Logos

by Fa-So-La-La


In spoken Word and
the speaking of it lies the
beginning of all- a Word
was my entrance, was
the wings of my flight; with
Word I approach my God

And the Word was God

She's Got it Bad

Queen Shenaynay

Vacations are supposed to forge deeper bonds among family members. Sometimes, however, this simply means you learn that your loved ones are even more quirky and eccentric than previously suspected.

As in this choice exchange:

Fa-So-La-La: "Hey Mamadah, what are you reading?"

QS: "Fellowship of the Ring."

Fa-So-La-La: "But what copy is that? It can't be ours, because it's in too good a shape. Our paperback is all crumpled and dog-eared."

Whereupon Shieldmaiden interjects, matter-of-factly: "I ironed it."

She. Ironed. It.
The girl has been known to wear crumpled clothing with oblivion, but by cranky, her Tolkien is crisp and starched. Honestly, I didn't know her Tolkienia had progressed to that degree. But I guess anytime you read one copy of a book FIFTEEN times, it's only polite to iron it before shelving it for others to enjoy.

The Big Beehive Beach Adventure

Queen Shenaynay

It's been quiet here at The Beehive blog, as some Gentle Readers have noticed. That's because last week we rebelled from all rational responsibility and hit the beach at Padre Island. Ahhhhhhh, yes. 'Twas glorious.

Great Scot and Fa-So-La-La celebrated their shared birthday (May 18) with their twenty collective toes in the sand. Our always-sweet girl is now Sweet 16. We really need to teach her to drive, but she hasn't figured out how one would operate a vehicle and yet continue a beloved lifetime career of reading books in the car at the same time. We all have our priorities. (Perhaps we should consider hiring her a chauffeur. Those of you who know her personally can perhaps imagine scenarios in which that might prove more economically feasible than funding her driving adventures. ;-)

But back to the beach (oh, how we wish). The beach population was sparse just yet, as schools had not yet let out, the heat was still one week away from becoming unpleasant, and the surf was, well, like way totally happenin', man. Fa-So-La-La, Shieldmaiden and yes, even Spuddy Buddy conquered the fine art of the boogie board. And I must report that they constructed the most audacious, spacious and architecturally relevant sand castle to be seen on the beach that entire week.

The Queen spent much of the week reposing on her beach throne beneath the seaside shade canopy, wearing big shades and a cheap sarong, and reading Tolkien. Also made a pass through Ezra, Nehemiah, Esther and most of Job. The Queen was otherwise amused by shamelessly terrorizing the sand crabs, enticing whole flocks of squawking seagulls to eat pretzel sticks out of her hands, and observing washed-up jelly fish deflate in the seaweed. A most productive week, all told.

At one point I glanced over the top of my sandy Tolkien volume to note that Fa-So-La-La was reclining with a Dorothy Sayers mystery while Shieldmaiden munched an apple over a C.S. Lewis title (yes, she finally finished That Hideous Strength, Thermodude!). No, we didn't plan that... but wouldn't the Inklings find it amusing that they are still managing to converge and convene these many decades after their deaths, and on a Texas beach at that?

We returned home to the hive just in time to host four of the Shafers (minus the erstwhile scuba-diving Sir Lantz-a-Lot, sadly) for a couple of wild and crazy nights. Good thing we caught up on sleep while we were at the beach because I think we snoozed for a total of maybe 8 hours the whole 2.5 days they were here! A great time and many cheeseburgers were had by all.

Ah, life is just one jolly blast after another at times. Especially when school is out!

Happy Birthday, Big Fella!

It's Spuddy Buddy's birthday -- And Now He Is SIX!

Happy Birthday to our delightful family mascot!

A Few Songs

Here are some songs I have run across lately that I thought were especially good--

Seven Wonders, by Nickel Creek--

When shadows fall, he'll close his eyes
To hear the clocks unwind
Powerless to leash the hands of time

Kingdoms fall, the earth revolves
The rain will come this spring
And nothing he could say would change a thing

Seven wonders crowed the man
Knowing six are gone
And how the great illusion lingers on

He can't enfold the sun or moon
Or wind within his hands
But count the times he'll shout the great I Am

With all the while a pontiff smile
Veiling his disgrace
At never owning more than second place



This Side, again by Nickel Creek :-) --

One day you'll see her and you'll know what I mean.
Take her or leave her she will still be the same.
She'll not try to buy you with her time
But nothing's the same, as you will see when she's gone.

It's foreign on this side,
And I'll not leave my home again.
There's no place to hide
And I'm nothing but scared.

You dream of colors that have never been made,
You imagine songs that have never been played.
They will try to buy you and your mind.
But only the curious have something to find.

It's foreign on this side,
And the truth is a bitter friend.
But reasons few have I
To go back again.

Your first dawn blinded you, left you cursing the day.
Entrance is crucial and it's not without pain.
There's no path to follow, once you're here.
You'll climb up the slide and then you'll slide down the stairs.

