Wonderful

Jesus the Toddler

~ Natalie Hart ~ 2 Comments

This is not going to be about what Jesus was like as an actual toddler (although it’d be fun to imagine what a prayer to Jesus-as-toddler might be, a la Ricky Bobby’s prayer to Jesus-as-baby, “Dear Eight Pound, Six Ounce, Newborn Baby Jesus, in your golden, fleece diapers, with your curled-up, fat, balled-up little fists pawin’ at the air.”)

Instead, this is about flipping the usual parenting analogy. Most spiritual analogies that involve parenting have God as the Heavenly Parent and us as the unruly, slightly stupid, and really stubborn children. Here, we’re the parent and Jesus is the toddler.

Let me set it up.

I was reading Isaiah last week (in my 3-year-long journey to read the Bible from beginning to end, yes, I’m only up to Isaiah) and came across this from 59:9,10,12:

So there is no justice among us,
we know nothing about right living.
We look for light but find only darkness.
We look for bright skies but walk in gloom.
We grope like the blind along a wall,
feeling our way like people without eyes….
For our sins are piled up before God
and testify against us.

And the image of our sins piled up before God struck me. I imagined a tower of blocks — childhood toy blocks. Probably because those are the kinds of tall piles I’ve made, over and over, while playing with children, both mine and others’.

I stack the blocks and the kid knocks them down — gleefully. And cries, “Again!” I race to build as much of the tower as I can before the kid knocks it down. And then we do it all over again, and again, and again. The kid has endless energy for knocking that tower down.

Isn’t this like Jesus? We’ve got this tower of sins that blocks us from God and Jesus knocks it down. That’s what Christians celebrate at Easter.

I have a vivid mental image of a particular little boy I had in children’s worship last year who’d let me build a tower of blocks as tall as him before he’d bust it down with the most delicious belly laugh and victorious jumping up and down. I like this image for Jesus scattering my tower of sins because it punctures my angst and navel-gazing with a KAPOW!

But I’m not done.

Here’s where the analogy stretches a little, because it isn’t Jesus begging us to build up the tower of our sins again, it’s us. We take the things we’ve already been forgiven of, things that are laying scattered on the floor, and stack them back up. We cannot give them up.

I guess I’m assuming things about you, but I can tell you with full confidence that there’s a lot I have a hard time giving up.

  • Any stupid or unkind thing I’ve said.
  • Confidences I failed to keep.
  • Plans to help someone that I never acted on.
  • Disciplines I haven’t been able to keep up.
  • An unwise decision I made in college that I asked forgiveness for several times because I kept forgetting whether I’d done it.
  • Excessive use of sarcasm with my children.
  • Irritability with my family.
  • Anger and bitterness that I can leave on the floor for months before letting them sneak back up into a wall.
  • Crippling disappointment — I say “crippling” because there’s plenty of fleeting disappointment, but I’m talking about that Job-level of complaint, “I’ve done so many things right. Why isn’t X going like I want it to?” Which is really this in disguise: “I’d run my life so much better than you, God!”
  • The need to both be right and be acknowledged as right. About way too many things.
I ask to be forgiven and Jesus knocks down my tower, KAPOW. Then, while we’re laughing and gleeful, I scoop a few blocks back and stack them. Jesus knocks them down with a karate kick this time. I try to hide the tower, to prevent him from knocking it down, so I build it behind me. But he finds it and body slams it. Even while I’m smiling at some of those blocks that flew all the way across the room, out of my reach (for now), my fingers scrabble for other blocks and…. You get the picture.
In real life, I, the adult, get tired of this game long before the toddler does. Loooong before. Similarly, Jesus does not tire of knocking down my tower of sins. He’ll do it every time I ask.
What kind of difference might it make to pray, “Jesus, I’m tired, so tired of building up this particular tower. Help me keep that block on the floor”?
My prayers are getting simpler as I get older. And I tend not to dictate as much to God exactly how things should look or go, at least as far as my spiritual life goes. Because I don’t want to limit God’s creativity. Maybe, if I notice the tower I keep rebuilding and admit my exhaustion and ask for help, instead of just knocking it down, Jesus will shrink those blocks, a little more every time I ask, until they’re so small that I go to rebuild it and can’t find them. There may be new blocks, but at least Jesus will have taken care of those old ones.
What’s in your tower? Are you as tired as I am of rebuilding with the same $%*^ blocks, over and over again?

 

I Really Like These People

~ Natalie Hart ~ 4 Comments

Sometimes, I don’t feel like thinking deeply.

I worked a field trip all afternoon, corralling a group of 10 8th graders around the sculpture park at Meijer Gardens.

One of my son’s friends rolled down a hill for the sheer fun of it for the first time in his life. He’s a big guy with a visible mustache at age 14, and is rarely seen without a technological device in his hands. But after watching about half of our group, including the two other geeky dudes, roll down the hill and stumble around, laughing, at the bottom, he took his shot. The whole way down, he gave that high-pitched giggle that boys whose voices have changed can still produce. It took some doing to get him to stand (and I hope his mother isn’t upset with him for the grass stains on his pants), but he was happy. And I was happy watching these kids, normally so concerned with how “old” they seemed, fling themselves down the hill with such abandon.

But I’m fried. And unable to think clearly enough to write a “real” blog post, and I don’t want the week to go by without one. I’m so fried that I was convinced it was Friday, and was about to say something about the weekend, but realized just before I hit “publish” that it’s actually Wednesday. So instead of attempting something complex, I’m going to share the love and write about blogs by people I know. And like.

 HartyHaRHaR This one belongs to my cousin Rod, who writes about his life as an ex-court-beat newspaper reporter, current music store owner, and frequent victim of being run over by the rock and roll bus. Most posts are casual and funny (and way more frequent than mine), but he’s not afraid to bust out some more emotional or thoughtful stuff now and then, like this one about his daughter.

Make Time Make Art is by my friend Amanda, a graphic artist who blogs about creativity, detailing her projects and chronicling the inspiration she finds everywhere, including in a mossy crack in the sidewalk. And now and then, I get to see pictures of her kids, which makes me happy.

