August 22

1.  Chess.  I’m on a losing streak, having lost eight out of ten games since May.  If you’ve ever dreamed of beating someone in chess, you could always challenge me, since my luck (or else my attention) appears to be elsewhere.

2.  Anastasia.  On the other hand, in a move of pure lovableness, Anastasia slept on my chest right under my chin last night for an hour and a half while I was reading.  She started out curled up in a ball and slowly unrolled until she was draped across my neck.  Now I understand why people wore furs, because the two pounds and eighteen inches of ferret made me really hot.

3.  God.  I woke up to my alarm this morning, intending to get up for church, but instead slept another hour and a half.  Sorry, sorry.  I’m glad God isn’t much into lightning bolts these days.

4.  Dreaming.  I did manage to have a really bizarre dream.  It was loosely set in a house where I used to live as a child, but the group of people with me–or rather, whom I was indefinably among–came from a book called The Magicians by Lev Grossman, which is a very strange book indeed.  One of the party had just been bitten? or poisoned? and someone else was asking him what he wanted on his gravestone.  He chose the epitaph from the movie The Royal Tenenbaums, which goes something like “Died saving his family from a destroyed sinking battleship.”  And then we all went down the hall and got on a train and then I woke up.

Abandoned Books

I believe I have set a precedent this month.  I have abandoned reading two books, which is exceedingly unlike me.  I’m not sure where to locate the origin of this shocking behavior, though the fact that I’ve had the luxury to be picky during my gap year might be a contributing factor.

The first book I abandoned was The Soloist by Mark Salzman.  A music teacher in his thirties, formerly a child prodigy, is summoned to jury duty at the same time that he acquires a new student.  On page 156, this was all that had happened so far, and it had happened in the first three chapters.  I decided to believe that the protagonist’s experiences helped him back into the concert hall, which was where he really wanted to be anyway.  Perhaps it was a moving psychological study, but all it did for me was encourage me to move on.

The second book I abandoned was The Gospel of Judas by Simon Mawer.  I was pleased to have found it at a nice used bookstore in my new town, because it came highly recommended by another author I like, Mary Doria Russell.  However, it had a bit too much Catholicism and sex for my taste.  The recent discovery of manuscripts predating all the other gospels was apparently a side note, though much advertised on the back cover.  On page 75, the timelines were still too jumbled to justify so much repressed sexuality.  Therefore I repressed the sexuality between the covers and returned the volume to the shelf.

I immediately dosed myself with some Jane Austen, but found to my horror that I had no copies of Sense and Sensibility, a discovery that drove me to the nearest bookstore with haste; and I am feeling much better now.  Both Elinor and Marianne believe themselves divided from their dearest loves forever.  One is wrong about being divided forever and the other is wrong about her dearest love.  Thank the Lord for books we can never live without.

Chess and the Resurrection

I woke up this thunderstorming Easter morning (very early, for my husband and I are going to the Early service, the one before Sunday School, arranged so that the CEO visitors would not feel cramped) with the hope in my heart that God would notice my humble, obedient piety.  Possibly with a reward in mind.  But whatever.

As I sat down at the computer to double-check the service time (8:15a.), I noticed in my inbox an email from the chess site where my friends and I play.  But this time it did not say “It’s your turn against anni–!”  This time it said “You have lost a game (checkmate).”

Checkmate!  Checkmate!  I did not see this coming from anywhere.

In a scant twenty moves, I lost to a team of queen-bishop-bishop.  And the sad thing was that I noticed the possibility of what became the final move; but I did not see the checkmate in it, thinking that I would be able to move my king out of the way.  My loss was due to sheer inattention.  Sadly, this devastating news came after yesterday’s resignation to my other opponent, which causes me to wonder whether God really intends for me to play online chess.  Whyfor, if I actually appear to be getting worse?  Surely this is not his purpose for my life.

I hope that this morning’s sermon is a) worth getting up for and possibly b) inspiring, since my ego could use a little encouragement at the moment. *tongue-in-cheek*

[This is why I have a tag called “irony” – so that no one will be horrified at my insenstive superficiality.]

Happy Easter!

On a Personal Note

To all of you who will bravely face customers (some of whom ask, in perfect seriousness, for the “nonfiction section”), I tip my hat.  The holiday season in retail is a crucible dividing the strong from the weak.  I, however, am weak, and I am off work until the twenty-seventh.  Thank heaven.

I will be offline until the twenty-seventh as well, roadtripping to see both sides of the family in two states in five days.  To all of you (both weak and strong) I wish a merry – or even a pleasant – Christmas.

Much love and God bless,

Kelly

Winter is almost over.

The Truth

To keep my promise from my last post, I will write about the person who guessed the source of the quotation. To everyone who did not immediately think King Lear, or at least, Doesn’t Kelly like King Lear?, I am disappointed; to my mother, who did, I offer congratulations.

One character trait which has always puzzled and intrigued me is my mother’s apparent sense of discernment. She can sense a lie like nobody’s business, whether she knows the person well or not at all. (You can imagine how distressing this was for me growing up: She would know whether I dipped into the proverbial cookie jar the moment I tried to deny it.) Sometimes a person might be interviewed on television, and my mother will know whether there is “something wrong.” She has described it variously as a discomfort of her spirit or an emotional sense of wrongness. She doesn’t necessarily know what the truth is, but she knows it isn’t what is being said.

For us creatures not magically gifted with an innate sense of truth (and you’ll have to take my word that she’s been proven right too many times to be questioned), what we must rely on is our knowledge of sociology, human nature, and other motivating factors. I can tell whether someone is lying if he begins breathing quickly, looks away, fidgets; and I can guess why and about what if I know his history, circumstances, or particular loyalties. This is not the kind of lie-detection I’m talking about. It is a reaction of the gut…or of the spirit.

Perhaps her talent has this as its source:

And there are varieties of ministries, and the same Lord. …But to each one is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good. For to one is given the word of wisdom through the Spirit, and to another …the distinguishing of spirits. (NASB, 1 Cor. 12:5-10.)

I’ve always thought that this ‘distinguishing’ or discernment was a strange gift, more out of a fantasy novel than part of real life. What good is it to sense the truth if you have no king to warn away from the poison, or no evil wizard to cheat out of his gold? More seriously, what good is it to know the truth when you can’t prove the person’s lie, or when you aren’t supposed to judge him anyway?

Not having this gift myself (I can put to rest your concerns that it might be hereditary), I’m not certain what kind of responsibility, or lack thereof, would come with it. Does the reference to the ‘common good’ imply some sort of obligation to actually distinguish between the spirits for the sake of others? Or is the private distinction sufficient?

I’m not certain; I don’t know – and, truth be told, a little relieved about it. Spiritual gifts can be far too deep and mysterious for me. Sometimes I wish I knew mine, but then again,

Everyone to whom much was given, of him much will be required, and from him to whom they entrusted much, they will demand the more. (Luke 12:48.)

(Sorry, I didn’t mean to be so ominous. :-P)

On a lighter note, I had chicken fajitas tonight and laughed myself to tears over The Sparrow. I think the ethical and moral pondering of Mary Doria Russell has insinuated itself into my post.