Scott Stilson

One could make a formula that would calculate the solidity of my conviction that God is real. The formula’s elements?

• the amount of sleep I’ve gotten,
• the degree of self-control I’ve been exercising, and
• the last time I prayed.

With my current apathy toward orthodoxy and my uncertainty about the whole thing at all, I hope He is moving me toward faith-as-action. I hope this uncertainty is moving me toward action. But whither? In what fields shall I imitate Jesus? How will my imitation be different from before, when I was 100% certain of all my theology? Is He removing my certainty, or am I? Am I just making up this move to console myself as my faith withers? Or is it real?

How do I sing to Him I do not know?

Well, I asked to see Jesus: My Peruvian friend César got evicted from the defunct Internet café where he was sleeping two days before Christmas. Then, on New Year’s Eve when he was sleeping under a bridge, he was attacked and robbed. He is without food or money, and he was prescribed and charged for some medical cream that he obviously cannot afford.

Father, grant César, Carla, Roberto, and the folks at Misión Familiar Internacional compassion and wisdom.

Actually, while we’re at it, a healing miracle or a miracle of provision—or really any direct touch from You—would be swell.

“Housatonic” means “beyond the mountain place,” and to me it means that my source of life and faith must come directly from You, not mediated by reading others.

You’re daring me to find You by helping others (Matthew 25:31-46).

Why do You hide yourself from all people most of the time and most people all the time?

I am grateful for the opportunity to help Janet in her time of need. But I want need not to be! Carla has visited a few times over the past several days because Janet has been loopy because of some medication she is one in connection with her perma-asthma that set in this winter like last. Apparently, MRIs at the hospital today may have revealed lymphoma.

I am grateful for the resilience and emotional maturity Éa displayed upon getting her ears pierced at Ikonic Ink downtown today. It hurt, but she displayed (and was multiply congratulated by onlookers for) stoicism while Miranda the “piercing artist” was doing her work. When it was done, she cried honest, quite-but-unashamed tears in Mommy’s arms. May all my children know what to do with their sadness and pain.

And may more families make family outings at tattoo and piercing parlors?

I am grateful for a Father in heaven who doesn’t blink an eye when I return to attending to Him in prayer after almost completely ignoring Him over the holiday period.

I am grateful that last night just after midnight, Josh and Sarah tossed red table grapes into each other’s mouths unbidden after we had agreed that we didn’t need to do it because Carla and Josh were both feeling sick. I feel loved when people enact tradition with me—especially traditions I create. Also included: an energetic indoor snowball fight that revived us for the eleven-o’clock hour. Funny part: We turned on the radio just as the announcer was starting the ten-second countdown to midnight.

I am grateful that Ethan feels comfortable enough in his friendship with us that he walked his two daughters and Andy and Robbie all the way to our house in the cold unannounced. We enjoyed impromptu conversation, crackers, lingonberry jelly, herring, gjetost, and Ethan’s new quadcopter.

Dude: “No I don’t go to church. I’m not wasting my time & money on some fantasy.”
Pastor: “OK. I like your Star Wars shirt.”

— “Unappreciated Pastor”

I am grateful for the brief moments of fun Sullivan and I had at the edge of Struble Lake today playing with the Harbor Freight “Neptune” RC boat that Dad had bought a year or two ago. I should emphasize brief moments the remote control started smoking and stinking through the inverter switch ports after about one trip out and back by each of us. But that was most of the fun! For the sake of continuing relationship, I should remember to ask Dad about the results of his postmortem on the remote.

I am grateful for the folks at PBS Kids, who air such entertaining, sweet-hearted children’s programming as Curious George and Wild Kratts, both of which enjoyed alongside Kathy and Uncle Mike while sitting at the kitchen table at Dad’s house today.

I am grateful for the moment of clarify I had reading Romans 14 this evening: If I let Paul’s use of the word “doubt” (diakrino) in vv. 22-23 interpret James use of the same word in James 1:5-8, then it is clear that Boyd’s thesis about “doubt” not being synonymous with uncertainty is true.

Actually, reading all of Romans 14, which touches on ritually-based vegetarianism and people following their own consciences, was exciting.

I am grateful for the light resolution I made while on my evening walk tonight that I can thank God for everything good and usually thank someone else for everything, too—a resolution I put into practice by thanking Christian Carion for making Joyeux Noël, which we watched with the Rookes last night.

I am grateful for Carla, whose beauty and diligence inspire me.

I am grateful for the Peters and the warm, fuzzy, family feeling I get when we come over for dinner—which we did tonight (eating the first of our venison in a chili Carla made) but which doesn’t happen nearly often enough these days. And it’s a funny observation where there used to be a bunch of teenage girls, now there are a bunch of teenage boys!