MeyerTurner No list of blogs by people I like and even love would be complete without this one. Although the author died earlier this year, her family is keeping the posts up, and I like to pop in and browse a bit. She was a wise and funny chronicler of her life with cancer, and a truly world class storyteller. I will always love this story about her and her dad.

Cole Ruth is a writer/sailor/chef I got to know right out of college. I was with her when she learned this valuable lesson: when catering a wedding that has food buffet-style, it’s better for your food planning to have caterers serving the guests, instead of letting guests choose their own portions. If I remember, someone had to run out to buy more ham in the middle of service. Now she’s got it all down and cooks with TV chefs and sails on boats with person-sized puppets.

Halfway to Normal Kristin is a friend from early motherhood days. We were in a playgroup and, for awhile, looked to start a church together. Now she writes about belief, culture, love — just those little things 😉

Urban Onramps is by my church friend, Rudy, who dreams big and encourages even bigger. He writes about urban ministry, business as mission, and curates content from around the web about justice issues, techie stuff, web stuff, lots of stuff. But I also like to see the pictures of his kids, half of whom I’ve had in children’s worship.

Open Doors and Blank Pages Jack and Kelly are two of the dearest young people (they’re half my age, I can say that) I know. They were college students when I met them and became two of my steadiest children’s worship leaders. Jack hold the distinction of being sillier with the kids than me. They got married and a few months later hopped on a plane to do ministry in Romania. This is a blog about their experiences.

And then there are friends who have blogs they rarely update, but I love it when they do: QueFascinante, Lovely and All We Have. Both of these women blog about spiritual topics (and not the kind of thing my Dutch grandmother used to call “spirituals” — i.e. after-dinner alcoholic beverages). Always thoughtful and thought provoking. When they write.

Seeking the Inner Ancient There’s one more friend, but it’s funny, because I’ve never met him. Vaughn is an online writer friend who, like me, has been writing novels with the hope of publication for many years (more than 5, less than 10). Although, when his books come out (they will!), I’ll be more likely to hand them to my fantasy epic-reading son, what he shares about his writing journey always resonates with me.

Top 40 This one isn’t a blog, but my husband put it together, so I have to include it: it’s his Top 40 favorite songs. He put them together the year he turned 40.

So there they are. Not so many. There are plenty of other blogs I love and visit regularly, but all those people are famous. And not anyone I could call friend.

Do you have any blogging pals you’d like to give a shout-out to? Let me know in the comments and, in the name of sharing the love, I’ll check them out.

Why I Do What I Do

~ Natalie Hart ~ 2 Comments

“What I do” is turn the power of my imagination, my knowledge of story, and my historical research onto biblical stories in the hopes of developing a better and deeper understanding of who God is and what God wants of me by way of what God wanted of his followers in the Bible, and to share that with my readers.

That’s all 😉

Sometimes, the Bible is its own barrier. The way of life 2,000 – 4,000 years ago was so different from our own that there are all kinds of things we miss: jokes, radical ideas, contemporary ideas biblical writers may have been trying to counter.

Not to mention the differences in translations. Look at these two versions of Psalm 116, verse 5

How kind the Lord is! How good he is! So merciful, this God of ours! (NLT)

Gracious is the Lord, and righteous; our God is merciful. (NRSV)

That’s mostly a matter of style; some will prefer the more casual, others the more formal. But sometimes there’s a difference in substance, like in Psalm 138, verses 17-18 (emphasis mine):

How precious are your thoughts about me, O God. They cannot be numbered! I can’t even count them; they outnumber the grains of sand! And when I wake up, you are still with me! (NLT)

How weighty to me are your thoughts, O God! How vast is the sum of them! I try to count them—they are more than the sand; I come to the end—I am still with you. (NRSV)

Those are not the same thing. In the NLT, God’s innumerable thoughts are about me and they’re precious. In the NRSV, God’s thoughts are general and weighty. Many other translations combine the two, and have God’s thoughts as precious, but, again, they’re general thoughts. Just that one translation choice makes the difference between a God who intimately knows me and is thinking about me all the time (like a parent thinks about their child all the time) and a God who’s, at worst, inaccessible or, at best, impossible to understand.

And then there’s this: the Bible can be boring to read. There. I’ve said it. It’s out there. The more I know about the context of its writing, the more interesting I find it, but there’s no denying that getting through a book like Numbers is a real slog. If I were the editor of the Bible, several books would have been half as long, because so many verses are (unnecessarily!) repeated almost verbatim within the same book, sometimes the same chapter.

We are the problem, too, sometimes, when we approach Bible reading with too much seriousness, too much pressure to hear from God in a way that applies to my life right now; we can wind up confused and discouraged when the Bible doesn’t deliver.

A friend who read the first of the final drafts of It Is You admitted that she didn’t much like reading the Bible because she couldn’t imagine it, couldn’t get into what was going on. Indeed, it can be difficult to read, the ideas opaque, the stories violent, the heroes unheroic by today’s standards. She said that my writing brought the story of David and Saul alive for her in a way her own reading never had and that she had been engrossed in the story. That, right there, is why I do what I do.

I’m not the only person who uses imagination and research to explicate the Bible, of course. Children’s worship leaders do this every time they ask kids the “I wonder” questions. And anybody who’s been in an InterVarsity Christian Fellowship inductive Bible study does it.

My husband and I are back in an IVCF-style Bible study for the first time in 15 years, and it’s fantastic. And illuminating. For the first meeting, one of the leaders read the entire book of Ephesians out loud to us — just as it would have been read out loud, in its entirety, to the church at Ephesus. I was astonished at how different Paul’s words felt with that presentation, as opposed to the few-verses-at-a-time pace I was accustomed to. It was a much more encouraging and uplifting book than I’d ever thought.

