A Brief Reflection

Let not the current moment pass you by.

I am sitting in a comfortable blue wingtip style chair that was found on the side of the road. My feet are resting on a table that was constructed out of old scraps and a spool by my self and my wife. Sipping a crystal glass of Gin and Lacroix, while listening to a record, and reading a comic book from my local library. What else can one ask for in life? The ages of human effort and ingenuity that have gone into my current moment of enjoyment are innumerable. Hours ago, I was struggling through another monumentally difficult day trying to teach middle schoolers school. Simultaneously, I am frequently beset by near-crippling existential angst, and doubt in everything I believe and once held dear. Tears are just perceptible in the corners of my eyes as I express an outflowing of gratitude for my present circumstances and whisper a quiet thanks to the universe for the present moment I am blessed to inhabit.

My Spiritual Journey: Variations of Certainty and Doubt Part 1

I have always felt like I am on the edge of something new. Pushing the limits and boundaries of my knowledge and understanding. My parents fostered that desire for knowledge and taught me to think for myself and critically evaluate information I encountered. I applied those skills voraciously to academics and spirituality; continually yearning for intellectual stimulation, facts to ponder, boundaries to push; questing for knowledge. That quest has manifested itself in both my intellectual and spiritual life, which is not the most satisfying of locales to have a constant flux of questioning and exploring.

I grew up in a moderately conservative Evangelical Christian home, and my church family always talked about me as a leader, bound to do great things to further God’s Kingdom. At three years old my Sunday school teacher told my mom I was great at praying or that I was destined to be a church leader or something one day. When I was six, I asked around and found out that you did not literally have to pick up a cross and follow Jesus to death on a cross to be a Christian. In light of that new revelation, I decided to accept Jesus into my heart, with the stipulation that my dad, and not the pastor, would baptize me.

In grade school, I was homeschooled from 1st through 6th grade because in my family's circle of friends that is what most everybody did. The Dads worked solid middle-class jobs, and the moms taught their kids the four “R’s”: reading, ‘riting, ‘rithmatic, and religion. We went to a homeschool co-op and once attended a Creationism lecture to learn how to combat the evolutionists and atheists. While not the full-blown jean jumper and dress wearing only types, we knew some who were.

In sixth grade, I was introduced to apologetics and Answers in Genesis (Ken Ham). We studied the book of Revelation, called our 6th grade Sunday school graduation party Rapture Night, watched Left Behind, and waited to see if Jesus was going to take us up into the sky before the tribulations began. I wanted to taste the scroll that John ate and thought about asking God to try one when I got to heaven.

Throughout middle school and high school, I frequently bemoaned the perceived spiritual immaturity, theological unsophistication and lack of intellectual rigor of my peers. In my opinion, they did not take God or church seriously enough. Always a full-throttle type of person, I did nothing half-way (except my chores, sorry mom). If God wanted our best, I thought to myself, then why were so many churchgoers so lackluster in their commitment to Him? I was a fundamentalist of sorts; I had my unwavering attachment to a set of irreducible beliefs. I was concerned with knowing the what and why of my beliefs; eschewing wishy-washy ambiguity. The problem I perpetually felt was that the last piece of knowledge to complete the puzzle, to answer the hard questions about God and the nature of reality, was always behind the next intellectual horizon.

The search for the remaining puzzle pieces led me to conferences and camps. Riding the spiritual highs, repenting of sins, and perpetually promising to have more “quiet time” and read my Bible. In the summer before Tenth Grade I had a profound spiritual experience on a mission trip to Mexico that revealed my arrogance and shaped my understanding of Christianity. The following is how 16-year-old Ethan described the event for a memoir assignment in Tenth grade English class.

