The Importance of Being Persistent

For the last couple of days I have been lethargic like you wouldn't believe. To make the long (and rather unpleasant) story short: I was accosted by severe motion sickness returning home via a bullet-shaped metal bird, which also scrambled my sleep patterns, in turn bequeathing me with a cold. The ultimate result was a woman with a complete lack of motivation to do anything at all.

When my sleep patterns are disturbed, everything is disturbed. This is primarily due to the fact that the human body operates by a series of patterns and balances. When these systems are skewed, exciting little dysfunctions like insomnia arise. My insomnia probably finds its cause in a hormone called cortisol, a stress hormone that activates a state of liveliness.

This oh-so-scientific graph (notice the sarcasm) depicts how cortisol levels ought to behave in a perfectly normal adult human being. It begins rising in a steep incline at about 6am, peaking at 9am or so. From that point onwards, it drops. Thus, by the individual's bedtime, it's back down to its low, nighttime levels. Each person requires some semblance of this process in order to become alert and active throughout the day.

The incredibly scientific graph (again, sarcasm) changes a little bit for teenagers and young adults. During and shortly after the pubescent years, the activity of all the growth hormones in the body take precedence over the maintenance hormones. Thus, the teen graph looks more like this:

In this graph, cortisol rises to its peak much later and reaches its low point much later as well. That is why you're likely to find your resident teen sleeping long after the cock has crowed and awake many hours after everything of a sensible nature has gone to bed. Shifted though it is, this pattern is still natural and completely acceptable (even if it may not be compatible with today's public-school start times).

Now, my cortisol map (just about as scientific as the first two) looks like neither of the former graphs. Its activity (with the regular levels superimposed in blue) looks more like this:

As you can see, it never really peaks. It just kind of slumps itself to a barely functioning level, and then oozes slightly downwards. In comparison to where it ought to be, it's much too low in the morning, and much too high in the evening. Hence my problems sleeping (at bedtime, cortisol levels are still telling my body to be somewhat active) and motivating myself during the day (because, although too high at night, it isn't quite stimulating enough at daytime).

Thankfully, the human body is equipped with more than one stimulating agent. This other hormone is adrenaline, and it kicks in when the body is prompted to sudden action by an outside stressor. At least, that's how it's supposed to work.

Unfortunately, in my off-balance body, adrenaline fulfills the role of primary stimulant. This means that instead of receiving quick spikes when needed, I'm basically running on adrenaline all the time. The silver lining to this dysfunctional raincloud is that when I'm at school, at work, or with friends, I have the energy to behave like a human being. The downside is that when I'm on a break (without anything to stimulate the adrenaline reaction), I'm basically a breathing vegetable.

There are steps I can take--am taking--in order to correct the cortisol imbalance in my body. Physical health was not really the point of all this anyway. The woe-begotten tale of my neurological predisposition to lethargy functions as an unfortunately necessary precursor to what I really want to talk about: the importance of persistence. So here we go!

I like to think about how to change the world. I also like to throw myself "what-if" parties about the things I could do were I to get enough sleep. Once I get over myself, however, I like to read about people who did make a positive impact on this biosphere we call home. Men and women such as Jim and Elizabeth Elliot, Winston Churchill, Mother Teresa, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Eleanor Roosevelt, George Washington, Martin Luther, Margaret Thatcher, and St. Augustine of Hippo are my heroes. But I think that my favourite world-changer of them all is William Wilberforce.

This man lived in late-18th/early-19th century England, in an era when the slave trade still existed and prospered. Cruelty, not just to people with different coloured skin, but to all the lower classes, and to animals as well, was common, accepted, and enjoyed.

It wouldn't be fair to say that William Wilberforce recognized all this and condemned it from the outset. Really, it isn't quite fair to hold him up as a beacon of everlasting persistence--as I'm attempting to do--because he didn't protest the cultural cruelty in the beginning, and he wasn't consistent and determined. He did, however, become so.

That isn't to say that he wasn't ambitious or accomplished. The young Wilberforce did well in school and became the youngest MP in Parliament at the tender and minimal age of 21. He was charismatic and well-spoken; effective in his pursuits. But he wasn't exactly responsible. Wilberforce led a rigorous social life that frequently caused him to be reckless in other areas of his life. But that would soon change.

