulously laid out, with five tests, a psychological exam, meetings with several committees, deadlines and a whole forest full of paperwork. The PC(USA) has worked hard to ensure the reliability of its ministers (as far as humanly possible), and this "track" shows it. For those not on the ordination track in the PC(USA), the future is much, much less clear.

After finally coming to terms with no longer seeking ordination (at this point in life), I have recently become more comfortable sharing this information with others. Some people react knowingly, sympathetically, supportively. They offer prayers. Others react with shock. "You know how hard it is to get a job not being ordained? You know the pension and pay are less? Right? What do you do with an MDiv, not being ordained?" These are realities that I have faced and questions I have asked myself.

For a long time I knew where I was going. The track was laid out for me. I went to a Presbyterian-related college, received a religious studies degree, applied and was accepted to the seminary of my choice. I just had a few more hoops to jump through, a few more tests to take, three years of schooling and then... BAM! I'd be a pastor. All the rails were laid out for me. All the forms were in my possession. I just had to follow the steps. Well, the rest of the story is old news by now for readers of this blog. I'm no longer seeking ordination.

Today, at a luncheon for the Teaching Ministry Program in which I am enrolled, we were asked to share how we learned that we were teachers and when we discerned that teaching was a vocation, a ministry. As I sat listening to Faculty Mentors, Site Supervisors, and fellow students -- all with wildly different and intriguing testimonies -- I tried to find some type of pattern in my life, some type of story.

When the time came for me to speak, I began with the family myth of arguing with my grandmother and winning, at which point she announced that I would either be an lawyer or a pastor. I noted that, in accord with several of my peers, I understand things better when I try to make them understandable to others. I mentioned watching my mom go back to college, finish graduate school, and begin teaching, while I walked through elementary, middle and high school. I told how she always encouraged me to follow where God led, and how she constantly reminded me that our calling from God doesn't have to be in church ministry. I shared that she believed teaching was her ministry, her calling, and that she pursued it with passion. I related my love for the church, and my discernment of a calling to work for God with God's people, and how that lead me to seminary.

Then the story stopped. My voice hiccuped. I flailed for a second, wondering how to put what happened next. "I fell of the ordination track," I said, "and I'm not under care under anybody right now." I felt my face twitch. I didn't realize how hard it would be to say that sitting in a room of people, most seeking ordination, most working in the church. Ranged around me were nearly twenty people who had finally found their vocation, and nine of my peers who were learning with me what that word meant. I realized how much of a loss it had been to fall of the tracks, to get derailed.

"I fell off for a variety of reasons," I continued, "one of which was that I realized I was more comfortable as a member of a church, but not as the leader of a church. I feel more alive and full of light being one of many." That was another thing I'd only shared with a few people. I felt sweat on my hands. My body shook a little. I always have a strange reaction to being vulnerable, to sharing something deep and true about myself. I can preach a sermon, give a talk, teach a class and speak confidently, no knee-shaking involved. But when I talk about something deep and true about myself, I fight to stop my body from quivering. I fought this afternoon.

I pressed on and told how, with the help of Lori, my field ed. advisor, and Jan Willem, my supervising pastor from last year, I discerned that teaching might be where God was leading me. I spoke about applying and being accepted to both the teaching ministry program and the dual degree MDiv/Masters of Arts in Christian Education program, and about my joy over finding a great faculty mentor and site supervisor. By now I could barely keep myself from shaking. I was about to say something deep and true, but, simultaneously, something that I had just learned while speaking the previous sentence. I could tell it was true because my body was "like a hill on a fault line," as Rich Mullins put it. I said: "And now I finally feel like I'm no longer frantically laying the tracks down in front of myself. The tracks are there in front of me again. I feel like I'm in the right place."