I remember my youth pastor asking: what is our number one job as Christians?  This question stopped me in my tracks, I had gone to church my whole life and had accepted Jesus and been baptized when I was six.  I thought I knew most of the answers, but after hearing such a simple question about what I believed and not being able to find an answer was unsettling to me.  So I thought a minute and contrived a reply that sounded something like: the number one job for a Christian is for us to minister to others and share the gospel with them so that we can bring them to Christ.  I looked at my youth pastor hoping that I had said the right thing, but something inside of me told me I was wrong and the look on my youth pastor’s face confirmed the doubt in my mind.  He then said to me that I had part of the answer, but I was missing a big part.  He then showed me Matthew 22:37 which says, ''Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.''  He then went and explained that you have to love God more than anything else first before you can do any of the other things that I mentioned in my answer.  That is the moment that changed my life. The answer had been right in front of me the whole time! I had read the same passage before several different times but never stopped to consider what the verse actually meant.  Once I heard this, I felt like I had been given a piece of valuable information that could change my life and the world forever.

I was so caught up with trying to be right and believe the right things and convince others that I knew what I was talking about; I had missed a central point of the message Jesus had come to give. I was neglecting my relationship with God because I was busy running around telling others they needed to do a better job of loving God. I had made the salvation of others my primary concern due to the fear of God's wrath. This new lesson took a while to take hold even after my trip as evidenced by a biographical poem I wrote for that same English class several months after going on a mission trip to Mexico

Ethan

Joyful, smart, interesting

Best friend of David

Who feels bored with school, tired from reading, ready for track to start

Who fears the unknown, fear itself, and God's wrath

Who would like driver’s Ed to be over, more hours in a day, and the ability to spell

Resident of the North and Western Hemispheres

Miller

Grappling with the implications of God's wrath and how to love Him more coincided with my change of schools from public to a private Christian school. The transition was an opportunity to learn more about God, try and make some friends, and most importantly, get more playing time on the Football field.

At my new school, I encountered a more intense version of dogmatism and unrelenting orthodoxy than I had seen before. The lens through which the institution seemed to view the world was black and white, “we are right, come join our side, leave your foolishness or face God's wrath.” At times I was drawn to the sirens’ song of certainty, predestination, original sin, and substitutionary atonement. However, the paradigm shift I had experienced that past summer had shown me the dangers of putting too much stock in one perspective. The message I received seemed to condescend and condemn other denominations who differed in areas of practice and belief. Not a fan of their exclusionary teachings, I thought to myself, What about people who had never heard the Gospel? Were they destined to hell as objects of God's Wrath? What about people who hold different beliefs within Christianity, the Catholics, Eastern Orthodox, or Pentecostals? On top of this was their adherence to biblical inerrancy amidst the ambiguity and inconsistencies of scripture. My Bible class taught me that these differences did not exist and Genesis was literal, no Hebrew poetry allowed. These teachings led to more questions than answers.

After two years at my new school, I realized that I was not going to be a Football phenom or track star. The rituals and rules of high school were holding me back, and it was time to move on to some free college via Running Start at the local community college.

It was not until my second year at community college that the next step in my spiritual journey took place. I joined a small group started by our church for college-age young adults. Being a part of that group shifted my focus from developing my personal relationship with Jesus to building a community centered on Christ. I encountered the life-changing experience of being part of a tight-knit spiritual community for the first time, full of people growing and supporting each other towards a common goal. We were serious about growing in our relationship with God (and cute girls/guys). At peace with the tension between faith and doubt, I felt that I had found a spiritual home. I knew my place and role at last after feeling like an outsider throughout high school. Feeling more secure and at home than ever before, I was energized to fling myself into a new adventure in a strange and distant land.

That new adventure was University, and I chose a Christian Liberal Arts University in Southern California for the place of my new adventure. This choice afforded me an opportunity to learn more about the bible, finish my undergrad in History, and gain a little independence from my family. At university, I encountered a new way to look at scripture; Historical Biblical Criticism, it challenged my faith and understanding of God more than anything before. The alarm bells started gently ringing in the back of my head. Which books of the New Testament were/were not written by Paul? Did the Israelites have to commit Canaanite genocide? Was the genocide ordered by God? Who actually killed Goliath? What are the moral and ethical implication of a triple Omni God who commanded his people to do such reprehensible acts? All of these questions and consideration were new to me.

