Last night in my medical terminology class, we watched a bit of graphic video footage on the effect that smoking has on your lungs...and the effect that eating cheesecurds and French fries has on your aorta...and the effect that drinking has on your liver...and the effect that candy has on your diabetes. (ok, so it was a clip from Oprah. Whatever.)

But it really made a deep impression on me. Deeper, that is, than some of the other horror stories that I've heard in whispers from well-meaning grandparents, who lean over their Thanksgiving pumpkin pie with wide eyes to warn you about the dangers of going out into public without first checking to make sure that your shirt has all its buttons and your pants are zipped.

So today, as I was meandering from one class to another, I was more struck than usual by the number of people that you find outside puffing away on cancer sticks in subzero degree weather. What's up with that?!

Every time I walked by one of these benevolent individuals who was so dutifully helping to counteract global cooling by emitting as much environmental pollution as possible, I was picturing the alveoli melting away inside of their lungs, and the nasty black tar getting a little thicker and a little nastier with each puff...and it was rather disturbing, to be perfectly frank.

So disturbing, in fact, that I began to think of making a modern rendition of the old Tar Baby/Brer Rabbit stories, only the Tar Baby would be played by a smoker in the new version. And perhaps I'd give the Easter Bunny a speaking part and let him take on the role of Brer Rabbit if he agreed to donate his eggs to the Salvation Army in exchange--I'm pretty sure they're way past their expiration date anyway--he's been carrying them around in that same ol' basket since ten years before I was born...

Any and all script ideas will be given due consideration, and I thank you kindly in advance for your time in this regard.

I came across a very thought-provoking article by George Halitzka on Boundless.org that spoke to some of the difficulties that Christians and non-Christians alike encounter in trying to develop and maintain community...the original article was well worth the read, but these were a few of the main ideas that were particularly striking to me:

"Please Hear What I'm Not Saying"

Don't be fooled by me. Don't be fooled by the mask I wear.

For I wear a mask. I wear a thousand masks — masks that I am afraid to take off,

and none of them are me. Pretending is an art that's second nature to me.

But don't be fooled, for God's sake, don't be fooled!

I give you the impression that I'm secure, that all is sunny and unruffled with me,

within as well as without, that confidence is my name and coolness is my game,

that the water is calm and I'm in command, and that I need no one.

But don't believe me. Please.

"Unfortunately, building a community, with one person or one hundred, is difficult. It calls us to bravely face loss; not running from grief but passing through the Valley of the Shadow. Knowing and being known will wound you so badly you'll never completely heal. Yet if friendships are to be worth having, and life worth living, you need to care anyway. A daring love called agape is the essence of authentic community."

So the question that I am left with, then, is whether I am willing to take the dare? Accept the wounds? Walk through the pain and accept the grief?

But can one bear the alternative to refusing this dare, which is doubtless far uglier than the consequences?

May God grant us the grace to build and maintain authentic community--to take the harder path and reap the deeper reward...

As I was driving through town on my way home from the library last week, I was in a rather analytical mood, and I flipped the radio to a secular music station for a moment to see what was on and to see whether I could evaluate the worldview of what was being said.

On this particular day, at this particular moment, the song that came over the radio was Pain by Three Days Grace, and the lyrics were startling for a number of reasons:

You're sick of feeling numb

You're not the only one

I'll take you by the hand

And I'll show you a world that you can understand

This life is filled with hurt

When happiness doesn't work

Trust me and take my hand

When the lights go out you'll understand

Pain, without love

Pain, I can't get enough

Pain, I like it rough

'Cause I'd rather feel pain than nothing at all

What immediately struck me about the words and the way in which they were sung was that this guy isn't looking for answers...he gave up. He is bitterly resigning himself to a fate he despises, despite the agony that it obviously is costing him to admit that that's what he's doing, and now he's turning to the antithesis of everything that he truly wants.

He sought happiness, strove to discover meaning in life, and asked in agony if there was purpose for his life? And in all of his searching, he missed the answers, and he missed the point...so he turns instead to a cheap masochistic substitute and wallows in hopelessness and self-mutilation, deliberately forging deeper into his own private hell, violating others and himself in a deliberate sort of psychological and spiritual hara-kiri...because he would rather feel pain and know that he has not completely lost the sensation of feeling than to feel nothing at all, and so forget that he was once a man who was meant to feel things, meant to BE something great.

It was the saddest thing that I have ever heard, and the words continued to chase each other through my head as I drove along. I was pondering their true significance and wondering how many people could truthfully echo that chorus and claim it as their own personal anthem of defeatism and despair when I passed a bright orange sign.

It had been placed by the road to warn people that there was a crew of men up ahead painting white lines on the pavement for the enlightenment and instruction of Wausau drivers, and it was supposed to say "Paint Crew"...but the T was missing.

Pain Crew.

Yes, that's right. I checked to see if they were singing.

Big boys with big toys

Ha, I'm posting these just because I'm super proud of my big brother (and his lovely wife, who is not picture here...love you, Kels!). I thought these pictures of him with the little Schoepplers were really pretty cute. ;-)

The boys...

...getting a slightly higher view...

...and this is probably right about the point where Joshua completely freaks out? Bless his heart.

The "New Look"?

Some of us got a bit bored with our old hairstyles and our natural haircolor by the end of this week, and since we have so many options available to us in America, we decided that while there may come a day when the courage of men fails, and we break all ties with hairstylists, today is not that day. Today, we change. And here are the results, which I sincerely hope are not permanently traumatizing to any of you, my dear viewers:

I think we were going for the emo/homeless punk look here...

And this would have been...a Weird Al Yankovic impersonation, perhaps?

Josiah as...Blondie? He wasn't crazy about this 'do.

Our history class is studying the '60s, so this one seemed fitting, somehow.

And this one was...just because we love each other.

So there you have it...Saturday night at the Beatys...minus one brother, who was sensibly occupied the entire time reading Grimm's Fairytales. Go Seth! A very sensible chappy, that.