Epicenter

I don't know if you guys heard, but there was a crazy storm in NJ while I was up in Syracuse this past weekend. For this last week, many businesses, schools, and homes have been without power (one of my buddies didn't have power from Saturday - Friday) for a while. Thankfully, I've been able to avoid much of the power loss (I had power when I got back home Sunday night). However, my center was not so fortunate - I didn't work Monday and Tuesday. Awesome - no sarcasm, really.

Anyways, since I came across some free time (you know, because I didn't have much of that before. . .), I decided to finally clean my room. For those readers who are unfamiliar with my room: imagine a thief ransacked your entire room for a furtively hidden silver dollar. Twice. After laundry day, maybe 15 times. At least that's how it's been described to me by pretty much anyone who has at least peeked into it.

Fools. See, here is the exception to the law of entropy that everyone overlooks (it may or may not hold up in a scientific applications): If you leave an item somewhere, it will remain there unless you move it. We'll call it John's Law. The reason, besides laziness, that I don't clean my room is because of this law. If I already know where everything is, why do I need to follow a structure where I do more work to put an item back in place so that I'll know where it is next time even though I can put it anywhere and know anyway? (It's a rhetorical question full of flaws and assumptions - please don't dominate me). As someone who values practicality over aesthetics (except on girls), I just don't see the point.

Naturally, when I came across John's Law, I tried to apply it to people. Because that's what I do. I sit (lie) here alone and think about people. Creepy and ironic. The social application of John's Law really peeved me. As a ridiculously self-centered/absorbed individual (I have a blog - red flag #1), it really annoyed me that when I leave a person, his life does not pause. Nor does he stay stagnant, waiting for my return. That really sucks. "You are not a moon in my life!?"

To constantly move towards an end that may be different from everyone else in your life. Sentence fragments. It's a terrifying thought that all the people for whom you have so much positive emotion may be nothing but tangential, transient, passer-bys.

Optimist?

Recently, one of my friends and I have been increasingly noticing differences between the way we view things. He is a pessimist who instinctively assumes/expects the worst; I, on the other hand, am no paradigmatic optimist, but certainly more so than my friend.

My identification as an optimist was a bit of a shock to me because I had never considered myself as such. If anything, I thought I agreed more often with Negative Nancy. However, as I reflected further on my values and expectations, I realized that damn it, I really AM an optimist!

And it's all because of one damn thing. One "trait" (more like illusion) called POTENTIAL. For whatever reason, if I deem that something has "potential," I just cannot give up on it.

Every year since I was a sophomore (junior?) in high school (including, God-willing, this year), I've been participating in fantasy basketball. During the NBA regular season, fantasy basketball becomes the primary deciding factor in my mood; all other things become secondary and tertiary. One look at my team will show any informed fantasy basketball GM that my decisions are overly swayed by potential. "Let's draft the player who's just been traded for being an idiot and is hated by his coach. . . He IS insanely athletic and puts up great per-minute stats" does not bode well for my mood during the fantasy season. And yet, somehow those players supposedly laden with potential end up dying on my roster and eventually in free agency.

This adherence to potential pervades every other facet of my decision-making - Tetris, friends, crushes, etc. Just as I greedily wait for the stick in Tetris when I see how much damage I can do to my opponents, I simply sit around and wait for those whom I've deemed have potential. As a judgmental person who's slightly obsessed with patterns, I can't help but judge people and extrapolate their good and bad characteristics into infinity. If my extrapolation calculates that you are a good fit for me, as a friend or otherwise, it will take many multiples of bad experiences for me to give up on you.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm unsure if I'm an optimist, but I'm most definitely a believer in people, in humanity. Even though I know it's stupid, I bet with bad hands in poker, and I almost never fold. Cashing in on potential makes victory all the more sweet, and I think the friends I have made and the people I meet give me better odds than a 7 Deuce off suit (. . . I think that's the worst hand in poker. . . Not sure).

Oh man, what a cheesy post/ending.

Worship: Re-defined

A few weeks ago, a friend of mine sent me a YouTube clip of a pastor singing a praise song. We talked about (well, more like he told me) how this performance transcends a very good singer singing a very good praise song. This performance (if we can even call it that) was underpinned by a truthfulness, a genuine passion that this pastor has. As my friend put it, "It's powerful because he lives the song. He is not singing for anyone else but God."

This got me thinking about my own worship. As a habitually tardy participant, I often miss out on one of the most important parts - praise. Every facet of my life screams that I do not worship God, and my worship - the part that is supposed to get me back on track - is no exception. Whether it is missing it entirely or getting too caught up in the music, praise (and worship) has gone largely missing from my worship. I need to get it back.

