This is why I love summer.

I'm off for another weekend of camping adventures. You'll hear from me again when I rejoin the ranks of civilian living.

Measuring importance.

Here's an interesting comment made by Skor on my post about Second Tier News.

Skor Grimm said...
Another sad example of what you speak of:

News stories about the London bombs
(killed 50+, weeks ago): 57,200

News stories about the torrential
rains in India (killed 500+, days ago/now): 2,260

I know some will argue that terrorism requires different coverage than natural disasters, and I would agree. However it seems that the sheer scale of the damage done by the monsoon should merit more of the world's attention.

A Christian Warlord in Lebanon.

The new parliament in Lebanon has voted to acquit the former anti-Syrian warlord Samir Geagea from the five life sentences that he has been serving in solitary confinement for the last eleven years. Geagea was jailed in 1994 for several alleged murders including the 1987 murder of former Lebanon Prime Minister Rashid Karami.

It is generally acknowledged that Geagea’s trial was unlawful, and Amnesty International has been calling for his immediate release. The resistance leader claims that he was a political prisoner being punished for dissent and wartime actions rather than crimes against society.

Like so many political chasms, this one has been cut distinctly along religious lines. Geagea was an instrumental leader of the Christian Lebanese Forces militia which carried out anti-Syrian resistance from 1975 to 1990. He is a powerful symbol of past resistance in the current Cedar Revolution.

Several news sources have labeled Geagea as a “Christian Warlord.” That is a difficult concept for me. His political interests do ally themselves with the largely-Christian, anti-Syrian population in Lebanon. I am sure that he would call himself a person of faith. But in Lebanon the word “Christian” seems to now best represent political ideas instead of a metaphysical view of the world (hmm… sounds familiar). Geagea is a military warlord, a political revolutionist, an activist leader, but these things must be held in an acknowledged tension with his faith. There is a necessary conflict of values when taken in the context of the call of Christianity.

I struggle to reconcile the teachings of Jesus with the violence of humankind. Can I really be a person of irrational peace? Is it really a higher calling to wash feet than it is to ascend political stardom?

I’ll freely admit that some revolutions absolutely fit with my faith- the abolition of slavery, women’s suffrage, and civil rights to name a few from right here in the U.S., and some of the steps to progress involved violence. But can I connect the terms ‘Christian’ and ‘Warlord’? I don’t think that I can. While it may not be impossible to be both within one human being, it is not a natural connection when held in light of the life of Christ.

Olallie Lake

I spent the last few days camping with friends from Vibrant. We went to Olallie Lake in the shadow of Mt. Jefferson. On Saturday we took a fantastic hike up to swim in Cigar Lake, and we wound back down the Pacific Crest Trail. That night we enjoyed the campfire, camp food and amateur renditions of John Denver standards.

Accomplishment of the weekend: I learned to play the mandolin! That is, at least enough to follow along with songs in the key of G.

Regret of the weekend: pausing too long in a marshy area along our hike. The mosquitoes were thrilled with their easy prey.

Take a look at this gorgeous world we live in:

Mt. Jefferson over the lake.

A canoe waits on the beach.

The view from our campsite.

Crafty Erin.

This is what I made tonight. Thanks to Dot for the Kathleen Norris inspiration and the magazines to destroy.

I've never really collaged before, so this was a new experience for me. It is tentatively titled "Culmination." The text isn't intended to be read as a sequence, but the general direction is upper-left to lower-right.

Dental chair confessions.

I had a very strange dental appointment this morning. I was due for my six-month exam, and I usually look forward to having my teeth cleaned. However my experience at the dentist has been less than enjoyable since I changed insurance. My health plan locks me into a giant commercial provider, and I am now only seen by hygienists since the actual dentists are busy with true oral crises.

After I had been scanned and shuffled through the reception lines, I was called back to the exam room and put in the chair with a dental bib and the sounds of early nineties soft rock to keep me company. The appointment was early in the morning, and being put in a horizontal position after so recently coaxing myself out of bed was not a good way to jumpstart my day.

The hygienist walked in with a big smile and a pleasant demeanor. It wasn’t until she was actually leaning over me with her tools in my mouth that I started to notice something a little abnormal. First off, she smelled like a stale pot of coffee. Really- it took me about twenty minutes to figure it out, but she was definitely carrying the scent of day-old grounds.

But things grew stranger. As she cleaned my teeth she told me about her amateur photography hobby. “Aaa-aah, ahh,” I voiced in general approval. Pleased that I was interested, she proceeded to fill in the details about how she periodically sneaks into inhabited private residences to take pictures of old architecture. My “Aah aahs?” started to carry a questioning tone, but that didn’t deter her happy confession. It seems that she regularly drives out into the country to photograph old farm houses, and she finds ways to get inside to take pictures. This dental professional specifically mentioned that she had done her stealth photography on several occasions when the owners were actually on the property. Once there was someone sleeping in the house while she was there.