And then, at the next meeting, that same leader shared some historical research with us. She noted that, in Ephesus, at the time, the ideas of Fate and Destiny were heavy burdens. Seers made a living both predicting your fate and accepting payment so you could buy off the more unpleasant parts of your fate. And then in comes Paul with his idea of predestination. In Ephesians 1:5, we are predestined to be adopted as sons of God — feminist though I might be, I’m sticking with sons here, because this means that daughters and lowly eighth sons were, by God through Jesus, given the higher status of the son who will inherit his father’s wealth. “Adopted as sons” is a good and radical thing, in this context.

In fact, the two times predestination is mentioned in verses 1-14, it is used in the same breath with adoption (v.5) and inheritance (v.11). This, to me, says that God has already made us part of his family: no matter what happens to us (our “fate”) or when we discovered him, God, through the sacrifice of Jesus, has already embraced us. In this reading, predestination takes away the heavy burden of worrying about our fate, which is the exact opposite of my previous understanding of the term. I find this very exciting and freeing.

And now I’m sharing it with you, my readers. In the hopes that you, too, will appreciate this take on predestination in Ephesians.

So, what do you think?

 

 

 

The Insidious “They”

~ Natalie Hart ~ 5 Comments

This post would be so much better if I could find the article that prompted it, but my Google-fu has failed me, and the piece remains floating out there in the aether of the internet. So instead of a concise summary, you get my memory of it.

Last summer, a friend alerted me to an article about the use of the word, “they.” The author, who was proud of his concern for the poor and the downtrodden, found himself making pronouncements about what “they” needed to do to change “their” situation. At some point (during or after the conversation) he became aware of how unbearably smug he sounded. How, by his use of “they” in that repetitive and sure fashion, he was presenting himself as The One Who Knows Best, although he did not grow up with the people he was discussing, did not live in that neighborhood, and had not talked with the “they” in question about their own analysis of their situation, nor had he talked with them about any history of attempts to address their low socioeconomic status. His language revealed him as exactly the kind of person he didn’t want to be, and he vowed to stop using “they.”

Although we can’t really remove “they” from our vocabulary, because it is the grammatically correct pronoun for a group of people that doesn’t include you, we can work on removing the sureness that we are right and if only “those people who can’t understand themselves” would only listen to “the one with the correct interpretation,” all would be solved.

Because often “they” know better than The Experts.

There’s a TED talk to cover every topic, and this is no exception. This one is about an international aid guy, Ernesto Sirolli, who refused to swoop in as an “expert” about what people in impoverished situations needed, and, instead, listened to the people in those situations. He hung out in coffeeshops and gave small amounts of money to local entrepreneurs who, in turn, made huge changes in their lives and fortunes. The talk is, perhaps unsurprisingly, called, “If you want to help someone, shut up and listen.”

Here’s an example, not from that TED talk (although the TED people are on to this kid). In Kenya, lions are a major tourist attraction, but they kill a lot of livestock, and then people kill lions in retaliation. There are fewer than 2,000 lions in Kenya now, down from 15,000 ten years ago. People were looking into this problem, and the best solution they found was for property owners to install huge and prohibitively expensive fences. Then they heard about an 11-year-old kid, Richard Turere, who discovered that lions stayed away from his family’s cattle at night when someone walked around with a flashlight. He rigged up several flashlight bulbs, wired them to a motorcycle indicator box, and powered them with a car battery and solar panel. The lights flick on and off all night to imitate a person walking outside. No lions have attacked his family’s livestock in the two years Lion Lights have been installed, and now families all over Kenya are using them. At a cost of about $10 per installation. Very cool.

That doesn’t really have to do with the topic at hand — I’ve just been wanting to share that story.

So back to us and them

The article about the guy not wanting to use “they” anymore stuck with me, because, when I read it, my husband was being courted for a job at a new church, which meant we’d be attending said new church as a family. It was quite different from the church we’d been part of, and we were full of talk about what “they” needed, and what “we” could bring to “them.”

On the one hand, this was correct. They wanted to hire him because of what they thought he could bring to them, and my husband wanted the job because, with his unique blend of gifts and experience, he felt he could make a difference there. But there was more than a hint of smugness in our conversation. And it didn’t sit well.

It takes time for “them” to become “us.” I moved to the U.S. from Canada when I was 18, and, although I was granted American citizenship before arriving, it took several years for me to say “us” and “we” about my adopted country. I had to drop my Canadian disdain for how much America loved itself, my Canadian distrust of how much power the U.S. wields. I had to recognize that I wasn’t moving back to Canada: I chose to stay during the summers, I kept dating American boys, and I didn’t even look for a job in Toronto after graduation. I was an American. So I started talking like one. And feeling like one.

It’s taking time at the new church, too. But it’s happening. The more people we get to know, the more we worship and pray together, the harder it is to maintain the separation necessary to see these wonderful and complex people I worship with as “they.” Which is how it should be.

The best “them into us” moment came the last time I led children’s worship. I’ve written before about how worshipping and sharing Bible stories with kids has become a real passion, a calling, even. At the old church, I knew all the kids so well. I was more comfortable talking with them than with many of the adults. And we did talk and interact outside of our children’s church time. We had real relationships. At the new church, I don’t have that yet, although I’m getting there.

Last month, at the end of our time together, we were singing their favorite silly song about Joshua and the Israelites blasting their trumpets and the walls of Jericho coming tumbling down. We’d done about four rounds and were all in a good mood. I was still kneeling on the floor when the quietest little girl came up and gave me a hug. It was so sweet. And then her sister joined her. And then another kid. And then all the kids left “the wall” and piled on me until they knocked me flat on my back. We got up, and they did it again. And then again.

It was one of my happiest moments at this church so far.

I love that they felt so free with me. It suits how I am with them — a little less formal, a little wackier than the other worship leaders. It gave me hope that I’ll get to the point of knowing them and them knowing me.

Their dogpiling of me was like the Kool Aid man busting through a foam brick wall in those old TV commercials: now there’s a huge hole in the wall of “they.” And the warmth of “us” is shining through.

I’m not saying I want them to do it the next time. That might be too much of a good thing. But God sure did use those kids that day.

 

Kool Aid man image found here.

