A Good Way to Start Christmas Day

Before presents, the family gathered around the coffee table still in PJs with cranberry scones, coffee, and Charlie Brown. Even Banjo--the Christmas Cat adopted into the Shorb family a year ago--joined in.

I loved Peanuts as a kid, and now that I'm older, I continue to marvel at the thoughtful work of Charles Schulz.

Advent 8: Not Wanting Anything

I did have quite a few more advent reflections in mind, but life has been seriously interrupted. More on that another time, and until then, here's a quick one courtesy of mewithoutYou, a nice little sweet rock song that is one of the most poetic advent reflections I've ever encountered.

the horse's hay beneath his head
our Lord was born to a manger bed
that all whose wells run dry could drink of his supply

to keep him warm the sheep drew near,
so grateful for his coming here:
"You come with news of grace, come to take my place!"

the donkey whispered in his ear:
"Child, in thirty-some-odd years,
you'll ride someone who looks like me (untriumphantly)."

while the cardinals warbled a joyful song:
"He'll make right what man made wrong,
bringing low the hills, that the valley might be filled!"

then "Child," asked the birds,
"well aren't they lovely words we sing?"
the tiny Baby lay there without saying anything.

at a distance stood a mangy goat
with crooked teeth and a matted coat,
weary eyes and worn, chipped and twisted horns

thinking: "Maybe I'll make friends someday
with the cows in the pens and the rambouillet,
but for now I'll keep away -- I got nothin' smart to say."

but there's a sign on the barn in the Cabbagetown:
"When the rain picks up and the sun goes down,
Sinner, Come Inside! With No Money, Come and Buy!
No clever talk nor gift to bring
requires our lowly, lovely king,
come, all emptyhanded, you don't need anything!"

the night was cool and clear as glass
with a sneaking snake in the garden grass,
Deep cried out to Deep, the disciples fast asleep.

The snake perked up when he heard you ask:
"if You're willing that this cup might pass
I could find my way back home,
maybe start a family all my own...
but does not the Father guide the Son?
not my will but Yours be done!
what else here to do?
what else me but You?"

and the snake who'd held the world,
a stick, a carrot and a string
was crushed beneath the foot of
Your not wanting anything.

listen here:

Hilarious? Disturbing? Clever? Bizarre? You decide.

Had I seen this two months ago, I wouldn't have been surprised when they showed up here in costume.

Two Reasons I'm Becoming Known as the Cranky Teacher This Year

1. The other day, when assigning reading in The Phantom Tollbooth for homework, several students objected by saying, "We HATE reading this book!" We finished the book together today, and in what was supposed to be a moment of sobering and contemplative closure, students couldn't end it fast enough with obnoxious sighs of relief as if to say, "FINALLY!" Then, several of them asked immediately if they could turn the book in, as if they couldn't wait to get it out of their sight. (Of course, the ironic thing is that the whole point of the book is the transformation of a boy who starts out this way--quite hostile towards reading and learning of any sort.)

2. I put on Sufjan's Christmas music as we worked on a small project. They giggled and scoffed as soon as he came on. They called him "The Creepy Guy," I guess because that's how they felt about his whispery voice and all the oboes. Then they called him "a copycat" because he was only playing Christmas carols that he didn't write. Oooooooo, these kids know how to get on my bad side quick.

Today was a good day.

Not pictured: the opening of Blind Willow Book Shop. I was so impressed!

Advent 7: Waiting for Rhyme and Reason to Return

I've already mentioned how much I've enjoyed reading The Phantom Tollbooth together with my class. This is the first time I've taught reading, so it's the first time I've read this book, and I'm pretty sure it's safe to say I'm loving it way more than they are.

It's a book that loves the pursuit of learning and enjoys words. Most of its charm comes from puns and a good play on words, taking idioms literally rather than their intended meaning.

When Milo is transported to this strange world, he quickly discovers the backstory that creates the major conflict of the book. A king sends out his two sons to expand his kingdom, but they grow to hate each other and become enemies. The two princesses, Rhyme and Reason, are the arbitrators that make sense of every argument; they are fair, reasonable, and just, and in this they bring order and peace and rightness.

When the brothers can no longer compromise, they banish Rhyme and Reason to the Castle in the Air (the last thing they ever agreed upon), and since then, there is endless conflict in the land.

I knew there was some significant allegory in all of this, whether intentional or not. But it wasn't until we sang the second verse of "O Come, O Come Emmanuel" in chapel that it really hit me.

O come, Thou Wisdom from on high,
And order all things far and nigh;
To us the path of knowledge show,
And cause us in her ways to go.

We need a little bit of Rhyme and Reason in our own world today. We need to be shown what is right and true, what is fair and just. We need someone to settle our arguments, end our conflicts. We need peace and order. We need a more complete Wisdom. We're waiting.

After chapel, we came back to the classroom and were discussing a few things we had just read in one of the chapters. One boy drew our attention to this particular passage:

"Milo tried very hard to understand all the things he'd been told, and all the things he'd seen, and, as he spoke, one curious thing still bothered him. 'Why is it,' he said quietly, 'that quite often even the things which are correct just don't seem to be right?'

A look of deep melancholy crossed the Mathemagician's face and his eyes grew moist with sadness. Everything was silent, and it was several minutes before he was able to reply at all.

'How very true,' he sobbed, supporting himself on the staff. 'It has been that way since Rhyme and Reason were banished.'"

The first time I read this, I sped on without giving it further thought, so I was quite thankful this boy brought it up. Because Milo is on to something quite significant here. In this life, most things that are true and right run contrary to the ways of the world. They are counter intuitive, upside-down, hidden from view. They take some seeking out, and they won't seem right to everyone else until Rhyme and Reason are finally with us.

