From Wit’s End

self

I just realized that I haven’t checked my other e-mail address (“ben@” followed by the name of this website) for a while. I just logged into it, and found that I hadn’t checked it in over two months. So for those of you who sent anything to that address recently, please accept my apology for not answering if necessary, as well as my resolution to check it regularly for the duration.

[From back when this blog was on blogger.]

I just enabled the comment feature on blogger, so we will see how it works.
If you want to let me know how you feel, then go ahead, let it all out!
On second thought, hold some of it back…

Also, I’m eyeing the new templates being offered on the Blogger site. Hmm…

I was having such a good time at my birthday party tonight, that I sincerely asked someone across the table who John Kerry was. For some reason the only person that came to mind at the mention of that name was Jim Carrey. Normally I obsessively keep up with the news each and every day, excepting usually most of Sunday. But the cake, lasagna, and conversation were so good around the table with eight good friends, that I achieved temporary complete political amnesia. It was wonderful.

The batteries in my digital camera were dead, so I used one of the disposable cameras left over from the wedding to document the occasion. I’ll post the good ones after I develop them.

Pictures, moving and stationary, professional and amateur, from our wedding reception

	Movie of Dancing!
Movie of Singing!

Here’s the wedding program, the photos are below, and here’s some music, if your connection is fast enough.

Pictures from the night before our big day.

Movies! "All that glitters isn’t glitter" "A 3-point sermon"

Here are pictures, both moving and stationary, from our wedding shower that friends from church threw for us.

We had my best man and our wedding photographer (who happen to be married to each other) over for dessert after church, but this wasn’t just any dessert. You see, back in January when i was just getting to know Rachel, she mentioned that after evening worship on Sunday, her family would break out the ice cream maker and work for their dessert. My mother and i thought this very wonderful and strange at the time, considering that mom had given me an ice cream maker for Christmas just a little earlier without even knowing about such an eventuality. So this was the evening i sprung yet another pleasant surprise on Rachel, by having the salt and the ice and the fixin’s all ready for a warm evening of fellowship and cold sweetness.

“…We live like a tree with the whole strength of the universe…”

[I closed on the refinancing of my house this afternoon, and as i drove back to work, for some reason i felt like i owned a small part of everything i saw while i was driving; it was not an unpleasant feeling. I think it was yesterday that i was reading "Heretics" by G.K. Chesterton when i encountered the following passage, which i can now identify with, and which i continue from the title of today's entry:]

“…The globe-trotter lives in a smaller world than the peasant. He is always breathing an air of locality. London is a place, to be compared to Chicago; Chicago is a place, to be compared to Timbuktu. But Timbuktu is not a place, since there, at least, live men who regard it as the universe, and breathe, not an air of locality, but the winds of the world. The man in the saloon steamer has seen all the races of men, and he is thinking of the things that divide men– diet, dress, decorum, rings in the nose in Africa, or in the ears as in Europe, blue paint among the ancients, or red paint among the modern Britons. The man in the cabbage field has seen nothing at all; but he is thinking of the things that unite men– hunger and babies, and the beauty of women, and the promise or menace of the sky. Mr. Kipling, with all his merits, is the globe-trotter; he has not the patience to become part of anything. So great and genuine a man is not to be accused of a merely cynical cosmopolitanism; still, his cosmopolitanism is his weakness. That weakness is splendidly expressed in one of his finest poems, “The Sestina of the Tramp Royal,” in which a man declares he can endure anything in the way of hunger or horror, but not permanent presence in one place. In this there is certainly danger. The more dead and dry and dusty a thing is the more it travels about; dust is like this and the thistle-down and the High Commissioner in South Africa. Fertile things are somewhat heavier, like the heavy fruit trees on the pregnant mud of the Nile. In the heated idleness of youth we are all rather inclined to quarrel with the implication of that proverb which says a rolling stone gathers no moss. We were inclined to ask, “Who wants to gather moss, except silly old ladies?” But for all that we begin to perceive that the proverb is right. The rolling stone rolls echoing from rock to rock; but the rolling stone is dead. The moss is silent because the moss is alive.

