It was 7:00 in the morning as I toed the start line in the state park with about 100 other runners by my side. The sun had only just finished lighting up the sky on that cool Saturday, and we were prepared to start our race. Moments ago, a friend asked if I was ready, to which I answered with a quick laugh and a "no." I couldn't imagine that any of us were fully ready to start an Ultramarathon, and I didn't think I could ever wrap my head around a 50 kilometer (31.1 mile) run, even if I had just spent 5 months training for it.
But I've heard it said that we're never ready for the big challenges in our lives. We are only ready enough. The task ahead of me was daunting, but if I had been truly honest with myself, I was ready for an adventure. I had to wonder how I reached this point in my life.
I first discovered distance running in Junior High. I played tennis on the school team, and some of my favorite "off days" were the ones we spent running. Not sprints and suicides, just running. Sometimes our coach would point down the road to a driveway half a mile away, and we would head off for a mile. Other times, when weather kept us inside, we would run laps around the top of the basketball colosseum with the cross country team for most of an hour. I seemed to be the only one on the tennis team who enjoyed our running days.
I began using distance running to (literally) run off my pre-teen energy from time to time. I would put on my tennis clothes and take on a few laps around our neighborhood. My dad ran with me a few times, and this is when I learned that I didn't know how to slow down. I only had 1 speed when running, and while I could keep it up for about 2 miles, it usually kept my dad from enjoying even 1 half-mile lap.
He would tell me that he spent a semester on his high school track team and how slow his 6:15 mile was compared with the seasoned track athletes. I had never run faster than an 8 minute mile. I started looking up to distance runners, knowing that they had accomplished more than I had, and that they had all worked hard to get there.
By college, I was out of shape and hadn't run in years. Once or twice I ran a few 200 meter laps at our University's rec center, but that's it. I finished out my college years 40+ pounds overweight with no drive to exercise. I joined a gym after a while, and at times Katie and I kept up a routine of working out once or twice a week. A desire finally built up in me to get fit.
The next February, almost 5 years ago, a friend encouraged Katie and I to run a 5k. I could have accomplished this easily in my Junior High tennis days, but in 2009 this presented a challenge. I don't know whether I have more redneck in me than I realized or if it's just testosterone, but I can't pass up a good challenge.
This was February 1st, and the race was February 28th. Katie and I spent those 4 weeks running every other day, pushing back our first walk break farther and farther, until we were finally confident that we could (mostly) run for 3.1 miles.
The finish line was amazing! Even though I walked close to half of the race, I sprinted to the finish as hard as I could! I was greeted by cheers, congratulations, and even by a cold bottle of water. I was ecstatic when I finished that race, and by the next morning I knew that I wanted to make myself a runner just to experience that feeling again.
This is where my journey began. Years later, on November 9, 2013 at 7:00 in the morning, I started running my first Ultramarathon.
More to come,
Tyler
Monday, November 11, 2013
Monday, September 16, 2013
Grey
When I was young, I thought there was a right and wrong choice in every situation. Truth was right, and lies were wrong. Love was good, and hate was bad. There were lines drawn in the sand everywhere I looked, separating these two extremes into dichotomy, and my job (if I was to be a good person) was to find the line and never cross it.
Something about this world view didn't mesh with the world around me.
There's a part of my personality that doesn't fit with a black-and-white world. It's an inquisitiveness and a curiosity. Rules weren't clear until I understood the motivation behind them, and answers didn't make sense until I peeked behind the curtain to see how the cogs turned. My mom calls it stubbornness, but to me it's no more or less than a hunger for understanding.
The first time I showed this hunger is one of my mom's favorite stories from my childhood. I have no memory of the event, but the anecdote has been shared many times. I was just a year and a half old, and in exploring the house, I came across the stereo. When I touched it, I was told "no," a warning that I could either break something or hurt myself by playing with electronics. At my ripe old age of 18 months, I didn't understand. I reached out again, and again I was met with a rebuke. As I continued to seek understanding, the rebukes turned to a simple slap on the wrist, and as the story goes, I continued to reach for the stereo , each time earning a slap on the wrist, until the back of my hand turned red from the punishment.
In that moment, there was a line drawn in the sand. There was right and wrong, and wrong was touching the stereo. The line was there for a reason, but in my immaturity and ignorance, the reason was unknown. I saw the sand-line barrier, and I gazed across the line, unable to see the evil that lurked on the other side. Rather than being afraid, I was eager to test the limit.
