A linguistic anomoly. Have you heard the song "You'd Die Too if Nobody Believed in You"? I don't know who sings it. I heard it on the radio in the car.
I'm thinking that post-moderns are focusing more on the journey than the moment of decision or the conversion experience.
I'm thinking that I much prefer dirt roads to high ways because I have a little more time to enjoy the scenery (especially if I'm not driving and I don't have a deadline.)
I'm thinking about little people and what it means to believe.
I'm thinking about when I was little.
I'm thinking about how literal kids are.
I had a reasonable post formulated in my head on the way home this morning at 8 am but I lost most of it before I could write it down. And I shouldn't be writing right now. I'm staring at last night's dishes, partially moved in apartment remains all over my house, my parents are coming in a matter of hours and staying over night so I have to think about food. We prearranged to celebrate Christie's graduation tonight but she's working until after 6 and all of her friends are away or working until 10 so they'll be here late. The squirrels are invading my porch. The woodchuck has discovered my poor excuse for a garden and we don't even live in the country . . . I grew up in the country and this is the biggest woodchuck I ever saw.
(It's true but do you believe me?)
. . . check back on Monday...
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Ah, the "moment vs. journey" debate. A classic! As we all know, a journey often has several significant defining moments, so it's not as clear a dichotomy as I sometimes make it out to be.
ReplyDeleteI tend to favor journey over moment of decision, probably because I cut my Christianity molars in a denomination that emphasized the latter so strongly. There's a line, and you have to cross it to be "in."
The trouble with lines is that you can cross back over them and be "out" again.
The trouble with lines is that they move in relation to your own position, and some days it feels as if the line is still right behind me even after years of journeying since I first crossed it, like some maritime optical illusion.
The trouble with lines is that it's too easy to say to someone else, "You're out."
If I were to drive across the country from California to Maine, there would be several lines I'd cross along the way: Nevada, Utah, Colorado, Kansas, etc. Those lines would be important, but not until I crossed the Piscataqua River from New Hampshire into Maine would I have fully arrived.
I'm not sure what all this means for children, except that Maine is like heaven.