The Thesis Journey Nears Its End...

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Last week I hopped in the car and headed out on a little journey.  My first stop was Staples Print and Copy Centre to pick up the five printed copies of my thesis.  They were stacked up together in a box and felt quite heavy.  From there I headed to my old campus (TWU) to pick up the five title pages signed by my thesis advisor and second reader.  Then it was over two bridges to North Vancouver to find the little binding company.  It ended up being in an industrial section right down by the water.  I almost missed it as it was a little hole-in-the-wall place with a tree right out front obstructing the view of it.  I went in with my theses in hand.  I was excited and a little nervous.  I realized that there was no going back on this now: whatever was on these pages was going to be bound and put in the library (and online) for people to read and critique.  Any errors were in those pages and were staying there.  Anyway, as I entered there was a strange and loud noise made by the door to notify someone of my entry.  I stood there in a little entry room waiting.  After a couple minutes of no answer I decided to push the door open and make the noise again... still no one.  I stood there for a few minutes taking in the room.  What an odd little room it was.  It was filled with books of course.  All sorts of books, most with an old look to them.  I don't think they were very old (although there was a small layer of dust across the tops of them) but they had that "early days of modern book binding" look.  There were books of all types and genres.  I particularly remember seeing a small stack of the Holy Bible and a copy of Bleak House by Dickens.  It was a neat (not clean and organized) little room: slightly musky and mysterious.

Finally my patience began to ebb and I peeked my head into the adjoining room.  If the first little room was mysterious, this next, bigger one was magical and arcane.  It was filled with mountains of books in various stages of the binding process.  There were strange machines interspersed amongst the books.  Each one seemingly with its own secret purpose.  I heard voices conversing off in the distance and called out... no response.  I heard a heavily accented man's voice coming from a previously unnoticed stairway leading up from the first smaller room.  I stuck my head around the corner and called out.  Turning in surprise he noticed me down there.  He was an older English gentleman who, after hearing my desire for binding, decided that he would seek out someone who could assist me.  He thence led me back into the larger room and called out with his thick accent.  Out of the winding piles of books, machines and unidentifiable materials of all sorts came a short grey-haired woman.  She too had a thick English accent.  Her's was a pleasant, welcoming voice resplendent with history and tradition.  We discussed my desire for binding my thesis, came to an estimate of price and required time, and I handed off my precious cargo into her capable hands.

My grad thesis has been one of the most trying and challenging experiences of my life.  I greatly appreciated being able to physically hand it off for binding.  I could have filled out an online form and uploaded the pdf file (the binders have an agreement with a printing company) but there was something special about making the journey, meeting the people who are going to bind it, seeing the strange place where it will be turned into a bound book, and feeling the unbound copies in my hand.  It felt very human, very embodied.

I look forward with great anticipation to picking up the bound copies soon.  It will definitely feel good.  My grad thesis process is rapidly drawing to its conclusion.  When I deliver the bound copies to TWU and physically hand them off, I will officially be done.  Oh boy.

Then I can continue my unofficial Augustinian studies...

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Measuring My Language Proficiency and Having Some Fun Too...

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This past Saturday morning I headed out to the Kwantlen Surrey campus to take a Language Proficiency Index (LPI) exam.  This exam is one of the formal hurdles that I have to jump through on my way to becoming a Probation Officer.  So, I sat down in a large conference room filled with other test-takers and had my English ability measured.  I found it quite easy - and almost fun actually.  There were grammar questions, reading comprehension questions, and one essay question at the end.  The exam was to take 2.5 hours, but I finished it in just over 1.  So, I hoped on the bus and headed off to work for the day.  During the long bus ride I thought about the essay question and how I would describe it to anyone who might ask how my exam went.  Just for fun I decided to compose a little description in my head as I sat on the bus.  I quickly wrote it down when I got to work.  Here it is:

My Essay

Before I began writing, I took a moment to survey what lay before my and I knew immediately that I was up to the challenge.  So, with determination and confidence I put pen to paper... I wrote. 