This story repeated itself over and over as I grew up. Whether the line in the sand was drawn by parents, teachers, church leaders, or law makers, I constantly explored the land behind the line.
In 8th grade, I tested the limits of homework. I had gained some autonomy from my parents watching over my shoulder, and I let a couple of assignments slip. When my teacher didn't call me out for it, and when my parents weren't notified, I couldn't see the consequences. I let a few more assignments slip, then a few more. Before I knew it, I was sitting down with my teacher to be given the opportunity to make up weeks of homework in order to remain eligible for band and tennis.
This remained a fuzzy line for years. I had learned that there was a point at which I could overlook assignments and keep my grades. The consequences weren't black and white, rather they came on a sliding scale. I would later learn to manage this reality in balancing a heavy college workload, but through high school and early college, I continued to fall behind the line and stumble down the slippery slope. I eventually understood the reason for the rule, and I eventually learned to reconcile my understanding with the practice of earning grades.
But what I've learned more than anything is that rules are not just black and white. There may be a time when withholding information from a friend is best for them. There may be a time when breaking the rules is necessary to help others. There may be a time when you have to sacrifice good for better, or chose bad over worse.
My favorite example of this is how we treat the homeless population. I grew up hearing adults complain about how homeless people spent money that was given to them. They spend it on cigarettes, alcohol and drugs, or just blow it on an unnecessarily expensive meal. They ask for money on the side of the road rather than look for work. We don't like to give them money, because they will probably blow it on a bad habit.
I remember a day when I was about 16, not long after I started driving. We had a family lunch at Rudy's Barbecue, and I took some leftovers with me. At the first stop light leaving the restaurant, we saw a homeless man with his dog. His sign said something about needing food. The voices echoed in my head, reminding me of all the bad ways he could spend any money I gave him, yelling that he should find a job and dig himself out of his hole. But while I was thinking of all the reasons not to help him, I looked down and saw my leftovers. He just wants food, and I have food. I don't know how the puzzle pieces met in that moment, but before I knew it I was handing my leftover sausage to a homeless man, which he immediately shared with his dog. Money wasn't the right answer, because in that moment, he really needed food.
There was another moment 5 years ago, when I sat on a bench to read while waiting for a friend to join me for dinner. I was approached by a guy wearing an eye patch, and he told me that he needed help to find dinner and a place to stay the night. Again, the words came out before I knew what I was doing. I asked him if he wanted to sit, and he did. He opened up about his situation, how he was assaulted with a crowbar years ago, and how this resulted in the loss of his eye. He told me that he used to be a welder, which he can't do with only 1 eye. He told me about his family in Houston, who he could no longer support. I learned that more than anything else, this man needed sympathy and a friend. His face glowed when I handed him a bill out of my wallet, but it glows more when I run into him around town. I used to think he just needed cash, but nothing pleases him more than talking to a friend. For Cedric, money wasn't the right answer, because he really needed the respect of a friend.
Now, I'm struggling through a relationship with a new friend who I met while selling an old TV on Craig's List. He's on the verge of becoming homeless, and once or twice a week he calls asking for help. I gave him a deal on the TV, and I've paid him for a couple hours of work twice since. This time, I don't know what he really needs. Sometimes he needs to vent, sometimes he needs money, but I still can't shake the feeling that there's something deeper.
These relationships, like many things in our world, don't have black and white answers. Instead of a line in the sand, I'm navigating a minefield. Every week, I struggle to discern the best way to help my friend, and every week the circumstances change.
It's times like this when I realize that I live in a world of grey. And when there is no black or white, I can only keep my eyes open and constantly seek the lighter grey.
Always moving forward,
Tyler
Something about this world view didn't mesh with the world around me.
There's a part of my personality that doesn't fit with a black-and-white world. It's an inquisitiveness and a curiosity. Rules weren't clear until I understood the motivation behind them, and answers didn't make sense until I peeked behind the curtain to see how the cogs turned. My mom calls it stubbornness, but to me it's no more or less than a hunger for understanding.
