Playing House

I spent last night at my friend’s apartment to protect her from scary noises and axe murderers while her roommate was out of town. As I enjoyed the grand tour of their tiny home, I cooed over the table and the chairs and the flowers and the stove. There is something so exciting about claiming your own domestic space and playing house. Perhaps it’s because college students are swamped with paper writing and other homework that makes washing dishes in your own little sink with your own bottle of soap a delightful activity.

But I suspect some part of it moves beyond a simple excuse to break from school. A couple of weekends back, some dear friends of mine hosted an open house to share the improvements they’ve made to their very first home. There too, it was squealing (and whatever the masculine equivalent of that happens to be) over matching dishes and picture frames and new plants for the garden. There seems an odd fascination which these objects can hold in a new home when in an old one, they become items of drudgery and chores.

Elizabeth and Jane Bennet probably never washed their own dishes, but I bet the novelty of claiming their very own domestic domain also held some charm and fascination. I think the excitement must stem from being in charge of your own little corner of the world. As the sole proprietor and planner of your very first establishment, you pass an invisible threshold into adulthood and responsibility. And for a season of time, it might feel like playing house in your Playschool kitchen with its plastic fruit and wooden dishes—pretending to be a grown-up.

Just found this little video about the 3 different types of tears.

Shadow and Sunshine

                The well of tears does not run dry this semester.  My eyes have grown moist in my professor’s office and in the back of church, in my mother’s lap and in line at In-N-Out, on the drive home and in the public restroom.

                I feel a little like Elizabeth, ashamed after reading Darcy’s letter and realizing her own prejudice. Everything I think I want comes into question, leaving me treading water in a sea of indecision. “‘Till this moment, I never knew myself.’” Except, I still don't know myself?
                And I feel like Elizabeth again, when reading the news of her sister’s elopement. Darcy happens upon her and concerned for her distressed state, asks, ‘”Is there nothing you could take, to give you present relief?—A glass of wine;--shall I get you one?—You are very ill.’” As Elizabeth, “bursts into tears,” he is left “in wretched suspense [and] could only observe her in compassionate silence.” (Admittedly, Pride and Prejudice does have its moments where it tends towards the dramatic side.)

                I’m not exactly sure exactly what my point is other than that moments of crisis—or at least moments which we perceive as a crisis—often generate a two parts hydrogen and one part oxygen response.  

                Last Friday, as I was trying to finish the frustrating process which is filing a tax return, I entered a verbal sparring match with my inkjet machine. It beeped at me as I called it names. Sitting right next to the fighting ring, my little brother calmly commented, “Alex, you know you’re acting completely inappropriate.”

                “Thank you.” I laughed. “You are absolutely right.”

                For Elizabeth, moments of crisis seem to repeatedly occur when she is reading letters—whether from Darcy or Jane. If I were her, I would cease all transcribed communication and enjoy a happy life. But in real life, tears usually happen suddenly and unexpectedly and much of the time unreasonably, such as when attempting to copy a 1040 form. Something just doesn't feel right. And thoroughly confused, I can’t figure it out, and because it’s been pushed down too long, I can’t make it stop.             

                For me, it’s usually not a letter from the man I've rejected or the elopement of one of my sisters (thank you Lord for giving me only brothers). Things that forecast a light sprinkle or a boiling thunderstorm are usually just dumb emotions which I know aren't true, but I still can’t rationalize away. So confused, I cry. And this semester has brought plenty of opportunities for muddled apprehension.

                But it has also carried with it incredible amounts of joy and excitement. So like they say that the shadow proves the sunshine, maybe the salty streams trickling from my puffy eyes lend perspective to all the goodness which travels alongside the cloudy bits. 

Worry

Tuesday afternoon, I met with my professor about the main section of my capstone project which is a literary interpretation of Pride and Prejudice. An hour later, I left his office feeling as though my head would explode. This coupled with the last few days of sifting through job search engines in the hopes that something exists on the other side of graduation in May left me quite tuckered out. I was feeling grouchy and pensive, when I remembered a recent lecture in theology class on the sin of worry.

I thumbed to Matthew 6:25-34 where Jesus describes his provision for the birds, the flowers and us. I noticed something new to me near the passage's end. Christ says, “For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness” (NIV).

 We can’t simply extract worry from our lives and leave a vacuum. That energy and effort sucked away by worry should instead be invested into the pursuit of God’s kingdom. Jesus acknowledges that we need provision of food, drink and clothing, but he dismisses these temporary worries as things God already knows and will take care of. These things are the business of "pagans" who do not have their minds preoccupied with God’s kingdom the way believers ought to. Not only is worry unhealthy for our bodies and souls and completely unnecessary, it might also be a tool which Satan can use to distract us from God’s business. 

It reminds me of Elizabeth's constant analyzing of every situation from Charlotte's engagement to Jane's heartbreak to Lydia's escapade to her own disgruntlements. I tend to approach life the same way, critically interpreting each situation and soon crossing the line into worry or judgement. But Jesus came to rescue us from that sin. Fixing our minds on him, frees us from energy sucking business of worry.

Judge or Discern

In theology class this morning, my professor outlined the difference between judgment and discernment. Historically, I leap to judgment in my observation of other people--kind of like a shark that bites without knowing what the prey will taste like. It's an everyday problem, as I notice odd quirks and patterns in the students migrating back and forth across campus. It's a problem because I don't stop at noticing.

The opportunity to judge or discern presents itself when we see someone's faults. Responding in discernment requires an internal attitude of compassion towards the person, whereas responding in judgment renders a verdict over the person under scrutiny.

Obviously, this next leads to Elizabeth Bennet with whom I seem to share a propensity to observe and sentence those around me, or as Darcy puts it, “‘willfully misunderstand them.’” Learning the art of scrutiny from Mr. Bennet, Lizzy derives amusement from making sport of her neighbors. However, she is critical of Darcy’s similar tendency to pass verdicts on those around him. The story becomes comical and ironic as both characters judge each other simultaneously.

But their respective verdicts are altered through learning humility from one another. Darcy realizes value in the people he regarded so harshly. And Elizabeth is disillusioned about her powers of judgment when her knowing Mr. Darcy and Mr. Wickham reveals that her initial impressions are not so dependable as she previously assumes.  

So I think what I learned from theology class and Pride and Prejudice is to turn potential judgment into compassion and concern for the other person and a call for self-examination about my own faults and tendencies.