"I have long since become wary of impartiality, which is itself a way of being partial. The prophets' existence is either irrelevant or relevant. If irrelevant, I cannot be truly involved in it; if relevant, then my impartiality is but a pretense. Reflection may succeed in isolating an object; reflection itself cannot be isolated. Reflection is part of a situation.
"I cannot remain indifferent to the question whether a decision I reach may prove fatal to my existence - whether to inhale the next breath in order to survive." ~Abraham J. Heschel

Here is where my indifference falls away. My previous post might have seemed cold and intellectual; perhaps I lack those nebulous feelings that signify salvation's security in common parlance. Maybe I have reasoned my way to belief when my heart was unmoved. But this is exactly the reason I must be passionate in defending myself and my belief. Lacking assurance in my emotions, it is necessary for me to decide regardless.

I must choose the best I can between faith and atheism, keeping in mind that if I choose one and am wrong I stand to lose far more than just my life. And if I decide that there is a God, then I come face to face with the fact that said decision is purely intellectual. I may bear out that decision in my actions, but salvation is not based on works, and actions alone do not mean that I'll know emotionally what it is to "have Jesus in your heart". Then where am I left? when even the demons know who He is, and I am required to give my strength and soul and heart? There is no more room for me to be indifferent about the choice itself - no space to be passionless in the defense of my decision.

And I have decided, over and over again in a span of at least a decade. I have chosen to place my faith in something I cannot see or touch or hear, something that most of my teachers, those older and more experienced, would say is false. Everything I have been able to learn of it rings true - not to my heart, but to my mind. "Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed," said Jesus. Now none of us have seen him in the flesh; but it seems to me that feelings have, in some strange reversal, replaced sight. What is more, the admonition has been stood on its head, and says now that those who have that sign are the blessed ones, and those who lack are doing something wrong and need to "get right with Jesus."

Does this ring any bells?

C. S. Lewis touched on this subject in the Screwtape Letters. The senior demon is chastising the younger for his decidedly lacking methods. "It sounds as if you supposed that argument was the way to keep him out of the Enemy's clutches," he says, and continues. "That might have been so if he had lived a few centuries earlier. At that time the humans still knew pretty well when a thing was proved and when it was not; and if it was proved they really believed it. They still connected thinking with doing and were prepared to alter their way of life as the result of a chain of reasoning. "

I have neither seen nor felt, but I can and will argue for Christianity. If feelings are the only guarantor, the only path to salvation, then I'm probably going to Hell. Assuming, of course, that my logic didn't get twisted up somewhere along the line and that God exists. I believe He does.

But you know, in regards to the whole issue of feelings and rational, calculated belief, I think I'll just keep rereading John 20:29.

One has to wonder if maybe the people who claim that breeding dogs has dumbed them down are *dun dun dun* right.

Seriously. Star is in heat. Predictably, Comet attempted to mate with her. The problem: Comet's legs are still shaky because of the freeway incident, and he wasn't able to remain standing. At least, that's one theory. The other is that Star didn't want to stay still. Either way, the dogs looked rather like a Push-me Pullyu, with one head (Comet) yelping loudly, and the other with a simply marvelous expression of frustration. Judging both dogs' reactions when they came untied, it's doubtful Comet, at least, will try that again.

At least not for the next few days.

And God stands winding His lonely horn,
And time and the world are ever in flight;
And love is less kind than the grey twilight,
And hope is less dear than the dew of the morn.

~W. B. Yeats

I don't know if God is really there.

Sometimes I think He is, or I know that He must exist. Looking at a waterfall, or a butterfly, or an owl. Sitting where I can't hear anything else - or even where I can, and taking the time to appreciate the infinite detail of an oak leaf or a finch's dropped feather. Watching the stars appear and the sun rise. But I go to church and Sunday School, and I go to camps and conferences, and earnest people tell me with smiles on their faces that "it's okay, Breeann, maybe you'll feel God in your heart while you're up here." I listen to stories about accepting Christ and experiencing a great sensation of peace, or joy, or awe.

And where does that leave me, who became a Christian at the age of four? If there was any conversion bliss, I can't recall it. And there isn't now, either. I feel like Thomas the Unbeliever standing in the middle of this group of people and hearing someone say that you can't intellectualise your way to God. Why the heck shouldn't you be able to, if that God designed our minds and brains and everything we call logic? If it's all about feelings, then you might just as well call me an atheist.