The truth is that exploration and enlargement make the world smaller. The telegraph and the steamboat make the world smaller. The telescope makes the world smaller; it is only the microscope that makes it larger. Before long the world will be cloven with a war between the telescopists and the microscopists. The first study large things and live in a small world; the second study small things and live in a large world. It is inspiriting without doubt to whizz in a motor-car round the earth, to feel Arabia as a whirl of sand or China as a flash of rice-fields. But Arabia is not a whirl of sand and China is not a flash of rice-fields. They are ancient civilizations with strange virtues buried like treasures. If we wish to understand them it must not be as tourists or inquirers, it must be with the loyalty of children and the great patience of poets. To conquer these places is to lose them. The man standing in his own kitchen-garden, with fairy-land opening at the gate, is the man with the large ideas. His mind creates distance; the motor-car stupidly destroys it. Moderns think of the earth as a globe, as something one can easily get round, the spirit of a schoolmistress…
…And under all this vast illusion of the cosmopolitan planet, with its empires and its Reuter’s agency, the real life of man goes on concerned with this tree or that temple, with this harvest or that drinking-song, totally uncomprehended, totally untouched. And it watches from its splendid parochialism, possibly with a smile of amusement, motor-car civilization going its triumphant way, outstripping time, consuming space, seeing all and seeing nothing, roaring on at last to the capture of the solar system, only to find the sun cockney and the stars suburban.”

It’s good to be alive.

[Incidentally, follow these links to read the entire chapter of the book in question.]

John Weaver slept here.

Bill and Kenny…

…With Kevin on drums and Jake on bass.

Rockin’ in the USA!

I just saw Bill and the Boys (a.k.a. VOL) in Greenville, SC tonight. It was rockin’! The show started out with just Bill on stage, then after a few numbers Kenny came on, and then after a few numbers Kevin came up to join them. Then Kenny came down after a few songs, and it was just Bill and Kenny, and then for the encore, ALL FOUR of ‘em were up there. Bill, Kenny, Jake and Kevin! It was GREAT to see them all together again. The last time i saw them all together was at Geneva College in Pennsylvania back in the winter of ’99. I remember at the time that Kevin had only just been with the band for a few days and was still getting his feet wet on all those good tunes. I took a lot of pictures with the ol’ digital camera, and i also captured most of the show on tape as well. I plan to put all this multimedia on CD eventually, and i’ll add you to the growing list of those who want a copy if you let me know. Don’t worry, Bill says it’s okay with him.

Earlier this week Leanne wrote me to let me know that she would be zipping down to the beach from the mountains with some of her friends from high school. Since they’d be passing thru Columbia on I-26, it could be possible to meet for lunch. I hadn’t been down in that part of town for a while, so i told them to meet me at the gas station with the smiley face on the sign (which should have had the slogan: “It’s not a smile, it’s just gas.”) that was off the same exit of I-26 as the airport. Sadly, that establishment had since been bought out by a major chain, so i was left without a rendevous point to rally to. So i parked at the gas station nearest to the exit ramp that i could watch it more easily, and scanned each car that came off of it for a familiar face. I stood next to my car for something like 15 minutes in such a manner, listening to alt-country songs about drinking on the local college station and feeling positively colloquial, when there was a tap on my shoulder. There was Leanne with a greeting, and letting me know that the “76″ gas station just down the road is the one that used to be the Smiley Gas station.

We had lunch at the “Lizard’s Thicket” just down the road. There were introductions and some small talk. Then, as the conversation bifurcated– as is possible in a group of six people — her friends went on talking without us, and we got to say what needed to be said to finish the process of letting “us” go.

It was during the course of this dialogue that i realized my mistake in this particular attempt at approaching relationship. I had used the wrong network. In this phase of the search for my beloved, i had foolishly used a network of wires and servers instead of a network of trust and charity. Now God had had a purpose in all this; he redeemed an individual from spiritual bondage through my selfishness and foolishness. But that doesn’t make my choices and actions at all wise in any respect. No, God managed in his omniscience and omnipotence to redeem His wisdom out of my foolishness, and that is my source of consolation and praise from all that happened in the first three-quarters of this year.

The conversation eventually reunified, and we paid our bills and said our goodbyes. I gave Leanne one of my pictures from which to make a paper cutting, since she enjoys doing that and had asked for it for that purpose. We waved goodbye, and since then we have kept up a sporadic e-mail correspondence and i’ll occasionally call her to check up on her as a big brother would.

A family friend’s humorous take on what we were all dealing with in Leanne’s
situation:

[Leanne continues to tell her side of the story. The following is an excerpt from her journal, which she later typed up and gave me to tell me the whole story. It’s used with her permission. Later notes from Leanne are in italics, and notes from myself are in brackets like this.]

Then this past Tuesday [April 24th, I think] Billy yelled through the house full of kids that we were tutoring, ‘Leanne, your boyfriend’s on the phone.’ Startled, I asked, ‘Which one? – Just kidding,’ hoping Billy would laugh and hand the phoneto me. No, he asked, into the phone, ‘Which one are you?’ I snatched away the phone and found that it was Ben and both his parents. We talked for two hours and Mr. Wisdom asked some very thought-provoking questions, and further convinced me (well, not really, just confirmed what I already knew) that I didn’t have to stay here, that I can leave whenever I want to. The problem is, I don’t have anywhere to go. Billy’s church or a housechurch would be my best bet, but I’d still be excluded and shunned. Not that I really care.”