But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong. He chose the lowly things of this world and the despised things—and the things that are not—to nullify the things that are, so that no one may boast before him. 1 Corinthians 1:27-29

In the miracle of the incarnation, we received a foretaste, a glimpse of that Rhyme and Reason we had been waiting for. In Him we receive a wisdom that helps us and guides us as we seek out the hidden truth. And now, we wait for its full fruition, its complete revelation, its final release from the Castle in the Air, as we wrestle with this tension of the Already/Not Yet Kingdom.

and Happiness

So, on Monday night, we went down to Philly and Did, Made, Said, Thought. It was a pretty great show in the sanctuary of the First Unitarian Church. I wasn't really disappointed. Do Make Say Think has been making music for 13 years, and it shows. Their technical excellence and intricate fusion of genres makes them stand out in a crowd of trend-passed post-rock bands. They were pretty impressive in every way.

[photo from WKDU]

But their bass player stole the show, and not really with his bass playing. No, he opened the evening with a half hour of what he called "a science experiment" that most of us could have listened to for the rest of the night. His name is Charles Spearin, and he decided to record interviews with all of his Toronto neighbors. Among them: a Jamaican woman, a Trinidadian man, a 6-year-old who doesn't seem too fond of school, a woman who's been deaf from birth, his 3-year-old daughter crying, and several others.

Once interviewed, he listened to the recordings for natural melodies and rhythms in their inflection and speech patterns. Then, he put it to music, creating songs out of their spoken words.

It was unlike anything I had ever heard. It was a total surprise. The musicians were spot on in their mimicry; the resulting compositions were at times whimsical, at times sobering, but completely fascinating, captivating, and inspiring.

He calls it The Happiness Project, and its feature spokeswoman is Mrs. Morris, the Jamaican who confidently declares in her accent, "Happiness is love...You've got to love people." (She's played by the tenor saxophone.)

The happiest moment is probably when the 6-year-old stutter is turned into one funky and infectious jazz rhythm.

The most affecting moment is when the woman describing her cochlear implant, giving her the ability to hear for the first time, says, "All of a sudden I found my body moving inside," and the slow drums kick in on their 7/4 rhythm as the keyboard follows along and the rest of the instruments join and build in bliss, as if you too really were hearing--with your whole body--for the first time.

And of course, I love that these neighbors now get the chance to travel the world in a sense, city by city, sharing their stories and wisdom with everyone they encounter.

I sat there soaking it in, confident that I had never witnessed such a life-affirming project with its interests centered so wholly on others. Where most artistry can quickly become an idol of self-indulgence, this first put the spotlight on the ordinary people all around us, then seemed to be an object of praise, bringing to light the song God has put in the heart of each human being.

Yes, I sat and gave praise. I have no reason to believe Charles Spearin is a follower of Christ, but does that mean he cannot bring glory to God? In my mind, God was glorified, perhaps not explicitly, but his image was displayed both in the most outrageous creative ideas he gives to his artists and in the way they take those ideas and use them to love others and spread some happiness. His fingerprints are left everywhere.

Hear some music over here. But track down the song "Vanessa" if you can.

Happy

It was lunch time. I was sitting with the teachers, we were joking, telling funny stories, watching kids and laughing.

A boy approached the table with some caution and a big grin. He said to me, "Mr. Shorb, it's so good to see you happy! You don't laugh very much, and it's just really good to see you having such a good time over here!"

Of course, this got me laughing even more. "Well thank you. It's a heartwarming sight, huh? You're heart is warmed?"

"Definitely. I'm really happy for you."

What a sweetheart. Not sure what it says about me, but it was nice for him to notice. Good empathy!

On the way to recess, I did my little jump-and-a-kick-of-the-heels move back and forth all the way down the path, yelling "I'm happy!" over and over. The class thought this was the most amazing thing they had ever seen. They started laughing uncontrollably and screaming and running towards the playground in a fit of glee.

It was all kind of nice.

On Taking Kids to the Movies: A Retraction

Those reviews and articles I linked to had me thinking an awful lot. Then it dawned on me as I drove to work, that I was worrying about a question no one was asking.

Some movie reviewers had me convinced that parents are really worried about what movies their kids see, dragging me into a debate on what's appropriate for children and what's not. While that might be somewhat more of the case in Christian circles, it finally dawned on me that very few parents are losing sleep over the matter. (Maybe the debate was just wishful thinking?)

Year after year, I'm continually surprised which movies my 10 and 11 year old students are seeing. Of course, all the girls are seeing the Twilight movies, and in the recent past all the boys have said The Dark Knight is their favorite. Then there were the two boys last year who were giggling about what they saw in Tropic Thunder.

I did a quick poll of my classroom after this realization. Of the 16 kids present, 10 went to the movies. Three saw New Moon, three saw Blind Side, three saw Old Dogs, and one saw Fantastic Mr. Fox. Not all that informative, but I'll let you draw your own conclusions.

If parents are worried about Where the Wild Things Are or Fantastic Mr. Fox, I would venture to say it's not because of frightening or inappropriate content (because what could be more frightening than the Joker in Dark Knight?!), it's probably because the movies are outside of their typical box, and they're left trying to make sense of it all.

Yes, both movies are probably targeted moreso towards adults, and that's probably what sparked this entire debate anyway, but then we're forgetting that so are most of the allegories and metaphors and rich themes within quality children's literature (like The Phantom Tollbooth, which I'm going to praise here very soon). That's what plumbs the depths of a young person's imagination and keeps them ready to learn, reaching for more.

The real issue here is not over-protective parents (although that's an interesting and pertinent conversation for another time). The issue is our discomfort with the blurry line between what's for kids and what's for adults. It's not as clear as we want it to be, and we haven't gotten used to the fact that something can very easily be for BOTH at the SAME TIME, even without resorting to slapstick comedy or sexual innuendos.

Cue CS Lewis:
"To be concerned about being grown up, to admire the grown up because it is grown up, to blush at the suspicion of being childish; these things are the marks of childhood and adolescence. And in childhood and adolescence they are, in moderation, healthy symptoms. Young things ought to want to grow. But to carry on into middle life or even into early manhood this concern about being adult is a mark of really arrested development. 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."

And this will be the last word I have to say on the topic. Promise.

On Taking Kids to the Movies

Got to see Fantastic Mr. Fox, and it was indeed fantastic, and there will be more on its way here, and like every single movie reviewer in America is pointing out whether they have anything insightful to say about it or not, there are a lot of interesting parallels with Wild Things.