Discarding Old Daydreams

~ Natalie Hart ~ 1 Comment

My plan was simple: take the Christmas vacation and the month of January to go through my house and do the nagging maintenance and reorganization tasks that had been weighing on me for a few years. The theory was that I’d take care of them and not have anxiety about it dog me like a bad smell.

I’m less than two weeks away from my self-imposed deadline and, unless I do something insane like decide to coast on my momentum and repaint the kitchen floor and cupboards (highly unlikely), I’ll finish with all my organizing and cleaning tasks completed, plus a few not strictly necessary but nice jobs, including getting rid of the way cool rug that shed like a hairy pet even after a year.

I went through the kids old toys, threw away bags and bagsful of broken and crappy stuff. I sold a few things on Craigslist. But then I’ve also been giving things away. One little 3-year-old came to my door on his birthday in his pirate costume (because they were on a treasure hunt) and took a few little Toy Story items we still had. Once he got the toys in his fists, he was gone, wrapped up in his Toy Story world, so much like my son at that age. Several bags of stuffed animals (and some funky ones, like marmosets and bald eagles) went to a nurse at a children’s hospital for them to use as examples of how they’re going to put an IV in for kids. I’ve been delivering bags all over town.

And not only toys: nice Pottery Barn throw pillowcases, clothes, musical instruments. All sorts of items I’d been keeping “just in case,” I needed them again: gone. Unopened hardware items, including those giant caulk guns that I never use because they’re too unwieldy: gone. Two floor lamps, two hanging lamps, two wall sconces, three standing lamps, all gone. Pillow forms I’d bought but never used and didn’t return in time: gone. Clothes I loved once but hadn’t worn in three or more seasons: gone. High heeled party shoes and other clothes bought for an alternate vision of a future potential me: gone.

A friend posted a call for old wool sweaters so his girlfriend could craft with them, and off went a gorgeous green wool sweater from Ireland that I hadn’t worn in 15 years that I was saving for me to felt and craft with. I hadn’t done it in all that time, so off it went.

In that same vein, off went the tired upholstered chair in our living room that I was planning to reupholster. I spent a lot of time bookmarking sites that explained how to slipcover and how to do your own upholstery. But then, nothing. I have come to the conclusion that I am not only not going to do it, but if I were to do it, I wouldn’t be happy with the result because I’m just not a fussy enough sewer. So off it went. New chair already purchased (thank you January furniture sales!).

So I’m not just breaking free from stuff, but also old daydreams of myself. I’m not a hardcore DIYer or constant crafter. I occasionally do both those things (and may I saw that I totally rocked what I built for a new coat and backpack system in our back hallway out of scrap lumber from my garage).

              
back hallway before                          back hallway after

But mostly not. So a lot of stuff that I’d bought at a time when I though that might be me, left the house, and more will leave in the next 10 days. That’s made this process very emotional. There’s more self-reflection going on than I’d anticipated.

At first, I’d feel my shoulders unclench a little with each bag that left the house, but I’ve been getting teary as I drive around to donate stuff. This process is going deeper than the mere satisfaction of a clean, organized home. Maybe I really will be set free when this is all done.


the beast I’m in the belly of right now

What’s Your Superpower?

~ Natalie Hart ~ Leave a comment

What if you were normal and all your friends were superheroes? And at your wedding reception, your superhero wife’s superhero ex-boyfriend (the Hypnotist) hypnotized her into not being able to see or hear you. He went a step further: when you tried to touch her, her reactions ranged between muscle spasms all the way to stopping breathing if you tried to hold her in her sleep. How would you get her to see you? To know that you didn’t abandon her?

This is a different take on the issue of invisibility in relationships than I’ve written about here and here, more malicious and focused (because everyone else can see the main character except his wife), but just as devastating. Thank you to a blog reader for alerting me to Andrew Kaufman’s marvelous novella, All My Friends Are Superheroes.

Woes of the newly married

The situation in the novella is unlikely, but it got me thinking. How common is it, shortly after being married, to stop truly seeing our spouse? Maybe the rest of you had a glorious honeymoon period, but I did not have a smooth transition to the married state. The actual living with another person was fine. The having someone there to send out to the store when I had an ice cream craving at 10 p.m. (we were living in the Bronx without a car, and I didn’t walk around by myself much after dark) was great, although I gained back the weight I’d lost my first year of graduate school. And other stuff was … enjoyable.

The tough part was the mental adjustment to being married. Being married put me in a different category than my fellow graduate students, none of whom were married. Professors were married. Students lived together or had long distance relationships, or none at all. I was a feminist studying to be a philosophy professor. What was I doing, under 30 and married?

The conventionality of being a wife bothered me. I didn’t think of myself as a conventional person, but there I was, doing the conventional thing. It was odd to feel simultaneously unusual and conventional. I was a little embarrassed to be married. That changed in time and as we got to know other young married couples. But it was an adjustment.

My poor husband. I burst into tears once because he bought whole milk. Was he trying to kill me? Didn’t he care about my family’s history of high cholesterol? How could he be so insensitive? I became obsessed with what patterns of behavior we might be establishing, inflexible about him doing the dishes when I cooked and folding the laundry when I washed, about me never ironing his shirts (back when he still wore ironed shirts), not even to act “wifely” in a self-aware yet ironic way.

All this is to say that I spent much of the first year of marriage wrapped up in my own internal drama (deciding to quit graduate school during that year didn’t help). I don’t know how much I truly “saw” my husband, how much I thought about his experience of our marriage. After 18 years, I think I’m better about that now. And I’ve come to terms with my conventionality — for goodness’ sake, I’m a Midwestern stay at home mom who drives a minivan.

Unusual superpowers 

Even though All My Friends Are Superheroes got me thinking about the heavier stuff above, it isn’t a heavy story. It’s warm-hearted, and charming, and sweet and funny. I loved the superhero names and descriptions. Most of these superheroes can’t fly, and they don’t have superstrength. Their superpowers are ordinary things magnified. Here are a few of my favorites:

If you arrive at a party and suddenly find yourself completely relaxed, there’s a good chance the Stress Bunny is there. Blessed with the ability to absorb the stress of everyone in a fifty-foot radius, the Stress Bunny is invited to every party, every outing.
Her power originates from her strict Catholic upbringing (p.33).

