The Affirmative Principle

Does the Word have some sort of expiration date I didn't know about? A best used by but maybe could still be okay for a little bit after just not as good? Like food, does it become unhealthy to consume after a certain point?

Why would the Lord write something that would go out of date? After the Lord's first coming the old testament did not expire. 

Think not that I am come to destroy the law, or the prophets: I am not come to destroy, but to fulfill. Matthew 5:17

Even after the Lord's second coming, the old and new testaments are not to be thrown out or disregarded. The Lord's Word is never going to be unhealthy. If we are allergic to it that is not because there is something wrong with it that needs to be changed. We can't substitute gluten free doctrine just so we don't react poorly to it. Of course we have sensitivities to the Word! It is not going to sit right with us, because we are not right!

And I went unto the angel, and said unto him, Give me the little book. And he said unto me, Take it, and eat it up; and it shall make thy belly bitter, but it shall be in thy mouth sweet as honey. Revelation 10:9

The only way to approach the Word is to assume that the Lord is telling us the truth. That He is not misleading us or gave us some kind of Where's Waldo where we have to look through it for something we recognize.

There are therefore two principles; one of which leads to all folly and insanity, and the other to all intelligence and wisdom. The former principle is to deny all things, or to say in the heart that we cannot believe them until we are convinced by what we can apprehend, or perceive by the senses; this is the principle that leads to all folly and insanity, and is to be called the negative principle. The other principle is to affirm the things which are of doctrine from the Word, or to think and believe within ourselves that they are true because the Lord has said them: this is the principle that leads to all intelligence and wisdom, and is to be called the affirmative principle. Arcana Coelestia 2568:4

I'm not saying that understanding the Word is easy. But it's easier if you assume that is is right. The hardest thing we have to do in life is make decisions. Decisions are really hard, man! My last blog post was about how marriage is the opposite of dating. One of the things that makes marriage SO much better than dating is it's one less decision to make. With dating you have to figure out a HUGE decision: Do you want to spend the rest of your life with this human? With marriage the answer is always yes. You have already made the hardest decision. But it's made. All you have to do now is make a million more decisions, but that one is set in stone.

The same goes for reading the Word. If you constantly have to be wondering if the Lord actually means what He says then it's exhausting hard work. Just assume that He knows what He's doing. AND He knew what He was doing a couple thousand years ago when He told people to write down His Word. Our problems aren't new. He even knew about every single thing we're facing in 2018, and He wrote about it a long time ago. And it's still active and living today. There is no expiration date on the Truth.

Stop dating the Word. Be committed to it. It makes life so much easier if you do.

Reflections on painting

Sometimes I tell myself to wait. Like today, I wanted to make some reflections about painting. I'm two paintings away from being done my month long commitment to paint. I should wait for two more days to reflect on this. But I should never stop myself from writing on the rare occasions when I feel inspired to write before I even begin.

So I'm reflecting on painting, two days before the end.

I just went through my album and looked at each of my paintings. Some I didn't want to look at for very long, and others I lingered on for a few moments before clicking to the next. And you know what? I like my paintings. And I can see improvement. When I take the time to paint something, it turns out well!

I was worried that switching back to watercolors after 24 days of oils would be a challenge, but challenges are good. My watercolors are fine, and I miss oils, but even over 4 days of watercolors I am improving that skill again! I painted watercolors every day two years ago, and very sporadically since. I have only done 4 watercolors this September. The first two are okay, but I really like the most recent two. There are always things I could improve, but that's a dumb thing to observe. I'm gonna focus on the fun techniques and skills I'm learning and just linger on the good feelings of actually being good at something!

Yesterday's watercolor!

You know Ron Weasley? You know how when he looks in the Mirror of Erised he sees himself as Quidditch captain and head boy? He's only an 11 year old boy longing for some recognition. He feels overshadowed by his 5 older brothers.

I hate to say that I feel overshadowed by my siblings because I love them and never felt a lack of love or recognition because there were many of us. If anything, I got more love from having such a large family.

Ron definitely loves his family too and there's no lack in the Weasley household, but he does long for something of his own, and then of course (spoiler alert) he goes on to help save the wizarding world from the evilest wizard ever. I think he succeeded in doing something original.

Where was I going with this? Ah, yes. I still strive for some sort of originality, something that makes me unique from others. I already wrote a blog post about wanting to be unique in my writing and realizing that I only need to tell the truth to write well. Is it the same for painting? Do I tell truths with my paint brush?

