My flesh likes the easy answers, so these self-markers usually suffice, but every once in a while I look at them too hard and am weary. Another email this morning, from another professor, which wound somewhere along the lines of, "Outstanding evaluation paper! Would you mind if I posted it as an example for the class?" I was polite and grateful in my reply, but I wanted to attach a bulleted list of fallacies in said paper, the soft logic and brash leaps. Did you happen to notice the content, sir, ma'am?, or have my decisive statements claimed another victim? Is this a judgement of the arguments, or an acquiescence to the neat touch of irony at the end? Because I always smile, for everyone.
So much glitter, surface excellence. Sometimes, although the honest prospect is terrifying, I yearn for them to see beneath the nice front, to hear the ugly, hollow woosh and sigh that only human hearts - that I, in all my stratified selfishness - commit. Not because I have some desire to be known, or something else that assumes there are things worth knowing there, but because then I think I would feel less hypocritical, smell less like formaldehyde.
Apologies...in the post-summer funk, that awful, reverberating dullness that happens every year when I leave the tangible, fruitful, crazy-busy goodness of camp for a world of half academic hubris and half sloughing through waste for a piece of stamped paper. I nearly quit school every fall, to go pass out rice in Uganda or teach English in China or talk to students in Johannesburg, just do something that is measurable and good and not centered around myself. (Although doing things for that reason wouldn't actually be any less selfish, but...you understand. Argh.)
Also have been convicted of a few pervasive idols in my life over the past month or so, things that have been suspect for some time and I've just been ignoring. But I have confessed it now, said it all aloud, and just that acknowledgement is usually enough to keep me alert. Sometimes it is hard, especially waking up in the middle of the night, cold and terrified, to keep from turning to those thoughts - so easy! - and letting them lullaby me back to sleep. But then there are afternoons like this past one, riots of yellow lights and More on the radio and the sun behind opaque clouds, where He has painted love across the sky in every word I know. That reckless personalization - of the whole universe, and for me - breaks my heart every time. He is enough, so ridiculously enough, and everything else is threadbare next to His grace.
Just talking now, and I have other papers to write before midnight. Sorry to rant again.
To my friends who keep saying simple, wise things, thank you. I apologize for the mix of "oh, fine" and ridiculous theory-of-my-life I unleash on you every time we talk. You are much better than I will ever be able to say, and I am blessed to have you.