I hadn't realized until that point that I had been in a Lord of the Rings place, a Peter Jackson place. I hadn't realized that I'd been frantic for almost a year, lost and flailing. I hadn't realized the depth of loss and confusion that had come from falling off the track on which I'd been riding for almost a decade, since I received my call in seventh grade. I'd been trying to build the railways and conduct the train for a year, all by myself. And I had been exhausted and burnt out (read my previous posts for proof). But suddenly, I could see the tracks again. Not the whole route, but at least a few miles ahead. I knew that I was on the right path.

I still don't know yet whether I will teach in a church or in a college or seminary. But I know that for the next two years I will be where God wants me to be: learning about education, living with people I love, loving the people of the Princeton community. I have found myself again, or, perhaps, remembered that I have been found. To paraphrase G.K. Chesterton, I have remembered now what I forgot, and that I have forgotten it. I have been living my life forgetting that I've forgotten, not realizing how lost I felt, how lost I was. But now I remember that I was lost, and in doing so, have rediscovered that I have already been found. Praise God.

Busy-ness

Life has been great, busy, but great. This past weekend, Sarah and I went down to Cape May, New Jersey (or, THE SHORE, as they say in the Garden State) for a belated Second-Anniversary relaxation weekend. Thanks to a gift card donated by Sarah's parents, we were able to stay in a beautiful bed and breakfast for four days. The trip was like a warm shower after a long day's work. We truly felt rejuvenated, both relationally and physically. It was such a gift to just spend time together, without having to worry about deadlines or work, or anything else.

Other than that, we've both been busy at work, Sarah at Staples and the Seminary Chapel and I at the Seminary Bookstore (where, when answering the phone, we have to spit out the mouthful: "Thank you for calling Cokesbury, the TBA at Princeton. This is Marcus speaking. How can I help you?") I've also been working like a bee, trying to construct the hive that is my new website, Puddleglum Theology. I've been putting up a quote a day, and adding other articles and features. If you want to see what I think about daily (ie, what I'm reading), you should definitely check out the site. I'm hoping to start a theological commentary series on the book of Genesis there soon, based on the premises of the website: grounded hope and such.

So, that's the update for now.

Thanks for sticking with me, faithful reader!

Puddleglum Theology Launched

Today I spent over seven hours doing something I've wanted to do for a while. With the help of google sites, I've created a central website for what I'm lovingly calling Puddleglum Theology.

What is Puddleglum Theology? If you've ever read The Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis, and especially the fourth book in the series The Silver Chair, you might have a clue. If you're completely in the dark about all of this, here's an excerpt from The Silver Chair and the introduction to the Puddleglum Theology website to shed some light:

"I'm a chap who always liked to know the worst and then put the best face I can on it. So I won't deny any of what you said. But there's one thing more to be said, even so. Suppose we have only dreamed, or made up, all those things--trees and grass and sun and moon and stars and Aslan himself. Suppose we have. Then all I can say is that, in that case, the made-up things seem a good deal more important than the real ones. Suppose this black pit of a kingdom of yours is the only world. Well, it strikes me as a pretty poor one. And that's a funny thing when you come to think of it. We're just babies making up a game, if you're right. But four babies playing a game can make a play-world which licks your real world hollow. That's why I'm going to stand by the play-world. I'm on Aslan's side even if there isn't any Aslan to lead it. I'm going to live as like a Narnian as I can even if there isn't any Narnia."