I believe, very firmly and rationally, that there is a God, and the Christ of Nazareth died and rose again. I argue passionately for it, because it makes sense, even if I don't know in my "heart", in my non-reasoned mind. But if Christianity requires some upheaval of the emotions regarding said beliefs, then I am dead. Because emotionally, I don't "hear" anything. I don't feel any of this "being guided by the Holy Spirit". When someone tells me to "let God work [the problem] out", my typical response is, "So you think God wants us to sit on our rears and do nothing? That isn't why we have hands or minds!" I think everything will eventually work out for the good - not that we're thus given free-reign to laze about and trust that it will.

Nobody has commented on this before, probably because I'm good at hiding it. But you know, it gets tiring listening to so many people say the same thing as if it were a standard of Christianity, a test, almost, of whether or not you're a believer. And it's somewhere between pain and anger when somebody tells you in full assurance of themselves that all you need to do is "ask Jesus into your heart."

It doesn't seem fair.

It's Noldor and Sindar, not Noldorian and Sindarian. The r attached to the end makes it plural, used of a group of people; the singular forms would be Noldo and Sinda. And, just so you know, the three races of the Elves are not Noldor, Sindar, and Quendi.

Also, Sauron is not the reincarnation of Morgoth. Morgoth, being an immortal Ainu, cannot and did not die. Elves are not truly immortal - they only live until the end of the world, and die, body and spirit both, with it, whereas Men (or at least their souls) leave the world proper. Of the three marriages of mortal and immortal, only one was a full-blooded elf, and if she died, there is no record of it. Iarwain Ben-adar cannot be interpreted using a mixture of Aramaic and Sindarin tongues - Ben-adar means Fatherless, not Son of the Oak. The word for son is ion, and oak is rendered norno. The people of Lothlórien are not all High-elves; the Silmarillion records that the vast majority were Sindarin (or to be more precise, Silvan) elves of Celeborn's folk. Whom, by the way, is Sindarin himself, not Noldor.

Lastly, please do not say that there are but three strong female figures in all of Tolkien's work. Limited to the trilogy, this is (possibly) accurate. Before, however, applying the statement to Arda/Middle-earth as a whole, I would direct your attention to Arien (the Sun), Varda, Melian, Lúthien, Yavanna, Nienna, Gilraen, Emeldir, Galadriel, Uinen, Ungoliant, Thuringwethil, and Éowyn.

[/mini-rant]

Honestly, if a professor is going to reference a book, it would be good for him to have read it within the past ten years so that he can get his facts straight!

I just got an email from somebody thanking me for a review I dropped on a poem over two years ago. Apparently that one, lone review was what promted her to continue writing.

Wow.

"So, pretend you're one of those homeless guys, and it's going to be less than twenty degrees tonight. Where would you go so you wouldn't die?"
"Umm..."
"Wouldn't you go into a 24-hour fast-food place?"
"Yeah, probably."
"And once you were there, if they tried to kick you out, wouldn't you make a fuss so they'd call the police and you could spend the rest of the night in jail instead of outside?"
"..."
"And if you knew it was going to be cold for more than just a day or two, wouldn't you hit one of the police officers so they'd keep you there for the winter?"
~Dad and I, waiting at the bus station

It's been cold, here, colder than it usually is. We've been melting ice from the dogs' water so that they can drink, and from the birds', too - and the creek has a thin shell across the top as well, in some places more than that. But it's been clear and bright, and so better than rain (though if it would rain now, we would get snow...!)

I wrote a very short story yesterday. It was inspired by old traditional fairy-stories and an irritation with Eragon in specific and modern fantasy-genre assumptions in general. In case any of you want to see it, you can find it here. Enjoy!

Our dogs got out last night, apparently spooked by the fireworks, and were hit by a car. Star, our older female, escaped more or less unharmed, but 7-month-old Comet was hit harder, and is now limping on one side and sleeping in the sun. He may or may not have internal injuries: we do not have the money to spend on x-rays to tell, or the treatments. It's aggravating, but also sad - we've tried hard to keep Star in this yard over the past year, but she still gets out, and now is taking Comet with her. And now he's the one who's hurt.