Now forget my post about friends-of-a-moment; why was she telling me this? Did she think I would appreciate her minor criminal endeavors? Did she want my approval? Was she trying to impress me? I’m still scratching my head about this one. Maybe she really doesn’t see any problem with trespassing and photographing private property.

As she was walking me to the front desk, she asked if I had any hobbies of my own.

“I like to write,” I told her.
“Oh?” she asked, “What do you write?”
“I write poetry and some prose. It is often the best way for me to sort through life experiences.”
“Well, good luck with that,” she shrugged, “It seems like a nice pastime, but I’ve never been able to find much to write about.”

Somehow I knew that wouldn’t be a problem for me today.

The future of biotechnology.

Fingernails could eventually be used to carry personal financial information. Laser inscription allows data to be stored for up to six months during the natural life of the nail.

Yoshio Hayasaki of the University of Tokushima and colleagues say a single fingernail could accommodate something like 800 kilobytes of data. That won't provide room for a high-resolution photo, but would be enough to store basic identification information.
-Nature.com

I don't know which one-liner to pick:

Don't chew your nails- you could destroy your credit rating.

Will thieves be picking clippings out of our garbage instead of credit card applications?

She's trying to polish her credit record.

And it is commonly known that toenails grow more slowly than their finger counterparts, so perhaps that will be a longer-lasting option for financial innovators. Just please don't pay at the table.

"There are a thousand thoughts lying within a man that he does not know until he takes up a pen to write." - William Makepeace Thackeray

Hug Point.

Bethany and I took a trip to the Oregon coast with a few friends today. We spent most of the afternoon at a cove called Hug Point where the woods and a waterfall spill right onto the sand. It was a perfect day at the beach, and it was great sister-bonding time.

While we were walking along the water, I noticed a woman taking pictures of some rock formations with a very nice camera. Being nosy, I asked her if she was a hobby photographer or a professional. Turns out she is a geologist named Ellen Morris Bishop who writes books about Oregon geology. Lucky, lucky me. She gave us a fascinating mini eco-history of our surroundings. It was wonderful to listen to her talk because she obviously loves her field of study. I felt fortunate to be part of her exclusive audience.

I've posted a couple shots of Bethany and me looking a bit windswept. We are standing in the same spot for both pictures; we just turned to face the opposite direction. I hope you can tell how close the waterfall and woods are to the ocean. I'd venture to say that this may be my favorite stretch of beach in Oregon so far, and I've seen quite a bit of the coast line. And how could you not love a beach called Hug Point for heaven's sake?

Facing the ocean...

Facing the waterfall.

Communing.

Tonight the sun hit the mountain and lit the valley. Our view from the park made the city seem close and beautiful. Tall evergreens formed a canopy to shield us from the lingering rays of sun, and friends lined both sides of the long picnic table. We took Communion, ate soup and played volleyball. Eventually the darkness and mosquitoes chased us home.

Body of Christ, Bread of Heaven. Blood of Christ, Cup of Salvation.

Second tier news.

*Kenyan children are killed in a primary school attack.*

Why have I not heard about this before today? Yes, London is important. But I can't help wondering: are these travesties in Africa and around the world swept under the rug simply because of economics? Rich nations seem to only care about other rich nations. Why should we decide the importance of human life based on nationality?

Here are a some other news stories that have been muffled in the wake of the London bombings:

Somalian peace-activist is murdered in his home.

Pakistani train wreck kills 132, injures many more.

Over 25 children are dead after a suicide bomber targets a crowd in Iraq.

...........

And a bit of good news- I just found out that I passed the certification exam I studied for all spring. Whew. Now only the writing piece remains. That will be cake in comparison my friends, cake.

Happy Birthday Julius Caesar.

"Beware the leader who bangs the drum of war in order to whip the citizenry into a patriotic fervor. For patriotism is indeed a double-edged sword. It both emboldens the blood, just as it narrows the mind."

- Julius Caesar, courtesy of The Writer's Almanac

Friends of a moment.

There is a type of conversation that usually only occurs on an airplane or a train or in a long line, where two strangers talk about deep personal issues that would normally be reserved for close friends or family members. It is an extremely intimate, largely risk-free conversation because both parties have inwardly acknowledged that they will likely never see the other person again.

I had such a conversation today in the waiting room of a medical clinic. What I thought was a cold has turned into a full blown sinus infection, and my desperation to get well (and get rid of my eternal fever) took me into the local urgent care center.