From studying history and literature I was aware that old texts are complicated and open to many interpretations. But I did not think that applied to the bible too. I grew up being taught that the Bible was the inerrant, infallible, inspired word of God, not just some ancient religious text like other religions use that are full of errors. My studies led me to question the literalness with which scripture should be interpreted and the authorship of many books. I also saw how many different opinions were out there about the Bible, what it meant, and who wrote it.

While my belief in the bible was going through a major shakeup, my faith and Christian community were stronger than ever. The same people who shook my faith to its core were also the ones demonstrating amazing care and concern for their students. It was the passionate, brilliant, and caring professors whose quality of scholarship and intellect was matched by their faith in God who guided me through this new phase of faith. Their dedication to wrestling with ideas of truth, justice, and the Bible was reassuring. I had never met Christians like this before who were accepting of differences in faith and belief, scientific in their study, and devoted to their faith. They prepared me for the tough questions that would both destroy and rebuild my faith. I had shed my certainty and learned to be open and listen to other perspectives and not just bang my own drum. But what was I to do with all this new knowledge? Was I becoming a New Kind of Christian? What did that even mean? What was my role in furthering God's kingdom? How did one love the Lord your God with all your heart, mind, and strength? Questions multiplied with every class period, lunch break Table talk with professors, and late night chats with the roommates. After two years all I knew was that I had more questions, fewer answers, and a greater desire to pursue my faith journey than ever before.

Summer to Winter 2015-2016

On Summertime and Sadness

After a long year filled with stress, depression, and anger I was finally done with grad school. I celebrated my triumph not by walking with my class and greeting the King of Norway but rather hopping a plane to SoCal and helping my fiancee pack up her belonging and drive north to spend the summer with her new future family.

My goal for the summer was to relax and recover from my self proclaimed, “worst year of my life.” My summer consisted of painting houses, working at the Old Spaghetti Factory (the Spag.), going to concerts and vacationing with my friends and family in Eastern Washington. It was the ideal mix of work and play and I got to do it all with my bride to be (major plus). It was our first summer together and it was simply wonderful.

Towards the end of summer, my plans for Fall were set. I was planning on substitute teaching in order to stay in the education game and get the lay of the land, while still having the flexibility to take a day off every now and then in order to take an extended break from the previous year of grad school insanity.

Despite the good sense of my plan, my mind did not rest easy. I was struggling to come to terms with being one of the only people from my program not fully employed and feeling uneasy from how people were perceiving my decision to substitute teach. Slowly, I became more comfortable with my choice to remain in a season of rest and not charge forward into full time teaching just yet. Then one weekend in the middle of August my dad went into the hospital because he had a headache and his eyes were feeling funny.

30 hours later, strange and distant words mount an assault on my reality and leave me adrift in a vast miasma of confusion:

MRI,

BRAIN TUMOR,

GLIOBLASTOMA,

12-16 months TO LIVE,

CHEMOTHERAPY,

RADIATION.

Haunted and Hurting

These words,

these words are

these words are foreign objects,

these words are foreign objects, that

that do not, belong

that do not, belong,  in my lexicon,

these words are foreign objects, that do not belong in my lexicon,

I do not like them

I hate them

I want them to go away

I never want to hear them again, cuz

they bite and

they nash and

they threaten and

they grab and

they strangle and

they fight all the good and hopeful thoughts in my head,

I go numb

I retreat

I react

I repeat

I repeat

over and over,

and over in my head

what would it mean

if he is dead?

I break into verse

I want to curse

I feel no pain

though I have skin in this game

I reason

I calculate

I postulate

I bargain with fate

I see people all around me, cry and sigh and weep

I do not utter a peep

my feelings

they creep

around the edges

they sleep

I scour

they scamper

they hide

they find no place to abide

they do not want to be found

they burrow underground

they...

Why don't I feel

how this reality really is real

I don't just know.

I just don’t know.