Sometime in 1785, William Wilberforce converted to Christianity. Beginning in a lengthy carriage ride with a childhood mentor by the name of Isaac Milner, Wilberforce became convinced of the truth and importance of the Gospel of Jesus Christ.

Soon afterward, he noticed the horrors that his culture had adopted as habitual and formed two goals:

1. The Reformation of Manners
2. The Abolition of Slavery

In other words, he wanted to transform his culture into one that observed virtue and praised it, and he wanted to free the downtrodden from their unjust oppression.

Do you know, dear reader, why William Wilberforce was such a remarkable man? It's not because he was the youngest MP in Parliament or because he was so eloquent. William Wilberforce is a man of note because he set two impossible goals and saw them both fulfilled in his lifetime and by his hand. You can probably guess how.

Sheer persistence.

To accomplish the first, Wilberforce installed habitual excellence into his life. He was already a well-known and well-liked fellow, being so publicly active; people watched him. So, he gave up all but a few of those clubs that were so popular back then in which men indulged themselves in all manner of talk. Instead of meeting with other politicians to socialize after church, as was common, he went home to his family and made it a point to be involved in his children's lives. He treated everyone he met, whether beggar, servant, or nobleman, with love and civility. Others began to follow his lead. William Wilberforce had effectively made goodness fashionable in a culture that celebrated cruelty.

The second of his two goals: the abolition of the slave trade and the emancipation of slaves, was an even more active and arduous process. Wilberforce worked closely with a group of activists, including Thomas Clarkson, and more loosely with a group of colleagues, including his friend and England's youngest Prime Minister ever, William Pitt the Younger, to outlaw the slave trade and free the slaves of England and her territories. It was grueling, tiresome, frustrating, and frequently fruitless labor. After over three decades of political movement, Wilberforce&Co succeeded in outlawing the trade; three days to the day of his death, William Wilberforce witnessed the Slavery Abolition Act, which banned slavery forever. Through the consistent and sometimes covert actions, Wilberforce paved the way for a revolution in the definition of freedom for mankind.

These days there's a lot of talk about dreaming big and believing in yourself. When I tell myself I can't make a difference, it's not for want of big dreams or self-confidence. It's because I feel limited by my inabilities. I'm predisposed, I say, to lethargy because of my cortisol patterns. I make excuses because of my insomnia, my influence, my past, my present, my future: whatever it is I can get my hands on to explain why I haven't done, or am not doing, anything noteworthy. When I do that, I'm missing the point entirely.

It's not about predispositions or talents or even obstacles. It's the ability to persistently plug away towards the finish line that really matters. That sort of passion and determination is what pushed Wilberforce. That's why he succeeded.

One thing that I left out of my regrettably abbreviated biography of William Wilberforce was his poor health. From the early childhood, Wilberforce was a fragile individual, predisposed to illness with poor eyesight and a failing constitution. He suffered from these ailments, and more, all throughout his life. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, one of the most influential men in the world was also one of the most diseased. Take heart, there's hope for us yet.

There's always something that will try to stand in your way. To employ the cliche, there will always be mountains. But those can't stop a person who persistently keeps going. Like adrenaline, big dreams and big belief are important to get you started, but just like the cortisol that wakes you up everyday without fail, only consistent and determined action will lead you to succeed.

So my friends, take a page from Wilberforce's book: walk with God, a chip on your shoulder, and all the persistency you can muster. "The world stands aside to let anyone pass who knows where he is going."  

Best wishes,
Nicole

P.S. There's a biography called William Wilberforce by William Hague, and one called Amazing Grace by Eric Metaxas that you really ought to read if Wilberforce interests you, and he should, because he was clearly one of the most incredible men to walk this earth.

Be Authentic. Be Vulnerable. Connect, and be Powerful

How do you convince someone of a difficult truth that he or she doesn't want to hear? The key lies in connection. I'm not particularly good at connecting with other people, however I grudgingly recognize the ever-growing importance of writing, speaking, responding, and persuading other individuals, groups of individuals, communities, nations, and even the world as a whole. The ability to bridge the gap between yourself and another individual, or between two individuals outside yourself, is one of the most important skills in today's ever and inter connected world.  Despite the truly global World Wide Web and the pervasive social media networks ever present in our society, true connection is just as difficult as ever. What an oxymoron.

