Sunshine on the sand

11/08/07 11:09 a.m.

What is that bright thing in the sky?

11/07/07 3:57 p.m.

A Touch of Pink

11/06/07 5:38 p.m.

The Lakeshore Hermitage

My comprehensive exams loom on the horizon, and it has become plain to me that I cannot study efficiently at home. Too many distractions, both wonderful and tiresome. So I have headed to my folks' place for a few weeks, where I will stay in in seclusion to concentrate on my studies.

But I will post, everyday, a picture here of the one thing that remains a distraction: the ever-changing beauty of Lake Michigan.

11/5/07 1:56 p.m.

Today was a very blustery day.

The Most Beautiful Thing You'll Read Today

Accomplished agnostic poet + Simone Weil + a young marriage + cancer + church = love, life, hope.

Excerpt:

So now I bow my head and try to pray in the mornings, not because I don’t doubt the reality of what I have experienced, but because I do, and with an intensity that, because to once feel the presence of God is to feel His absence all the more acutely, is actually more anguishing and difficult than any “existential anxiety” I have ever known. I go to church on Sundays, not to dispel this doubt but to expend its energy, because faith is not a state of mind but an action in the world, a movement toward the world. How charged this one hour of the week is for me, and how I cherish it, though not one whit more than the hours I have with my wife, with friends, or in solitude, trying to learn how to inhabit time so completely that there might be no distinction between life and belief, attention and devotion.

Church Hopping

This is dangerously, accurately, embarrassingly funny.

King of the Hill.  Season 10, Episode 11.

Word of the Day

As the youngest member in family of rather effusive talkers, Philip has always had to fight for his right to be heard. Once, when he was around three, he interrupted an adult discussion in in the front of the car by pointing to himself and calling out loudly from his car seat: "HELLL-LLLO! Can I have some talk back here?!?"

Philip also has a terrifically fertile imagination, so that in his head he's constantly inventing new playground games with complex rules, or devising plans for world conquest as the superhero Captain Fire. And of course, he loves to share these plans with the family.

In detail.

Amazing, non-stop detail.

So it doesn't surprise us that these days, in the car or at the dinner table, if someone should give the conversational floor to Philip, it's not likely to be relinquished anytime soon. This is only partly because he has something to say -- it's also because he simply wants to give his parents and siblings payback for all the years he had to sit quietly, listening to all their talk.

Hence, the word for today, to describe these occasions when Philip makes a parliamentary power grab using his gregarious gift of gab:

Philibuster
phil·i·bus·ter fil-uh-buhs-ter -noun

Sombrero with sprinkles

When someone scores three goals in a game, you call it a hat-trick.

We puzzled today over what to call it when someone scores four goals in a game.

Since four goals is more than three, it's a rather large hat. And since the team is predominantly hispanic, we decided that a four-goal effort should be called a sombrero.*

But what do you call it when that four-goal effort is:
a) the only scoring in the game (final: 4-0)
b) when the fourth goal comes after sitting out 10 minutes for debilitating leg cramps?
c) when the win comes against former teammates?
d) when the family decided to go to Coldstone's afterward to celebrate?

You call that a sweet sombrero.


*a term not entirely unprecedented in sports lingo.

Your Theological Alter Ego

Let's say you work at an academic institution named after a prominent theologian. (Not that I do; it's a hypothetical. I could be talking about, for example, Wesley Seminary, or Luther Seminary).

How does your own personal theology comport with that of the institution's namesake? How do you fit in amongst those who claim a particular theological heritage? Do you feel perfectly at home among the elect? Do you regularly read whatever is nailed to the doors of the chapel? Is your heart strangely warmed as you enter class?

For those so inclined, check out this quiz and then post your results in the comments.

Two small caveats and an extra-credit assignment:
1) advance apologies for the gender exclusive language
2) of course the quiz is limited. It has to be.
Assignment: How would you amend the quiz if you could? Is there a theologian you'd like to see represented who isn't? Questions you'd like to add?

What Happened to the Boys in Blue?

It's the curse of the skyboxes.

When a team like the Wolverines loses to the Ducks, after getting whupped the week before, you know there's gotta be some bad karma going on.

Bling for the Jakester

After a long, long dry spell, we can at last post another obnoxiously braggy announcement (fair warning) about the soccer exploits of the Rienstra offspring. Jacob's new team (Olé) went to the MILD tournament this weekend and came home champions.

OK, well, there were only eight teams in the division (U-12 boys), but the ones we played were very good. The final game, especially, was a good challenge--for the parents' nerves, I mean. The score was a decisive 3-1 even so. Jake was responsible for popping one of those in on a nice cross.

To Jake's disappointment, the resulting bling was a mere "participant" medal, in the interest of how, for younger kids, this is all about having fun, blah blah blah. Don't they know that 12-year-old boys have visions of very large, very shiny trophies?

So a nice start to the season, even if we did have to write "champion" on the back of the medal with a Sharpie.

Olé, Baby

We've been a soccer family for quite a few years now, so we've seen plenty of family vans pulling into parking lots at tournaments and practices with the little soccer club stickers in the back window. But our own Dodge Caravan has remained pristine--until today.

Yes, we have succumbed.

Back in June, both Miriam and Jacob endured the equivalent of Greek pledge week, trying out for four or five different clubs teams each. Now, we had learned already in California that soccer can be a harsh taskmistress, a tyrant, an idol. Oh yes. We knew that. But slowly, over the course of "hell week," we came to realize that there were dimensions of soccer commitment even beyond our own level -- "crazy." We could see the path ahead to "insane," and even beyond it to "over the edge." The path was lined with parental fantasies of Division I scholarships, Olympic Development programs, practice schedules that rivaled a typical pro players, and most of all, lots and lots of cash.

Strangely enough, after dragging the kids out to suburban happy-land -- to Hudsonville and Cascade and Ada -- and feeling somehow uncomfortable and out of place at the well-tended fields among all these obviously very affluent white parents, we finally ended up... well, right around the corner: in the city, at the slightly less posh public park, as the minority white people among our mostly Hispanic neighbors. Ah, finally! This felt right.

Having gained all our soccer savvy in Southern California, we were used to folks who played the juga bonito: a style of play built on foot skills, speed, and crisp, short passing. And it felt familiar being around coaches and players with Hispanic surnames. (In fact, Mia has an honorary Hispanic name--"Mia Torres*"--granted by her former coach, John Mejia.)

So we're very grateful that Jose Rodriguez invited both Mia and Jacob to be on his teams in the brand-new Olé Soccer Club. Jose and his assistants ran by far the most well-organized, rigorous tryout, and we could see immediately that this club was a classier act than anything else we had seen around here.

Turns out Jose is on a bit of a mission to improve West Michigan soccer. He's been a player and coach in town for many years, but now it's his turn to do things a new way. He's also smart enough to do a little club marketing, including providing players with Olé practice shirts, and parents with their very own back-window stickers.

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*Side note for etymologists: though it might be cool if "Torres" had something to do with a bull (Spanish: torro) --given the team graphic -- it is actually a habitational name for someone who lived near a tower, usually a defensive fortification or watchtower (from Latin turris). However, given her actual ethnic heritage, it's interesting to note that this word also has a Dutch derivation, a short form of Victoris, from the Latin personal name Victorius. Fitting.