The first time I showed this hunger is one of my mom's favorite stories from my childhood. I have no memory of the event, but the anecdote has been shared many times. I was just a year and a half old, and in exploring the house, I came across the stereo. When I touched it, I was told "no," a warning that I could either break something or hurt myself by playing with electronics. At my ripe old age of 18 months, I didn't understand. I reached out again, and again I was met with a rebuke. As I continued to seek understanding, the rebukes turned to a simple slap on the wrist, and as the story goes, I continued to reach for the stereo , each time earning a slap on the wrist, until the back of my hand turned red from the punishment.
In that moment, there was a line drawn in the sand. There was right and wrong, and wrong was touching the stereo. The line was there for a reason, but in my immaturity and ignorance, the reason was unknown. I saw the sand-line barrier, and I gazed across the line, unable to see the evil that lurked on the other side. Rather than being afraid, I was eager to test the limit.
This story repeated itself over and over as I grew up. Whether the line in the sand was drawn by parents, teachers, church leaders, or law makers, I constantly explored the land behind the line.
In 8th grade, I tested the limits of homework. I had gained some autonomy from my parents watching over my shoulder, and I let a couple of assignments slip. When my teacher didn't call me out for it, and when my parents weren't notified, I couldn't see the consequences. I let a few more assignments slip, then a few more. Before I knew it, I was sitting down with my teacher to be given the opportunity to make up weeks of homework in order to remain eligible for band and tennis.
This remained a fuzzy line for years. I had learned that there was a point at which I could overlook assignments and keep my grades. The consequences weren't black and white, rather they came on a sliding scale. I would later learn to manage this reality in balancing a heavy college workload, but through high school and early college, I continued to fall behind the line and stumble down the slippery slope. I eventually understood the reason for the rule, and I eventually learned to reconcile my understanding with the practice of earning grades.
But what I've learned more than anything is that rules are not just black and white. There may be a time when withholding information from a friend is best for them. There may be a time when breaking the rules is necessary to help others. There may be a time when you have to sacrifice good for better, or chose bad over worse.
My favorite example of this is how we treat the homeless population. I grew up hearing adults complain about how homeless people spent money that was given to them. They spend it on cigarettes, alcohol and drugs, or just blow it on an unnecessarily expensive meal. They ask for money on the side of the road rather than look for work. We don't like to give them money, because they will probably blow it on a bad habit.
I remember a day when I was about 16, not long after I started driving. We had a family lunch at Rudy's Barbecue, and I took some leftovers with me. At the first stop light leaving the restaurant, we saw a homeless man with his dog. His sign said something about needing food. The voices echoed in my head, reminding me of all the bad ways he could spend any money I gave him, yelling that he should find a job and dig himself out of his hole. But while I was thinking of all the reasons not to help him, I looked down and saw my leftovers. He just wants food, and I have food. I don't know how the puzzle pieces met in that moment, but before I knew it I was handing my leftover sausage to a homeless man, which he immediately shared with his dog. Money wasn't the right answer, because in that moment, he really needed food.
There was another moment 5 years ago, when I sat on a bench to read while waiting for a friend to join me for dinner. I was approached by a guy wearing an eye patch, and he told me that he needed help to find dinner and a place to stay the night. Again, the words came out before I knew what I was doing. I asked him if he wanted to sit, and he did. He opened up about his situation, how he was assaulted with a crowbar years ago, and how this resulted in the loss of his eye. He told me that he used to be a welder, which he can't do with only 1 eye. He told me about his family in Houston, who he could no longer support. I learned that more than anything else, this man needed sympathy and a friend. His face glowed when I handed him a bill out of my wallet, but it glows more when I run into him around town. I used to think he just needed cash, but nothing pleases him more than talking to a friend. For Cedric, money wasn't the right answer, because he really needed the respect of a friend.
Now, I'm struggling through a relationship with a new friend who I met while selling an old TV on Craig's List. He's on the verge of becoming homeless, and once or twice a week he calls asking for help. I gave him a deal on the TV, and I've paid him for a couple hours of work twice since. This time, I don't know what he really needs. Sometimes he needs to vent, sometimes he needs money, but I still can't shake the feeling that there's something deeper.
These relationships, like many things in our world, don't have black and white answers. Instead of a line in the sand, I'm navigating a minefield. Every week, I struggle to discern the best way to help my friend, and every week the circumstances change.
It's times like this when I realize that I live in a world of grey. And when there is no black or white, I can only keep my eyes open and constantly seek the lighter grey.