But that's not the point right now, the point is this quote from Roger Ebert's 3 1/2 star review:

"Children, especially, will find things they don't understand, and things that scare them. Excellent. A good story for children should suggest a hidden dimension, and that dimension of course is the lifetime still ahead of them. Six is a little early for a movie to suggest to kids that the case is closed. Oh, what if the kids start crying about words they don't know? -- 'Mommy, Mommy! What's creme brulee?' Show them, for goodness sake. They'll thank you for it. Take my word on this."

And this one from A.O. Scott:

"Is it is a movie for children? This inevitable question depends on the assumption that children have uniform tastes and expectations. How can that be? And besides, the point of everything Mr. Anderson has ever done is that truth and beauty reside in the odd, the mismatched, the idiosyncratic. He makes that point in ways that are sometimes touching, sometimes annoying, but usually worth arguing about. Not everyone will like 'Fantastic Mr. Fox'; and if everyone did, it would not be nearly as interesting as it is. There are some children — some people — who will embrace it with a special, strange intensity, as if it had been made for them alone."

And while you're at it, read this worthwhile article by Scott, as he's saying most of things I'm trying to think and can't tie together.

(still waiting)

Don't let the long posts below distract you. I'm still waiting for responses about book recommendations. Yes -- you!

True Freedom: Fifth Graders, Wild Things, and Slaves to Righteousness

The more I think and read about Where the Wild Things Are, the more I realize just how much there is to unpack. I appreciated things here, resonated with this one, and found this one that showed up on a quick Google search to be kinda intriguing. It's something I'll probably keep talking about from time to time.

There's no doubt the movie gets inside the tumultuous mind of a child like nothing else I've seen. And one of the primary themes that rose from that reminded me quite a bit of things learned as a teacher as well as a sermon I had heard shortly prior.

It doesn't take long sitting in a Sunday school room to hear Christians say that life in Christ offers the only true freedom. I've always had a hard time understanding or believing that, because it seems rather clear that life in Christ leads to doing certain things you wouldn't normally do and not doing certain things you kinda want to do. If it's the opposite of what you want, how is that freedom?

A recent message on a Sunday morning kinda made sense of it all for me for the first time, but while I listened, I really was reminded of my classroom.

If you ask kids what they want to do in a typical school day, they'll all answer the same way. They want free time. No rules, no lessons, no schoolwork, no notetaking, no exercises, and definitely no homework. They want to do whatever they want. They want to be, essentially, free.

But it doesn't take a world-class teacher to understand that this would lead to, essentially, chaos. It might be fun for a little while or at certain moments, and at some points the kids just might be able to get together and organize something interesting, and they just might even learn a little something from it. But much more likely and inevitable, they'd be so focused on themselves that they'd end up bored, they'd get into disagreements and scuffles, feelings would be hurt, things would be unsafe, they wouldn't learn, they wouldn't grow, and most of all, they wouldn't be as happy as they thought they would.

You learn awfully quick as a teacher that while kids say they want no rules, what they really want is structure. They might not realize it and they definitely won't admit it, but they want clear boundaries, clear expectations, clear rules. Sure enough, they'll push those boundaries and rebel against the rules, but that's only because they want to make sure they're still there. Despite the grumbling, at the end of the day they're happy, because it's a safer environment, they can experience community and teamwork, they're creativity is allowed to shine and be embraced, they can express themselves, they're productive, and they can learn.

Which is true freedom? No rules? Or functioning within structure?

The Wild Things had been living for too long without structure. And they seem to be desperate for some, so much so that they quickly pronounce Max as their new king, and one insightfully exclaims, "Life is so much better with a King!" Something tells me she didn't really understand the truth in that statement.

But, like most fifth graders, the Wild Things are confused with what they want. Before long, they're not too happy with their King, probably because he's not exactly providing the structure they had been longing for. They insist that he needs to let them do whatever they want to do, do whatever makes them happiest. They sound a little like fifth graders protesting: "You're supposed to give us free time on Fridays! You're not supposed to give us homework on weekends!" Now that they finally have their King, they want to throw off any rules he puts forth, or at least tell him what the rules should be, not realizing that this so-called "freedom" is exactly what's making them so sad and miserable in the first place. That "freedom" allows a great deal of selfishness, where each person wants to create the rules that suit themselves best. It's what's causing fractured relationships and hurt feelings. It's undoing order and replacing it with chaos.

Which is true freedom? Life without a King? Or life with one?

Some friends and I recently finished reading Romans together. We were reminded that our world's idea of freedom--no rules, or only rules I prefer--is really slavery in the strongest sense. That selfishness creates chaos, unhappiness, and a host of negative consequences, leaving us misguided, lost, and unable to exercise our God-given gifts, abilities, skills, and talents. Becoming instead a "slave to righteousness" allows us to function under our King's structure. In it we find safety, order, relationship, community, and happiness--the qualities in life that 5th graders and Wild Things are searching for. We are free to reach our fullest God-given potential.

It seems odd to describe freedom in terms of slavery, but it seems that in the way we were created, we will always be a slave to something. So which is true freedom? Being slaves to sin? Or being slaves to righteousness?

Or maybe the questions are more like these: Do we as adults ever really grow out of our deep desire for order and structure? Can we really handle governing ourselves? Are we really happiest making our own rules?

"So, since we're out from under the old tyranny, does that mean we can live any old way we want? Since we're free in the freedom of God, can we do anything that comes to mind? Hardly. You know well enough from your own experience that there are some acts of so-called freedom that destroy freedom. Offer yourselves to sin, for instance, and it's your last free act. But offer yourselves to the ways of God and the freedom never quits. All your lives you've let sin tell you what to do. But thank God you've started listening to a new master, one whose commands set you free to live openly in his freedom!

I'm using this freedom language because it's easy to picture. You can readily recall, can't you, how at one time the more you did just what you felt like doing—not caring about others, not caring about God—the worse your life became and the less freedom you had? And how much different is it now as you live in God's freedom, your lives healed and expansive in holiness?

As long as you did what you felt like doing, ignoring God, you didn't have to bother with right thinking or right living, or right anything for that matter. But do you call that a free life? What did you get out of it? Nothing you're proud of now. Where did it get you? A dead end.

