I have so so little to say anymore.

I deleted everyone on my friends' list who did not respond and introduce themselves on that last post or contact me in some other way (or I them) or that is not a real-life friend. Drastic, yes, but that is completely reversible, if you so desire. Just introduce yourself. :) I just want a fresh start, it's nothing personal.

I'm very proud to say that after twenty mintues I have gotten through my friend's list. That's a great deal of time in my book, and I was going to spend five muinutes on a post, but a friend walked in and needs me. So bye livejournal!

It's a good thing I don't count on my writing for my living. If I did, I'd be starving to death.

Prepare yourself for wonder. You are about to learn something new, namely, the definition of this fantastic Greek word: philokalia. If you know already, then, well, you can read my ramblings anyway.

I was trying to figure out if fun is a legitimate goal for a Christian to have. Why have fun, besides the desire to have fun? There's nothing, to me, in plain fun that burns or delights my heart and soul... it's very passing, and when it's over I usually feel like I wasted my time. Now, I'm sure you're thinking, "She's really gone off her rocker now! How does she plan to live the rest of her life without having any fun?" Well, that's not exactly what I meant. I would like to define what we refer to as fun rather differently, because I think fun is simply too broad--lots of things can be fun, things that aren't good or beneficial in any way whatsoever. We have to qualify what we spend our time doing better than that. And I figured it all out in a way that suited me very well.

a) Our strength is drawn from God. This is essential--once a day mass, if possible, certainly time twice a day for fifteen minutes of meditation and prayer. Without it, there's no way any of this is possible.
b) Embrace work. Whatever we are called to, whatever our gifts are--we need to embrace them. Not necessarily love them, but just do them with a willing heart because of the source of our strength and who we are serving.
c) Be thankful for joy and rest. This is what I would put, I think, in the place of fun. Rest--to relax over a good book or go for a hike or a jog. Joy--to delight in our sisters and brothers in Christ, or something like that. Nap, watch movies, goof around.

Philokalia, right, I'm getting there.

That was all a very roundabout way of saying that I've been reading about prayer lately, because I really want to live this way, and, as I said, prayer is essential. I'm not very good at prayer. Usually when I say this, people think I mean I find it boring or I don't feel the presence of God--e.g. they think the formulaic prayers I use get in my way. I've always felt this was rather unjust—most people have never tried something as amazing (and demanding) as the rosary. And people make a very basic mistake: they mistake informality for intimacy. I've found the opposite to be true, at the very least in church. People are constantly seeking more freedom in church, freedom, for example, from judgmental attitudes that try to influence the way people worship. But taking away all the rules isn't the answer—the answer is to level the playing field by establishing the rules that form the rhythm, the worshipful pattern in the mold of Christ that we all can fall into with all our idiosyncrasies. I'm not really convinced that Christians fall into categories of “hand-wavers” and “hymn-singers.” Really, people, get along. But we are fat and thin and somber and joyful and black and white and poor and rich. Some are nuts (like me), some are normal (like you), some are Republicans and some... aren't. And all that rot.

Why do I normally personally reject almost out-of-hand prayers that one makes up on the spot? The main reason is that I have rejected my own impulses, my own desires, my own ways, my own words in favor of the ways and desires and words of God. So I don't want to pray whatever I feel like praying. I long for the Spirit to pray for me. I want to be with the disciples at the feet of Jesus and repeat, “teach me to pray.” The Our Father, which we call “the perfect prayer,” is essentially formulaic, with its seven petitions.

Anyway. I know that's not a bullet-proof reason by any means, and anyways I got sidetracked again. What I mean is that prayer is a battle. It is a battle “against ourselves... Some people view prayer as a simple psychological activity, others as an effort of concentration to reach a mental void. Still others reduce prayer to ritual words and postures. Many Christians unconsciously regard prayer as an occupation that is incompatible with all the other things they have to do: they 'don't have the time.' Those who seek God by prayer are quickly discouraged because they do not know that prayer comes also from the Holy Spirit and not from themselves alone. Prayer, the 'love of beauty' (philokalia), is caught up in the glory of the living and true God.”

