My father and sister came to visit me. (For those who don’t know, I have two older sisters: Katy, the eldest, and Rebecca, the “middle child.” It was Rebecca who came this weekend, though I may see Katy in the coming weeks or months down here in Annapolis. Rebecca was the first in my family to blog, and her first post inspired this very blog and its title.) It’s a significant occasion to see Rebecca in Annapolis because she actually lives near Beijing. Flying to America from China and back again is not a cheap or pleasant affair, but she makes the effort to come back to visit despite her schedule. She works there as an English teacher, and recently she signed a two-year contract with some international school. She plans to come home for Christmas this year, though she couldn’t last year. And she also plans to attend some classes at George Mason University as part of a special Master’s and certification program they have for teachers. It seems, then, her love of foreign cultures and travel notwithstanding, that she may be planning a teaching career in America. Regardless of her plans, I was glad to see her again in Annapolis. I did have a chance to see her for a few days when I returned from India and sojourned in my hometown, but the extra overnight here was pleasant and fun for me.
My father, also, is a good buddy to have around, especially when there are lots of trees and flowers and bugs to look at. When I was younger I thought he was a scientist, and most of my classmates did also. He would come into my kindergarten and first-grade class occasionally to teach us about owl pellets or spiders or fresh-water fish. He has a Master’s degree in some kind of marine environmental or aquatic life studies, but he was never a professional researcher after college to my knowledge. He did some teaching and now he works for the county of my hometown doing social work. Go figure. But when I was little, anyway, I was convinced he was a scientist. He kept many aquaria in the basement of our house on Haverling Street, and he always knew the taxonomic name (the genus, at least) of the plants that grew in the woods when we went hiking and what they were related to and what their common names were. Even walking with him now through Annapolis he points out things that he recognizes and notices how it varies slightly from what they have in New York. He’s especially fun if you think encyclopedias are interesting. I do. He’s that way with last-century music, too. I love you, Dad.
On another note, now that they’re on their way, I’m left here with myself to do some reading and writing. Rebecca bought a MacBook and got some free stuff with it, including a tiny little 4-GB iPod. She already has a larger one, and she wanted to give it to me as a present. I’ve never owned even a portable CD-player. There may have been a time when I had an old cassette walkman handed down to me from my sister or parents, but I never used it. But I received the iPod when she came to visit me and am currently listening to it. It’s fun, and tiny, and nice to have music in my ears when I’m alone down here in the computer lab writing and surfing the web. I could turn on one of the Apple computers in the corner and play some streaming radio, but the sound quality of the speakers isn’t very good, and the PCs down here have no sound capability. What I mean to say is, that I’m very thankful for my new piece of technology.
I am, however, a bit wary of the thing. I went for a walk this morning, wearing my iPod, after my dad and sister departed. I went to the bank. I didn’t want to keep both of the earphones in because I wanted to listen to the city. On my way back I met a stranger on the sidewalk. (Roseanne is no longer a stranger.) We walked the Academy together because we didn’t want to stop talking. She works there, and I had nothing pressing to do otherwise. I, of course, had turned the music off and was listening to her while we talked, but it occurred to me part-way through our conversation that I would have missed her completely if I had both phones in my ears and the volume cranked up. She had made a comment about dogs on the corner of the sidewalk, and I quickly made a friendly comment in passing. We met because I simply overheard her and was able to make her smile with a joke. You cannot respond to people if you never listen to them in the first. Response is as important as initiation in our relationships with people. Philip the evangelist, to use a minister of the gospel as an example, simply responded to what he had heard the Ethiopian reading on the roadside (ref. Acts 8:25-40).
The newborn iPod culture is a bit concerning. When I left Roseanne and walked along the water at the Academy I put both buds in my ears and whispered the lyrics as the songs played. On my way back to the College I passed a runner who also had earphones on, and we walked past each other without any interaction beyond a glance. We were totally apart. Even if I had raised my voice to say, “Hey, wait,” she would have continued on her path, thinking that I was not addressing her but singing the lyrics to my own songs. Anything short of grabbing her arm would not get her attention off of her song, and I was the same way as I walked along.
I am thankful for my new iPod and all the enjoyment I expect to have listening to worship music as I walk and work at the offices, etc., but I am wary of the self-involved syndrome I see in this generation. I want to listen to their voices. I want to hear what they have to say. I want to get the rhythm of the heartbeat of this people and respond appropriately. (And this isn’t to say anything of hearing the Spirit of God. If you read that story of Philip I referenced in Acts you will find that he heard the instructions of the Holy Spirit before he ever heard the Ethiopian.) As much as God has “made my mouth like a sharp sword” (Isaiah 49:2), I have heard His voice calling me by name to serve Him in this world. May we never stop listening to God, and may we never stop listening to what our fellow humans have to say. To forsake either would be to set ourselves apart, not as holy but as divorced from part of our purpose, when truly we are made to be in communion and fellowship with both according to the Word of God.