But now that you've found you don't have to listen to sin tell you what to do, and have discovered the delight of listening to God telling you, what a surprise! A whole, healed, put-together life right now, with more and more of life on the way! Work hard for sin your whole life and your pension is death. But God's gift is real life, eternal life, delivered by Jesus, our Master."

Thanksgiving

It was a good thanksgiving, one that I began to call “In-Law Fest 2009” or the “Seven-Degrees-Of-Separation Gathering.” I won’t bother trying to explain who was in attendance, other than saying 2/5 of the Shorb family was there, 7/11 of the Checkeye family was there, and more or less all of the Ravier family was there. We had the pleasure of hosting it at our new place in “The Big Room.” It was a fun day.

Erica cooked the turkey, and it came out nice and moist and tender, and she was rightfully proud of her work. She makes a killer pumpkin pie with streusel topping, too.

Another 2/5 of the Shorb family came at the end of the day, making 4/5 total, and we finished with a game of hide and seek in the new house. Uncle-in-Law Wes took things to a new level, hiding IN the fireplace on the last round.
And while I've been complaining a little bit about the "feast" that comes with Thanksgiving, I get really excited about the grilled Thanksgiving sandwiches I get to make with all the leftovers. Today's lunch was stuffing, turkey, sweet potatoes, cranberries, and gravy between fresh baked bread and grilled to perfection.

There’s plenty for which to be thankful. As I reflected a bit, this year, it’s God’s strength. In expressing some frustrations to Travis last weekend, he reminded me of the massive transition that Erica and I are in and will continue to be in until we’re settled in France. He was right, and that realization combined with a number of things we’ve been faced with recently makes me thankful that when God calls us, he equips us. His strength fills in the gaps of our weakness, our competence comes from him, and through the strength he gives us, we can do all the things he calls us to. When things get difficult, the Holy Spirit is a counselor and a comforter. All of this makes it much better than trying to get it done on my own.

In a more readily practical sense, I am thankful for the financial means for both of us to complete graduate school. Erica’s done in a matter of weeks, and I’ll be done in a matter of months. Instead of racking up more debt, we’ve actually been steadily reducing it. Woo!

Even more practically, I am thankful for the new (to us) dishwasher that did most of the cleaning after yesterday’s company.

The Response of Gratitude

This Thanksgiving I’ve been kind of preoccupied by our strange and contradictory holiday rituals. “We’re so thankful! Let’s gorge ourselves!” I’m just wondering how we arrived at the place where gluttony is an overflow of gratitude.

I was kind of daydreaming about a better Thanksgiving, and just thought it would be nice one year to not overdue it so much, just have a few specially chosen dishes, keep it rather simple, quality over quantity. I more or less tested this idea on Wes the night before, and he pretty much immediately told me it was a terrible idea, even un-American, which could very well be part of the reason it appeals to me.

As if gluttony isn’t bad enough, it’s the slothfulness that goes with it, the stuffed feeling that causes you to just sit around and do absolutely nothing all day aside from doze a bit or watch the television mindlessly. Sinfulness aside, it just feels crappy if you ask me.

I initiated a Thanksgiving walk a few hours after eating, and to my surprise, everyone joined in. We kept our coffee mugs in hand and walked up the big hill that continues past our house. The people took it much more seriously than I had intended, and when I expected to turn around and return at the stop sign, they just kept walking and walking, watching the sun set, and eventually making it down to the reservoir nearby. All of this was not only a lot of fun and amusing and memorable and quite picturesque, it helped my preoccupation with the laziness associated with the day.

And then, as if gluttony and sloth aren’t bad enough, there’s the Black Friday madness that starts a day early with browsing through catalogs and advertisements. So now we’ve got the greed and covetousness to deal with, too.

Maybe I’m sucking all the fun out of a perfectly innocent holiday. Maybe I’m being a little too holy. Maybe it’s just the expected human condition, always having a tendency to warp and pervert things unknowingly. I’m probably worrying too much, thinking too much. It’s just that if our hearts were really filled with gratitude, wouldn’t we practice just a little bit more self-control and intentionality? Wouldn’t we think twice before diving into three of our most favorite deadly sins?

The other thing I’ve been a bit worried about lately is my status as a Debbie Downer. I guess posts like these don’t really help. Call me Naysayer Nate, I suppose.

City Living: 1 -- Small Town Living: 1

City Living scored a point for using their cops in places other than watching stop signs like overzealous hawks.

But tonight, Small Town Living comes from behind to tie the score for having a better view of the stars.

Used Books

I'm well aware that posting has been few and far between lately. That's partly because I've been trying to find the time to further digest Where the Wild Things Are here, and partly because life has been wringing us at a rate that leaves little time for rumination.

Several exciting things are on the horizon in the next two weeks, like hosting Thanksgiving in our big room, seeing Do Make Say Think in Philadelphia (listen to the new album here), my friend Dan's crazy new art show, and my friend Kyle opening a used bookstore in Emmaus.

But it's the bookstore that's inspiring this post. I don't talk much about literature here because I don't read as much as I'd like to and I don't really like to read as much as I'd like to. (Although, I have been really really enjoying reading The Phantom Tollbooth with my kids. Maybe I'll post some thoughts on that soon.)

But I know I've got some well-read friends--you know who you are, don't be shy now--who check in on this blog from time to time. In efforts to spark a little life around here and help out Kyle and Matt as they keep working on their inventory, the question is this:

What books would you want to find on the shelves of your new favorite used book shop?

Answers from any and all genres are accepted and encouraged.

Fighting

In the past two days, I've dealt with boys who have thrown punches. Relatively speaking, neither scenario was a huge deal. One was matter of invasion of personal space. The other happened after someone stole a churro off another's cafeteria tray. Citations were issued, lessons were learned, and one tough guy welled up with tears admitting, "My mom's gonna kill me."

Boys will be boys, but the thing is, this never happens at our school. Besides a few playground scuffles that never amounted to anything, I'm pretty sure these were the first fists I've seen after 2+ years.