A huge component of connection is authenticity. I'm currently in the process of composing an essay that I think is unbearably boring. The prompt is uninspiring, and quite frankly I don't think the professor has any interest in reading forty of these papers. In this instance, the lack of authenticity is twofold: the prompt in this assignment is, from my admittedly flawed perspective, inauthentic, and that is the cause of my professor's failure to connect to his student (me). Additionally, I am having unending troubles in my attempt to make that piece something that has at least a semblance of importance to anything at all.

I have put nothing of myself in this assignment. Those are my words, certainly, but I have failed to connect with anyone in this essay because whatever those words say, my apathy ensures that they are not from me. I hope I never have to do that again. The outcome of whatever I do is always better if I've done it as though it mattered. 

Authenticity is absolutely essential, but when it comes to connection, I've learned that very few qualities bridge a chasm better than vulnerability.

And guess what.

I hate being vulnerable. 

Even the lesser cousin of vulnerability--debt--is incredibly uncomfortable. I hate feeling as though I am at the mercy of another individual who may or may not choose to extend forgiveness, compassion, clemency. If ever I can help it, I never choose to make myself vulnerable. 

Or at least, I never used to. Delivering yourself into the mercy of someone else doesn't have to be as dramatic as it sounds. It is simply an apology for something that possibly could have been ignored, sacrificing your own dignity for the sake of another person's comfort, saying "I love you" first. Why is this all so hard? That last one especially. Have you ever noticed that? Maybe it really is just a personal struggle in this instance, but I had to teach myself to say that to people before it was said it to me. Why is it? Because it demanded a level of uncomfortable exposure, and as animals--sentient animals, but animals nonetheless--we don't like that!

Is it possible, that a position of vulnerability, with weaknesses exposed, is one of the most powerful of the human conditions? It seems like a counterintuitive and oxymoronic suggestion. But it is true in the sense that exposing one's weakness, or putting oneself in a state of vulnerability, creates unprecedented empathetic connections and opens up channels with other people that were previously closed.

Vulnerability just requires a risky action to benefit another person--or multiple people--with no guarantee of any reciprocity whatsoever. Unconditional love... now what does that sound like? 

As usual, Christ is the greatest example. "For one will scarcely die for a righteous person--though perhaps for a good person, one would dare even to die--but God shows his love for us in that, while we were still sinners, Christ died for us" (Romans 5:7-8). We were still sinners; we were not righteous. There was no reason at all for Christ to die. Yet he allowed himself to be vulnerable, put himself into the hands of unrighteous people whom he knew would beat him and kill him, and he said "I love you" first. 

Mankind is saved by the power of Christ's vulnerability. And because of it, we have the opportunity to love him too. For that fact, I have only a single word: wow. 

Best wishes,
Nicole

I've been up all night: please forgive me

Please forgive us insomniacs.

Do you know any? We're the ones who remain awake during dusk and dawn. We're the ones who sometimes forget what sleep is. We're the ones who often remember exactly what it is, and how long it's been since we've had any. We're the ones who have counted the stains on our ceiling, or the cinderblocks on our walls. We're the ones who intimately know every   single   second   of the darkness of the night.

We're obsessed with sleep. Please forgive us.

None of my friends have ever vocalized it--probably because they pity me and don't want to make it worse--but I know that they are annoyed by my obsession with sleep. They are good to me in that way. But I still get the sense that I bring it up a little too often for their liking. That's what happens: the more you love something, the more your friends hate it because you can't help but talk about it and it's a nuisance. I know it is. I try to be aware of my audience.

However, sleep is a fascinating beast; I love it, though it spurns me. I've read articles from the science journals, read all the wikipedia pages, listened to all the TED Talks, written about my research, studied the physiological and psychological effects of my own experiences. There is little else to do in the night.

A friend recently asked me whether my sleeplessness was affecting my grades. She expected that it would improve my GPA. I wish she were right, but that's just not how it works. My grades haven't suffered yet, but that doesn't say anything about the quality of my work. When any person achieves a sub-par amount of sleep (7hrs or fewer), his/her ability both to consume and produce slows. I've noticed this.

