Permission

I remember the kitchen of the Potter’s House, all natural wood cabinets and a tiled floor, with a white countertop of that cutting-board material right in front of the angled freezer where they kept fresh fruit. Several blenders always waited for smoothies or frozen coffee drinks, and the giant refrigerator/freezer hummed quietly, filled with ice cream and more fruit. The bar was of a dark material with several oak stools beneath, and a college student generally stood on the other side to take orders or brew espresso for mixed drinks. A stack of IOUs sat beside the cash register, left by those who didn’t have any money but who weren’t turned away, and a similar stack of textbooks rested nearby where weary students had left them so they could play some Chinese Checkers or Chess.

And there would be Samson, that bald, powerfully built black man, dancing in the middle of the kitchen with his arms raised, singing to Jesus as if only the two of them were around. “Lord, yes!” he’d yell, his feet pounding back and forth as he’d swing blenders, scoop fruit, pour flavoured syrup, exclaiming with love when anyone called his name. Samson was almost always worshiping, and I swear his energetic smile powered the lights of that little house.

It was watching him worship the Lord, dancing like nobody was watching, arms raised in the middle of a coffee shop kitchen, dark skin gleaming with sweat while taut biceps strained at the tight shirts he always wore, that I found the grace to worship God. In Samson’s boldness I was given permission to serve God with all my heart, all my mind, all my soul, and all my strength. I got a glimpse of what it would be like to live free and honestly before my God, and it was good. I wanted that, I wanted it so badly, I just needed to figure out how to get there. Learning from Samson, it seemed appropriate to begin by dancing.

When I worship God, I’ve got to move my feet. When I pray, I’ve got to sway. I can’t hear a beat without dancing a bit to it, and I know that I’ve really been connecting with Jesus only when I’m sore, sweaty, and filled to overflowing with joy. This is what I have learned from Samson.

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine as children do. It’s not just in some of us; it is in everyone. And as we let our own lights shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.

-Marianne Williamson, A Return to Love, 1992

Vladimir Nabokov: “Gods”

Let all of life be an unfettered howl. Like the crowd greeting the gladiator. Don’t stop to think, don’t interrupt the scream, exhale, release life’s rapture. Everything is blooming. Everything is flying. Everything is screaming, choking on its screams. Laughter. Running. Let-down hair. That is all there is to life.

Typographed Bushism

The AP is running an article about the bill signed into law today by President Bush to help provide mortgage relief. I’ve been following this bill after my mom brought it to my attention with the claim that it will provide a $7,500 tax credit to home buyers if they purchased their home between April of 2008 and April of 2009. It turns out that was an inaccurate claim (it only helps those who purchase foreclosed homes, which are usually banks and fix/flip scams, ironically), but that’s neither here nor there.

What really caught my attention was Bush’s motivation for signing the bill he had, until recently, threatened to veto.

Bush didn’t like the version emerging from Congress, and initially said he would veto it, particularly over a provision containing $3.9 billion in neighborhood grants. He contended the money would benefit lenders who helped cause the mortgage meltdown, encouraging them to foreclose rather than work with borrowers.

But he withdrew that threat early last week, saying hurting homeowners could not wait — and even blaming the Democratic Congress’ delays in action for forcing an imperfect solution.

I know, it’s probably a typo and was intended to say “helping homeowners,” but I found it amusing.

UPDATE 2008-07-30_14-33:: Ahh, I get it! He meant “homeowners who are hurting!” What a poor choice of words!