To have it happen two days in a row jolted me a bit, especially because both times I had to drop what I was doing and rush over to the situation before things escalated.

What's been most surprising is that it's instantly taken me back to my former school, bringing vivid flashbacks of some nauseating fights I witnessed there. Two boys rolling over desks in the back of math class, punches to the face, splatters of blood and clumps of hair laying in the hallway, the girl who showed so much promise one afternoon and was never seen again after she beat up another girl the next day. The stress seemed to rise with the flashbacks, a heart heavy with the burden of the darkness inherent in senseless violence.

The school's been on my mind a lot lately after interesting discussions at grad class, some contact with former colleagues, and now this. I can't say I regret leaving, but there is some regret that I couldn't stay, some regret that I couldn't do more. And maybe it's just a mourning of kids who have lost their way and resort to lashing out.

Even if it is just personal space or a stolen churro.

if research means to search again, i think i'm rerereresearching by now.

the wife's away, which is usually when my productivity level takes a major nose dive, and it's just in time for two grad class assignments due thursday and another due sunday. i haven't really started on any of them. i've known about the two due thursday since the beginning of the semester. just now started trying to find the resources to complete them. i'm coming up mostly empty. glad i finally figured out how to search databases through my local library, but still not finding what i need. not sure what to do. i'm getting sick of boolean phrases. i want to get out of this barnes and noble, but i know if i go home, the couch will suck me in and never let me go. anyone have the text "american education" by joel spring? i'll get it back to you by friday. maybe i'll pull an all-nighter at some point this week. or fake the swine flu.

is this a blog entry from 2003? seems like it.

City Living: 1 -- Small Town Living: 0

I lived in the city of Bethlehem for four years and never once got pulled over by a police officer, as they were all busy doing things like chasing bank robbers, controlling drunken Musikfest crowds, or corralling the middle schoolers I used to teach.

I've lived in the town of Hellertown for two weeks and started my Friday morning off with a $100 fine for pausing too briefly at a stop sign, despite the fact that we graciously gave an officer permission to time from our driveway the other week. Welcome to the neighborhood, I guess, where the cops have to get paid to do something. And just be sure to watch those stop signs and speed limits.

Costumes

American Gothic and Pinnochio and Geppetto

Michael Phelps and Nancy Kerrigan, Scooby Doo and Shaggy

The Beatles

Captain Canada and a Bag of Jelly Beans

Lady Gagas and the Baker's family

Karl Blau as Father Nature

Heaven

Tried to post this a while ago, but couldn't find an embeddable link. Here it is! Even more fun to watch now that they played in our living room! (A little disappointed they didn't play this song though.)

Happy Halloween

So the Fifth Annual Shorb Family Halloween Costume Extravaganza is history, but it was a success.

To be honest, the past two weeks have been a huge source of stress, a whirlwind of busy days and late nights with literally never an hour to pause and relax. The move has taken up most of the time really, but work, graduate homework, extra meetings, church responsibilities, and the rest have packed in whatever holes would have been left open.

The party seemed to be the culmination of it all (although if I realistically look at my calendar, the stressful schedule will no doubt last through November), the goal to which we were working towards, the deadline to get moved in and settled to a certain extent, not to mention more free holes filled up with costume design, sound system set up, decorating, food prep, etc.

Wes and Roshelle agreed to be costume partners this year, the duo expanding to a foursome. Without their help, I’m not sure costumes would have happened for us, at least not up to typical caliber. And so, with their super hard work, four Mighty Morphin Power Rangers showed up to the party, costumes chosen mostly for their ridiculous nature.

When we laughed and laughed just picturing it in our minds, we knew there was no turning back. But on Friday night when we were all exhausted the costumes were still in haphazard pieces, it was evident that morale was low. We were a little late to our own party, but it all came together in the end.

On Saturday morning, running last minute errands, I grew a little bit anxious about having a “house show” and hosting a band and whatnot. It’s a little intimidating inviting a band into your house without knowing them, not knowing exactly what they want or need, how they’ll behave, and not knowing how friends will enjoy it.

But the seven of them showed up and were immediately so kind and friendly and respectful and gracious and appreciative and sweet. They were content with the modest PA system I provided, they had prepared costumes earlier in the day, and they didn’t think twice about putting plywood or cardboard underneath their amps to protect the brand new hardwood floors. And they stayed that kind and friendly and respectful and appreciative all the way through their stay when they set off for Baltimore this afternoon.

Karl Blau and LAKE played their sets and played them well, turning our “great room” into a legitimate venue. People seemed to really enjoy them, dancing ensued just like I hoped it would, and everything clicked. It was officially a party.

Then, even the Beatles played! Stan, Kyle, and Matt closed the evening out with 5 Beatles covers and they sounded great. It was fun to see them rocking out.

It felt good to throw a party. I was so excited and contented after it ended, and that’s lasted into today. People don’t throw enough parties. Maybe we don’t know how to party. Maybe we can’t find reasons to party. But I think my life would be a little more joyful if we had a few more.

Maybe the word in itself has too many harrowing connotations, with all of its illicit drugs and booze and sex and rock and roll, and of course that’s not at all what I’m referring to. I suppose I mean coming together to be joyful, act a little sillier than usual, enjoy one another’s company, laugh, eat some good food, and let all the other worries drift away for a few hours. Yes, more of that. If it takes getting a good band to play in your living room, then by all means, get a good band to play in your living room.

The most unexpectedly transcendent moment of the night was when LAKE played their song “The Places We’ll Go.” Erica and I spontaneously took the center of the dance floor and sang along as we danced in one another’s arms and all of a sudden it felt like we were in a room completely alone. There we were, just two goofy Power Rangers dancing like we were in love or something, literally like no one was watching, and the words we sang took on new meaning at what appears to be our last Halloween party for the foreseeable future for obvious reasons: “Oh, the places we’ll go…Oh, we don’t actually know.”

The next year will be a whirlwind in itself no doubt, but in that moment there was a sense of calm, peace, joy, and rightness about it all. Where the world will see just two weirdos carelessly dancing, may we find a sense of meaningful belonging in the stage God is setting for us. We don’t know where it will all lead, and that’s OK.