Insomnia necessitates absentmindedness, confusion, forgetfulness, lethargy, irritability and sometimes rudeness. If you have the misfortune of knowing an insomniac who is also an introvert, your endurance of these effects is multiplied because the lack of sleep just intensifies the need for withdrawal. It strains relationships; we get that. Often, when you generously extend your encouragement or advice, we reject you. We are broken and difficult creatures, please forgive us. Though we rarely accept your help, your patience with us does not go unnoticed; I assure you.

You see, I only have the audacity to beg your forgiveness because I know that many of you have forgiven us, do forgive us. I have received much grace from you; you who know what it is to go to bed and get out of it seemingly minutes apart even though you have traversed the space of an entire night. It's like time travel.

This is not my best piece of writing. It's probably not my worst but it probably comes pretty close. I've been up all night. Please forgive me.

Best wishes and sweet dreams,
Nicole

Heroes Such As These

Sometimes a person will make a really bad decision and stay up until 1:30am the night (or rather, the morning) before she has to get up at 6:00am. Sometimes that works out really, really poorly for her.

But sometimes, only sometimes, it is utterly worth whatever might follow.

You see, I stayed up until 1:30am last night (this morning...ick) talking to a friend and the consequence of that conversation was not only the dang-blasted exhaustion I face today, but also an intense dose of hope and joy.

This same friend had invited me to her house over the weekend, and I had the privilege of meeting many of her family and friends. Last night, she told me a story about one of the women whom I encountered. Hebrews 11:38 describes heroes of the faith as people "of whom the world was not worthy." After I had heard this woman's story, I believe that I can honestly say that I have had the honor of meeting one of these people in the flesh. I don't know names, so I won't use them. Really, we only have five characters: Mama, Daddy, Doctor, Baby Boy, Little Brother, and Jesus. Here is their incredible tale of faith:

If you've ever seen the movie Up, you've seen an animated depiction of what miscarriage does. Imagine that you are that couple in real life. Imagine that nine times over. Mama gave birth to a son successfully the first time, but following him, she suffered nine incomplete births. The last one, Baby Boy, she actually delivered without issue.

Except there was a mistake.

A horrible mistake.

Doctor's mistake.

Because of this mistake, Baby Boy only lived in the air of this world for about half an hour. Then he went to be with Jesus.

For Mama and Daddy, this was the all-too-familiar grief suffered by the parents of another lost child. For Doctor, this was the grief of causing that loss.

What was that moment like? I can't even imagine. To lose your children one after another inside your own body, and then lose another outside your body because of the preventable mistake of the very person whose job it was to introduce your child to life--it's a horror story I never want to hear.

But this is not a horror story. This is not that story. This story has a different ending.

Mama became pregnant again. Perhaps they had already decided their course of action were this to take place. Perhaps the question presented itself only when their next pregnancy did. Either way, at some point they had to ask: What do we do?

Decision made, Mama and Daddy went to Doctor.

We forgive you, they said to Doctor.

We want you deliver this child, they said to Doctor.

What it was that went through Doctor's head and heart at that moment, what it was he said to these parents is not for me to know or speculate. All I can know is that the decision of this couple is such a clear reflection of Christ's selfless, αγαπη, love that it blinds me through physical tears in my eyes and the metaphysical magnificence of its beauty.

A few months later, Little Brother was born. He is the youngest of only 2 children on this earth, but truly the loved littlest of Mama and Daddy's 11.

What faith

What forgiveness

What trust in Christ Jesus that couple displayed to lay aside any thought of themselves or of bitterness from the past

What divine love.

The kingdom belongs to such as these.

Best wishes,
Nicole

Gratitude vs. Sacrifice: A Response

Ms. Voegtle over at The Haven of Expression wrote this piece on Psalm 50 last month. This is a response.

The God Who Does Not Need

I won't try to summarize her arguments--go read them for yourself--but for the purpose of contextualizing this response, this is her question, and these are her answers:

Why does God prefer an offering of thanksgiving rather than the practice of sacrifices?

• The act of sacrifice was an overt action that expressed a covert attitude.
• No one would claim something that could cost a life if that thing weren't worth the price dearly paid.
• The act of sacrificial gratitude out of one's own free will expresses a thanksgiving that truly honors the Lord.