All through her youth, the Battery had two things: an overpowering father and an over-rebellious mind. In combination, these forces gave her the ability to store great amounts of emotional energy and release it in one blinding bolt. But beware: the Battery’s allegiances aren’t to good or evil, but simply against whatever stands in her way. Friend, foe or innocent bystander — the Battery’s emotional energy bursts are unpredictable and she will strike at will (p.32)

Mr. Opportunity knocks on doors and stands there. You’d be surprised how few doors get answered (p.75).

The main character even talks about the difficulties this style of superhero has:

Try it, right now; boil down your personality and abilities to a single phrase or image. If you can do that, you’re probably a superhero already.

Part of the problem with finding your superhero name is that it may refer to something you don’t like about yourself. It may actually be the part of yourself you hate the most, would pay money to get rid of (p.71).

The Big Question

What is your superpower? What is mine? It’s easier to come up with someone else’s superpower first, so I’ll do my husband.

I’d call him Mr. It’ll Work Out, because he lives as if things are going to work out. This superpower only works in ordinary life situations; i.e. it doesn’t prevent people around him from getting or dying from cancer. But he doesn’t get stressed or anxious, not even about new things or experiences. And the thing is, things usually work out. It makes him a great person to have around, and a great leader. I both rely on this calmness and security, and get irritated by it (because it makes my anxiety seem so meaningless).

As for myself, I could be some combination of some superheroes in the book: Mistress Cleanasyougo, the Dancer, with a bit of the Battery thrown in. But I’m going to go on a limb and call myself The Presence. I have a strong physical presence; people always think I’m taller than I am. I have a strong presence on stage when I’m dancing. My face and entire body will radiate my emotional state, which will affect those around me. If you’ve known me awhile, I reveal myself as very passionate about many things, and I can express myself quite forcefully. I’ve got an effective “don’t you even think about doing that” parenting look I can put on. I don’t know if it’s as true these days, but people used to find me intimidating. A few people have told me that, before they knew me, they were scared of me.

There are mitigating factors, of course, but if I’m looking for a trait that has both positives and negatives, I think that’s it.

So, sharing time. What is your superhero name?

CPR for Conversational Dead Zones

~ Natalie Hart ~ 2 Comments

I was at a writer’s conference this weekend with a friend who writes poetry. She told me that when people ask her what she does or what she writes, the answer of “poetry” is a conversational killer; she gets something general like, “that’s nice,” or “oh,” and nothing else. I observed it myself, and, indeed, dead in the water once she said “poetry.”

Which made me embarrassed — for myself — because I’d never asked her specific questions about her poetry. We’d talked about being writers, and I thought I was being supportive of her pursuits, but she’d mostly volunteered info. So I asked her what she’d like people to ask and then did so myself.

I’ve experienced the same thing when I tell people I’m a stay-at-home mom. I get, “how nice that you can do that,” or “good for you,” and then nothing. Heck, I don’t always know what to say to other SAHMs and I am one.

Whether one doesn’t ask a follow-up question out of fear that the answer will be somehow disagreeable, or fear that the asking will make the other person uncomfortable, or just plain shyness, letting the answer lie there, dead, sucks. It makes the askee feel like a weirdo or a bore, and the asker (at least when it’s me) feel like a conversational failure.

Several years ago, I stopped making “what do you do?” my first question. I usually go with “are you originally from here,” which goes pretty well, but at a certain point, you’ve kind of got to ask what a person does with their days. I tend to put it, “Do you do any work for pay?” because of my own experience of working hard for no money. (Similarly, I answer, “not for pay,” when people ask me whether I work.) But that second question can be a stumper.

As a service to shy or fearful conversationalists like myself, below are some follow-up questions to common conversation ending responses to, “what do you do?”

I’m a stay-at-home mom.

  • How old are your kids?
  • What are your kids into these days?
  • What’s something you love to do that you don’t have time for anymore?
  • What are you working on with your kids now?

I write poetry.

  • What kind of things do you write about?
  • How long does it typically take you to finish a poem?
  • What are you working on now?

I’m a physics professor.

  • What’s your specific area?
  • What are you working on now?

I include the above as an example of what to say when someone has a job the average person can’t hope to understand. There’s a physicist in my life and I’ve asked him the above two questions once each in the 20 or so years I’ve known him. I felt like I could understand and even explain his answer to someone else for all of five minutes, and then it was gone. But it’s good to ask, even if you know the answer will go over your head.

In fact, “what are you working on now” is a great question for pretty much any endeavor, because we’re always working on something. Mothers may be working on potty training, teaching kids to cook, or even teaching a child with a disability to swallow. Artists and academics and freelancers and master craftspeople of all stripes always have a current or recent project to talk about.

I work in a factory.

I admit that I’ve always been a little stymied by this one. But here’s what I’ve come up with:

  • What shift do you work?
  • Do you like the people you work with?

Those of you who’ve worked or currently work in factories or other manual labor jobs, what follow-up questions do you wish people would ask?

I’m a psychologist.

Another tough one, because there are very few specifics they can give, but here are a couple:

  • Is there a kind of therapy you specialize in?
  • Is there a specific group of people you specialize in / avoid working with?
  • Do people at parties try to get you to diagnose them or their family members for free?
That’s all I’ve got for now. If you have an unusual job or situation that makes people draw a blank, tell us what you wish they’d ask you. You’d be doing a service to shy and awkward persons, like myself.

 

SYTYCD Performance Finale!

~ Natalie Hart ~ Leave a comment

Usually, the performance finale is okay with moments of brilliance, because the dancers are all so exhausted. I can’t wait to see whether this one continues the trend or bucks it with more amazing than not.

Each one is dancing 5 times. That sounds crazy. I did that, and more, in shows when I was in my early 20s, but not after having the intense season they’ve had, and having only a few days to learn all these dances. Nuts.