(Ben, his parents, and I, talked about men who had lost their work due to sin. Jonathan taught that authorities shouldn’t lose their position because of sin, but Judas and Saul both did. See Acts 1:25 and I Samuel 13:13-14. I asked how I was supposed to believe that I could claim to have enough wisdom and knowledge to judge such an important thing, because Jonathan said that we as women could not do that. They showed me II Corinthians 6:14-7:1. I found that I was unequally yoked. Not with unbelievers, per se, but with believers in something else than what I believed in, and I had to leave. Ben’s father explained that as a child of God, I am entitled to what comes along with that: knowledge and understanding of Him. He said that nobody has a right to withhold that from me. He said that on a spiritual level, God deals withus all the same way, and that I have an obligation to follow Him, not my authority, when they contradict, and that I, as a child of God, have the ability to discern the Word of God. That was incredibly wonderful to hear, and so different that I almost didn’t believe it. But it was true.)

[I’m going to let Leanne tell the next part of the story. The following is an excerpt from her journal, which she later typed up and gave me to tell me the whole story. It’s used with her permission. Later notes from Leanne are in italics, and notes from myself are in brackets like this.]

Sunday, April 22, 2001– “Ben knows. How? Ben said he knows Jonathan [the “preacher” at Leanne’s “church”] is the way he is. He said his father picked up on it very quickly… (Sun. A.m. Was the first time he came to church with us… and the last time. Ben and I went on a walk that afternoon) Ben used the phrase ‘show me a way out’ again. He had used it in an e-mail and it struck terror, so I nonchalantly said, ‘Out of what?’ He didn’t answer… Ben asked about Rob. (For some reason, I haven’t figured out why, Daddy likes to tell other prospective guys about the Rob episode.) I was pretty vague and just said that Daddy had told him what he told Ben. Me and Rob had worked out our doctrinal differences, but Daddy decided that it was the two of them who had to agree. That didn’t make Ben very happy… He informed me that he knew what the family situation was like and that it was obvious that Mama and Daddy didn’t get along. He also said he knew about our church being like it is, that his dad suspected it immediately. I asked how, and he said because

1. Of the isolation,
2. only one elder,
3. Jonathan’s obviously a dominating choleric (from hearing the tapes).

I agreed that all three were a problem. He asked if I could leave and I explained that the only way to work it, that I had come up with after eight years of thinking, was that I’d have to convince somebody to join the church, then after a few years leave together. But nobody had been willing to do that, for which I don’t blame them. Ben was very angry by the time we got done, which was like two hours later…

Anyway, me and Ben walked back toward the house discussing ‘ways out’, and he honestly thinks that I shouldn’t be forced to stay at a church against my conscience. He showed me where anything not of faith is sin, and that if it went against my conscience to sign the Covenant and be a member, it’s wrong. He said we should obey God rather than man. We walked up the driveway and I told there was no possible way I could rebel… Before, while we were talking, he wanted to know exactly why the church split (apparently Daddy mentioned it– for some reason) and the details surrounding the event. I told him I would not say. He asked
if I thought it was gossip and I said I didn’t think so, but that the others in the church would, so he wouldn’t hear it from my mouth. I think that irritated him… (Eventually of course, I did tell him.)

On Easter Saturday, I visited Leanne’s house again. We went on an outing to Bob Jones University, where we saw the so-called “Living Gallery” theater production, which is apparently a BJU Easter tradition. We also walked through the Art museum there, which i’m told is one of the largest collections of sacred art in the world. We had a great time, bantering and gallivanting about in a most pleasant fashion. I once again had dinner with the family, and was quite peculiarly invited to stay the night and go to church with them in the morning. I politely declined, since I had church obligations of my own to fulfill as part of the choir. The next morning I sat in the choir loft in the morning service feeling a tremendous peaceful sense of being in the midst of Divine Providence. Could she be the one? I wasn’t sure but we got along so well that I couldn’t see how our minor differences could stay between us for long. But I had only spied the tip of the iceberg at that time, and before I could change course, I eventually saw that I was duty-bound to run into it…

In between e-mail, eating, work, and sleep, I applied myself to my GRE study book most vigorously, particularly the logic portion of the book. Today, on my brother Tom’s birthday, I took the test for the second time. “There, that’s a little better than last time,” said I when I saw my new scores…