She derived her arguments from Psalm 50, but sacrificial giving is an ongoing idea present in the New Testament as well. Read Jesus' remarks to his disciples about the widow in Mark 12:41-44:

And he sat down opposite the treasury and watched the people putting money into the offering box. Many rich people put in large sums. And a poor widow came and put in two small copper coins, which make a penny. And he called his disciples to him and said to them, "Truly, I say to you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the offering box. For they all contributed out of their abundance, but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on."

High words of praise from the mouth of God himself bestowed upon none other than one of Israel's lowest and poorest! Why? Because she did as Paul would later command the church at Corinth to do in II Corinthians 9:7, "Each one must give as he has decided in his heart, not reluctantly or under compulsion, for God loves a cheerful giver."

Verse 12 of that same passage highlights a key component about giving: "For the ministry of this service is not only supplying the needs of the saints, but is also overflowing in many thanksgivings to God."

The two purposes of offerings detailed in this verse are the sustenance of the saints, who very definitely need the material provisions of food, water, shelter, and clothing in order to live, and thanksgiving to God. This verse explains the importance of giving cheerfully emphasized earlier. If the gift is not bequeathed with a willing and glad heart, it may fulfill the first purpose, but it will surely fail to meet the second.

At this point it is interesting to note that the polytheistic Greeks and Romans believed that the gods needed them. Not because the gods needed the food of mortals, but because they needed their honor. A god was not a god if nobody worshipped him. The Greek word for this is κλεος (kleos). It is not just honor, but social honor; the reputation one or more of them held among their peers.  So sacrifices for those gods were very necessary—not for sustenance in basic existence, but for sustenance in their status as god.

In contrast to that, the God of the Bible doesn’t need our honor. C.S. Lewis expressed the human effect on the Divine perfectly when he said, "A man can no more diminish God's glory by refusing to worship him than a lunatic can put out the sun by scribbling the word 'darkness' on the walls of his cell." By definition, a "perfect being" is complete in himself. God does not need us.

For that matter, corrupted beings such as we cannot even manage to do good on own own. In Isaiah 64:6, the prophet's supplication for mercy, he described the human condition: "We have all become like one who is unclean, and all our righteous deeds are like a polluted garment." 

So why this call for sacrificial thanksgiving iterated in Psalm 50? What good is the honor of a race whose best act is comparable to filthy rags? What good is our existence and offering to a God who is Perfect in all He does? Why do we still live?

We live because He wants us to live, and as Ms. Voegtle wrote, He wants us to live with thanksgiving. An outward display of faith that costs us something (i.e. sacrifice) shows that we value it enough to risk whatever it is that we are staking. It teaches us to demonstrate in a visible way that God is well worth whatever we could possibly have to give. Unlike the pagan ancients, God required sacrifices of His people for their benefit, not His. Both then and now He asks that we offer thanksgiving--our inadequate gratitude--sacrificially to Him. It is only fitting, it is only natural that the position of highest honor for any man is upon his knees, giving glory to his king. What an honor for us, to be able to honor Him!

Enter his gates with thanksgiving, 

and his courts with praise!

Give thanks to him; bless his name! 

For the Lord is good; 

his steadfast love endures forever, 

and his faithfulness to the generations.

Psalm 100:4-5

Best wishes,
Nicole

 

 

Love In Person

I'm a little bit better at loving from a distance. Like the scientist in his lab, I like to watch, listen, observe, enjoy, learn, and love those around me as though they were my uncomprehending subjects. I rarely reach out to my mentors for comfort, but I do look at the actions of those in similar situations before me. Even when I recognize the craving to speak to someone about some personal affliction, I ignore it.

Now, I'm not a robot. Close up, I'm awkward and floppy and I frequently trip over my own faltering words. But I hate feeling--and more importantly, looking--vulnerable. Call it pride, call it insecurity, the outcome is the same. Distance is usually a relief.

But one of my best friends and confidants is very, very far away from me right now. So far that she's nearly inaccessible. I hate that. The other, too, is about to be much further away than I'm comfortable with, and I hate that too. But it's good.

Because quite frankly, this whole "distance love" thing is selfish. I like my bubble and I like my bubble to be my business. But Christ doesn't call me--or anyone else--to love in my own mind and never express it to the object of that love. That's how a marine biologist loves a sea anemone, not how one human being loves another human being.

