Much of grammar involves putting things into categories. Case forms of pronouns are one group of categories, and I spend a lot of my grammar-teaching time talking about case forms of pronouns.
For example, we say "Please take a picture of Abdul and me." Not "Abdul and I." Why? because the pronoun me is in a particular category; it's in the objective case. That is, it's acting as an object. Something is pointing at it--either a verb as in "do you love me?" or a preposition like the of in our example. I, on the other hand, is never an object. At least it's not supposed to be. It does other jobs, the primary one being subject. Then there's the possessive case, as in my, mine, his, her, your, our, their. That one's easy--it's the form a pronoun takes when showing possession.
So I've been thinking about case form lately, not because I teach it but because I find myself conceiving of God in certain ways. There are times when I am unusually aware that everything around me is oriented toward God. Everything is pointing to God. Ontologically, God is in the objective case, not only in a category sense, but in an ultimate sense. He is the object toward which all things point and move. Of course, everything is always oriented toward God in the sense that all things exist in God and are held together by God. But my awareness of this is as variable as wind. I wish I were more constant.
At other times, I have a stronger sense that God is the prime mover behind things, and I conceive of him as being in the nominative case. He is the original subject, actor, force, first cause. He is before all things and "in him all things consist." And yet, all things are still oriented toward him, so he is both subject and object, and there's no category for that. After Jesus calmed the storm, the disciples asked, "What manner of man is this?" In their amazement, they were pointing out a theological truth--that there is no known category to put Christ into, that he is unique.
He is both nominative and objective.
Oh yeah, he also owns everything, so he's possessive too. That would be all three.
Like I said, it's only a sense I have that drives this thinking, so I'm careful with it. The Bible doesn't use grammatical terms (except the Word) to describe God, so I should emphasize that these are only senses that point me to what is already stated as truth: That God is the prime mover behind all things, that all things are oriented to him, that he owns and rules over all things. He is nominative, objective, and possessive.
And that's our grammar lesson for today.
"Worthy are you, our Lord and God,
to receive glory and honor and power,
for you created all things,
and by your will they existed and were created."
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Fathers and Sons and Treasure
I was watching a show about gold miners in Alaska, and one of the guys is complaining about how his dad doesn't trust him to lead the operation. Another responds, "Yeah, seeing eye to eye is impossible. Too many memories."
For a show that's basically about fixing broken machinery in the woods, that was pretty deep. And it got me thinking.
When I look at my oldest son now I see every age he's ever been. I can picture him at 3 walking around the optometrist store with his new glasses just as clearly as I can the 15-year-old with his learner's permit. So in a way, seeing eye to eye with the older Charlie is impossible because the younger one's there too. For good or for bad, he'll always be a composite, and I'll always have to struggle with seeing him and treating him as the right-now Charlie. Too many memories.
Those miners were wise, sort of.
From my perspective, this has two implications that I see: one, there is a desire on my part to protect my toddler from the mean and nasty world; and two, there is a tension (as in a challenge to me) to see him as the man God is making him to be. I should see both as blessings. The first as a grace to carry me through these awkward, sometimes very awkward teenage years. The tenderness that I feel for my younger children is still there with Charlie, but buried under a lot of other affections. The second as a blessing because as I'm reminded that my son is not mine (and has never been) but God's very own, I'm also prompted to give praise to God for his creation. This is humbling. I have to let go of him--I'm only a steward.
For him, those implications are true, but in reverse. As I get old and my faculties diminish, he won't be able to help himself from seeing the dad that was stronger than anyone and who knew everything (I can't help but see my own that way). In Charlie's eyes the young me will always be there, somewhere, under the wrinkles and frailty. But he will also be very much his own man--a wise and faithful man (if I do my job well) who is also my son. He'll be to me a brother in Christ who sees my need, whatever that might look like. Again, these will be as God's grace to both of us.
Those miners in Alaska diagnosed the problem well but that's as far as their wisdom could take them. They had no hope in their fathers because--as far as I could tell from the hour-long show--they had no such God as mine to hope in. Their treasure lay elsewhere.
For a show that's basically about fixing broken machinery in the woods, that was pretty deep. And it got me thinking.
