Don't be an Idiot

Michael Scott: “What is the most inspiring thing I’ve ever said to you?"
Dwight Schrute: “Don’t be an idiot. Changed my life.” [To camera] “Whenever I’m about to do something I think- ‘Would an idiot do that?’ And if they would, I do not do that thing.”

More people should take this advice. I’ve become appalled at many of the things I’ve come across in society. Here is a shortened list of what I have deemed my “List of Stupid People”:

• People who play Taserball (Yes. It’s a real thing.)
• People who go on Judge Judy thinking they will look smarter for it
• People who do things that warrant a trip to Judge Judy in the first place
• People who change their name to World Peace (What happens when he dies? All hope is lost? I don’t think he thought this one through…)
• People who think it’s a good idea to ski off a snowboarding ramp on their second time ever on skiis (This may or may not have been me.)
• Girls who wear shirts or hold signs that say ‘Free Hugs’
• People who think it’s okay for their dog to take and eat a tennis ball that is sitting right outside a tennis court where people are currently playing tennis
• People who think cannonballing into a solid ice pool is somehow a good idea
• People who spend hundreds of dollars a month for cigarettes and alcohol (not illegal) yet claim they can’t afford to have car insurance (illegal)
• People who try to open exterior doors with small metal doorknobs in the winter with their mouths (this may or may not have also been me)

As much as those inspiring words were meant to be a joke, I actually see quite a bit of value in them. These words really could change lives. Imagine how many foolish acts could be avoided if we just used our heads a little bit more profitably. Asking ourselves if idiots would do such things. I can honestly say I’ve used this a number of times. It’s not everyday that either Michael or Dwight has good ideas, but let the records show- it has happened. Don’t be idiots.

I have recently discovered I could add another to my list of stupid people. Something that I unfortunately have to own as a prominent description of myself lately: People who say they know God but don’t trust him because they somehow have a better idea about how life works.

Mike and I were talking about this the other night. There are times where we feel close to God and times where we don’t. There are times when we trust God and times when we don’t. On this particular night I was feeling close to God but was struggling with trust. Mike was feeling distant from God but clinging to trust. I asked- How can you trust someone you aren’t close to? His answer opened my eyes to my shortcoming: “Because I know him.”

Four words that hold a very deep meaning. Just the fact that the Creator of the universe and Almighty God allows us to know him is monumental in itself, but knowing the character and nature of that personal God is an immense realization. God is a loving, powerful, sovereign being who has our best interests in his plans. And he is faithful. Oh how he’s faithful. Mike continued: “He has been faithful to me my whole life. When has he ever given me a reason to doubt him?” And that is so true.

Wayne Grudem describes this ability to trust in his Bible Doctrine book: ‘The more we come to know a person, and the more we see in that a person a pattern of life that warrants trust, the more we find ourselves able to place trust in him to do what he promises, or to act in ways on which we can rely.’

If I am going to claim to be close to him or to know him- I can’t NOT trust him. That would be a blatant opposition to the character I would profess to know. I would be stupid to think somehow I’m better off trusting myself. I mean I’ve been known to have a good idea or two, but when it comes to my life’s direction as a whole- what better place to entrust that than the all-knowing Creator of the universe who loves me and has a specific purpose for me.

Right now, my life’s circumstances don’t make it easy for me to trust. There are a lot of uncertainties that seem impossible to ignore. I’ve grown impatient, worried, helpless, and at times hopeless. But maybe God’s just trying to say- ‘You said you know me. Prove it. Don’t be an idiot.’ Well I don’t know if God would say the idiot part, but he definitely would have reason to.

I recently read Max Lucado’s book- Fearless. A lot of that book could be applied to this entry. The root of distrust is fear. Lucado says, ‘Fear corrodes our confidence in God’s goodness. We begin to wonder if love lives in heaven… And it turns us into control freaks… Fear creates a form of spiritual amnesia. It dulls our miracle memory. It makes us forget what Jesus has done and how good God is.’ My confidence in God’s provision and love has been eclipsed by an irrational fear. It has distorted my memory of who God is and his purpose for my life.