Nor, as it turns out, is that how an infinite being--THE Infinite Being--loves a finite being. We don't know why God sent his son to save us. Does an omnipotent superpower need to take on the sin, suffering, and torture of a corrupt world in order to save it? Goodness no! But he did.

Why? The only answer we're given is love. Such love, for the whole world, that a Father who is Love, would send his only Son, whom He loved, into a world that was going to murder Him, in order to save that same world that was going to murder Him, because He loves it. Convoluted, is it not?

And confounding. He could have loved us as an observer: rejoiced at our joy, smiled at our happy curiosity; grieved when we grieved. Instead the Creator shed his almighty form, clothed himself in the skin of his creation and loved us up close. Personally. Uncomfortably. He chose to love in person because he was love in person.

The Great Commission compels us to go into all the world, not hide in our hermit caves. We are called to mimic active love. As the body of Christ I'm supposed to take his perfect message with my messy self into the messy world and deliver it by touching wounds with healing hands, wiping away tears with compassionate fingertips, saving souls with words of truth, and maybe, just maybe, by allowing the world that hates Christ because they don't know Him to steal, kill, and destroy my physical self on account of that message of love that refuses to stay passive and silent.

That is the love of Christ. It is an honor to love like that.

"Go, and do the same."

Best wishes,
Nicole

"This book is dangerous."

That's what I thought when I read the synopsis online. That's what I thought when I picked it up from the library. That's what I thought as I read the opening lines and quickly shut the book again. Two chapters in, I can't help but think it again.

The Bell Jar, by Sylvia Plath, is the first person chronicle of a young girl's experience in a big city. As of only two chapters in, she is unnamed but characterized by her cynicism of the city, of the other girls in her life, and of herself. She has a practiced observer's eye for detail.

I knew a little bit about this book and its author before I began reading. The Bell Jar is supposedly a fictional autobiography (a genre I have just created), which tells the author's story as a fictional narrative, placing made-up characters in her own experiences. I knew that Plath was a poet and a feminist, who suffered from suicidal tendencies and depression throughout her life, and had attempted to kill herself on multiple occasions. I also knew that she succeeded a mere three months after the publication of the very book that lies beside my computer right now.

That knowledge made me wary, but in actuality, the trepidation that grips me as I considered this book is tripartite.

The first is Sylvia's soul. From what I've read about her, depression, cynicism, and suicide followed her relentlessly. The theme of hopelessness pervaded her life. The second is Sylvia's tongue. The words I read on the pages of The Bell Jar undoubtedly sprung from a gifted writer. Plath's words are sculpted and captivating, and therefore powerful. I knew from that cursory glance at her opening sentences that it would be difficult to stop myself from reading, once I'd begun. This was a woman who knew her way around the English language. The third is nothing other than my own soul. I know the power words have on me. Plath used the beautiful vessel of her words to convey the writhing mess inside her soul. And good on her for doing it! But do I want to allow such hopelessness, regardless of the way in which it is expressed, to enter my own being? I am not invulnerable; that scares me. This book is dangerous.

I am only two chapters in. But already I have been captured. I have no conclusion yet; that will come later, and we will see what it brings.

Best wishes,
Nicole

Postmodern Architecture

Guys, I'm gonna be an architect.

Not really. My base in geometry is far too meager to allow me to go into the field, despite my genuine interest in the design of buildings. But recently I was privileged to receive a guided tour of the constructions around Chicago's Elevated Loop, affectionately dubbed "The L" by locals and Hollywood movies. Chicago, of course, is one of the greatest architectural cities in the nation, but the Chicago that we see today, due to the great fire of 1871 that utterly destroyed the downtown area, is not the original version. For that reason, it is sometimes called "The Second City." Many of Chicago's most unique and most impressive buildings literally rose from the ashen remains of one of America's fastest growing cities. Some of these buildings are world-famous icons such as the Sears Tower (because nobody calls it Willis; even our tour guide used its original name), some, like the Trump Tower situated on the bank of the Chicago river, are statements of wealth, power, and prestige, and others are just plain weird:

 

This parking garage is designed to look like the grill of a Rolls-Royce

Embarking on this tour as an architectural ignoramus, I had to familiarize myself with some of the styles and general terms experts use when they talk about buildings. As explained by our most-knowledgable guide, the Art Deco style is very linear, often tall and geometric. 