I don't know. A thought just struck me so I'm gonna write it and see if it rings true: Write truths, paint loves. I dunno, you clearly need truth and love to write and love and truth to paint. So whatever. It was just a thought.

I don't need to stand out to be worth something. I don't need to save the wizarding world or even my world. I just need to keep moving along, writing the best that I can, painting the best that I can, and being okay on the days when my writing sucks and my paintings aren't working. I'm still good at these things, even when I'm bad at them.

Before the breakup

Mindless, mind numbing, dumb. "I don't have to be doing this," I said to myself. I could be writing."

But did I want to write? Sometimes mind-numbing and dull are exactly what I want at the end of a long day. So scrolling and scrolling and scrolling. My eyes falling out of their sockets.

"Maybe I should just go to bed," I muttered out loud.

"Don't go to bed," Henry said. I started. I didn't realize he was close enough to hear me. He got up from his chair and came over and kissed my forehead. I didn't even want him to, but I didn't protest.

I ignored his plea that I not go to bed, slammed my laptop shut, and set it down on the table. He took that as an invitation. He plopped down on the couch and tried to snuggle up with me. As he took my hand and kissed my neck a thousand thoughts went through my head.

This is what I wanted. I wanted someone who would want to snuggle with me and hold me and not want to let go of me. I wanted an affectionate and sweet guy. Henry was all of these things. He always reached over and took my hand when we were watching movies. He went out of his way to get me things or do things for me, and he was always ready with a smile and a compliment. I believed that he loved me, but as I sat here, passively receiving his affection I didn't think that I loved him.

Yes, he was so perfect in so many ways. Affectionate and loving to the extreme. Always anxious to make sure that I felt loved and appreciated. But something was missing and I knew it. I didn't want just love. I had always longed for this. Someone who would stroke my hand and make me feel special.

The Beatles "All you need is love" played in my head. "No it's not!" I thought. "You need more than love, stupid Beatles!" I was clearly not in a good mood, and I was surprised that Henry was not picking up on this.

But love is not the answer. It's not even the question. It's only half of it. I liked Henry, a lot. I imagined our life together and could picture us getting married and growing old together. But when I threw kids into the picture things got messy. Not boogers and barf messy, but gritty parenting clashes messy.

Henry was lovely. He would be a loving and wonderful father. I could picture him now, bouncing our imaginary curly haired boy on his knee. But his discipline and upbringing would not be what I wanted for my son.

I couldn't have kids with Henry, because we would never be able to agree on what to teach our children about the way life works. And that mattered too much to me. Henry just wasn't on the same page as me. I wanted to create little people who would grow up to be the most amazing lads and lasses. Who would one day be angels in heaven, but in the meantime would make the world a better place. In short, I wanted a heavenly host. I wanted my little people to be strong and courageous and to wield swords of truth, and be unceasing when it came to standing up for the Truth.

But truth alone would not do. I didn't want my little ones to be monsters or to be cruel. They would have to learn to lean into the truth with strength and conviction, but to do so with love. To nurture and  bend, not brutally break. I believed in my future people, but Henry was not their father.

"Henry?" I said timidly. It had only been a matter of seconds since he had joined me on the couch.

"Mm?" he responded, wrapping his arm around my shoulder, but clearly not really in the mood for talking.

"I'm tired," I said. "You should go home."

He listened and stopped to look at me, disappointment in his eyes.

"Alright," he said getting up and pulling me up from the couch for a good night hug.

I let him. I even let him give me a long goodnight kiss when he leaned in for it.

"Good night," he said, holding on to my hand for a minute longer before he turned toward the door.

"Good night, Henry," I said closing the door behind him. And as I closed the door I started to cry.

I can write.

I decided (at least for a week) to embrace my writing. A dear friend has encouraged me greatly. Told me repeatedly that I am a good writer. It's feel so much easier to protest and drag up all the things that I don't like about my writing. So, for at least a week I am going to embrace my writing as good writing.

I sometimes mix up aught and ought, or brainlessly use the wrong they're/their/there. But somehow knowing that I do know the correct rules makes me feel better about screwing up. Which is weird because I usually think that ignorance is actually better than knowing what's right and wrong and then just going ahead with what's wrong. Whatever, I think my writing is good.

A friend recently asked me, "What is good writing?" I've been thinking about this. Thinking about what I like about my favorite authors. Do I like certain authors or certain books? Do some authors write consistently good things? I think about JK Rowling. I read all the Harry Potter books and loved them. I guess I haven't tried reading her other books, but I didn't even feel compelled to.