- Puddleglum, from The Chronicles of Narnia: The Silver Chair by C.S. Lewis

Welcome to Puddleglum Theology! The underlying ethos behind this website is contained in the above quote. I enjoy mystery and myth, beauty and brightness. I would rather take a stand for the world of story than suffer under the burden of mere fact. Not that facts are not useful, or reason an integral part of living and knowing. But, as Madeleine L'Engle expresses, "if we limit ourselves to the possible and provable...we render ourselves incapable of change and growth, and that is something that should never end." (The Rock That Is Higher, 100) She continues: "perhaps it is the child within us who is able to recognize the truth of story--the mysterious, the numinous, the unexplainable--and the grown-up within us who accepts these qualities with joy but understands that we also have responsibilities, that a promise is to be kept, homework is to be done, that we ow other people courtesy and consideration, and that we need help to care for our planet because it's the only one we've got." (TRTIH, 100) Perhaps my outlook on life can be more accurately portrayed by another quote from C.S. Lewis, this time from an essay on "Three Ways of Writing for Children," "When I was ten, I read fairy tales in secret and would have been ashamed if I had been found doing so. Now that I am fifty I read them openly. When I became a man I put away childish things, including the fear of childishness and the desire to be very grown up." (On Stories, 34)

I sincerely believe that there is more to life than we can accurately portray with mere facts, more to truth than statistics and analytical thinking can produce. I do not always live like a child, but I deeply desire that way of life. I want to wonder again, to be in awe more often, to wrestle with the unknown under a dark moon and somehow end up with both a blessing and a new name. I want to celebrate mystery, all the while seeking to understand. I want to be joyful, knowing full well how grim things truly are. I want to love indiscriminately, and fight injustice passionately. I hope that you'll join me.

On this website you'll find a page that reproduces my blog: There Is No Fear In Love, a growing compendium of quotes from my favorite authors and a discussion page where I'll post questions/thoughts for discussion. And, hopefully, more things in the future. So, again, welcome to Puddleglum Theology!

So, there you have it! Puddleglum Theology has been launched. If you are interested in Puddleglum Theology and would like to submit quotes relevant to the themes presented, e-mail them to me at marchon2884@google.com and I'll try to add them to our growing list of Wiggle Wisdom in the Wigwam Word Archive. Or, if you've written an article or blogpost relating to Puddleglum Theology, I can add that to Respectobiggle Research. Make sure to check out other quotes and articles on the Puddleglum Theology website. Here's the address:

http://sites.google.com/site/puddleglumtheology/

Or you can just click on any of the times I've listed Puddleglum Theology in this post.

Thanks for sticking with me, faithful reader!

Testing, Testing

Testing, Testing. *taps the microphone* Is anyone out there?

Despite all appearances to the contrary, I have not abandoned this blog, though I could be charged with severe neglect. Unfortunately, time (and life) have gotten away from me in the past few months. Consider this post, however, my triumphal return (or my slow walk of shame, tail between my legs).

I hope only this, that I can improve my blogging to at least once a week (a feasible goal, and a definite improvement over once every three months!).

So, here's to blogging!

Thanks for sticking with me (if you have, and even if you haven't) faithful readers!

It's About Time

Dear Faithful Reader,

I'm sure this is what you're saying, if you're still following: "It's about time!"  It's about time that Marc blogged again.  It's about time he got back into the swing of things.

I agree with you. It's about time.  So, here's the first post of the new year.  Hopefully I'll blog more regularly this year.  Hopefully a little bit more recklessly as well.

One of the hurdles I still have yet to pass in my life as a person and as a writer is my own penchant for perfection.  I have a difficult time starting something if I can't do it correctly, can't do it fully and can't do it justice.  I've started several blog posts before now, and haven't finished them.  Then I go back to them and the moment is gone, the writing is gone, the idea and the passion are gone.

The same thing has happened to several stories that I've started and since abandoned.

I need to learn to write and to live a bit more recklessly, to throw caution and editing to the wind and to try to simply produce.

I know that I can edit what I write.  I actually enjoy editing, making the words tighter, the meanings more dense.  So, I need to produce.  Produce, produce, produce.  Write, write, write.  Then edit.  I need to finish something, then perfect it later.  

In blogging, I need to just finish something.  I need to just put something out there.  So, here's a start to a new year, a new season of blogging.  Hey wind! Here's my caution.  Take it and run with it.

Thanks for sticking with me, faithful reader.

Also...