There you have it, philokalia: “love of beauty” or “love of the beautiful.”

So the complete boxed set of Harry Potter in a collectable trunk? 185$ *falls over dead* And, because I'm an impatient ninny, I already have (bought) books six and seven. So if anybody would like to buy books six and seven (six is somewhat worn) from me, they are more than welcome; I'm one of those people that HAS TO HAVE THE BOXED SET. I'll probably pass over the trunk, though. Anyway.

So before I get my hot little hands on the seventh book, I thought I would post my only prediction and a hunch. Prediction: Harry will not die. Though Rowling can be very dark, I think ultimately she believes in the supremecy of good. The point of the first book is that good triumphed--now to kill off The Boy Who Lived? Not going to happen. Oh, and the Horcruxes are mostly destroyed, I figure. How is Harry supposed to track them all down in one book? I think most of them are probably already kaput. :P Pettigrew knows about the Horcruxes, and that's how he'll repay his debt. He must have been there when Nagini was made a horcrux, right? So he's got some knowledge, anyway.

That's all. As you were.

Poll #1021355 LJ Manners
Open to: All, detailed results viewable to: All, participants: 19

Manners are important.

Swearing is...

Manners on the internet are...

A and B are discussing the moral acceptability of the SUV. B decides, without A's permission, to post a piece of A's argument to his blog and counter it in a whole new post. This is...

LJ user B's baby was just born. 465 comments congratulating her/him! He/She should...

User D argues that Hillary Clinton will make a great president. 877 comments take issue with this stance. D should...

Disallowing comments is acceptable...

The best way to respond to rude comments is...

My brother and I had an argument today over whether or not green beans can feel pride. Really silly, you might say. He argued that they can't... after all, they are just green beans. What have they got to be proud of? They are ridiculously simple to grow, simple to cook, and not particularly exciting to eat. I maintained that, as a green bean, I would undoubtedly be the largest, greenest, fattest green bean in the garden, and therefore might potentially be full of pride. I think you're probably glad you don't live in this family.

But it made me think. I mean, it's silly for even a fat, green, large green bean to feel any pride--because it ends up in the steamer just like the skinny ones. How does being a minimally exceptional human being or even an extraordinarily exceptional human being qualify us for any pride? Try to picture becoming incarnate as a slug or a snail and maybe you'll get an idea of how much Christ had to lower Himself. Of course, I think God appreciates slugs rather more than we do or he wouldn't have bothered to create them.

Anyway. That's the water that's been sloshing around in my brain today.

So last night my family and I (after my mom and I got in a fight, which turned out to be a good thing--growing pains, I think) went out to catch some moonbeams. The moon was supposed to appear unusually large as it rose over the weekend, so we packed up a CD player, some music, a sterno, some marshmallows, blankets, binoculars, and a star chart and ventured forth. We drove east and east and east and watched the moon rise eerily behind the thin veil of clouds. It was kind of hard to find a place to stop because the road had no shoulder. We almost camped out in the graveyard, but Mom and I were too scared. My younger siblings were fine with it, but I think that's because they haven't read the gory books I have. I had just finished Twilight, which is about vampires, and I was not about to find out if they existed or not. And graveyards are only fun on cloudy days. It's like being in a crowd of strange people, you know how you feel self-conscious? And there's a crowd of people in there, too, and it's worse cuz they're dead!

We went to the parking lot of a church instead, and set up camp as far away from the lighted rectory as possible. It was crazy, crazy times--we imagined what would happen if the pastor came out with his flashlight and guard dog or what we would do if someone called the sheriff on us. And we burned our marshmallows and put out the sterno by accidentally dropping the marshmallows in. We stared at the muddy, starless, cloud-bathed sky until the droves of mosquitoes had us imagining they were biting us when they weren't (which is always worse).

Did we catch a moonbeam? I think we did--the memory of a moonbeam that lasts longer than the milky light.