Always moving forward,
Tyler
Monday, September 9, 2013
We Live in a Broken World
We live in a broken world.
I've heard this sentiment as long as I can remember, most often in reference to today's society. The news is atwitter with stories involving celebrity drug scandals, violent crimes, and war. We see homeless populations or unemployment rates on the rise, food prices that increase while farmer's earnings decrease, and good guys suffering while the bad guys go free. The world is fraught with brokenness and evil as far as the eye can see.
But the "broken world" is more than today's society. If you buy into the Biblical creation story, you believe as I do that the world was created fully good, fully in connection with its creator God. And if you believe as I do, this world fell apart from the ultimate Good piece by piece, leaving God to His own devices and us embracing our own human desires.
It's hard to escape it! Everywhere you look, you can find yet another example of brokenness. Society seems to have lost all respect for its fellow man. People care about nothing but themselves. The world is just a big pile of selfish mess.
But is this the real world, or is it merely the view through a tinted lense?
Many times when I've watched a news report about a tragedy, I watch the emphatic interviewee make emotive statements with grand gestures about the situation, and I wonder: while the tragedy is real, does this person represent the way everyone feels? Is this dramatic speaker a true representative of the community, or do they simply put on the face the nightly news wants to see? In short, is the community as broken as they have been portrayed?
Occasionally I'll see a different kind of story, whether through an independent video or a mass publication, about happiness. I always dig in. The taglines all present the same tease: what is the secret to happiness? Each claims to have the answer, and not surprisingly, the answers aren't all that different from each other.
Without fail, the answer has nothing to do with circumstances. It isn't about your job, where you live, how big your family is, what hobbies you keep, how clean your house is, or how much money is in the bank. It's never about how you look or how people perceive you. The answer, inevitably, comes from within.
Studies show that approximately 90% of happiness is completely independent of external factors.
Others report that the best predictor of happiness with your current circumstances is how much gratitude you show for past or present circumstances.
Happiness, it turns out, is most influenced by you, not your circumstances.
So, I wonder, as I watch the dramatic reactions to major events: are these people in control of their happiness, or do they feel driven by their circumstances? Do they have an ingrained habit of perceiving the bad in any situation instead of seeking out the good? More to the point, if they didn't experience a flood/earthquake/layoff/shooting today, would they have felt just as badly about their day-to-day lives?
I also wonder about this person's neighbor. The one whose interview wasn't played on the nightly news. The one who always greets the neighbors with a "good morning!" and constantly carries a smile on his face. Did the news network interview him? Was his interview rejected because he refused to take the bait in an all-too-negative industry? Imagine what his interview would have looked like.
I think this neighbor got something right. I grew up hearing that Christians are "in the world, but not of the world," and I think too many Christians focus on the 2nd part. They see the world, with all the tragedy and brokenness that comes with it, and they reject it. We are not of the world.
But I believe this brick wall distinction falls short. As much as people may want to become close to good and far from evil, we have to remember that the world is not inherently bad. If you believe as I do, this world was created by the God of love. It was created perfect and filled with limitless creatures made in the image of the God of love. We are in the world that was created out of and into love!
And it's here that I identify with the neighbor. I look at the situation through his eyes and see all of the families whose barriers were broken, leaving them free to love each other the way they have always wanted. I see the community pulling together, the most fortunate giving whatever they have to their neighbors who need it most. I even see hands reaching from around the country and around the world to lend resources, safety, and protection to people who they will never meet. Through his eyes, I see good in the world.
And here, I know it's true: we live in a broken world. But if you believe as I do, there's a whole lot of good left between the cracks.
Always moving forward,
Tyler
I've heard this sentiment as long as I can remember, most often in reference to today's society. The news is atwitter with stories involving celebrity drug scandals, violent crimes, and war. We see homeless populations or unemployment rates on the rise, food prices that increase while farmer's earnings decrease, and good guys suffering while the bad guys go free. The world is fraught with brokenness and evil as far as the eye can see.
But the "broken world" is more than today's society. If you buy into the Biblical creation story, you believe as I do that the world was created fully good, fully in connection with its creator God. And if you believe as I do, this world fell apart from the ultimate Good piece by piece, leaving God to His own devices and us embracing our own human desires.
It's hard to escape it! Everywhere you look, you can find yet another example of brokenness. Society seems to have lost all respect for its fellow man. People care about nothing but themselves. The world is just a big pile of selfish mess.