My prose was elegant - my argument concise.  It was playful, but not grandiose; lofty but not without purpose.  My logic was keen and my comments insightful.  My diction was imaginative, my delivery compelling.  The words were like so many colourful brushstrokes upon white canvas, bringing life and energy wherever they touched.  The nouns and verbs began the dance as they swayed in unison.  Soon the prepositions, adjectives, and conjunctions joined in as the energy increased.  Suddenly participles and adverbs rushed into the joyous romp of syntactical ecstasy springing up.  The sentences intuitively knew what was required of them: at times they were quick and pulsing, eliciting excitement and soaring intellectual vistas, other times they were slow and undulating in their reflection as they gentle massaged the tender contemplative regions of the soul.  Each sentence built upon the one before - following the rhythm but adding power with each succession until finally the climax arrived and brought conclusion.

My essay?  It was the embodiment of all that grammarians fantasize about during the slow hours of the day.

Yes, I would say it went well.
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Some Thoughts... on Life and Love

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I'm not sure where to begin.  I think it has been two months since my last blog post.  They have been two of the busiest months of my life.  I've thought about posting a blog from time to time.  But when it came down to it I decided to get to it when I had some time.  I had considered blogging about being tired and busy.  Well, I suppose I have time now.

The interesting thing about being tired - and I mean constantly tired - is that the world can often seem like a much different place.  I can seem like a different person; and not the person I would like to be.  At times my patience was lacking.  My interest or care in things would falter.  I often found myself crying at things that would not normally induce such a reaction.  I was emotional at times (not necessarily a bad thing, just different).  Some days there was a weight that would travel with me.  It seemed to be with me when I woke up in the dark of the early morning and would visit and revisit me throughout the day that followed.  But the funny thing was that these last two months have not been a bad time, not a negative experience at all.  Sure I think I aged about two years during that time.  But even with all those dark clouds of weariness and (seemingly) overwhelming struggle, I could see bright rays of glorious sunlight peeking through.  So many times as I struggled to keep going with my tasks I stopped and realized how overjoyed I was to be where I was.  I was about to finish and defend my Grad thesis on a topic which stirred both my mind and soul.  I had the privilege of being married to a incredible and loving woman.  Each morning when I awoke feeling tired and wishing for the day to be over so that I could get more sleep, I realized how great it was to kiss that sleeping woman beside me good bye each day.  Perhaps more than this, though, I knew that there is something intrinsically noble and worthwhile about struggling for things that matter.  I know that the only way to reach the top of a mountain is to hike up it one step at a time.  It's not a glamorous thing, the struggle, but you can't get anywhere without it.

Here I am now with my Grad thesis defended.  It was a strange feeling after I had finished and received my grade.  I think to some extent I was in shock.  On Friday, the culmination of my seven years of study at Trinity Western University finally arrived.  I can barely remember a time before I was a student there.  I met my beautiful wife there.  My life has changed in so many ways over the past seven years - especially over the past three of grad studies (and marriage).  I'm not the same person I was when I entered university.

I'm going to be a father in roughly ten weeks...  I don't think I can yet comprehend what the reality of that will look like.  I watch my dear wife grow each week and I wonder what this child will be like.  It's a terrifying and supremely exciting mystery.  I've been looking forward to starting a family with my wife since before she was my wife.  I've learned so much about myself and about life from traveling this road with her for the past three years.  How much more will I learn and grow as we raise a child (children, God willing) together.  The Christian perspective on marriage is that it is a sacrament, a means of God's grace to transform the lives of those involved.  I believe it.  Marriage is meant to be a lesson in divine love.  I once gave a good friend my thoughts on marriage and divine love as a wedding gift to him and his new bride:

I wish you both all the best that life has to offer: laughter, joy, simple pleasures, moments of grace.  I wish for you two a long life life together filled with love – a divine love, one which is focused on the other, which is self-giving, ever-growing, ever-expanding, procreative, and inclusive.  A love which drinks deep from Him who in His very being is love incarnate.  May your love be an example, may it be revelatory, may it ever be a source of healing and renewal, may it be your guide.

This is the type of marriage that I wish to be a part of.  I do feel that this is the type of marriage that I have been so blessed to share in.  That being said, our love has grown to include a new little one.  I'm so very excited to teach him or her about the world, about God's great creation, about divine love.  I'm also so very excited to learn with (and maybe from) this little one about these things.  Oh the adventure that awaits those who are willing to live.