I think I usually get into stories, seldom into authors. I'm trying to think of any author that I just had to read everything he wrote.... I think I read everything by Jane Austen. A lot of stuff by C.S. Lewis. A lot of George Mac Donald and a lot of A.A. Milne. Oh and pretty much everything by Kathryn Worth, Ethel Cook Elliot, Kate Seredy, and Baroness Orczy. Wait, nope. That's not true. I didn't read anything by Orczy except for her Scarlet Pimpernel books. I mean, she wrote like 15 of those and I read them all, but I don't think I read anything else by her.

Woah, that was fun! I didn't realize how many authors I admire! I was thinking it would be like 3. But that was 8! I think I was thinking it wouldn't be that many because I was thinking of generally admired authors where I liked some of their books but wasn't crazy about reading all of them like some people do. So authors like Terry Pratchett, Lousia May Alcott, Lucy Maud Montgomery, JK Rowling, JRR Tolkien etc who people just adore.... I mean, I like some of their novels. Maybe even some of my favorite books, but I didn't care about eating up everything they wrote. And I can also think of several of my favorite books but I didn't care about reading more by that author. M.M. Kaye is a perfect example of that. The Ordinary Princess is one of my favorite books, but it's the only children's book she wrote and I didn't want to read any of her long epics. Ella Enchanted is another great one. Can't remember the author this moment, but I read some of her other books and they were fine but not great. And Elizabeth Pope Osbourne (I think that's her name) who wrote Sherwood Ring. SUCH a good book, but I read another by her and it was, again, fine, but not anywhere as good as Sherwood Ring.

So going back to the aforementioned 8 authors. What makes their writing so good that I will read anything they write including a shopping list?!

I'm not gonna answer that just now. I'm gonna focus on what I think is NOT good writing for a moment.

Depressing (in and of itself) is not good writing! Adult content is not good writing. It doesn't have to be compelling, dramatic stuff. Ok, the reverse of good writing is getting me no where. I'm really thinking about A.A. Milne, one of my all time favorite authors. I've even read more than just Winnie the Pooh, but Winnie the Pooh is some of my favorite literature. Why?

(Sidenote a couple with a baby just walked into Starbuck and I desperately want to just go ask them if I can hold their baby! Tears. Eyes. Stinging. Agh!)

It is simple and straight to the point. There is no floweriness about the descriptions. It's just so beautifully crafted! It's heart warming and so very real! I'm sure a lot of it is affection for the books read to me in my childhood, but it's so much more than that because I love the word choices and the capitalization of Important Words. It's just so wonderful! And so much of it is the simplicity!

“Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind.
"Pooh!" he whispered.
"Yes, Piglet?"
"Nothing," said Piglet, taking Pooh's paw. "I just wanted to be sure of you.”

I think this is one of my favorite things in all of literature. Why is it so beautiful? Why does it tug at my heart strings and warm it all at once?

And another perfect description!

“Rabbit's clever," said Pooh thoughtfully.
"Yes," said Piglet, "Rabbit's clever."
"And he has Brain."
"Yes," said Piglet, "Rabbit has Brain."
There was a long silence.
"I suppose," said Pooh, "that that's why he never understands anything.”

I'm sure people have tried to explain the above concept and it takes them entire books and they would never be able to say it that perfectly and concisely.

Winnie the Pooh is full of these one liners that just convey so much truth in one tiny little bite. And it is so endearing and beautiful!

Well, when my friend asked me (I believe after midnight) what makes good writing I didn't have an answer so I asked him right back and he said something like "Someone who writes the truth." I almost wish that I hadn't asked him, because now I feel like I am just stealing his answer. Would I have come up with that on my own? I just came to that conclusion about A.A. Milne without even trying. It's just so obvious.

So, trying to be original and think about what I love about my favorite stories... AH ha! This sentence just discovered something for me. I try too hard to be original! I try to write stories that are new and different and have something new to offer. I want my blog posts to discover some new idea. I want to be original, but original is NOT what makes for good writing. Truth IS what makes for good writing. So if it's true it's gonna be something someone else has said. I don't have to look for originality and saying something in a new and different way. I just need to stick to telling the truth and letting the words come.

"And that's the whole poem," he said. "Do you like it, Piglet?"
"All except the shillings," said Piglet. "I don't think they ought to be there."
"They wanted to come in after the pounds," explained Pooh, " so I let them. It is the best way to write poetry, letting things come."
"Oh, I didn't know," said Piglet.