But is this the real world, or is it merely the view through a tinted lense?
Many times when I've watched a news report about a tragedy, I watch the emphatic interviewee make emotive statements with grand gestures about the situation, and I wonder: while the tragedy is real, does this person represent the way everyone feels? Is this dramatic speaker a true representative of the community, or do they simply put on the face the nightly news wants to see? In short, is the community as broken as they have been portrayed?
Occasionally I'll see a different kind of story, whether through an independent video or a mass publication, about happiness. I always dig in. The taglines all present the same tease: what is the secret to happiness? Each claims to have the answer, and not surprisingly, the answers aren't all that different from each other.
Without fail, the answer has nothing to do with circumstances. It isn't about your job, where you live, how big your family is, what hobbies you keep, how clean your house is, or how much money is in the bank. It's never about how you look or how people perceive you. The answer, inevitably, comes from within.
Studies show that approximately 90% of happiness is completely independent of external factors.
Others report that the best predictor of happiness with your current circumstances is how much gratitude you show for past or present circumstances.
Happiness, it turns out, is most influenced by you, not your circumstances.
So, I wonder, as I watch the dramatic reactions to major events: are these people in control of their happiness, or do they feel driven by their circumstances? Do they have an ingrained habit of perceiving the bad in any situation instead of seeking out the good? More to the point, if they didn't experience a flood/earthquake/layoff/shooting today, would they have felt just as badly about their day-to-day lives?
I also wonder about this person's neighbor. The one whose interview wasn't played on the nightly news. The one who always greets the neighbors with a "good morning!" and constantly carries a smile on his face. Did the news network interview him? Was his interview rejected because he refused to take the bait in an all-too-negative industry? Imagine what his interview would have looked like.
I think this neighbor got something right. I grew up hearing that Christians are "in the world, but not of the world," and I think too many Christians focus on the 2nd part. They see the world, with all the tragedy and brokenness that comes with it, and they reject it. We are not of the world.
But I believe this brick wall distinction falls short. As much as people may want to become close to good and far from evil, we have to remember that the world is not inherently bad. If you believe as I do, this world was created by the God of love. It was created perfect and filled with limitless creatures made in the image of the God of love. We are in the world that was created out of and into love!
And it's here that I identify with the neighbor. I look at the situation through his eyes and see all of the families whose barriers were broken, leaving them free to love each other the way they have always wanted. I see the community pulling together, the most fortunate giving whatever they have to their neighbors who need it most. I even see hands reaching from around the country and around the world to lend resources, safety, and protection to people who they will never meet. Through his eyes, I see good in the world.
And here, I know it's true: we live in a broken world. But if you believe as I do, there's a whole lot of good left between the cracks.
Always moving forward,
Tyler
Friday, August 30, 2013
γαρ δυναμις εν ασθενεια τελειται
No, your computer isn't malfunctioning. The title of this post is a portion of II Corinthians 12:9 in the original Greek, and I've grown very fond of it during the last month. What started as a meaningful summation of my dad's final months (see *LINK TO PERFECT IN WEAKNESS*) has become a bit of an obsession. I looked up the verse a couple days after the funeral, and I found the Greek verbiage to sketch it into a tattoo design.
Quite honestly, the tattoo design was done as a catharsis. I do this every few years when something major happens. I've always wanted to have a tattoo, but I'm either too grounded or too chicken to follow through with having a piece of art permanently affixed to my body (it's probably the latter). I'm also not much of an artist, so when I make the design, I usually end up with overly simple elements in overused arrangements that scream "cliche."
But something was different this time. I played with graphical elements to represent II Cor 12:9, tried working "perfect in weakness" into the images, and even spelling out "II Cor 12:9." I was spiraling into a cliche as usual when I found the original Greek. Honestly, I first thought that using any kind of foreign lettering would add to the cliche, but instead it started to open my eyes to the meaning of this verse.
γαρ δυναμις εν ασθενεια τελειται
I started with Greek to English translations, but since this Greek was 2,000 years old, I didn't have much luck. I tried searching dictionaries and lexicons for detailed meaning, then I came up with a transliteration of the verse.
For power in weakness perfect
A little nonsensical, right? Well, the NIV translates this a little differently. It says "for my power is made perfect in weakness." I asked my brother (the Christian university graduate, twice over) for a little help. He said he doesn't know much about ancient Greek, but he knew where to look. The first thing he noticed was the absence of 1 word: my.