The Chicago Board of Trade building exemplifies the Art Deco style. Everything about it is linear, up to the Oscar-like statue of Ceres (the Roman goddess of grain) adorning the pinnacle. 

Next is the Neo-Classical style: its buildings are essentially throwbacks to the ancient constructions of the Greeks and Romans. The thought behind it was that public buildings ought to have that sense of grandeur and antiquity that the Neo-Classical style exuded. 

Columns, arches, symmetrical design, and the peaked pediment creating a prominent main entrance identify the Art Institute of Chicago as a Neo-Classical building. 

The third style of architecture to which I was introduced that day was the Modern. This style is easily recognizable by its abhorrence of decoration. The buildings are frequently black or chrome, rather rectangular, and practical. 

Just because the building is largely without decor doesn't mean that it can't be striking. The Sears (Willis...whatever) Tower is a prime example of Modern architecture. 

Naturally, following the Modern is the Postmodern. In the words of our guide, Postmodern buildings are a reaction to both their Modern predecessors, and their neighborhoods. Postmodern buildings are characterized by decorations and details that double the buildings around them. 

This building is the Harold Washington Public Library. As with almost everything else about the city, half of the locals love its eccentricities, the other half think it's hideous. The outside of this building looks old. In fact, it mimics the style of the Home Insurance building next to it: a ten-story, 1880s construction that Chicagoans claim (and several academics agree) is the first proper skyscraper. The library mimics it, but in fact over a century separates the erection of the two structures. The Harold Washington was built in 1991. Looking at a few of its details, the Postmodern style protrudes even more prominently.

Four elements, pictured above in the three images, identify the library as Postmodern. The exaggerated arched windows in the first image are a nod to a nearby building that also features arched windows, though not nearly so inset. The woman's face in the decoration of the center image, which is replicated around the sides of the building, is Ceres: paying homage to the Oscar-like statue adorning the Chicago Board of Trade. The details running above her face are depictions of corn, because as anyone who has been to Illinois in a warm season can testify, corn is absolutely everywhere. The third ornament depicts two faces of men, their cheeks inflated as they blow outwards. One might say they are creating wind. As "The Windy City" is one more of Chicago's monikers, those puffed faces are yet another testament to the library's Postmodernism. 

How I cringed at the cruel depiction of our society in a Postmodern library building. Nevertheless, it is. How fascinating, I thought, that a piece of Postmodern architecture finds its identity not in itself, but in the features of those around it. 

But wait. There's more.

We continued our walking tour, seeing so many amazing things. I never used to like cities, having lived half my life between the ocean and the mountains. But I've grown to love Chicago. What can I say? I like architecture.

The guide stopped us for a few moments and pointed to a massive steel-framed, reflective building rising high above our vantage point. At first glance, or even second, I would have said Modern. Or perhaps a composite of Modern and Art Deco. But I was wrong. 

This is the CitiGroup Center building in Chicago. Would you believe me if I told you that it is a Postmodern structure? It is. By adding the variation of color in the glass and the flowing decorations, called cascades, the architect thrust his building into the Postmodern category. In fact, those cascades, found at the top and bottom of the Center, are nods to the interior of another building, the name of which has unfortunately escaped my memory. Additionally, the reflective material ties the building to both the sky above it and the nearby Chicago river. 

How would anyone look at these two buildings next to one another and say that they were designed in the same architectural style? It amazes me that they are placed in the same category--until I remember that that category is Postmodernism. That's the key. Suddenly it makes all sorts of sense. In Postmodern architecture, as in Postmodernism, there is no single absolute. These vastly different buildings can both represent the same style because that style does not hold to a consistent entity for its attributes: it pulls from whatever it wants in order to create its identity. 

This is not a commentary on the aesthetic of Postmodern architecture. Mulling over the unexpectedly philosophical tour of Chicago's architecture, I recalled many buildings that I found incredibly beautiful, and many of the same architectural style that I disliked. But the Postmodern variety, even as it should have been incredibly obvious, surprised me into bewilderment. I was yet again impressed by how comprehensively an individual's worldview really does shape everything that person chooses to pursue. 