In the summer he was fine

In the summer he was sublime

In the summer we passed the time

Not realizing that time was a limited commodity

And now that reality seems an impossibility

A vapor a mist

The end of hist...ory

He’s not doing so well. It’s been a few weeks now. The headaches are getting worse. He cant stay awake. I’m in Tacoma meeting a friend. I get a call. I think now he’s dead. What does that mean? Where am I? Is this real life? I go home more worried about who is going to be at my house than who is no longer there. I can’t deal with the emotion, the drama. My dad is dead and I am freaking out about how people are going to perceive me when I get there. What a great time to worry about oneself. Through confusion is what I feel as I drive home. They are coming to take him away. I get one final look and kiss his head. Profound feelings stirs inside of me. Never again shall I see that face in flesh. It’s a body now, the person is gone, so I help carry it out and they take it away.

The first time

The first time, I cried

The first time, I cried, I was

I cried, I was, helping

I was, helping, my dad,

helping, my dad, walk

my dad, walk to, the car

Yes, I said helping

helping him walk, this formerly strong man, the strongest man I knew, and I knew he was strong so strong

because when I was 5 I knew that my dad could beat up your dad with his pinky finger

because I knew he was invincible

because I knew he knew everything

because I knew when I had a question he had the answer

because I knew he was strong and courageous and loving and caring and

because I knew it did not matter if he was sometimes the most difficult person to understand or to get to understand what you were trying to say

because I knew he was my dad

because I never knew what was growing in his brain all summer long

because I don’t know what it will feel like when he is gone

because I thought the good times would go on and on

But now things have changed

they did not remain the same

and everything I thought I knew

turned out to be not so true

what did I ever know anyway

I couldn't just say

I just couldn't say

Grandpas and Grandmas

I have been blessed to have three sets of them. When I was little I thought of it as an advantage mainly from a Christmas presents and holiday gift/card standpoint. But now, I have been able to see beyond the material advantages which come from having three sets of grandparents, and view the relational and wisdom gleaning aspects as well. What follows is a sort of short form tribute to my grandparents. To my grandparents, I apologize for its deficiencies, inaccuracies, or limits to my understanding and knowledge of you. While my account falls far short of capturing your true selves, it is my best effort to honor you all.

Fred

He lived the closest and I see him the most. He plays golf and polishes his cars and paints his house and writes lists and talks about the old days. I help him with his computer and phone and we talk about how things used to be. We get burgers sometimes. He exhibits his love and care by always being there like when my car died and I had to get home, or when I wanted to buy a computer as a freshman and could not drive to the store, or when my friend and I needed an adult for both of us to go see Book of Eli. Full of smiles and seldom a frown, I always enjoy having him around.

Reconstructed Reflections: Going with God and Getting Through Grad School

Before you read 

Hello, first let me say a thing or five about this post. One, it is long sorry but hang with it, Two, read the footnotes they are there for a reason people. Three there are a lot of hyperlinks use them to help understand what is being referenced. Four this is sort of my attempt at postmodern writing so who knows if its any good but I was a blast to work on. Five I would love to hear your comments, spelling corrections, and thoughts in the comments below or on FB or Twitter.

[Adapted, expanded, and updated from an underwhelming attempt at blog writing circa April 10, 2015 while still in the trenches of Grad School.]¹

Aside

Yes, I write overindulgent self reflective nonsense from time to time and post it on my blog that has a pretentious name referencing a quote from my favorite president. Now that that is out in the open...

Introduction

Ten Months ago Ethan entered Grad School “little did he know”² the dire consequences this decision would have on his life in the coming months. In my application to grad school I wrote about how I wanted to teach kids the importance of history and its value as a subject to study. I wrote about how I came from a long line of teachers and would be carrying on the legacy into the third generation of public educators like my father and grandfather before me. Little did he know what it really meant to be a teacher. There was a chasm between my idea and reality of being a teacher.

I had snazzy black rimmed glasses teaching at a high school in the heart of north T-town. I taught engaging lessons full of rigor and authentic tasks. In the evenings and afternoons I would sip coffee and grade papers. In the evenings I would cook dinner, hangout with family and friends and attend concerts and cinema screenings at my favorite movie house. This idea was formed during my high school and undergrad years, not realizing that teaching is some of the most challenging and humbling work out there.