Eliana and Cyrus, paso doble; she’s going to be the matador and him the cape:
That was interesting. The first half was really good, slow and intense, but then when the music got more intense at the end, the slow movements didn’t work anymore. I think that must be because of Cyrus’s lack of traditional ability. The first half, though, their movements matched each other perfectly. He was appropriately macho, and she was strong. Their little footwork section, brief though it was, was crisp and fast. He’s a great partner, totally focused on her, which I love. I’d say this worked more than it didn’t.

 Tiffany and Will Wingfield, jazz by Sonya Tayeh (haven’t seen him as an All-Star yet and I’m way excited. He was amazing in his season, incredibly trained yet able to be free and even funny in his dances; I still remember the James Brown solo he did. He’s in superbaggy clothes, though, which I am shallow enough to admit makes me a little sad. He has the most awesomely powerful thighs. ETA: he’s dancing shirtless, so if his thighs are hidden, we can see his very wide chest and shoulders.):
I LOVE that Sonya choreographed a happy song, joyful and passionate. It was wonderful. Loved the lift when she did the standing split thing and then hooked her top leg over his shoulder and he stood and lifted her. Tiffany could’ve related to him a bit more, but this made me happy.

Eliana and Chehon are going to do a traditional ballet together.
What they did was great, but I forgot that I don’t really like traditional ballet. They gave nothing cool for Chehon to do except one jump. I was a little bored. Their solos are so athletic and we saw none of that here. It was lovely and perfect, but not my favorite style.

Tiffany and Cyrus, lyrical hip hop
Good, but a little too much flailing about from Tiffany and I wasn’t crazy about the song. It all seemed a little too histrionic. But, indeed, they weren’t being “careful,” and that’s a good thing, too.

Group routine, choreographed by Tyce. I get the idea, have everyone do mainly what they are best at, but that meant that there was no point of view. So it felt like leftovers: lots of individual things that were good once, but turn kind of bland when mixed up.

Eliana solo: lovely. If they’d gotten the chance to be this expressive in the traditional piece, it would’ve been so much better.

Chehon and Allyson, contemporary by Stacey Tookie:
I loved that. It made me teary. How amazing that there was a “you must leave” dance, not because someone is being a jerk, but to set someone free to follow their dreams. It was glorious. Glorious dancing, glorious portrayal of conflicted emotion. That’s what I’ve been waiting for tonight. His face while he did that final pirouette was heartbreaking. His height in his jumps were amazing, just amazing. His dancing deepens when he dances with strong, strong women (his other best was with Anya two weeks ago).

Eliana and Tiffany, dancing on a pole (which I think Eliana teaches or does in her regular life):
Fun. The ending was great, when Eliana was twirling around the top in a cool pose and Tiffany was twirling around the bottom, but I wish they hadn’t gone for such a full-on sexy song for this routine. To have done it to a classical piece could’ve been even better, less “on the nose.”

Cyrus solo dubstep: the musicality of his style is sick, sick, sick. Sick!

Tiffany solo: a lovely solo (which would’ve been better if she’d waited a couple of years to mature), but I must say that I loved her interview piece, how she was aware of how underrated she was and she kept putting everything out there on the floor, throwing herself into routines. I respect that.

Cyrus and Chehon, chor. by Sonya Tayeh:
Gorgeous. There were all those tiny, quick movements that went with the music like Cyrus does, that both of them did in great unison. And Cyrus did a lovely, graceful fall to the side. Chehon lifted Cyrus as easily as if he were little Tiffany. They were marvelous together, fighting, but not against each other, which was perfect for them. Compelling dancing. I loved these two guys, and I loved this number.

Special guest: an international b-boy sensation … Jean Suq (sp?) who has one leg and dances with two crutches. First of all, I’m crazy about hip hop to classical music. Second, the stuff this kid does is amazing: using the crutches as a pommel horse and swinging his whole body around, doing gorgeous poses on one, and in general, dancing beautifully. I love the variety that this show reveals, the things that are going on in the dance world that are truly excellent, but that I’d never seen or even heard of before.

Chehon solo: I didn’t want it to end, but I loved how it went with his interview package (which made me teary, he was so adorable), all his leaps were open and soaring.

Eliana and Alex, contemporary by All-Star Travis Wall:
Travis usually choreographs such intimate dances, and that’s what I love about him, but this was a bit bombastic and histrionic. That said, what they did together was gorgeous.

This is feeling a little too much like a good-bye show, as if the show won’t be back next year. There are more comments about choreographers and All-Stars. I’d be so sad. So very, very sad. I hope I’m overinterpreting the vibe.

Tiffany and Chehon, rhumba by All-Star Dmitri (no, not another Latin dance, and as the last one he does, too. Boo, producers. Boo. Unless of course he winds up being brilliant and lets his hips go. Please let your hips go, Chehon.):
I am happy. It was a deeply romantic dance, slow and sweet and sexy. I got a little warm. His dramatic slide all the way across the floor was awesome. He is so great at not doing the overblown, “I am being manly now” thing. He just is strong and secure and always perfectly there for his partner. Tiffany was marvelous. She has really grown on me.

Cyrus and Twitch, both doing animation:
Wow. Wow. The slow-motion fight as if strobe lights were flashing was so cool. That was all just so cool. Love that they put Twitch on Cyrus’s home dance turf. And they had to dance on top of broken plastic after smashing through their doors. Why did Nigel have to go through that crap of saying he wasn’t voting for him — unnecessary.

This was a better show than some finales have been. I’m off to vote for Chehon.

 

 

Samson the P.R. Master

~ Natalie Hart ~ Leave a comment

So I’ve been reading an amazing book: Tree and Shrub in Our Biblical Heritage, by Nogah Hareuveni (trans. Helen Frenkley). Doesn’t sound amazing to you? Well, it’s the height of perfection for me in my drive to make the David and Saul series as specific and realistic as possible. I’ve finally found the source for trees and plants that David would’ve seen and had available to him for kindling, food, shade, water, etc. It’s full of the kinds of details that bring back the life, the humor in biblical stories that audiences at the time would’ve gotten. Like in this one about Samson, the P.R. master. [ETA: Tree and Shrub gave me the information about the plant and discussed what that meant for the story of Samson and the seven new ropes, but I gave it the imaginative retelling after the starred break below.]