J.I. Packer in his book- Knowing God talks about wisdom and how wisdom doesn’t mean we get to know why God does what he does. Wisdom doesn’t mean we get to know what happens next. Rather “God’s work of giving wisdom is… restoring and perfecting the relationship between himself and men… It is not a sharing of all his knowledge, but a disposition to confess that he is wise, and to cleave to him and live for him in the light of his word through thick and thin.”

Because I believe in God’s infinite and singular wisdom, the next logical step is to rest there. Trust there. Leave fear outside. Leave my own ‘control freak’ ideas outside. They are no longer needed.

Psalm 73:25 says, “Whom have I in heaven but thee? And there is none upon earth that I desire beside thee… God is the strength of my heart, and my portion forever.”

Finally a short excerpt from Lucado’s book, a hymn written by Bradford Torrey:

Not so in haste, my heart!
Have faith in God, and wait;
Although He linger long,
He never comes too late.

He never comes too late;
He knoweth what is best;
Vex not thyself in vain;
Until He cometh rest.

Until He cometh, rest,
Nor grudge the hours that roll;
The feet that wait for God
Are soonest at the goal.

Are soonest at the goal
That is not gained with speed;
Then hold thee still, my heart,
For I shall wait His lead.

So yes, the Office boys have given noteworthy advice that can be applied to general life choices (taserball cough cough) and spiritual life perspectives. I think it appropriate, then, to make my 2013 New Year’s Resolution: I’m not going to be an idiot.

Top Ten

I have decided to periodically ask Mike to give me a title for a list and I would blog it (see my usage of the word ‘blog’ as a verb- yup, I’m the real deal). This time Mike gave me the list: Top Ten Christmas Memories. Because I don’t really do favorites and rarely ever stay within my allotted ‘length constraints’ I decided to talk about my memories within ten categories. It’s not cheating, it’s being clever. I know it’s a longer post, so if you don’t care about my life, I guess you can quit reading. Here’s to Christmas and memories!

    1. Decorations:
            My signature Christmas decoration growing up was chains of red and green paper links draped everywhere. It was a waste of staples but glue was messy and seldom worked. Besides, what decoration screams Christmas more than RED and GREEN paper?! Okay, so my decorating skills were lacking the ‘magic’ that true Christmas decorations exude. I think my Nana Corlew wins the Christmas decoration award hands down. Her collection of village houses and accessories were magic. Her display of the village on a bed of decorative snow, lights in the tiny windows, and a reflective ice pond nearby with skaters, was mesmerizing. My siblings and I would always pick out who lived in which house and worked in which shop. Alongside her magical Christmas village were her magical Santa and Mrs. Claus props. Nana had a music box decoration that had Mrs. Claus standing atop it holding a tray of cookies and a candle. When you flipped the switch on music would play and the candle would light up. Nana would have Nathan ‘blow the candle out’ and she would switch it off. Nathan was also intrigued by her Santa figurine. It was a small Santa sitting on a stool whose feet would move up and down toward a small basin. Santa would say “Ohhh, my feet” over and over again. Nathan would sit by Santa and make sure his feet always made it in the basin. Christmas came alive with Nana’s decorations.

    2. Games:
            When the Corlews and Shields families celebrate Christmas (or really spend any time with each other at all), games are played. And games are played. And games are played.  It’s one of my favorite things about Mike’s and my families. Growing up my parents would buy a new game each Christmas for our family to play. We’ve played our share of Taboo, Outburst, Beyond Balderdash, Pictionary, Wicked Word, and 500 (the card game not the football game, let’s be real). We might have 3 tables of 500 going. One of the first things that Rebecca, Mike, and Ryan learned when they started dating us Corlews was that they would need to be able to play 500. And learn they did. It wouldn’t be Christmas without 500. However, Nathan and I couldn’t play 500 when we were younger. To us ‘trump’ was just an abbreviation for a trumpet and the ‘kitty’ was named Patches. Instead we made up our own Christmas game. It was called NFL (Nativity Football League). Very simple to play. You give each character of the Nativity scene a point value- Jesus of course was the highest. Then with a paper football you kick it toward the Nativity knocking down what people you could and award points accordingly. It occupied us many a 500 game.