This new house is a pretty amazing one. People seemed to love it last night. It’s our hope that we’ll be able to use it to its fullest potential without getting too attached. Last night was a great start.

And finally, give LAKE and Karl Blau a listen, or check to see if they’re coming to your town. Not only are they really creative and talented musicians who believe in what they’re doing, but they’re super nice people, too.

Getting Used to the New Place

I know I promised to keep this sort of content to a minimum...but how could I refuse this?

Where is My Mind?

We learn a lot about the brain in fifth grade, and one project was to create model brains at home and bring them in for a presentation. I created a little slide show with pictures of all of them, part of which was set to The Pixies singing "Where is My Mind?"

When it was shown this morning, one boy got really really excited when the song started and said, "This is my dad's favorite song!!!"

Guess who earned a few scene points.

Preparations

We bit the bullet and moved ourselves to the new house last week. We're still moving out of the apartment, and we'll need to clean it sometime soon, and it's become a painfully long process. But the new house is being finished bit by bit, and it's a nice place to live so far.

Then, of course, we've got to ready the house for our Halloween party this Saturday. Of course, LAKE is playing, which I'm still quite excited about, and you're invited. So bring a costume and show up at the new place in Hellertown on Saturday night. See you there.

Video's not the greatest quality...but the song is wonderful!

(Here's the wonderful song...)

Besides that, I'm really hoping November will bring back some normalcy. And if I can finish these two grad classes, then maybe, just maybe, life will really begin to be a bit more enjoyable. We've gotta find some time to live it up before the BIG move next year.

Eavesdropping

On the bus for the field trip on Tuesday, several girls accused me of being an eavesdropper after they had been talking about who likes who and which boy they were gonna marry someday. I denied eavesdropping on them, but admitted it was part of my job. Teachers know everything about everyone in their classroom, don't they? At least that's what we want the kids to think.

When I'm using wi-fi at certain places, I find myself eavesdropping quite a bit. Like today, at Barnes and Noble, a grandfather thought his granddaughter was a lot older than she was. He was feeding her a sugar cookie that was basically the size of her small head and telling her they could bake some of their own come Christmastime. It was sweet and all, but as far as I could tell the girl couldn't even walk on her own yet.

The milk-delivery man was pretty cranky this morning because he had to take the milk crates that some other guy left behind. The cafe workers can't stop talking about it like it was the most exciting thing that has happened in weeks. It probably is. They were expecting a big rush of parents after the Halloween story time, but I don't think it ever happened. So now they have to keep talking about the milk delivery man and how they made too many cookies. The new worker just finished her shift, and the coworkers congratulated her on a good morning.

The girl behind me is working on spinning her resume so that she can land a job at PetSmart. She wants to work with animals in the future. I didn't think PetSmart really needed impressive resumes, but I guess in this economy it can't hurt. Her boyfriend is helping whenever she gets stuck, but I'm not convinced she wants the help. He spends the rest of his time surprising (or annoying?) her with little-known Mount Everest trivia. Can you believe someone climbed it in 1953? Without oxygen? And take a guess how old the oldest tree on the mountain is.

A little boy just walked over next to them, pulled a book off the shelf, and excitedly read it's title for the entire store to hear: "MAGIC FOR DUMMIES!" Man was he excited. I loved that age where I wanted to be into magic but soon realized it took too much dexterity and too much deception for me to muster.

Then there's the goofy kid in the corner who's been here almost four hours and is probably only halfway done with his assignment for grad class, mostly because he's been distracted by reading excerpts of Donald Miller's new book, trying to find the CDs he's been wanting in the music section, and being nosy and blogging about it. He's getting hungry, but can't decide if he should purchase lunch here or elsewhere.

This is the second time I've written about myself in the third person recently, and when I stop to think about it, it kind of freaks me out. I guess I shouldn't get in the habit of it.

dubyah

Several of my students have been saying the word "nucleus" a bit like our former president.

NUKE-YA-LUSS!

Makes me chuckle every time.

Gull Hell

Our fifth graders took their annual trip to Longwood Gardens and Brandywine River Museum yesterday. In the afternoon, we took in a very interesting exhibit of Jamie Wyeth's, his unique take on the seven deadly sins by way of sea gull portraiture.

Like any good Wyeth, Jamie knows how to paint gulls after years of observing them by his island home. I've never liked sea gulls. Watching them sin makes things like anger and gluttony even more ugly. I wouldn't typically describe paintings of birds as intense, but these were. Most were appropriately disturbing.

One of the feature pieces that was most impacting is entitled Inferno. The scene of a flock of gulls around burning fire is recorded on a large piece of cardboard with mixed media. It's a chaotic and frantic scene that immediately evokes violent sounds and putrid smells.

Our tour guide explained the back story to us. On the island where Wyeth lives, a boy regularly travels from one beach to the next collecting trash, loading it into a rolling furnace, and burning all of it away. This of course attracts a flock of gulls who swarm and dive and fight for their own pieces of trash.

As I stood in front of the work and heard this story, I was quickly affected by how fitting the scene is. What is hell? It's swarm of birds, yelling and fighting, competing selfishly, every man for himself, so consumed with chaos, blinded to the fact that the thing they're fighting for is only a piece of worthless, discarded rubbish fit for burning.

How often do I find myself fighting over trash? CS Lewis is brought to mind: "We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased."

Or, as Tim Keller says in this article, what makes hell scary is that it is simply getting what we want.

"The worst (and fairest) punishment God can give a person is to allow them their sinful hearts' deepest desire...The desire of the sinful human heart is for independence. We want to choose and go our own way. We want to get away from God--but, as we have seen, this is the very thing that is most destructive to us. Sin destroys your ability to choose, love, enjoy. Sin also brings blindness--the more you reject the truth about God the more incapable you are of perceiving any truth about yourself or the world...What is hell, then? It is God actively giving us up to what we have freely chosen--to go our own way, be our own 'the master of our fate, the captain of our soul,' to get away from him and his control. It is God banishing us to regions we have desperately tried to get into all our lives."

Wild Things: For Kids?