When I look at my oldest son now I see every age he's ever been. I can picture him at 3 walking around the optometrist store with his new glasses just as clearly as I can the 15-year-old with his learner's permit. So in a way, seeing eye to eye with the older Charlie is impossible because the younger one's there too. For good or for bad, he'll always be a composite, and I'll always have to struggle with seeing him and treating him as the right-now Charlie. Too many memories.
Those miners were wise, sort of.
From my perspective, this has two implications that I see: one, there is a desire on my part to protect my toddler from the mean and nasty world; and two, there is a tension (as in a challenge to me) to see him as the man God is making him to be. I should see both as blessings. The first as a grace to carry me through these awkward, sometimes very awkward teenage years. The tenderness that I feel for my younger children is still there with Charlie, but buried under a lot of other affections. The second as a blessing because as I'm reminded that my son is not mine (and has never been) but God's very own, I'm also prompted to give praise to God for his creation. This is humbling. I have to let go of him--I'm only a steward.
For him, those implications are true, but in reverse. As I get old and my faculties diminish, he won't be able to help himself from seeing the dad that was stronger than anyone and who knew everything (I can't help but see my own that way). In Charlie's eyes the young me will always be there, somewhere, under the wrinkles and frailty. But he will also be very much his own man--a wise and faithful man (if I do my job well) who is also my son. He'll be to me a brother in Christ who sees my need, whatever that might look like. Again, these will be as God's grace to both of us.
Those miners in Alaska diagnosed the problem well but that's as far as their wisdom could take them. They had no hope in their fathers because--as far as I could tell from the hour-long show--they had no such God as mine to hope in. Their treasure lay elsewhere.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Sports II
H.G. Wells imagined a world where the globalists could quietly go about their business of world dominance because the masses - that's you and me - would be too busy cheering on their local deities as they competed in gladiator-type games in giant stadiums.
I think of that when I see this commercial: it's the one where the guy's watching NFL on TV, and as he walks out of the room he grabs the TV and folds it up into a laptop, then it becomes a phone, then he arrives wherever he's going and it's a TV again. The point being that you can always be watching the NFL, no matter where, no matter what, no matter the season.
I think about it because that commercial scares me as much as Wells does.
I get the feeling sometimes that sports are hypnotizing us. I watch ESPN and think, "these are really smart people spending their whole lives analyzing boys' games played by adults." (they used to be boys' games, then college sports came along, then pros; and all of that is relatively modern). Have you ever listened to a good sports analyst? It's like listening to a scientist or an economist or any expert on a topic complex enough to be analyzed. It's really quite impressive when the person knows his stuff.
I mean, what are we doing? Aren't there worthier endeavors? Wouldn't studying the stock market bring more happiness and prosperity to humanity? Or what about teaching? If those smart guys on espn had all gotten their degrees in teaching or went on to be college professors teaching other teachers, maybe our educational woes would be less woeful. Maybe. Or what if they all gave up their sports and put their heads together to stop global warming. Is there global warming? Or are we getting colder? Yeah, they could answer those questions first. And what about time travel, or flying cars, or toilet seats that aren't cold in the morning, or pot-hole-proof roads?
I think of that when I see this commercial: it's the one where the guy's watching NFL on TV, and as he walks out of the room he grabs the TV and folds it up into a laptop, then it becomes a phone, then he arrives wherever he's going and it's a TV again. The point being that you can always be watching the NFL, no matter where, no matter what, no matter the season.
I think about it because that commercial scares me as much as Wells does.
I get the feeling sometimes that sports are hypnotizing us. I watch ESPN and think, "these are really smart people spending their whole lives analyzing boys' games played by adults." (they used to be boys' games, then college sports came along, then pros; and all of that is relatively modern). Have you ever listened to a good sports analyst? It's like listening to a scientist or an economist or any expert on a topic complex enough to be analyzed. It's really quite impressive when the person knows his stuff.
I mean, what are we doing? Aren't there worthier endeavors? Wouldn't studying the stock market bring more happiness and prosperity to humanity? Or what about teaching? If those smart guys on espn had all gotten their degrees in teaching or went on to be college professors teaching other teachers, maybe our educational woes would be less woeful. Maybe. Or what if they all gave up their sports and put their heads together to stop global warming. Is there global warming? Or are we getting colder? Yeah, they could answer those questions first. And what about time travel, or flying cars, or toilet seats that aren't cold in the morning, or pot-hole-proof roads?