¹The original sections appear this color the revisions and expanded sections are the whitish. This format has been adopted to preserve, as much as possible, of the original tone and feelings that were present when this piece was originally written. The somewhat uneven style which switches from first to third person, stream of consciousness and snarky narration, interspersed with far too many footnotes can be attributed to the radically inconsistent styles my mind adopts while writing and thinking on a regular basis. In the months since writing this original piece my state of mind has radically improved.^a

a. Yes, I did get the idea to include all of the footnotes which you will see in this article from DFW’s use of footnotes in “IJ.” Also you have to manually etid the HTML to properly put in footnotes so I am going to use regular sized number for the rest of the post to save a tone of time. #lovefootnotes

²“I've written papers on little did he know.”  - Professor Jules Hilbert

What I will Miss: A Goodbye tale

Originally this post was written to be posted the night a I graduated. Due to internet connectivity problems tiredness, and the realization that I still had some loose ends to tie up its release has been delayed until today.  For those that I said “look for a blog post” almost a month ago sorry for the delay, this is what I was talking about. To everyone else here it is.

Today I graduate.  Tomorrow I leave to head back to the great Pacific Northwest.  This is both a happy and a sad experience.  In my 18 total months living in Fullerton California at Hope International University I have had a myriad of wonderful and challenging experiences.  I have thoroughly enjoyed my time here but am overjoyed to return home to my beloved Pierce County.  Despite my joy at returning home and starting my life post-bachelors degree I leave a plethora of people and things behind that I will miss dearly.

(The length and order of each of the following sections do not not do justice to the the friends I will leave behind. They are but a simple tribute to the some of the amazing people I know and love from my time at HIU.  THis list is in no way complete and the length of each section does not reflect any type of ranking system of importance of closeness of our relationship. Some things are just easier to put into words then others.)

My wonderful, joyous, beautiful, fantastic, hilarious, love of my life Sabrina Miller (not related. . . for now:).  While my home is in Washington I will not truly be home until you are here too and brings my heart north with you.  No one else in life has grown, challenged, encouraged, loved, and endured me more than you.

That pondering, inquisitive, Lord of the Rings enthusiast, math major, and solid, dedicated roommate Lorenzo.  From the moment I saw your face light up when he saw my Return of the King poster I knew that we would be good friends. Through the years we have stayed up incredibly late, purloined two couches, pondered the meaning of life, deity of Christ, theology of Moltmann (and Bonhoeffer), and explaining our love for Batman, X-Men and Lord of the Rings.  He shared his town and family with me when I had nowhere to go.  We had our run-ins and disagreements (the toilet),  but our friendship was always secure.  Why does California have to be so far away? Lorenzo Rodriguez, I am honored to call you my friend, please move to Washington ASAP!

One year: A Reflection

I started writing this blog while riding the train home in May of this year.  8 months later I have picked it back up and am finishing it. At the time I thought I was going to write a month by month recap of my life.  I now realize that that would be boring, rather presumptuous, and self centered to think that people care enough about my life to read what had happened to me every month.  So i include the only month that I wrote November of last year.  From there who knows what will happen.

November

The month I finally got settled into life at HIU, and it felt like home.  I wrote my initial thoughts about it my post HIU Life.  I wrote more blog posts that month than any previous, or since. I met a girl who was interesting.  She asked me to Sadie Hawkins.  I told her no, not because of her, but because I dislike events with lots of people and am a cheapskate.  I told her we could go do something else some other time if she wanted to.  Surprisingly she took up my offer and we made plans to go see a movie, but I got the release date mixed up, so we ended up going for a walk instead.  I stayed home during Thanksgiving break to save a few bucks, but I paid for it in loneliness.  I missed my family; I had always spent Thanksgiving with them.  That girl invited me to go to her aunt’s house for Thanksgiving, I had nothing better to do, so I said yes.