Here’s how we’re going to imagine Samson: Dwayne Johnson, aka The Rock — big, strong, charming. Also, the long hair.

She’s not in my telling of the story much, but if you want to imagine Delilah, let’s say she’s Nicole Scherzinger.
The Israelites, at this time, are ruled by the Philistines. Samson is the Israelites’ Judge, which doesn’t mean he was wise. He just killed lots of Philistines because the Lord gave him immense physical strength. He also goes after women he shouldn’t. Early in his history, he fell in love with a Philistine woman from Timnah (5 miles down the road from where he lived in Mahaneh-dan). On the way to Timnah with his parents to arrange the marriage, he killed a young lion and ripped its jaws apart with his bare hands. On the return trip for the wedding, he saw that bees had nested in the lion’s jaws, scooped out some honey, and ate it.
In Timnah, Samson threw a 7-day pre-wedding party. He told a riddle to 30 young Philistine men. If they solved it, he’d give each of them one plain linen and one fancy robe. This was a big deal. These guys would’ve had one or two plain robes; only the rich would’ve had a fancy robe. “From the one who eats came something to eat; out of the strong came something sweet.” Oh, he was sure of himself, that Samson. Nobody knew about the lion and the honey, not even his parents.
The 30 guys couldn’t figure it out, so they threatened the wife-to-be. She wept and moaned every time she was with Samson until he told her. When the 30 guys answered the riddle he made an unflattering analogy (“if you hadn’t plowed with my heifer, you wouldn’t have figured it out”), went 20 miles to the coastal (Philistine) town of Ashkelon, killed 30 guys there and took their stuff, which he then gave to the 30 guys in Timnah. And then left in a huff without actually marrying the woman although believing she was his wife. See, not wise.
Later, he burned the entire wheat crop of Timnah, killed 1,000 Philistines with the jawbone of a donkey, and hefted up the city gates of Gaza by its two posts to escape the leaders plotting to kill him in the morning after he was through with the prostitute he was “visiting.”
None of that is our story, though. It’s just the set-up.
*************************
Mahaneh-dan (between Zorah and Eshtaol, in the foothills of the Judean mountains), between 1,200 & 1,100 BCE
Samson sauntered over to the window overlooking the front of his house. He could’ve shaken Delilah for trying to put one over on him. Again. But she got gorgeously angry when he acted like it was all a big joke, so that’s what he did.
He crossed his arms and leaned one shoulder against the wall, watching the Philistine leaders and flunkies flee his house, muttering to themselves. He stayed even after they were out of sight.
Delilah came near enough for him to smell her. The late afternoon heat intensified the scent of the olive oil she’d shined herself up with for her performance today. “Are they coming yet?”
“Who?”
She huffed. He didn’t have to look at her to know she was pouting.
And there came the crowd. Mostly men he knew from the village, but not all. They called to him before they reached his gate. “Samson!” “What’s going on?” “What happened?” “What did you do this time?”
Should he make them wait until evening, when everyone was in from the fields and hills? Nah. He flattened his palms on the wall on either side of the window. “I’ve been in my house all day. What could I have done?”
“Don’t play with us,” someone shouted. “Tell us, tell us.”
He shrugged and tried to look innocent.
“Come now.” Elder Raddai stepped forward with the usual scowl on his face. “The Philistines commandeered a dozen of our men yesterday, keeping them out of the fields all day today, and sent them with a dozen on their men on some fool journey to make seven fresh yitran ropes and deliver them here without drying out. They didn’t let our men in and just now ran out of here with their robes in a bunch. Last week the bow strings. Now this. What kind of trouble are you making?”
Delilah snickered. Samson gritted his teeth to keep the smile on his face.
“You mess with them, but we’re the ones who pay.” Raddai shook his finger as if Samson were a little boy.
Some members of the crowd shouted him down, but not enough. Samson stepped to the side and hooked his arm around Delilah’s shoulders and tried to pull her into view, but she twisted away and scooted to the other side of the room.
“Stop it,” she whispered. “They’ll stone me.”
She was right. Better to keep her out of sight. The only reason he got away with her was because they assumed, after he left for two weeks and then returned with her, that he and Delilah were married.
Samson went down the ladder and opened his front door. “I’m not the one creating trouble.” He grinned. “It’s those Philistines. They can’t kill me outright so they keep trying to capture me.”
Some of the men laughed and elbowed each other at that. Samson chuckled with them until they clamored for the story. “We’re all men here, aren’t we?” He made a show of checking the crowd. “Don’t want tender ears hearing this story. So I was enjoying some time with my lady and she asked how to tie me down securely.”
The crash of pottery hitting the wall came from upstairs. Samson cocked one eyebrow. “I thought we were having a little fun, so I told her seven fresh bow strings would do it. Last week, she brings some out and ties me up and we….” He winked and continued. “And then out pop the Philistines to take me away. Obviously, I’m still here.”
“They said he ripped through them like they were nothing,” someone shouted.
Samson shifted his arms away from his body and flexed a bit. “So then yesterday, she’s after me to get tied up again. I knew what she was about this time, so I gave the Philistines such a job. Anyone here want to tell us what they went through? Anyone?”
A hand went up and a young guy was pushed up to the front. “Sorry you got roped into it,” Samson said to him before turning him around to face the crowd.
“The Philistines–” The kid was still young enough that his voice cracked, but he cleared his throat and kept going. “They dragged me and my brother and some others away from the fields yesterday. They were going on about where they could find yitran bushes, but everyone knows they don’t grow around here, so we had to go with them back to their towns, a half day’s walk away. They split us into seven teams, one group for each rope. We slept on the ground by our bushes. They didn’t even let me stop at home to get my cloak, so I got soaked with dew.”
The men muttered about such disrespect before Samson hushed them.
“As soon as there was enough light to work by, we stripped the bark. They were in such a hurry they yelled at us to girdle the plant, but we wouldn’t do it, so that meant running around to several bushes. Then we couldn’t even sit to clean the strips and they wouldn’t give us knives. We had to pick off the twigs and leaves with our thumbnails.”
More outrage from the crowd and Samson clapped his bear paw of a hand on the boy’s shoulder in false solicitude.
“They kept poking us in the back to keep us walking while we folded the strands and rubbed them together while the Philistines twisted them until there was a rope long enough to wrap around my lord, Samson.” The boy sent up a shy glance.
Samson nodded down at him.
The kid relaxed a little more and yelled over the crowd. “They poured more water over the yitran to make sure it didn’t dry out than they gave us to drink!”
“And in this late summer heat.” Samson joined in the scolding of the Philistines.
“Those were really good ropes,” the kid said. “How did you get out of them?”
Samson let a smile build slowly and then snapped his fingers. “Like flax in a flame. Wine all around to celebrate!” He hauled out two jugs and passed them around until the atmosphere was festive. It had worked perfectly. The crazy errand had attracted so much attention, the story would be all over the region in two days, max.