What's the opportunity cost here for humanity by having smart people commit their lives to studying sports? Think about this: just maybe, locked away in some sports analyst's head, is the cure for---sorry, gotta go. Top Ten Plays are on.
Silly H.G. Wells.
Silly H.G. Wells.
It's All Gonna Burn!
I currently have FIVE active blogs. It's ridiculous. I have a Versitext blog (copy writing stuff), a fiction blog (yep, for my fiction), a blog called GUM (grammar, usage, mechanics), another called Neologistics (it's weird - you don't need to know more than that), and this one--Big Wooden House.
I'll say it again - It's ridiculous.
So as of today, I'm disabling all blogs except BWH. All posts, no matter what their content or intended audience, will go here. I'll be salvaging a few old favorites and re-posting them, but the rest will go the way of all things created--they'll burn (in a digital sense).
This will be cathartic. I'm looking forward to it.
I'll say it again - It's ridiculous.
So as of today, I'm disabling all blogs except BWH. All posts, no matter what their content or intended audience, will go here. I'll be salvaging a few old favorites and re-posting them, but the rest will go the way of all things created--they'll burn (in a digital sense).
This will be cathartic. I'm looking forward to it.
Friday, June 3, 2011
Charlie's 14th
Ok, I'm off by a day, but we're celebrating it tonight. H and I and Charlie at Pizza House. Last year, I had a few guys over to help bring him into his 13th (nothing bizarre, no hazing, just a campfire). This is the letter I wrote and read to him then. It's good for me--and for Charlie, I hope--to think of these things again, a year later:
Dear Charlie,
There's nothing magical about your 13th birthday. You've been baptized into Christ's church, and you've proclaimed publicly your faith in him, so the milestones that matter most are behind you. But some of us have noticed that we're not very good at acknowledging our boys becoming young men, so we thought we'd do something about that. This may not the best way to do it, but it's a start. We've been experimenting on you all along, and we see no reason to stop now.
In 1 Cor 13, Paul writes, "When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I gave up childish ways." We don't want to read too much into this. Maybe Paul had in mind a specific time when he became a man; his culture certainly gave it more thought than we do. But we can say that Paul saw a time when he was a child and a time when he was a man, when childish things--childish speech, thoughts, and reasoning--had to be put away and grown-up things put on. No, we're not saying that you need to put away all things of childhood. We want you to enjoy the good things God has given you. But we are saying that you need to hold onto these things loosely and with the discernment of a Godly man, to put on more and more the new self, to seek those things that we know make up biblical manhood. To put it simply, we want you to pursue Christ as a man of God does. These are the things that all the men here tonight are striving in God's strength to do.
So I've decided to do this tonight with several purposes in mind: one, to give you a kind of peg to help organize your growing-up memories, that there might be in your thinking, years from now, at time that you can point back to and say, "I became a young man then." We do this to put before you a charge - that Christ calls you, as his man, to obedience to him, to conformity to the Word of God. We do this as a promise to you - that we will help you in this, disciple you in this, and bear with you any burdens or joys God brings you to as you grow into manhood. But mostly, we're doing this to pray, to commend you to our Lord as a brother who's starting a new, wonderful, often confusing period of life.
I love you very much, Charlie. You're my oldest son, and though I can't say I love you more than your siblings, I can say that I've loved you longest. I've also prayed longer for you, that you would grow in grace and in the knowledge of Gd. We want to continue that tonight. So listen carefully, think back often on what you hear these men say--and I'll help you to do that--but most of all cling to Christ, the only one who can show you what being a real man means.
Now, as I've said to you often as you're going to bed, May the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ and the love of God and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you tonight, and always.
Dear Charlie,
There's nothing magical about your 13th birthday. You've been baptized into Christ's church, and you've proclaimed publicly your faith in him, so the milestones that matter most are behind you. But some of us have noticed that we're not very good at acknowledging our boys becoming young men, so we thought we'd do something about that. This may not the best way to do it, but it's a start. We've been experimenting on you all along, and we see no reason to stop now.