My father, also, is a good buddy to have around, especially when there are lots of trees and flowers and bugs to look at. When I was younger I thought he was a scientist, and most of my classmates did also. He would come into my kindergarten and first-grade class occasionally to teach us about owl pellets or spiders or fresh-water fish. He has a Master’s degree in some kind of marine environmental or aquatic life studies, but he was never a professional researcher after college to my knowledge. He did some teaching and now he works for the county of my hometown doing social work. Go figure. But when I was little, anyway, I was convinced he was a scientist. He kept many aquaria in the basement of our house on Haverling Street, and he always knew the taxonomic name (the genus, at least) of the plants that grew in the woods when we went hiking and what they were related to and what their common names were. Even walking with him now through Annapolis he points out things that he recognizes and notices how it varies slightly from what they have in New York. He’s especially fun if you think encyclopedias are interesting. I do. He’s that way with last-century music, too. I love you, Dad.
On another note, now that they’re on their way, I’m left here with myself to do some reading and writing. Rebecca bought a MacBook and got some free stuff with it, including a tiny little 4-GB iPod. She already has a larger one, and she wanted to give it to me as a present. I’ve never owned even a portable CD-player. There may have been a time when I had an old cassette walkman handed down to me from my sister or parents, but I never used it. But I received the iPod when she came to visit me and am currently listening to it. It’s fun, and tiny, and nice to have music in my ears when I’m alone down here in the computer lab writing and surfing the web. I could turn on one of the Apple computers in the corner and play some streaming radio, but the sound quality of the speakers isn’t very good, and the PCs down here have no sound capability. What I mean to say is, that I’m very thankful for my new piece of technology.
I am, however, a bit wary of the thing. I went for a walk this morning, wearing my iPod, after my dad and sister departed. I went to the bank. I didn’t want to keep both of the earphones in because I wanted to listen to the city. On my way back I met a stranger on the sidewalk. (Roseanne is no longer a stranger.) We walked the Academy together because we didn’t want to stop talking. She works there, and I had nothing pressing to do otherwise. I, of course, had turned the music off and was listening to her while we talked, but it occurred to me part-way through our conversation that I would have missed her completely if I had both phones in my ears and the volume cranked up. She had made a comment about dogs on the corner of the sidewalk, and I quickly made a friendly comment in passing. We met because I simply overheard her and was able to make her smile with a joke. You cannot respond to people if you never listen to them in the first. Response is as important as initiation in our relationships with people. Philip the evangelist, to use a minister of the gospel as an example, simply responded to what he had heard the Ethiopian reading on the roadside (ref. Acts 8:25-40).
The newborn iPod culture is a bit concerning. When I left Roseanne and walked along the water at the Academy I put both buds in my ears and whispered the lyrics as the songs played. On my way back to the College I passed a runner who also had earphones on, and we walked past each other without any interaction beyond a glance. We were totally apart. Even if I had raised my voice to say, “Hey, wait,” she would have continued on her path, thinking that I was not addressing her but singing the lyrics to my own songs. Anything short of grabbing her arm would not get her attention off of her song, and I was the same way as I walked along.
I am thankful for my new iPod and all the enjoyment I expect to have listening to worship music as I walk and work at the offices, etc., but I am wary of the self-involved syndrome I see in this generation. I want to listen to their voices. I want to hear what they have to say. I want to get the rhythm of the heartbeat of this people and respond appropriately. (And this isn’t to say anything of hearing the Spirit of God. If you read that story of Philip I referenced in Acts you will find that he heard the instructions of the Holy Spirit before he ever heard the Ethiopian.) As much as God has “made my mouth like a sharp sword” (Isaiah 49:2), I have heard His voice calling me by name to serve Him in this world. May we never stop listening to God, and may we never stop listening to what our fellow humans have to say. To forsake either would be to set ourselves apart, not as holy but as divorced from part of our purpose, when truly we are made to be in communion and fellowship with both according to the Word of God.
4 comments:
A wise lesson, dear coregroupie, and one that God has been teaching me this past week on the mission field. Instead of picking up a book and ultimately distancing myself from my brothers and sisters in Christ, God has been urging me to reach out. Thanks for the reminder. *huggles*
AMEN!!! I feel the same way about the iPod generation. I sort of accidentally broke my even-tinier 512MB iPod earlier this summer (trying to take it apart, which I eventually did. . .the going back together part was harder, somehow), and I don't miss it. I don't miss the anonymity and privacy it gave, because it's not something that I need! And I agree, we need to learn to listen and interact better. Thanks for your post, and welcome back to the states!
Also, I'm joining your ranks as an RA this coming fall. . . that's a story of pure praise. I'll have to tell you about it (or, you can read it on my blog). :D
All things in moderation......
Not all things.
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