I didn't title this entry "Worship: Re-defined" because I found a new understanding of worship. I titled it such because as a Christian, I am so bone-headed and stupid. I constantly forget the basics and the fundamentals, fancying myself with elaborate deviations and justifications. I need a constant re-defining of my faith. Please pray for me

My Bible

For any Christian, the Bible is a pivotal symbol of. . . well, a way of life. After all, the Bible is a physical manifestation of everything we believe in (two themes come to mind when I say that: how the word is supposed to be our sword, Ephesians 6:17; and how the word symbolizes Jesus, John 1). However, I like to think of it (my physical Bible - getting personal now) as more of a representation of my walk with God.

As clean and sharp as that analogy may sound (and I hope it does), comparing my Bible to my walk does not bode well for me. Throughout the course of my life, I've received more Bibles than I care to remember. I was probably awarded a Bible at least once every two years between the ages of 6 and 18 (God bless Sunday School teachers for trying). I've received study Bibles, mini Bibles (font too small, IMO), truncated Bibles (New Testament only), NIV, King James Version. . . the list continues beyond my memory. However, for some odd reason, probably after being ten Bibles deep, the only one that remains with me is the very first Bible I ever received - a generic black Holy Bible: NIV. It was the very first Bible that I brought to Sunday School as a snot-nosed, English-illiterate brat, and it was the very first Bible on the sides of which I obnoxiously wrote both my English and Korean name, lest anyone try to claim something that's mine as his own.

Over fifteen years have passed since I so boldly marked this book of life as my own - enough time for a fetus to become a freshman in high school - and this book remains, largely like my faith, untouched. Don't get me wrong, the book is absolutely not in mint condition. . . on the outside. However, once you flip past the torn cover and exposed binding, you still see the stiffness of a new book. You can feel it while turning the pages. Whenever I borrow certain other people's Bibles, I am always impressed by how the page flips. I've had the honor of borrowing a few Bibles that belonged to true men and women of God, and it is immediately noticeable: with the turning of each page, the way the paper separates from the stack and turns singularly, you can tell right away that that particular page must have experienced this turning motion hundreds, if not thousands, of times. When I look up verses in my Bible, there is no such feeling. The pages remain stubborn, like a new pair of sneakers.

Maybe I'm crazy for trying to make my Christian life analogous with the physical state of my Bible (although after writing that, it doesn't seem so ludicrous), but I feel largely the same. With the exception of a few retreats, a few mission trips, a few moments of true honesty, I can't say that the pages of my Christian walk have been turned regularly. To some degree, a degree that is higher than I'd like to admit, I am still carrying around my childhood faith. Sure, there have been a few advancements and epiphanies here and there, but nothing with the kind of regularity that relationships are built on. And that's what it is after all, right? A relationship. . .

I think it's time. The stars are lining up (only because God deemed it so, not because I believe in the stars. . .) and the harvest is ripe. By that I mean (by the way, I really don't know what the appropriate imagery would have been) that at this particular juncture in my life, I think it's time I manned up and wore out my Bible. The one that I read, and the one that I live.

So there you have it. Much ado about. . . something. Well, at least. . . something that is possibly something. Friends, randoms, please pray for me. Only God knows how long I'll go (hopefully longer than a week. . .)

welcome

I'll be updating my thoughts periodically on here. Don't look for any kind of set schedule or time-based updates though. Set responsibilities aren't really my jam, so...

Anyways, in case you guy(s) are wondering about the name of the blog:

When I was trying to come up with a name for the blog, I wanted to have [creative adjective]+[creative noun that possibly alliterates (is that a verb?) with the preceding adjective].blogspot.com. Unfortunately, I just could not come up with any kind of noun. At least not any that I feel do justice to encompass my entire being (my blog hopefully will feature all sorts of updates and become a textual embodiment of me). And so, I just went with the adjective that I had been hoping to use: agrestic.

According to dictionary.com, agrestic has two definitions (besides being the original setting of Weeds, the TV show):

1. rural; rustic

2. unpolished; awkward

When I saw this word, I knew I was going to use it right away. Something about the word seemed to be very close with how I perceive the world. Even after 22 years of life in this world, I continuously find myself being simultaneously awed and irritated by so many things (not unlike a countryboy on his first journey to the big city). That is chiefly the reason I started this blog. I want to share my fascinations and my rage-fits.

I decided to not give my blog name a tangible entity (a noun) because I figured it would be easier (and more beneficial) to find a word that describes how I do things rather than a word that describes what I do.

And so, there you have it.

Welcome to agrestic.

PS: The URL is ridiculously long because agrestic was already taken so I put all of definition 2 in the name. Sorry. Hopefully you remember.