Odd thing, my last post lists the day I began to write it, not the day it was posted.  I wonder if I can change that.  Anyway, faithful reader, I hope that you will also notice that I added a little "widget" to my "about this blog" section.  It's a calculator of a program that I'm working through right now called National Novel Writing Month, or nanowrimo for short.  Basically, it involves writing as much as you can in the month of November, hopefully enough for a 50,ooo word (175 page) novel.  The writing is straight from the hip, no editing, just writing, writing, writing.  I am doing this with the intent to break my habit of over-editing as I write, and to help me to discipline myself to writing more.  As you can see, on day one I did not accomplish much, but I am going to keep trying, going to keep writing.  So, you can follow my progress!

If you want to learn more about nanowrimo, just go to www.nanowrimo.org.

Thanks again, faithful reader!

Poetry Series: Part 1 of 11 - The Collector

Greetings faithful reader.  I apologize for my long absence, time has not been my friend (see the poem below)!  Also, I started this post almost two weeks ago, and only finished it now.  I have three posts 3/4 composed, waiting to be finished and published.  So, finally, here's one.  Hopefully the other ones will be posted soon.  

I hope that you are well.  I'd like to move back in this blog to some thoughts on writing.  In fact, I'd like to present a miniature series of poems.

I'm taking a class right now entitled Writing as Faith Practice.  One of our requirements is to write three pieces, two of which can be academic papers, and one of which must be creative.  Or, we could simply write three creative pieces (which is the option I chose).  I started out this bold endeavor in my favorite realm: the short story.  Unfortunately, after a few weeks of writing nothing solid was coming on a story.  So I decided to try my hand at poetry.  What came out was a series of eleven acrostic poems, using favorites quotes from the Bible as the spine of each poem.  The poems are named after either the writer of the quote, the person speaking the quote, or the person about whom the quote was written.  I'll present each of them here, in the order that I wrote them, and then discuss the writing process below.  I hope you enjoy.

The Collector

Even eternity used to seem small,

Tucked in my heart like a toddler in my arms,

Eyelids drooping, breath running slow,

Resting its rosy cheek in the crook of my chest.

Now I wonder if my fear of the unknown is lack of love,

If infinity is rendered harmless when you hug it like a child.

Time marches like a two-year-old trying to run,

Yielding to the gravity of my mind.

I used to gasp when it fell down hard;

Now I know it's more resilient than I am to its changing.

The truth of the matter is I don't understand

How it works; I stand in wonder of it, winded by its

Embrace as it rushes to hug me 'round my hips.

Helpless, I watch it grow, coming slowly to understand that

Eventually I'll have to let it go.  I'm

An unwilling parent of an unruly child,

Remembering the good old days when it used to

Take my hand as we walked together and

Squeeze it tight.

Or maybe I'm the child, the prodigal son of

Father Time, running from home with my inheritance.

Maybe eternity waits with a fatted calf, arms outstretched to

Embrace me.  And maybe, instead of holding it tight, I

Need to rest in its arms and let it rock me to sleep.

Now, this acrostic comes from one of my favorite lines in the book of Ecclesiastes: "I have seen the burden God has laid on men.  he has made everything beautiful in its time.  He has also set eternity in the hearts of men; yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end." - Eccl. 3:10-11  This passage, by the way, comes right after the long litany made famous by the Byrds: "A time to be born; a time to die..." etc.  If you've never heard the song before:

The reason I love this passage is that it says, yes, there is a time for all of these things, for even death and war, but that these things, too, will pass away and that everything will be made beautiful in its time.  God has, therefore, set eternity in our hearts, has given us a hope beyond ourselves, beyond our understanding.  Derek Webb put this whole passage into song much better than I think I ever could in poem:

This Too Shall Be Made Right
Derek Webb

Appears on: The Ringing Bell

Lyrics:

people love you the most for the things you hate
and hate you for loving the things that you cannot keep straight
people judge you on a curve
and tell you you’re getting what you deserve
this too shall be made right

children cannot learn when children cannot eat
stack them like lumber when children cannot sleep
children dream of wishing wells
whose waters quench all the fires of Hell
this too shall be made right

the earth and the sky and the sea are all holding their breath
wars and abuses have nature groaning with death
we say we’re just trying to stay alive
but it looks so much more like a way to die
this too shall be made right

there’s a time for peace and there is a time for war
a time to forgive and a time to settle the score
a time for babies to lose their lives
a time for hunger and genocide
this too shall be made right

I don’t know the suffering of people outside my front door
I join the oppressors of those who i choose to ignore
I’m trading comfort for human life
and that’s not just murder it’s suicide
this too shall be made right

Also whistling around in my head while I wrote this poem was a quote from one of my favorite old-timey theologians: St. Augustine: "You have made us for yourself, and our heart is restless until it rests in you." from Augustine's Confessions.

The idea of comparing time to a child came to me through the idea of having something tucked into our hearts, even something like eternity.  How can something that large fit into something so small?  A mystery.  And a welcome one.

Blessings to you, dear faithful reader.

Hi everyone.  I just wanted to get out on the front page a conversation started by my latest blog post.  I think it's a good one to have.  My friend Laurie posted a wonderful, balancing response to my post yesterday and I again responded to her.  Be safe, everyone, and watch the debate tonight!  May we live in love and not fear.

Marc, I respect your well-thought out, researched post, just as I respect your political position. I agree that fear and hate are terrible, divisive forces, but I don't agree that either candidate is trying to drive wedges of fear and hate into America. I consider the questions regarding Senator Obama's past associations valid, just as I consider questions regarding McCain's pas associations valid. We are so influenced by those around us; we should be able to ask about those influences.

What I can't fathom is how the supporters of both candidates can let their fervor turn so ugly. The recent McCain rally was well-covered, and we're both familiar with that, but I found this article that identifies some ugly, sad and scary behaviors of Senator Obama's supporters:

Townhall Article, Obama Supporter's Rage

No politician, no president, can change this. Other than just being good and decent people ourselves, how do we and our friends change this?

My Response:

Laurie,

Thank you for adding some levity and balance to the post. Those actions by Obama's supporters were NOT well covered and I hadn't found anything about them. So again, thank you.