The Greek word μου represents the English word my, but it isn't included in the original Greek. Apparently Biblical scholars don't believe this word was originally included in Paul's letter, and they even wrote footnotes mentioning the slight difference between the original Biblical texts. Isn't this important? This verse is supposed to represent God speaking to Paul! He's talking about His own power, and isn't that the most important, most significant power out there? But if we're talking about God's power, shouldn't the fact that it's His power be important?
Exactly. The only power worth mentioning in all the universe is God's. All other power is weakness compared to His. Apparently Paul saw this so clearly that he saw no need for distinction. But he did leave us another clue.
I found it in something that bugged me about the original Greek phrase for weeks: the final word, τελειται . I know transliterations aren't an accurate representation of the original meaning, but something was missing. The translation I found for τελειται was "perfect." It's just a noun in the English language. An object, even. Sure, it could be used as an adjective, but even this leaves our sentence without a verb. There's no action, no change, no moving forward!
Recently, I found the answer in a paper. It was a short mention, only a couple of sentences in a footnote, in which someone defined τελειται a little more deeply. The nearly anonymous author says that the root word of τελειται "denotes completion, accomplishment, or fulfillment."
Suddenly, perfect wasn't the right translation. In my language, perfect is static, intangible, and superficial. But Paul's intent was to shape what little power we have into completion, accomplishment, or fulfillment.
Paul's words, taken straight from the mouth of God, tell us that when we are weak, when we cannot persevere, and we have no strength left, we are transformed in to fulfillment! He tells us that when our own strength fails, a greater power will step in and follow us to completion! He says that in our greatest weakness, God will bring us to accomplishment.
In short, it's not about us, it's about what God's power can do through us. (Thanks to Toby Slough for this sentence, which sums up my thoughts so well)
This phrase has meant so much to me during the last month. I could spend hours reciting every moment that this verse has come to mind, and the myriad of ways that it has spoken to me, and I could spend days on my multifaceted theories of how these 5 words communicate nearly the entirety of the gospel. Instead, I'll let you find your own meaning in these words.
γαρ δυναμις εν ασθενεια τελειται
Always moving forward,
Tyler
P.S.: I have an artist picked out, and I plan to get the tattoo in the next couple months. Wish me luck!
Quite honestly, the tattoo design was done as a catharsis. I do this every few years when something major happens. I've always wanted to have a tattoo, but I'm either too grounded or too chicken to follow through with having a piece of art permanently affixed to my body (it's probably the latter). I'm also not much of an artist, so when I make the design, I usually end up with overly simple elements in overused arrangements that scream "cliche."
But something was different this time. I played with graphical elements to represent II Cor 12:9, tried working "perfect in weakness" into the images, and even spelling out "II Cor 12:9." I was spiraling into a cliche as usual when I found the original Greek. Honestly, I first thought that using any kind of foreign lettering would add to the cliche, but instead it started to open my eyes to the meaning of this verse.
γαρ δυναμις εν ασθενεια τελειται
I started with Greek to English translations, but since this Greek was 2,000 years old, I didn't have much luck. I tried searching dictionaries and lexicons for detailed meaning, then I came up with a transliteration of the verse.
For power in weakness perfect
A little nonsensical, right? Well, the NIV translates this a little differently. It says "for my power is made perfect in weakness." I asked my brother (the Christian university graduate, twice over) for a little help. He said he doesn't know much about ancient Greek, but he knew where to look. The first thing he noticed was the absence of 1 word: my.
The Greek word μου represents the English word my, but it isn't included in the original Greek. Apparently Biblical scholars don't believe this word was originally included in Paul's letter, and they even wrote footnotes mentioning the slight difference between the original Biblical texts. Isn't this important? This verse is supposed to represent God speaking to Paul! He's talking about His own power, and isn't that the most important, most significant power out there? But if we're talking about God's power, shouldn't the fact that it's His power be important?
Exactly. The only power worth mentioning in all the universe is God's. All other power is weakness compared to His. Apparently Paul saw this so clearly that he saw no need for distinction. But he did leave us another clue.