…That studying of the Analytical type of questions paid off, and no error. Satisfied with these scores, I filled out the pre-registration form for Georgia Tech’s Distance Learning Master’s Degree Program on the internet and received the registration packet a few days later. In the ensuing weeks, I gradually filled out all the forms and wrote the essays, etc., Watching warily as the days went by all too quickly and the deadline of May 26th loomed closer…

On Palm Sunday, Leanne and her parents came to visit us and to attend the evening service at our church, at which the choir sang the Easter portion of Handel’s Messiah. As is typical, there was a fellowship dinner afterwards in the Family Life center. Conversation proceeded on a polite tack, until everyone was done eating. My father said to Leanne’s parents that they were welcome to come to our church anytime they liked. Her father reacted strangely, saying that they liked their church, too, and that coming to First Presbyterian might not happen that often since they would have to get permission from their pastor first.

Well, we Wisdoms were mildly nonplussed at such a reply, and we moved the conversation on to other things. Of course, later we understood why he said what he did.

Well, things were looking mighty good, so I went to their house that Saturday. When I arrived, Leanne’s mom asked me how the drive was. I was inspired; I answered: “Well, it’s a pity. There’s not much to see between here and Columbia. Just a lot of pine trees, mostly. But I kept seeing these strange protest signs all along the way.” She took the bait: “Protest signs?” “Yeah,” I answered, “All these funny bright orange protest signs that said ‘END CONSTRUCTION’!” (Rim Shot)

The day went well. We played chess and walked about the countryside talking about all manner of things. I took pictures using the digital camera I had bought for the previous weekend. There was a bit of awkwardness when things regarding her past life were brought up, but I figured patience was the best policy. We had a most pleasant dinner with the whole family, and I took the opportunity to invite them all to my church for the next weekend, when the choir would be singing the Easter portion of the Messiah. We sung a few hymns out of the “Sacred Harp” Shape-Note songbook after the dishes were cleared, as was the family custom.

Having a acquired a bit of an affection for Leanne, and having a desire to do things properly, after dinner that evening i drew her father into the study and asked him if i could court his daughter. He said “No”, because i believed in “sprinkling babies”, covenant theology, and didn’t believe in the exclusive use of the KJV. We discussed that bit of foolishness for a few minutes, and I said I was sure there was a solution to the disagreement that would work out to the satisfaction of everybody’s consciences. Then, in a most confusing turnabout, he said i was welcome back if i wished to visit again. I left the house in a great state of perplexity. As i drove home to Columbia, in the dark i picked out one of the tapes in the holder between the seats to listen to on the way home, and just happened to pick out a particular tape of the radio show "Thistle & Shamrock", which just happened to be about all different aspects of love, courtship and heartbreak. The clock rolled to 12:01am, and it was officially April Fool’s day.

In late March, she invited me to meet her and her family at a Shape-Note Singing the next Saturday in Carrollton, GA (west of Atlanta). Shape-Notes are an old style of musical notation that originated in the Appalachian mountains that make it easy to learn to sing in open harmony. We sung, had a potluck lunch downstairs, and then sung some more. Afterwards I was invited to Grandma’s house on the other side of Atlanta, and i hit it off with the family pretty well. As I sat there in the living room of a perfect stranger, talking to people who were all related to each other and didn’t know me from Adam, the title of the next poem I knew I was going to write came to me: “How did I get here?” (That phrase planted the seed of a poem in my head that germinated over the course of the next few months.) The parents invited me to their house on the outskirts of Greenville, SC for the next Saturday.

One of the other reasons I didn’t sleep all that well for the first half of the year was that I was typing a whole lot. Leanne and I were corresponding in a fast and furious fashion. All throughout February and March not very many days went by that didn’t have e-mail flowing both ways in a free and generous manner. Along with all the activities I was involved with in the evenings, I would come home and sit at my computer and respond to her latest e-mail, many nights staying up until midnight to finish entering my responses and questions.

As time went by we found we had an extraordinary amount of thoughts, feelings, and incidental interests in common. During the course of this ongoing conversation, a few minor theological differences popped up– she was a Baptist, I was a Presbyterian; she considered the King James translation of the Bible to be the only valid translation, and I believed that there were many translations of the Bible that could be profitably used, though were all imperfect relative to the original languages. For a few minutes these differences gave me pause, but she was a most engaging conversationalist and we got along so well, I put these qualms on the back burner and concentrated on being friendly and getting to know her better. Eventually I learned that I was one of about 500 replies to her ad that she had received, and after about two months, i was one of only a few left that she was still writing to.