The other day I was listening to this song:

Some of the lyrics suddenly stood out to me and I became overwhelmed with emotion (joy, gratitude).

I'm 33 for a moment
Still the man, but you see I'm a they
A kid on the way, babe
A family on my mind

Here I am thirty-three years old.  And these lyrics sum it up pretty well for me.  I've often enjoyed listening to this song.  It seems to elicit in me the realization of just how ephemeral this existence is, how short our days are in this life.  Sometimes it seems like yesterday that my dear wife and I were heading off on our honeymoon.  Three years have flown by and we are about to have a family.  I can only imagine that I'll barely blink before our firstborn is off to school and learning and growing into an adult.  Will we be so blessed as to see our children have children one day?  Yes, the days are long, but the years are indeed short.

A couple friends of ours were married just yesterday.  I gave them each the advice to take a moment every now and again on their wedding day to stop, look around, and enjoy the day.  I told them that your wedding day will be busy, fun, and it will fly by in the blink of an eye.  It occurred to me this morning that life is quite similar.  I shall have to remember to take a moment every now and again to marvel at the beauty and splendor of life.  I shall have to pause to soak in all the love that I am surrounded with.  I shall have to stop and give thanks.

It takes bravery to embrace life.  To live unafraid, to live with love.  I pray that I may be so bold as to love and be loved in return.  I pray that I may teach and learn from and grow with those around me.  I pray for my new role as a father.  I pray for my continued role as a husband.  I pray for my actions and words as I go about life being a son, a brother, a friend, a mentor, a student.  I pray... that I may live as I ought, that I may live in love.

Gloria Deo

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Isabel Haiku

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Daddy I'm hungry
Use the washroom first

Okay

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Thoughts on Father's Day...

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The words I wish to hear... I'll never get to hear.

Father's day comes stealthily each year.  I forget about it and suddenly the day arrives with little to no fanfare; and exits in the same understated manner.

This year I came to a strange realization: I've now lived more of my life without my father than I had lived with him.  He passed away many years ago.  He never knew me as a man.

I would love for nothing more than to hear him tell me that he's proud of me, of the man that I've become.  I know that he would be proud of me.

There are words that I'll never get to say to him.  I'll never get to tell him that I love him.

I trust that the time will come, after I pass through that great mortal curtain, when we will meet again with joy and tears and great unspoken words of love.

Still, I would love to have him here to meet as men.

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Thoughts on Environmental Stewardship...

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I was looking at some National Geographic Photos of the Canadian Oil Sands...

... I can't even begin to fathom the extent of the destruction.

... Is this what sin looks like?

[Photograph by Peter Essick]




... If so, then what does salvation look like?

Perhaps Christians need to rethink what bringing the Good News into the world looks like...






"...creation itself also will be set free from its slavery to corruption into the freedom of the glory of the children of God.  For we know that the whole creation groans and suffers the pains of childbirth together until now."

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Learning to Jump off the High Diving Board...

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I've discovered that I have a bit of a perfectionist streak.  Well, maybe half perfectionism, half fear of failure.  Whatever the correct label might be, the result tends to be the same: it is damn hard for me to begin and finish things.  When I was on my own I could just avoid or dismiss things.  But when you are beholden to another and called to the new-found responsibilities demanded by love... there is only one option: do what is required of you... get it done.  The nagging questions and doubts become an ill-afforded luxury.  This realization seems to change very little except the end result.  I still have these worries, these doubts, the handicap is still very real.  The difference is only that I can no longer lean on it as an excuse.  The responsibilities demanded by love - i.e. love as a verb - override the fears. 

It recently occurred to me that fulfilling these responsibilities is often like jumping off the high diving board.  When I'm up there it is terrifying and potentially able to make me freeze up and be trapped in inaction.  I can do it though - don't look down; don't think about the landing; remind myself that I'm capable and it will indeed be okay.  Some days it seems like every action, every moment is like this.  I'm not sure that jumping gets any easier; but I do know that I am learning to jump off with increasing frequency.  That, at least, is reassuring.

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