I think I see a different fault in this situation in both men. I would like to make a slight nuance of a difference between what you perceived me saying about John McCain and what i would really like to say, and then to make a comment about the difference between this and the fault that I see Obama having. I think that I didn't clearly state what I see McCain doing wrong. I honestly don't think that he's trying to put a wedge in, or trying to divide people and spread hate. I think he's a much better man than that. I do think, however, that in trying to win this political election, he has done some things, I believe, without as much foresight as they needed, that have stoked the fires of hate that were already there. People already questioned Obama's patriotism, people already wondered whether Obama was Muslim, people wondered about whether or not Obama was born in the United States, people wondered whether or not they should fear him. By using this specific line of attack, which might have an arguably viable point about Obama's judgment, McCain, I hope unwittingly, added fire to these flames. If you watch the add on McCain's website about Ayers and Obama, it calls Obama dangerous, and constantly has pictures of him next to someone that they call a terrorist. That word-picture association sends a strong, subliminal message that, perhaps, Obama could be a terrorist, especially when coupled with Sarah Palin's remarks that Obama was "palling around with terrorists," and McCain's remarks that Obama had started his campaign in the living room of a terrorist. It also makes the subtle assumption that Barack Obama approves of these terrorist actions, and, in fact, this is what McCain's question of "judgment" is asking. This would make Obama seem like a person who would want to bomb the Pentagon, making him seem like a terrorist. Again, I don't think that this was McCain's intent, and I hope that it wasn't, but what I worry about is the foresight that was lacking in approving and condoning the use of those images and specific rhetoric to attack Obama. It also makes me worry about McCain, who, as an honorable man, once said that he would rather lose the election than lose the Iraq war. But now, he's pulling out all the stops to win the election (as anyone extremely desirous to win would). This, however, I think has led to some missteps that are potentially harmful and stoke the fire of hatred.
Obama, on the other hand, obviously hasn't reined in these supporters of his who are doing these horrible things. Now, people are hard to control, and people on all sides of the political spectrum get crazy over their politics. So I do not fully fault either candidate for the action of their constituents. Obama should definitely react and try to calm down his supporters. However, as far as I can tell (and I tried to read as many speeches of both men and watch as many ads as possible), Obama's rhetoric has not added kindling to the misguided actions of his supporters. He has not implied anything about Sarah Palin's stance on abortion. He has not linked Palin or McCain to anyone that should be stoned for any action. While, again, I think Obama should be more proactive about making sure that things like this don't happen and that he should apologize for what his supporters have done, Obama's rhetoric has not supported their actions. McCain's rhetoric was not thought through enough for it not to support hateful actions.
Regardless, both men have said very partisan things. Both men have bashed the other's political party. Both men have told untruths about each other. And I think this is where we come in. Not only can we lead decent lives, but we can also spread the word about the truths of the campaign. I highlighted McCain's arguments against Barack Obama because I saw them as potentially dangerous and they were the thing, obviously, that was being covered in the news and that i had the most access to. But we can tell the truth about both Candidates. We can talk about how both are good men. We can look at the way they deal with issues and with other people as a way of discerning between them. We can spread love as opposed to hate. I regret that possibly my previous post was construed as saying something overly negative about McCain. I didn't not mean it to be that way. I do believe that he is a good, noble man at heart, and that's what is so sad to me, that his campaign has come to the point where his rhetoric could be misconstrued rather easily as supporting hateful things. So. All that to say, thank you for your post, again, and for adding to the conversation.

A Change in Tactics (or Is That Strategies?)

During my Writing as Faith Practice course this morning I had a revelation, of sorts.  Really, it was an ongoing realization that began last week with a meeting with my Field Education Mentor (a pastor who is guiding me through the experience of working a 9 month internship at a church).  I realized that I really, truly am afraid of being misinterpreted.  I utterly despise being unclear, or being seen as unclear, or having my words twisted.  This is something, I think, that many people fear.  It is tied, I believe, to my fear of failure, and, even further back, to a desire for acceptance.  I want to be accepted, and feel that I will be shunned if I fail (even though I know this is not true, it is still a fugue roiling round in the back of my mind).  A part of failing is failing to communicate.  Another is being perceived to be something else, something that I don't want to be, and being perceived as a failure through that.

Let's be concrete.  Say that I write on this blog an analysis of a particular work of literature, perhaps THE BROTHERS KARAMAZOV.  In doing so, I write something that misrepresents my view of Dostoyevsky and his writings.  People then comment on the blog about my misrepresentation.  I realize that what I wrote was not true to what I desired to evoke.  I feel failure.

Now, this is a small failure, certainly, but one of the things that I fear.  I, perhaps too readily, depend upon public opinion for validation of the things I do.  I know this about myself, and have known it for some time.  Oddly enough, one of the things I have been battling is this feeling that I am less passionate about things because I have not let myself take risks, and have tried to block out other's opinions of myself.  By not being as emotionally available as I could be, I feel that I have, to some extent, blocked off my passions.  This has worried me.  I am caught between acknowledging what people say about me, hearing their true concerns and then viewing my life from an objective, healthy point of view, and putting up defense walls and trying to be everything to everybody.

Let me put it this way: I want to try to hear what others say and to look at my life through their eyes, yet I want what they say about me to be good (or at least neutral).  So, while I am more open to others (in some respects, as in listening to them), I am actually also less open to them ( as in not revealing my true, full self to them).  And I feel that this has also affected the way I view and interact with God.  I am open to God, to new words, to new directives, to a new hope, but I am not open with God.  Perhaps that difference in preposition is truly what I am talking about, being open to, but not open with.  This leaves me with a numbed sense of passion, and, in some respects, has led to the difficult discernment problem in which I find myself.