In 1 Cor 13, Paul writes, "When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I gave up childish ways." We don't want to read too much into this. Maybe Paul had in mind a specific time when he became a man; his culture certainly gave it more thought than we do. But we can say that Paul saw a time when he was a child and a time when he was a man, when childish things--childish speech, thoughts, and reasoning--had to be put away and grown-up things put on. No, we're not saying that you need to put away all things of childhood. We want you to enjoy the good things God has given you. But we are saying that you need to hold onto these things loosely and with the discernment of a Godly man, to put on more and more the new self, to seek those things that we know make up biblical manhood. To put it simply, we want you to pursue Christ as a man of God does. These are the things that all the men here tonight are striving in God's strength to do.
So I've decided to do this tonight with several purposes in mind: one, to give you a kind of peg to help organize your growing-up memories, that there might be in your thinking, years from now, at time that you can point back to and say, "I became a young man then." We do this to put before you a charge - that Christ calls you, as his man, to obedience to him, to conformity to the Word of God. We do this as a promise to you - that we will help you in this, disciple you in this, and bear with you any burdens or joys God brings you to as you grow into manhood. But mostly, we're doing this to pray, to commend you to our Lord as a brother who's starting a new, wonderful, often confusing period of life.
I love you very much, Charlie. You're my oldest son, and though I can't say I love you more than your siblings, I can say that I've loved you longest. I've also prayed longer for you, that you would grow in grace and in the knowledge of Gd. We want to continue that tonight. So listen carefully, think back often on what you hear these men say--and I'll help you to do that--but most of all cling to Christ, the only one who can show you what being a real man means.
Now, as I've said to you often as you're going to bed, May the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ and the love of God and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you tonight, and always.
Love, Dad.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Rich Man
I was thinking about the value of motherhood, specifically the value of my wife's work in the home as a mother and home educator, when I said to myself, "No, you can't put a value on something like that." Then my other self said back to my first self, "Yes, you can. In fact, you do it every year she stays home to teach your kids."
What my other self was thinking was something called Opportunity Cost.
Before Heidi started home-schooling full time, she was teaching in one of the area's higher paying districts. She had 11 years in when she quit. She would have had 18 years in by now. By not doing that work and taking on the work of home-schooling instead, she gives up $75k a year in income and another $15k in benefits. That's the cost incurred by me (and her, and the whole family) to have her stay at home. We're "paying" $90,000 a year--more than half a million dollars so far--for Heidi to home school.
But my other self wasn't exactly right because $90k is only the baseline opportunity cost. That's just what she would be making as a public school teacher. The fact is Heidi's a flat-out steal at that price. She works as hard as any corporate CEO and builds a product that will outlast anything any Fortune 500 company can put out. She's also great to the stockholders (I'm the majority holder), and the employees love her. In fact, she doesn't know this but I'd go a lot higher--a million a year, ten million maybe--to keep her at home doing exactly what she's doing. Maybe first self was right, maybe I can't put a value on something like that. But $90k doesn't even come close.
I need to keep that in mind because when things are tight--which is always--I'm tempted to look around and bemoan what we don't have. It's easy for me to forget that I'm surrounded by the very best of things. I have a beautiful, smart, loving wife raising my kids in the fear and admonition of the Lord. That makes me the richest of men.
What my other self was thinking was something called Opportunity Cost.
Before Heidi started home-schooling full time, she was teaching in one of the area's higher paying districts. She had 11 years in when she quit. She would have had 18 years in by now. By not doing that work and taking on the work of home-schooling instead, she gives up $75k a year in income and another $15k in benefits. That's the cost incurred by me (and her, and the whole family) to have her stay at home. We're "paying" $90,000 a year--more than half a million dollars so far--for Heidi to home school.
But my other self wasn't exactly right because $90k is only the baseline opportunity cost. That's just what she would be making as a public school teacher. The fact is Heidi's a flat-out steal at that price. She works as hard as any corporate CEO and builds a product that will outlast anything any Fortune 500 company can put out. She's also great to the stockholders (I'm the majority holder), and the employees love her. In fact, she doesn't know this but I'd go a lot higher--a million a year, ten million maybe--to keep her at home doing exactly what she's doing. Maybe first self was right, maybe I can't put a value on something like that. But $90k doesn't even come close.
I need to keep that in mind because when things are tight--which is always--I'm tempted to look around and bemoan what we don't have. It's easy for me to forget that I'm surrounded by the very best of things. I have a beautiful, smart, loving wife raising my kids in the fear and admonition of the Lord. That makes me the richest of men.
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