    3. Snow:
            Christmas without snow is like Christmas in Arizona. (Can I get an Amen!) We sure loved our time in Arizona, but I don’t know how kids do Christmas there without snow forts, sledding, and snowball fights. The Corlew kids were masters of the snow forts. Lucky for us we lived close to “The Hill” which was the pile of snow the plows created at the high school from plowing all the city streets. We spent many hours digging and maneuvering snow to create ‘intricate’ snow tunnels and caves. Or ramps for our sleds. If we wanted to keep the fun closer to home we would make piles of snow and jump into them either from our old van that had a ladder on the back (would not recommend this) or from our front trees. A couple years ago I had my tonsils out and couldn’t be outside for very long because of the cold. It was better this way though because I got to just watch Barkley try to walk through the 20 inches of snow, Joel pummel Abby into the snowbanks, and my parents shovel the driveway.

    4. Food:
            I don’t know about your family Christmases, but at the Corlew house there were at least 20 containers of Christmas goodies on the porch. I don’t really have a favorite Christmas cookie (go figure) but I do remember making sugar cookies with my mom. We would take turns pressing the cookie cutters into the dough. Then we would wait patiently (or not patiently) for my mom to gather the scraps and re-roll them into a smooth, floury surface. Once they baked we could decorate them with sprinkles and hot tamales. I always put hot tamales on, even though I didn’t like eating them. I guess my snowman needed buttons and my gingerbread men needed eyes. Functionality over taste. Currently I get excited about Christmas food because it means my mom makes her awesome Cheeseball.

    5. Candles:
            Christmas and candles have significance for me in two memories.
                      1. Advent. We would do advent candles as a family where we would light the appropriate number of candles, Dad would read Scripture, and then each of us kids would get to blow out the candles. This meant the candles actually all got lit every time (times 4) so we could all get a chance to blow them out.
                     b. Candlelit Christmas Eve service. It was tradition to end the Christmas Eve service by singing Silent Night with candles. The ones with the paper circle that was supposed to catch all the wax but never did. One of my first times holding the candle, I burned my hand by the wax and felt ashamed I had to blow my candle out early. Ever since then I am still paranoid about getting wax on my hand on Christmas Eve.

    6. Gifts:
           One of my most memorable Christmas gifts was my American Girl doll. Abby and I both got one. My doll was named Samantha and her birthday was the same as mine! (Who knew?) We brought our dolls everywhere. I used to give Samantha rides on my shoulders like my dad would do with me. The only downside was that each doll had a couple strings near the neck that I was told made the doll fall apart. Needless to say, I spent my childhood life in constant fear that I would decapitate Samantha by accidentally pulling the strings.

    7. Music:
             Christmas meant the Christmas piano books would come out. The Simplicity Saxophone CD would play. Avalon and Steven Curtis Chapman Christmas tunes got their stereo time. Our church Christmas service's usual prelude was by children playing a piano song or two. I played plenty of Christmas carols over the years. God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen is a carol that will forever be one of Abby and my favorites, or as we used to call it ‘Comfort and Joy!’ Christmas was the best time of year because we could ask my dad to sing this song to us before bed. Complete with Russian can-can like dance moves. Now that I think about it, I hope we didn’t contribute to his back problems with this...

    8. Books:
            Abby and I were always excited to bring out the Christmas books. They were the same ones every year but we never got tired of them. The one where all these animals live in the trunk of the tree and they have to decorate it so that Santa will know they were there. The one where a family in an apartment building gets a Christmas tree that keeps growing. So tall their upstairs neighbors, 2 and 3 floors up, agree to cut holes in their floors so the tree can keep growing. (Pretty practical). The one where Little Critter wraps himself up as a present to his mom. All the ones where some sort of animal or person has to save Christmas. And one of my favorites- Alabaster’s Song. Max Lucado’s story about an angel with a lisp who tells the little boy about the first Christmas.