I found it in something that bugged me about the original Greek phrase for weeks: the final word, τελειται . I know transliterations aren't an accurate representation of the original meaning, but something was missing. The translation I found for τελειται was "perfect." It's just a noun in the English language. An object, even. Sure, it could be used as an adjective, but even this leaves our sentence without a verb. There's no action, no change, no moving forward!
Recently, I found the answer in a paper. It was a short mention, only a couple of sentences in a footnote, in which someone defined τελειται a little more deeply. The nearly anonymous author says that the root word of τελειται "denotes completion, accomplishment, or fulfillment."
Suddenly, perfect wasn't the right translation. In my language, perfect is static, intangible, and superficial. But Paul's intent was to shape what little power we have into completion, accomplishment, or fulfillment.
Paul's words, taken straight from the mouth of God, tell us that when we are weak, when we cannot persevere, and we have no strength left, we are transformed in to fulfillment! He tells us that when our own strength fails, a greater power will step in and follow us to completion! He says that in our greatest weakness, God will bring us to accomplishment.
In short, it's not about us, it's about what God's power can do through us. (Thanks to Toby Slough for this sentence, which sums up my thoughts so well)
This phrase has meant so much to me during the last month. I could spend hours reciting every moment that this verse has come to mind, and the myriad of ways that it has spoken to me, and I could spend days on my multifaceted theories of how these 5 words communicate nearly the entirety of the gospel. Instead, I'll let you find your own meaning in these words.
γαρ δυναμις εν ασθενεια τελειται
Always moving forward,
Tyler
P.S.: I have an artist picked out, and I plan to get the tattoo in the next couple months. Wish me luck!
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
This is Your Brain on Lingerie
Before I get going, I want to make something clear. You're about to hear me talk about how a women's actions can affect a man negatively, but I assure you I will not defend men's negative actions against women. You will not hear me assert a victim mentality for men's crimes against women, or blame immodesty for the rape culture present today. Before you read on, I ask that you suspend these thoughts from your mind, because they are some of the most insulting arguments on any topic up for debate in this age, and we shall not lend them credence.
The topic of the day is modesty. Being raised in a big youth group who took summer trips that involved pools, water parks, or the beach, I was exposed to the topic more than most young men. With a brother who works in youth ministry and a sister-in-law who spends a lot of time with the youth group girls, I continue to hear Christian advice on this topic regularly.
The argument I hear most often goes something like this: "Men/boys react to the way you dress. It's how they are wired, they can't help it! When you dress provocatively, it causes them to have desires they shouldn't have. It's not that you're doing anything wrong, but the way you dress could cause the men/boys around you to struggle with sexual sin. Wouldn't it be better to dress modestly and give them one less temptation?"
Honestly, within a church youth group setting, this is a fairly easy discussion. When you're already talking about how to do good in the world, it's easy to make the argument that exposing too much of your body isn't the best decision. Moreso, when your demographic is made up of high school and junior high church folks, the mere fact that sex is discouraged is almost enough to make the argument for you.
But that's not the case for the rest of the world. We live in a society where sex isn't discouraged. Whether good or bad, society has decided that sex a good thing, not just in theory, but in practice. Presenting yourself as "sexy" isn't taboo, rather it's encouraged! And in light of this societal choice, modesty has become a very difficult choice to make.
For those who disagree with the arguments for modesty, there seems to be a common response. It says "why am I responsible for their temptation and their sin? Shouldn't they just learn not to treat women like objects?" To an extent, I think you're right. Unquestionably, men, both individually and as a society, need to develop a healthier view of women, and every man should treat every woman with respect. However, there's more to it than this.
Studies have shown that a man's response to provocatively-dressed women is more than their choices. They have found an actual chemical change that happens when a man sees a woman in minimal clothing. While shown pictures of women in various levels of clothing, men were given a brain scan. The researchers looked at what parts of the brain were "active" in different scenarios. Consistently, the pictures with less clothing invoked the part of the brain associated with tools. I mean this literally. Tools, like hammers, drills, and saws. Even more, some results showed the part of the brain associated with empathy and human interaction completely shut down. Researchers were astounded at the results, and I am amazed by the implications.
But the problem with women dressing provocatively isn't causing men to struggle. That struggle is truly out of your hands. The heart of the problem is that, while the vast majority of men don't respond to immodesty with any direct negative action (unwanted advances, predatory behavior, or worse), the unavoidable biological reaction still has an effect. Like a "harmless" racial joke or a biased news report, that tiny grain of prejudice nudges at their thoughts. The reaction might not be direct, but it leaves an impression.