Since seeing the movie Friday night, I've been poking around at a few reviews, finding that many are agreeing it's not really meant for or appropriate for kids. And as I've talked to a few parents about how much I loved it, I'm wondering in the back of my mind if I should be endorsing it, or if I should be adding some sort of disclaimer, before they take the family out for a night at the movies.

And first, this makes me perplexed at our rating system. A PG movie is automatically assumed to be for kids and only kids. The trouble is, families have been conditioned to think that just because a movie is G or PG, it is meant to entertain the family rather than be discussed and discerned, and that's when they end up being disappointed (or disturbed) by rich films like WALL-E, UP, or WILD THINGS. And a PG rating also makes the vast majority of adults assume there's nothing worth pursuing on that screen, as if the only thing we're looking for in a movie is more provocative content. If we don't judge books by covers, why do we judge movies by ratings? If families or adults see this movie according to its rating, both parties with be surprised, not because it is inappropriately rated but because it is much more, or at least much different, than the average PG movie.

So let's get one thing straight, WILD THINGS is not meant to be viewed in the same way as CLOUDY WITH A CHANCE OF MEATBALLS. If your child picks up on any of the meat in the movie, he might come home just a little depressed, a little distrusting of the world. The characters are not sweet and flowery and tidy and perfect and cute. They are a bit endearing, but only if you find a little bit of dysfunction endearing. And I wouldn't say it's a feel-good, fairy-tale sort of triumphal ending, either. The formulas for the typical PG movie will not be found.

Let's get another thing straight. If your children still like to entertain themselves with their imagination, they'll probably like the movie just fine. But that seems to be more of a rarity these days. WILD THINGS is reminding us of a nostalgic childhood where homemade forts--be it blankets or snow--were all the entertainment needed, before the time when movies became mindless babysitters and told us exactly what to visualize rather than letting words on a page cause images to unfold, before the time when chasing the enemy on your XBox became more exciting than stalking your dog around the house like a Serengeti predator. Stylistically, those reviewers are half-right in saying it's not for kids. What they mean is it's not for today's kids, they've been conditioned for something different from a movie. But it is for yesterday's kids, and that's part of why my young adult generation is so excited about it.

And maybe the biggest concern of all is the concern for safety and protection. Yes, that's part of a parent's job, but few would disagree that we're overprotecting these days. That's also what this movie is about. All of the emotions and circumstances are so real and universal and honest and accurate, without being at all inappropriate. While I respect the decision of a parent who feels their child is not ready for the movie, I simply hope that family will at some point find ways to appropriately approach, confront, and process the emotions that are a part of life, part of being human. I hope that ignoring a movie isn't a sign of ignoring the reality of life.

But of course, I'm no parent, so what do I know? And I say that with as much honesty and humility as I can muster. If I had kids, it's probably obvious by now that I'd love to take them to see this movie. And I'd love to come home and build a fort and hold a rumpus. But maybe that's what would turn my kids into little outcasts at school (a real and universal emotion that is among those addressed in the movie), and that's not what the average parent or child is looking for at the theater today.

So, if you're a parent, you might not want to take my word on this movie. But all of this was too complicated at the time to explain to the mother in church asking me, "How was it?"

Wild Things: Official Review

Erica warned me about getting my hopes up to high, which is a typical affair for most movies. I'm happy to say that Where the Wild Things Are pretty much met and exceeded every expectation I had.

Memories

Erica's been taking photos of each room before their dismantled. I've decided to give the most prominent memory of each room...

Dining Room: lots of meals with lots of different people, thanksgiving, birthdays, conversation...

Living Room: 30+ people in one room for film nights or laying on that couch and listening to records in order to unwind.

The Hallway: watching Wes dressed as a huge robot having to walk down sideways and playing fetch with Banjo the cat (can you spot him?).

Guest Bedroom: tucking in nieces and nephews, especially the time it was all three nieces in one bed.

The Bathroom: haircuts, always too late at night, majority of which almost ended in divorce.

The Office: Recording hymns, Combovers, and practicing with Kyle for our gig at Wired.

Kitchen: In my mind, the hardest room to leave behind. It wasn't much of a kitchen, but it somehow always ended up being the place where everyone would congregate, I guess mostly because we were cooking there and there happened to be six chairs in it. It ended up being more comfortable--or maybe I mean comforting?--than the couches in the living room. Eating at the round white table was always nice, especially during summer with 1 or 2 friends when both windows were open, the overhead fan was on, and the only light was the string of Christmas lights. It was the closest thing we had to a porch, and it wasn't a bad substitute by any means.

On Home

So we're in the process of moving. If you only keep tabs via this blog, you might not know the full story. Erica's parents purchased a foreclosure in the next town over. Ton of space, price was right, but ridiculously laid out. They completed gutted it, reconfigured things, and Erica's has been doing most of the work bit by bit for a few months now.

The plan is: we move in and rent from Erica's parents until we leave. Why bring the chaos of a move into our lives? I'm not completely sure, really, but it will put Erica maybe 20 minute closer to work, which will help. It will put in the same town as our church, making us more a part of the community and allowing us to host a high school Bible study in what we've been calling "the big room." And it doesn't sound like much but it's probably the biggest perk: a dishwasher and washing machine.

So, the house isn't exactly finished, but we've told our landlord we'll be out before November 1st. That makes for a crazy few weeks, packing up, moving, getting settled in an unfinished house, creating Halloween costumes, and preparing to host a band in "the big room" on the 31st, and in the meantime not forgetting about full-time jobs and graduate homework.

We just started packing up a few days ago, and that's when it started to hit me. I don't really want to move. I don't like moving. This is home. I like it here. It'd be easier to stay. I hate the look of empty cupboards. And all the while the obvious thought is ringing in my head: we have to do this again, in a much more extreme fashion, next year!

But why is it, I wonder, that all of our favorite movies feature road trips? What is it about long journeys and the simplicity of owning nothing except what can fit on your back or in your car that we're so enamored with? Is it just the irresponsibility we're so taken by? Or just the good music? Or do we cope with the labor of moving by constantly moving, so that we never have to face the side effects of uprooting? And why do we admire the people who move away from home and scoff at the people who live in the same town all their lives?