    9. No School!:
            This is my first Christmas in the ‘real world’ where school no longer exists to offer you the joys of a few carefree weeks. From now on we’ll have responsibilities. Bleh. Oh to be a kid again when sleeping in is expected and all you do all day over Christmas break is play and eat and make messes and complain about being bored. I guess the time has come for me to figure out how to do Christmas as an adult.

    10. King:
              Last year Mike sang a song for the church offertory- ‘How Many Kings’ by Downhere. And this is probably one of my most memorable Christmas experiences. At this time my Aunt Ila was in her last days at the hospital. My last time with her was when my family visited her in the hospital to sing her Christmas carols. Aunt Ila didn’t like to miss out on anything, so it was very special to share some Christmas music with her. After the carols, Mike had brought his guitar and shared his song with her. It was very moving to see Aunt Ila close her eyes as Mike sang of a ‘King who stepped down from his throne to romance a world that had torn all apart’. Jesus was the Savior we had waited for. And I know Aunt Ila knew that she was about to be where she’d been waiting for- in Heaven with that very King. God came for us in a manger on Christmas. And last Christmas he came for Ila in a very real way. I know this Christmas will remind me of Aunt Ila and how Christmas is a story of eternity.

Invisible Words

“ ‘I’m no artist, but I don’t think the point of art is to mean, I think it’s to render. If it doesn’t do that, if it needs a plaque to explain it, it’s not art. It’s like nature- what does a bird mean by its song? What does a flower mean when it blooms? It means beauty. Any explanation beyond that is superfluous.’ ”

I was reading a novel that had nothing to do with art whatsoever, but this caught my attention right away. I immediately saw a distinct parallel to the artist statement I created for my senior art show. (You’ll find my statement below). As an art student you talk about the purpose of art a lot. All my professors stressed the need to create on purpose.

After all my art classes I realized my purpose in art seemed to stray further and further from the rest of my peers. This especially occurred when we studied abstract, installation, or performance art. We would always have to evaluate each piece- What does it mean? What was the artist trying to show?

I would get so frustrated because I was rarely on the right track in my interpretation. To me, every meaning a piece was supposed to portray would have needed a plaque to explain it. And even then I had a hard time seeing it. I thought- what’s the point? If only a select few are going to comprehend the purpose of your art it’s not doing it’s job. (I guess unless they are trying to be unreachable to the common person) Do they really think that walking back and forth in a room or smashing some object is going to be understood by the passersby? If we're honest with ourselves, it seems that much of art that tries to 'mean' is just noise, just an attempt to raise a hair or appear profound. Obviously the purpose of art is a broad topic that could be discussed at length, and I'm not trying to discount artists who make 'meaningful' art, because it undeniably means something to them. I'm just exploring the notion of art being meaningful just by it's beauty, not by its explanation.

Reading this passage from my book reiterated to me why I make art. I make art to make something beautiful. I want to create something that people see and like. Something that doesn’t have to have a deeper meaning about tragedy or the social issue of the day. Something that doesn't have to induce anger or change or conviction or elite and hollow thought. I don’t think people want that. I don’t think people are searching for that. I think people are drawn to beauty. They’re drawn to things that don’t need explanation. People want things to make sense. I want my art and my creations to be that.

Is there a place for ‘meaningful’ art? I suppose there are people that find value in that, although wouldn't they be the creator, the artist? It's valuable because it's their own. But then, they don’t need an explanation of their own work.  They already know what it is and to them it’s not superfluous. That in a way can be therapeutic for the artists themselves. I can see that and respect it. But then maybe it’s therapy, not art.

My art is taken from photographs of places I or others have been. It's taken from things people would like to look at. It's often taken from nature. It is beautiful by the colors, by the memories, by the image. None of which need explanation. 