Now, in my class this morning we discussed the necessity of good writers to be vulnerable, to dive in, both to reading other great writers, and to dialoguing with those writers, and to being misinterpreted by their readers.  A good writer must both be open to and open with.  I am a self-conscious over-editor.  Every sentence I write I immediately analyze for accuracy (I just did it then, I added a word to make the sentence make more sense).  This means that when I finish writing (if I get into writing at all) I often end with something less personal, less emotional, more filtered.  I am constantly worried about what others will think of my writing, whether or not it is good enough for others to read.

This blog is an attempt to force me to simply put writing out there and to allow it to be responded to (AH!  dangling preposition.  I tried to think of a way to fix this sentence, but couldn't since I'm headed to class in 10 minutes.  Wait...."to simply put writing out there and to allow others to respond to it."   Still not the most concise or most-well-written sentence.  Sigh.  I included this as a snippet of what goes on in my mind as I write).  Meanwhile, I initiated early on in this blogging a policy (or tactic, or strategy...first presidential debate anyone?) of comment moderation.  This ties to my fear of being misunderstood or misrepresented.  So, I have taken the small, but for me, bold step of removing comment moderation.  I can still delete comments (I believe) but now your comments should appear right away, without any screening from me.

One small step for Marc...

Thanks for reading, O Faithful Reader!

In Which I Confess My Utter Lack of Sense

My wife and I have spent the last hour and a half trying to figure out how to change text from the internet into a printable book format.  Here's the story:

So, I have to read Anselm of Canterbury's Cur Deus Homo - Why God Became Human - for my Systematic Theology Class.  Although I am very adept at reading blogs and news articles online, I hate reading works of theology online.  Go figure.  Our professor decided to save us money by having us read the text on the internet.  I was grateful for the saving of money, but dreading reading nearly 100 pages of a dense, theological text off of a bright computer screen.  This afternoon, while steeling myself to spend hours staring at a screen, I hit upon the idea of turning the text into a book.  After all, the text was in an online, printable format, and the copyright information said that it could be printed and used for educational purposes, just not for sale.  Perfect!  So, I went to our campus's nearby computer lab and downloaded the text into Microsoft Word.  Now, I could have just printed it as it was, but I'm also a stickler for durability, portability, readability and paper-saving.  So, I spent an hour and a half formatting the text into "book format," which, conveniently, Microsoft Office for Windows XP on the school computers/printers has readily available.  Anyway, I ended up printing the text on 55 pieces of paper, front and back, two "pages" per side, meaning that it looked like the pages of a regular paperback book.  Then I took it to Staples, where my wife was working this afternoon, had her cut the pages in half and then put them together with a card stock cover and spiral-binding.  All for only $2.50.  Not bad.

Now, there are a few other things that I would like to read/turn into books, such as old public domain hymn texts online, christian classics online, etc.  All in the public domain, no copyright.  I decided I wanted to work at home and try to format it all on my Mac.  No dice.  The Mac did not have the pleasant "book format" option.  So, I tried to emulate it with formatting.  No Dice.  And that was how I spent the last hour and a half.  Sigh.  All of that time when I should have been reading the book that I so nicely formatted and had bound this afternoon.  Welcome to my nonsensical life.

Other than that, life is good.  I'm busy and a little sleepy now, but I'm good.  Sigh.  Cur Deus Homo here I come!

Communing with Nature 4: Jenny Jump Beauty

Dear faithful readers, I can only apologize for my absence with excuses: the beginning of the school year, my duties as a deacon, and general laziness.  I am sincerely sorry for my absence.  Of course, maybe some of you are simply bored of this whole Jenny Jump review and are waiting for me to return to something more substantial.  Well, have no worries, I will.  In fact, I will try to post two quick final Jenny Jump posts and then finally post a third, general update of my life.  So, with all of that written, prepare yourself, dear reader, for a virtual (ha, because we're on the internet) glut of posts.