If your worldview were a building, how would it be designed?

Best wishes,

Nicole

An Exploration of Excellence

Here is my question: if we lower our standard so that everyone can be "excellent," will excellence remain excellent?

So here's the thing about standards. They are incredibly important; few will deny that. But they are also among the most malleable concepts we, as human beings, acknowledge. Standards waver individual to individual, family to family, establishments, countries, eras--all have varying standards. These differing standards are based upon differing sources. Some may stand upon tradition, some upon religion, others upon opinion, and still others upon experience. The list continues. In education, athletics, and anything statistical, we speak of averages. Averages, too, are definitionally something of a standard. So where is the source of an average? The answer is quite simple: look around you. Every single person who has ever lived on the planet constitutes a part of some or another average. This simply means that the standard of an average is based upon people. People who are not perfect.

How do we know we're not perfect? Well, there is indeed another standard that reveals man's imperfection. That standard is called the Law of God and it can be conveniently found in the Bible. The law does not make man righteous. It was put in place to reveal man's sin and teach him how to live. Romans 3:20 "Therefore no one will be declared righteous in God's sight by the works of the law; rather, through the law we become conscious of our sin." Some may react to this by flopping down and insisting that it's all hopeless, so why try? The answer is, of course, that it is not hopeless. We can do ALL things through Christ (Philippians 4:8) and we ought ALWAYS to strive for God's glory (1 Cor. 10:31). The Law, though impossible for imperfect man to fulfill, is God's command. Jesus said that if we love him, we will obey his commands (John 14:15). That love of God, ultimately, is our motivation.

So here's the crux of the matter. Man's standard of "average" is flexible and one era's "excellence" is another era's "subpar." But God's standard remains the same. Excellence, in man's eyes, cannot be "excellent" because that definition is constantly shifting. But we can be assured that excellence will always be excellent under God's unchanging, definitive standard.

If you're interested in finding out more about the Law, Biblegateway has a wonderful commentary on Galatians 3 which can be found here: http://www.biblegateway.com/resources/commentaries/IVP-NT/Gal/Understanding-Law

What does excellence mean to you? How often do your standards shift? How do your standards measure up to God's?

Best wishes,

Nicole

Sacrifice

No, it's not Memorial Day. It's not even Veterans day. Today has nothing to do with the military.

Except that it has everything to do with it. The reason I can sit here and type on my computer, the reason I can look outside and see my little sister playing with her friends without danger is because of them. I can live without fear for my life because there are men and women braver than I serving this country every day.

I was just thinking about that today. About sacrifice as well. You see, service to the country is a kind of sacrifice. It is one that I admire because it mirrors the sacrifice of one who has my eternal gratitude and love: Christ Jesus. He, though sinless, faced death for the sins of the world.

So I want to say thank you to those who served, who are serving, and to the families of those who give up time with their loved ones for the safety of this country. Does it have to be a special occasion for a citizen to express her gratitude towards those who protect this country? I don't think so.

So if you know someone who served, give them a hug for me and tell them they are appreciated! And to those who are serving, I pray for your safety and health everyday. May you be ever blessed for your sacrifice!

Why yes, that is a soldier and a kitten. :) I couldn't help it...

Best wishes,

Nicole

Commission

Go speak to a people who may not listen and tell them a truth they do not want to hear. It may be the toughest of tasks, but it is not wholly without instruction. "Behold, I send ye forth as sheep amidst wolves: be ye therefore wise as serpents and harmless as doves." Matthew 10:16

Hello, dearest reader. I am Nicole, though it is not my name. Perhaps you know me, perhaps you are only a future version of me. At any rate, welcome to my creed.

I strive for masterful communication. Imploring one to use the shrewdness of a serpent (or a dragon) and the gentleness of a dove, the Bible verse above teaches the reader how to convey a difficult message to closed ears. What power, indeed, would such a skill render its wielder. For this reason, I have elected to name this exploration of communication Doves and Dragons, hoping that through its exploits I might chase that mastery.

Join me, if you wish, along this journey! Or, if it suits you, do otherwise. Either way I hope you will be blessed.

Best wishes,
Nicole