Paul’s words come to mind- “For his invisible attributes, namely, his eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly perceived, ever since the creation of the world, in the things that have been made. So they are without excuse.” What the perfect example of art that needs no explanation. God created all of nature and no one is left needing a commentary. It is clear to all people that there is a very powerful Creator. (Whether people want to admit it or not.) And it is no doubt beautiful.


I am inspired by God's example to create as he did- for all to understand and to see as beautiful. And maybe even point to him as the Ultimate and Powerful Creator. After all, he created us just like he created the mountains and the waters- to reflect him. And he is very accessible.

As an artist I don’t try to mean. I try to render. Any further explanation is superfluous.


Brittany Shield's Artist Statement:
What did you make today? What did you create today? What did your hands have to say? Your hands talk when they move, fast or slow, when they hold, tight or loose. Your mind talks when it chooses, black or white, when it directs, dull or sharp. Your heart talks when it sees, when it feels, when it cares, when it doesn’t. What did I make today? Draw, paint, sculpt, print, shape, shade, shift. Maybe. And when I did, did it count? Does it need to? I want to make, create, generate, design, refine, make it mine, make it yours. Make it wanted. I want to do what is taken, and if I’m not mistaken it’s desired. Do you want it? Do you want what my hands have said, what my mind has chosen, and what my heart felt it should? It has to be new enough, broken enough, practical enough, gut-wrenching enough, proper enough. Wanted enough. It has to be yours. And if it’s not yours, then it’s mine. It’s what I made today, and it’s what I made yesterday, tomorrow, three years from now. It’s a piece of life, joy or strife, kiss or knife. It’s an image, a memory, a wish, a time. It’s what I have to say. It’s all I can give, all I can do, and all that you’ll have. It’s not part of a group, it’s not taking instruction. It doesn’t need to. To be in that group is confining to freedom, rejecting the expected, ignoring desirability, tricking the mind’s capability, assuming the unknown, and making you find out what you think, what you should think, what they want you to think. But I don’t. I give you what you want. I let you think what you need to. My art finds its way to the place it’s supposed to. I make to replicate my memories, create to fabricate yours, generate to state the obvious, the old and the new, what you want and what I can do. Don’t think too hard, what you see is what you get. Usually. And I made it today.

Breath

I love words. A lot. I think words are one of the most valuable things in existence. Just the right combination of words can bring someone to tears, laughter, rage, despair, or admiration. Words tell a story, portray beauty, cross boundaries. They teach, rebuke, encourage, reach, destroy, and restrain. My love of words no doubt stems from my love of reading and of learning. When I think of words I can't help but think of my Aunt Ila. All of us kids would receive books from her as gifts growing up. Alice in Wonderland. Chronicles of Narnia. The Tanglewoods' Secret. Aunt Ila also fostered my desire to learn new words. She taught me the very useful word 'discombobulated'. I used to have a notebook of each exciting word she would help me add to my vocabulary. I have since adopted her love of the written word.

There is so much power to be had in words. I titled my blog 'breath' for two reasons. Firstly, it was the name my college memoir class chose for the book we published containing a selection of our personal memoir stories. This is essentially an extension of that for me. 'Breath' comes from the quote that also appears at the top of my blog- 'fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.' Each word that is ever spoken or written is specifically chosen, selected from a myriad of words to serve a distinct purpose. Every word I speak or write is my very own choice. No one else can choose better words to express my heart than I. I alone know the breathings of my heart, I alone can fill pages of words to that intent.

Secondly, 'breath' is how Timothy describes the conception and inspiration of Scripture. God 'breathed' it into existence. Speaking words requires breath. God breathed life and truth into the words of the Bible. His words speak to our hearts with passion, power, purpose and principle. He also breathes life into his creation. With one breath he commands and is obeyed. These writings will be my heart's response. I respond with my breath, my words.

My entries will be words flowing from His breath's gifts to us- his Word and his creation. Because I have a love of words, I keep a compilation of words I read and hear that have reached my heart in one way or another- whether it be humor, pain, love, truth, direction, reminiscence, or confusion. Here will be a place I can explore those words with words. Breath for metaphorical breath.

I love words. And here are the pages of my heart. My breath.