First of all, let's think about the beauty of Jenny Jump.  If you've never been camping, I really cannot adequately describe to you the musky, cloying smell of decaying leaves and the freshness of the air.  I cannot match the glory of a bright blue sky, the color of a baby's eyes, clear as sight will allow.  I cannot even broach the subject of a midnight sky with a few whispy clouds and the comforting sight of familiar constellations far from home.  Camping brings me to my roots, makes me wonder how afraid our tent-dwelling ancestors must have been, surrounded by the bark of wild animals and the twinkling sounds of insects.  Every motion teasing their nerves.  How insulated we are in our cities full of human noise.  I feel more awake and alive when I'm camping.  I feel more aware.

And the art of camping itself, well, how can I describe to you the success of a fire made only with a few pieces of newspaper, a match and some dry wood?  How can I tell you how satisfying it is to sleep in a tent erected with your own hands and sweat (even though Eddie Bauer helped with the design)?  How, if you've never been camping, can I possibly manage to evoke the weary pride that comes from hiking for five or six hours, the refreshing feeling of slick sweat pouring from your pores, the knowledge that you have worked and you have achieved something as you stand at the cliff edge on the summit of a mountain, surveying the terrain before you?

All of that to say that my deepest wish for you, dear reader, is that you know this joy, you know this pride, you know this radical experience (radical meaning "going to the root").  My heart aches for you to go camping for yourself if you never have.  Meanwhile, these brief descriptions, I hope, encourage you to go.  And now these brief descriptions will be supplemented by pictures.

The eponymous fire, built with my own hands.  It was a quick fire, meant to burn out before we went to sleep.

Just one of the spectacular views from our many hikes.

A Jenny Jump Sunset.  Wild bats were flying around in the gathering dusk.  I tried to capture them with the camera, but they were fluttering too fast.

I love pictures of paths.  Maybe it's my current preoccupation with a search for a vocation, but I think I've always been fascinated by a good path picture.  Not to say that this is a particularly good path picture, but something about the dappled light on the brown dirt and the golden sun striking the green undergrowth caught my eye.

And finally, the satisfaction of a successful hike.  And a beautiful woman by my side.

Stay tuned for the final Jenny Jump update and then a life update.  Thanks for sticking with me, faithful reader.

First Post on a New Blog

Well, here's the first post on a new blog, a symptom of caffeine-induced insomnia.  I will try to blog as much as I can and to make this a place to both share my thoughts and listen to the thoughts of others.  Most of all, I will try to express my inmost self and to write for the simple pleasure of writing.

I think I'll begin this first post with a poem I once wrote about journal keeping.  Hopefully these thoughts will guide this blog.

Failure

Thirteen blank pages at the end of an old journal

Glare and turn their backs on me as I leaf through them.

The dates scrawled in the corners of entries 

Read more like history than chronology:

Moments scattered between the years of my life, 

Plucked from obscurity by a poor historian

Trying to get published so he can eat.

I wonder if they reflect an empty soul.

Who cares if I leave my life for posterity,

Record my every waking moment so that one day,

-- When I am dead and not famous --

Someone, somewhere can read my life

And pretend that I was the norm.

They will pore over every word,

Carefully plucking meaning from each sentence.

"Wow!  Look!" they will exclaim.  "This day he peed.

"How much he is like us.

"I feel a deep spiritual connection with him.

"Let us meditate on his surreal bathroom experience."

I am not defined by words on a page,

Or their absence.

If I am to write anything, it must mean something;

It must mean something to me.

Someone else might read it and be inspired,

But if I write for someone else alone, I silence a part of me.

So I will keep these pages blank,

Move on to the next journal.

And I will keep it just as infrequently as this one,

Not because I do not care,

But because I need to know I'm flawed.

It's humbling.