While enduring my two hour wait to be seen, a girl around my age sat next to me. We talked about our various reasons for being among the afflicted. Naturally the conversation became more personal, and I learned that she has two kids, a husband with very little empathy, works at an adult foster home, and has two siblings that both recently moved to the East coast. We talked about her problems breast feeding and her struggle to get along with her in-laws. We joked about faking medical emergencies to get a bump toward the front of the line. We shared family histories and career aspirations.

And then my name was called. I left her with a fleeting “goodbye, good luck!” over my shoulder as I was herded toward the examination room by a brusque nurse in cheerful scrubs. That was it. We never even exchanged first names.

It left me wondering what to do with such an experience. Obviously part of the freedom of our conversation was that our relationship had predefined points of beginning and end. It would have been unnatural to try and further it as we had no real investment in each other’s lives outside of our coinciding maladies. But I think I have come to realize that there is value in even such a short-lived interaction. For the time that we sat and talked, we valued each other as human beings and affirmed the basic relational capacity that is present between any two people. I think that acknowledging a stranger’s unique personality is probably always healthier than pretending like they do not exist. That is why elevators are so uncomfortable. You are standing just close enough to others that you are forced to recognize their presence, but the ride is too brief to do anything about it.

So I look forward to my future friends-of-a-moment. Perhaps the relationships we share will be short-lived, but they will teach me things that I would never learn if I sat alone.

The headline read "Terrorists hit London."

London, city of the world. Before I had been there I had a very Dickensian idea of what it would be like: foggy, glowing street lamps, dark pubs in cobbled alleyways, lots of ruddy British folks. In reality it is the most international and diverse place I have ever visited. Like New York, London is a magnet for people from every continent and language group. It seemed like it was more common to meet someone that was originally from outside the U.K. than an actual British citizen. The sights, smells and tastes represented every country on the planet. It is a wonderful, atypical place.

I lived there for over a month last spring, and I was a regular rider on the tube. Even then attacks were considered inevitable. I remember one day there was a big scare about the lines being gassed. Papers warned that thousands of people would unknowingly ride to their deaths in the enclosed lanes of the Underground. The threat passed, and people continued to use the tube. There were signs in every corridor reminding riders to report anything suspicious to the security guards at the stations. I even saw bomb sniffing dogs in the Piccadilly station once.

Whoever is responsible for the attacks today did not just attack London. Every car on the tube is like a commercial for international diversity, so the result is an attack on the global community. I am sad for London, and I am praying for a quick recovery. I am sad that humans injure other humans. I am trying to keep these bombings in perspective alongside other events that harm innocent people. I am trying to keep the shock of this event from skewing my sensitivity toward other systems of injustice. But there is something about having been in London recently that makes it affect me very deeply.

I'm sick.

Who gets a cold in July?

I'll write more when I'm feeling better. My brain isn't working right now anyway.

Bits of this and that.

The world has been talking about Africa this week thanks in large part to Live 8. I appreciate that musicians are using their celebrity to draw attention to the issues of poverty in Africa. The test of the tactic will be if their audiences actually pay attention to the decisions made at the G8 now that the music is over.

African church leaders have publicly called attention to the turmoil in Zimbabwe. See details on the BBC website.

Today is Independence Day, and I can hear the fireworks exploding outside as I type. No matter that it is technically still the night before the holiday, my neighborhood is always ready to light up the sky. I'll head over to my parent's house today for some time with my family and a few friends at our annual barbeque. My parents have decided on a mostly-vegetarian menu, and I couldn’t be prouder. We will be having veggie burgers, tofu dogs and a few real hamburgers for the weak at heart. The evening will end, as always, on the roof for the best panoramic view of all the illegal fireworks.

Surface Ripple has been up for a month now. It has quickly become a strange and wonderful little corner of my life. I am happy to have an incentive to sound my opinions, and I have enjoyed the opportunity to write more regularly than before. Thanks to everyone who has read my rambling posts, and/or commented here. I am glad to share this cyber-community with you.

Prayer

You are known.
The reflection of Your face
shines from Your children-
Our Father who art in heaven.

Yahweh unspoken,
revered and revealed
in the sanctuary of prayer:
Hallowed by Thy name.

And in that holy exchange
transcend our limits
with the hope of new existence.
Thy kingdom come.

Your values and systems
repeal our corruption.
Thy will be done
on earth as it is in heaven.

So that each is valued,
none is untouched
and all are filled,
Give us this day our daily bread.

In that content, remind us of grace
and forgive us our sins
as we forgive those who
sin against us.

Because Your love will
light our paths and illuminate
the truth of Your ways,
Lead us not into temptation.

For our hope is that You
keep us from our darkness.
Expose us in the world,
but deliver us from evil.

For You have made Yourself known,
Amen.