It's foreign on this side,
But it feels like I'm home again.
There's no place to hide
But I don't think I'm scared


And last but certainly not least, Shifting Sand by Caedmon's Call--

Sometimes I believe all the lies
So I can do the things I should despise
And every day I am swayed
By whatever is on my mind

I hear it all depends on my faith
So I'm feeling precarious
The only problem I have with these mysteries
Is they're so mysterious

And like a consumer I've been thinking
If I could just get a bit more
More than my 15 minutes of faith,
Then I'd be secure

My faith is like shifting sand
Changed by every wave
My faith is like shifting sand
So I stand on grace

I've begged you for some proof
For my Thomas eyes to see
A slithering staff, a leperous hand
And lions resting lazily

A glimpse of your back-side glory
And this soaked altar going ablaze
But you know I've seen so much
I explained it away

Waters rose as my doubts reigned
My sand-castle faith, it slipped away
Found myself standing on your grace
It'd been there all the time

How do you FEEEEEEEL about it? :-)

Well, I've finished my exam! Summer break, here we come! Yipeeee!
So now I shall post something, and what I shall post is an essay from the exam:

The Question:
Discuss the factors that promoted individualism and materialism in the West, and the empact of the Enlightenment on Christendom.

The Answer:

The Christian philosophy is an interesting paradox of perspective-- it emphasises both outward behaviour and inner spirit, both relationships with others and our relationship with Christ, both being salt and light to this world and longing for the next. These and many other paradoxes really function as a system of checks and balances, ensuring that the inner life and outer life, that law and grace, all are balanced, and all set in the light and context of truth.

Enlightenment philosophy turns this beautiful, functional, balanced system upside down. Instead of enterpreting the self in the context of truth, it sets truth in the context of self. Enlightenment thought says that the three measuring rods for truth are Feelings, Experience, and Reason. But each person's feelings are different, no two people have the exact same experience and each person's reason will lead him in widely differing directions, so truth is not the same for each person. What is true for me may not be true for you-- maybe you didn't have an experiece I had, or maybe your emotions are not stirred by the same thing.

The end result of this philosophy is a society of self-serving individualists. For if the only reasons to serve others are reason, experience, and feelings, then that is a shaky foundation for goodness. What if you don't feel like saying please? Feelings are, after all, the only standard for truth.

The followers of this system of thought have only themselves to judge by, and with no clear commandments to 'love thy neighbor as thyself' self-service becomes both an end and a means. All things are done for the purpose of pleasure, and nothing is done that is not somehow pleasurable. materialism and cruel individualism run rampant.

Shhhhhh...

FaSoLaLa and Shieldmaiden are taking final exams.

*moment of silence*

All around the Beehive one can hear pencils singing the essay song.


(Oh, Spuddy Buddy? Watching Rocky & Bulwinkle. Hey, he deserves an education, too. ;-)

Biology at Neiman Marcus

Queen Shenaynay


FaSoLaLa is good to have around for dry, pithy quotes.

Last night, whilst observing the retail carnival that is Neiman Marcus, she made useful application of what she has been studying in Biology:

"These models are too small to contain everything that's supposed to be inside them."



[Disturbing thought, actually, considering the legions of cosmetic surgeons who lurk about these parts... exactly what are they doing in those places? *hears the Stepford Wives theme song*]

A Prettyish Sort of Wilderness

FaSoLaLa

Here is a quote from C. S. Lewis' marvelous, brilliant book The Four Loves, which, by the way, ought to be required reading for humanity. :-) I found this allegory to be deep and meaningful on many levels.

Virtual M&M's as always!

"To say this is not to belittle the natural loves but to indicate where their real glory lies. It is no disparagement to a garden to say that it will not fence and weed itself, not prune it's own fruit trees, nor roll and cut its own lawns. A garden is a good thing but that is not the sort of goodness it has. It will remain a garden, as distinct from a wilderness, only if someone does all these things to it. Its real glory is of quite a different kind. The very fact that it needs constant weeding and pruning bears witness to that glory. It teems with life. It glows with colour and smells like heaven and puts forward at every hour of a summer day beauties which man could never have created and could not even, on his own resources, have imagined. If you want to see the difference between its contribution and the gardener's, put the commonest week it grows side by side with his hoes, rakes, shears, and packet of weed killer; you have put beauty, energy and fecundity beside dead, sterile things. Just so, our "decency and common sense" show grey and deathlike beside the geniality of love. And when the garden is in its full glory the gardener's contributions to that glory would still have been in a sense paltry compared with those of nature. Without life springing from the earth, without rain, light and heat descending from the sky, he could do nothing. When he has done all, he has merely encouraged here and discouraged there, powers and beauties that have a different source. But his share, though small, is indispensable and laborious. When God planted a garden he set a man over it and set the man under Himself. When He planted the garden of our nature and caused the flowering, fruiting loves to grow there, he set our will to "dress" them. Compared with them it is dry and cold. And unless His grace comes down, like the rain and sunshine, we shall use this tool to to little purpose. But its laborious-- and largely negative-- services are indispensable. If they were needed when the garden was still Paradisal, how much more now when the soil has gone sour and the worst weeds seem to thrive on it best? But heaven forbid we should work in the spirit of prigs and Stoics. While we hack and prune we know very well that what we are hacking and pruning is big with a splendour and vitality which our rational will could never itself have supplied. To liberate that splendour, to let it become fully what it is trying to be, to have tall trees instead of scrubby tangles, and sweet apples instead of crabs, is part of our purpose"

Medium Thoughts

FaSoLaLa

Well, Spuddy Buddy and I were sitting on the sofa together yesterday chatting, and I asked him what kind of things he thought about.
"Well, sister, I have good thoughts and bad thoughts and medium thoughts."
"What are those?'
"A good thought is a thought about good things. A bad thought is a thought about bad scary things. And a medium thought is both."
"What do you mean?"
"A medium thought is where the bad thoughts and the good thoughts twist around each other like the planets going around the sun and make a story!"

How insightful! That is exactly what a good story is-- bad things and good things going around each other like planets and moving and interacting. Wow.