Surely some people are more able to handle moving than others, but I'm just wondering, are we really meant to move? Sure, staying put allows you to accumulate STUFF all too easily, which is what I'm hating most right now, and that might be one of the best arguments for never sticking around long enough. But things like relationship...community...fellowship...and even to a certain extent responsibility and commitment and loyalty and hard work...I believe we're wired for them. Can they be attained when you're moving? Sure, people on road trips experience all sorts of wondrous things, but what are they missing? I'm beginning to think we're wired for home.

OK, I can admit it, I'm thinking too hard and getting a bit melodramatic. And this type of stuck-in-the-mud thinking is what makes me boring, what makes the counselor we've visited say I'm the brake pedal and Erica's the gas. But I'm just thinking that when we worship the people who leave home or refuse to have one, we've got things just a bit out of balance, no?

And maybe it's moreso the fact that most couples can't wait to leave their first home; the inconvenient hole-in-the-wall with all sorts of horror stories that have been endured simply for the cheap rent. We've lucked out for the past four years with cheap rent and plenty of quaint space to host our friends. That's not easy to leave, at least not right now.

Don't worry, I'm excited to go to France. But I'm mostly interested in making France home as soon as possible.

Making Plans for the Wild Things

from Terrible Yellow Eyes

Plans are underway to see WHERE THE WILD THINGS ARE on Friday night. I half-jokingly said to someone today that I've been waiting five years for this to happen, but when I stopped to think about it, it probably has been five years at the very least from the time I first heard it was in the works. I was excited from the moment I first heard, and the excitement has only grown since then.

Also from Terrible Yellow Eyes

Another reason why Halloween will be extra happy

Here's some more LAKE publicity, since they're set to come to our livingroom on Halloween.

This song is insane. I'm not sure how in the world they pull off this bizarre breed of light-easy-listening-elevator-jazz-dance-pop, but they totally do, and I can't wait to get my groove on.

kite

totally flew that kite, mostly as an act of rebellion. loved every minute of it.
...and I love how these photos turned out like a dream.

wind

It's a wonderfully windy day today, and while I get super excited on days like these, I found that other teachers get equally scared.

Personally, I couldn't wait to walk outside to lunch, but most other teachers were giving heavy sighs and making remarks of paranoia. "Should we really be going outside? Will we be OK? Is it safe?"

All the while I never got a clear answer on what there was to be so scared about. I guess it's all the old trees on the campus, one of which had a limb down (and the entire tree was promptly chopped up a the close of school), but other than that, why can't we get out and enjoy a little wind?

I mentioned to one coworker that I couldn't wait to get home and fly a kite. "Oh no," she said, "not today!!" Hmm. Would it be better to wait for a day that isn't windy? That doesn't make much sense to me.

So while everyone was fretting and grumbling, I spent the entire day singing along with Page France in my head:

I believe in windy days when everything gets blown away, please let me be blown away, I promise you I'm not afraid...

Good News

You, us, costumes, candy, and....LAKE!
Mark your calendars.
October 31st.
Happy Halloween, indeed.
This will be a housewarming party, too...we're moving the extravaganza from the apartment to the new house in Hellertown.
See you there!!

On Being Compelled; On God's Love

Paul, when trying to explain to the Corinthians why he does all that he does, says, "Christ's love compels us." In other words, he led his crazy life full of beatings and chasings and threats and insults and imprisonments and shipwrecks, simply because of Christ's love.

His words in the first half of 2 Corinthians seem to strongly imply that when an understanding of God's love takes hold of you, you are compelled to live a drastically different life. You are controlled, taken over, pushed forward, urged on, thrust outward, hemmed in, with no other choice.

These words are scary, because when we survey the pews, or better yet, when we survey our very own lives, we notice that doesn't seem to be happening.

Rules of logic seem to imply that if we aren't compelled, the problem is that we aren't understanding Christ's love.

Have you ever noticed yourself getting bored when singing Amazing Grace? Sure, it's not my favorite song musically, especially when white people butcher it so badly, but I have to think that a big part of the problem is that we aren't seeing God's grace as really all that amazing.

What have we done? I tend to think we're watering some things down and thinking of ourselves a bit more highly than we ought. And if things with us weren't so bad to start with, than God's solution was really no big deal either.

Example? Acts 9 tells the story of Saul's conversion. The man who made a living off of murdering Christians all of a sudden miraculously becomes a leader of the church. It's a stunning and unbelievable story. What's the lesson in it?

Well-intentioned Sunday school teachers across the country will tell the story and say, "So, you see? No one is beyond God's grace. Think of someone that in your mind is the absolute most least likely person to follow God. Someone like Osama Bin Laden. Even he could come to Christ! It's possible! Isn't that great? Let's pray."

Now, of course no one is beyond God's grace. But when we frame the conclusion that way, what are saying about our own conversions? We weren't like Osama Bin Laden, so our salvation was likely. We were mostly good people beforehand, and we started coming to church because it seemed like another good ting to do, and it was just a natural progression from there. Or we grew up in the church, our parents trained us well, we always believed in God. No big deal.

Sure, this is how things appear on the surface, in the earthly, physical sense. But what's happening underneath it all in a spiritual sense? Is this what scripture teaches? Are there likely, natural converts? Is the gap that Christ must bridge really that small? No big deal?

No wonder these are the people that, when asked to share the work of God in their lives, respond by saying, "Well, I don't really have much of a testimony."

Do we believe that all of us were alienated enemies of God? That we were dead in our transgressions and sins? That before our reconciliation we didn't understand God, we didn't seek God, we were worthless? We were senseless, faithless, heartless ruthless? Harassed and helpless?

On the surface, our lives before Christ looked a lot different from Saul's. But in our hearts, we too were breathing murderous threats against God.

That is who we were. That is what we were saved from. And that is what makes God's love so unbelievably astounding and glorious. A love like that is what inspires tireless worship. It drives us in our relationship, continually wanting to learn more and plumb the depths of who exactly this God is. This is the love that compels us to live life differently.

This is a love that is wide and high and long and deep, a love that surpasses knowledge.