So what? Why should a woman care what men think of them?
I'm glad you asked! Women should care, not because a random person thinks badly about them, but because society gets nudged a little further toward devaluing women. Look at Victoria's Secret, a business who made millions through advertizing with underwear-clad models and now has an entire evening of TV dedicated to parading these women across a stage. Look at the websites (not to be named here) which provide lists of actresses who have appeared nude on screen, right down to the timestamp on the DVD. Look at the female pop stars, including one who has been given headlines from every major news network in the country this week, who gain popularity by what they wear on stage.
Would you rather contribute to this society, which continually devalues and objectifies women, or would you rather contribute to a society that gives women the respect they deserve, treats them like people rather than objects, and judges them by their character instead of their gender? When we discuss modesty, this is the underlying question. What would you choose?
Today's post was inspired by this article published by The Atlantic.
Always moving forward,
Tyler
The topic of the day is modesty. Being raised in a big youth group who took summer trips that involved pools, water parks, or the beach, I was exposed to the topic more than most young men. With a brother who works in youth ministry and a sister-in-law who spends a lot of time with the youth group girls, I continue to hear Christian advice on this topic regularly.
The argument I hear most often goes something like this: "Men/boys react to the way you dress. It's how they are wired, they can't help it! When you dress provocatively, it causes them to have desires they shouldn't have. It's not that you're doing anything wrong, but the way you dress could cause the men/boys around you to struggle with sexual sin. Wouldn't it be better to dress modestly and give them one less temptation?"
Honestly, within a church youth group setting, this is a fairly easy discussion. When you're already talking about how to do good in the world, it's easy to make the argument that exposing too much of your body isn't the best decision. Moreso, when your demographic is made up of high school and junior high church folks, the mere fact that sex is discouraged is almost enough to make the argument for you.
But that's not the case for the rest of the world. We live in a society where sex isn't discouraged. Whether good or bad, society has decided that sex a good thing, not just in theory, but in practice. Presenting yourself as "sexy" isn't taboo, rather it's encouraged! And in light of this societal choice, modesty has become a very difficult choice to make.
For those who disagree with the arguments for modesty, there seems to be a common response. It says "why am I responsible for their temptation and their sin? Shouldn't they just learn not to treat women like objects?" To an extent, I think you're right. Unquestionably, men, both individually and as a society, need to develop a healthier view of women, and every man should treat every woman with respect. However, there's more to it than this.
Studies have shown that a man's response to provocatively-dressed women is more than their choices. They have found an actual chemical change that happens when a man sees a woman in minimal clothing. While shown pictures of women in various levels of clothing, men were given a brain scan. The researchers looked at what parts of the brain were "active" in different scenarios. Consistently, the pictures with less clothing invoked the part of the brain associated with tools. I mean this literally. Tools, like hammers, drills, and saws. Even more, some results showed the part of the brain associated with empathy and human interaction completely shut down. Researchers were astounded at the results, and I am amazed by the implications.
But the problem with women dressing provocatively isn't causing men to struggle. That struggle is truly out of your hands. The heart of the problem is that, while the vast majority of men don't respond to immodesty with any direct negative action (unwanted advances, predatory behavior, or worse), the unavoidable biological reaction still has an effect. Like a "harmless" racial joke or a biased news report, that tiny grain of prejudice nudges at their thoughts. The reaction might not be direct, but it leaves an impression.
So what? Why should a woman care what men think of them?
I'm glad you asked! Women should care, not because a random person thinks badly about them, but because society gets nudged a little further toward devaluing women. Look at Victoria's Secret, a business who made millions through advertizing with underwear-clad models and now has an entire evening of TV dedicated to parading these women across a stage. Look at the websites (not to be named here) which provide lists of actresses who have appeared nude on screen, right down to the timestamp on the DVD. Look at the female pop stars, including one who has been given headlines from every major news network in the country this week, who gain popularity by what they wear on stage.
Would you rather contribute to this society, which continually devalues and objectifies women, or would you rather contribute to a society that gives women the respect they deserve, treats them like people rather than objects, and judges them by their character instead of their gender? When we discuss modesty, this is the underlying question. What would you choose?
Today's post was inspired by this article published by The Atlantic.
Always moving forward,
Tyler
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