STYTCD Performance Show 4

~ Natalie Hart ~ Leave a comment

As much as I loved the Olympics (a lot!), I’m even happier that So You Think You Can Dance is back. Readers who enjoy my more wondering or personally embarrassing posts, I’ll catch you next time.

Tonight, they’ll be doing classic Mia Michaels routines. This will be … telling. Because not only will I pay attention to how well they dance the number, but I’ll be comparing them to the original pair. Who might be better and who will fall short. Mia’s body of work on this show is astonishing. I can’t wait.

Guest judges are actual, trained dancers. Shocking! Maybe their comments will be meaningful. For once.

New Mia Michaels’ group routine was interesting. She actually gave five of the girls something interesting to do [she’s said in the past that she prefers choreographing for boys], although two girls got nada but standing around and flinging roses. Cool move with the boys upside down on the rope and both of them swinging around. Ultimately, given that the song had “ball and chain” in the chorus, it was a little too literal to have the girls actually tied down. Also, stop with the actual kissing. It’s distracting.

Cyrus and Eliana (from the teaser, I think they’re doing “Mercy,” one of my favorite numbers, originally killed by Twitch and Katie)
Very interesting. Cyrus isn’t as good a dancer as Twitch was, but he’s got the body language of this role down cold. I believe that he has nothing but contempt for this woman. That twitchy body roll on the door was incredible! And then again on a pause — nice touch! Nice switch from how Twitch did it. Katie had a manic energy that I loved more than Eliana’s performance. The star of this one for me was Cyrus.

Tiffany and George (Oh dear, they’re doing a Katie and Joshua number. They were the best pairing ever on this show.) (I’m with George on one of his favorite SYTYCD moments: Wade Robson’s Ram-a-lam-a zombie number gave me goosebumps.) (Oh dear, this is one of the best dances ever done on the show. I’m nervous for them.)
Again, I liked George in this, but prefer Katie’s dancing. Because George isn’t as buff as Joshua, he came off as more vulnerable. Which really worked for this number. Ooh was that first guest guy right: there were two solos, they were not dancing truly together. The assisted run was meh, whereas when Katie and Joshua did it, it took my breath away. Tiffany was *dancing* it, Katie made me believe she was living it.

Here’s the problem with tonight: nothing can be a revelation. I can never let myself go into any of these numbers because I’m always comparing. That’s a disservice to these dancers. I’m glad they get to do such top-notch choreography, but I’m finding the experience of watching it a bit of a downer.

Amelia and Will (No idea what number they’re doing. I don’t remember those costumes. Oh yeah, “the butt dance.” Still don’t remember it.)
They gave the quirky dance to the quirky people, which is too much competing quirk. This didn’t do it for me. At all. I don’t remember it from the original season, either. Meh.

Janelle and Darian (ah, the bed routine, originally Kherington and Twitch)
Finally! This one was better than the original! Darian really danced. I remember Twitch flailing and bouncing, but this was heart-rending dancing. And Janelle was wonderful, so emotional. Mia didn’t give her much to do, but she really performed it. Kherington had the inappropriate smiling problem, but these two presented a real story and I felt their heartbreak.

Audrey and Matthew (the piece about Mia losing her father.)
It was nice. The original was a weepfest, but this was sweet. Which is the damning with faint praise that it sounds like it is.

Witney and Chehon (Travis and Heidi’s bench number)
I loved their version. Witney was so tender, so much more tender and hopeful than Heidi had been. They were marvelous together. The dancing was excellent, but what’s special about them is that they manage to be a real partnership, really focused on each other and the story the whole time.

Lindsay and Cole (Addiction number. I think these two can do it. Cole will not have any difficulty being strong and sharp. )
It was interesting. There were moments, there were great moments. Cole looked more like a junkie and less in control of Lindsay than in the previous version, but that really worked sometimes. Cole wasn’t evil-looking and sinister like Kupono was, but he was completely emotionally divorced from her, which ended up working. Lindsay was wonderful. She managed to not be “pretty,” although I wish they’d put her hair partially back; I really wanted to see her face more than I did.

Losing 4 people tonight.

I hope the girls going will be Janelle and Amelia, both of whom are great when they do their own stuff, but can seriously lack charisma in other stuff. Lindsay has been really great two weeks in a row, and seems a lot more versatile than the other two. Also, it’d be a shame to lose those long, long, gorgeous legs.

I think they’ll keep George, as he’s more interesting than the other two. Darian killed his solo, but he has that problem with the lines of his feet they’re always bringing up. And Matthew is pretty, but lacking charisma and connection in anything but his own style. And Matthew’s solo was oddly feminine, with tons of sticking his leg up into the splits and flailing around.

I’m right on Lindsay. Right on George. It’ll be a fantastic top 10. A truly interesting group to watch. Will they be bringing back the All Stars? I hope so. That worked well last year, and bumped up everyone’s game. Yay! All Stars next week. This is going to be gooood.