I am grateful for the theological flexibility I enjoy, which allows me to look at texts like Romans 13:11-14, which appear upon first reading to reinforce the idea that Paul was, like Jesus, Peter, and probably all the New Testament writers, mistaken in a belief in a literal, observable return of Jesus within his lifetime, and shrug my shoulders, saying, “Well, it could be that Paul was mistaken. And if he was, and even if Jesus was, it doesn’t change my commitment to Jesus. After all, Christianity is primarily a Way, not a Belief. Nevertheless, there are other interpretations: Perhaps Paul’s text does indeed refer to the divine judgement...

Here is the tidbit I think I’ll take home with from tonight’s Christmas-themed cabaret: Where should I point my eyes? Pick a point on the back wall about eye level—and sing to it and it only. It is a mistake to watch the audience, because then you tune in to their reactions or lack thereof and start to worry. Don’t be afraid to be an island within yourself, because they’ll enjoy watching it more if I just act.

I am grateful for Sullivan’s ingenuity, which he displayed in rare simplicity yesterday when I decided—the sagacious father that I am—to ask him how he would secure to the roof the one length of droopy Christmas lights. He asked, simply, “Dad, what is our roof made out of?” “Steel,” I replied. “Oh! Just use some of our magnetic clips from the refrigerator!” Later that day, I did. And it worked well.

I am also thankful for Carla’s helpfulness, which she displayed when she wrapped the books I plan to give to Aniyah and Axton for Christmas without me asking her to do it. When someone swoops down to do something from my to-do list without me having to prompt it, it is very loving to me.

“I do not want to merely be called a Christian, but to actually be one.”

—St. Ignatius, as quoted by Stephen Crosby

You want to know something amazing? Doubting God has made more room in my mind for me to actually follow Jesus. Like, with my actions. I come from a tradition that doesn’t emphasize that.

And I am part of the body of Christ. If someone needs empathy, help, listening ear, money, websites, whatever—if there is a need, let me fill it. I am His hands. (Cue St. Francis prayer.) Jesus doesn’t usually ride in on the clouds and save the day that way. He saves the day through us.

Today I am grateful for Richard Biever, who works an awful lot under the auspices of his proprietorship FUSE Productions to bring the joys of taking in—and participating in—high-quality theatre to State College. I visited his house midday today to run through “O Holy Night” and suggest that I also sing “The Restroom Door Said Gentleman.”

I am also grateful for Carla, who continues to apply herself assiduously to making a happy Christmas for everyone in her social circle. Unfortunately, she said on our midday drive to HobbyTown USA today that she feels like she is losing God through it all.

Maybe Paul tells us to pray without ceasing because without prayer, it’s hard to believe in God. That’s my experience, anyway.

Since I have decided to concentrate my life so locally, my locality matters. It’s Houserville for now, but I can envision wanting to live in a neighborhood that isn’t in a place that’s already called ‘Happy Valley.’

I got chills thinking that while driving to Giant this evening on my way to buying a pink hedgehog Beanie Baby for Éa and a big-eyed monkey Beanie Baby for James.

Don’t worry about the obvious physicality—and thus susceptibility to brain damage—of the mind, and therefore the self. God, the one who created everything from nothing, can surely un-disease those who have sustained brain damage.

I found great relief on this question as I started my evening walk by asking myself two questions:

1. How do we humans take care of the brain-damaged among us? (We care for them and, as much as is in our power, we try to reverse the effects of the brain damage. God will do the same thing in the life to come.)
2. Is there any kind of brain damage, disorder, impairment that we don’t think of as being just that: damage, disorder, or impairment? (No.)

I am grateful today for a son who grows in maturity and relatability. It was my honor to bring him to Panera this evening to share in a cherry pastry with him. We agreed it’d be good to learn computer programming together as father and son. I set a reminder for myself to look into the best, most child-friendly among the free starter courses that are cropping up seemingly everywhere online these days. We also played chess with a Super Mario set that Schlow Library had on hand.

I am grateful today for the evening of dress-up, make-up, dancing, and bathing together that Carla tells me she and Éa shared. I am glad they got to enjoy one another.

I am grateful for Greg Boyd, whose God at War Travis is reading at my recommendation while I re-read Satan and the Problem of Evil. Travis texted me this evening to chat briefly about how much he enjoyed Boyd’s use of quantum theory in the opening pages.

Why have I decided against eating farmed mammals?

• Mammal husbandry is ecologically expensive, and
• mammals are almost certainly sentient.

I will eat game mammals because they are not as ecologically expensive. Plus, by hunting myself, I am staying more in touch with what eating mammals entails for the mammals.

I am grateful for our good friends the Potters, with whom we shared a dinner and an evening today. (I told Josh about my pollo-pesce-venatarian tonight.) I am grateful for our good friends the Rookes, the Matt of which I raced and competed on pull-ups with today. I am grateful for the rest of our good friends at church, with whom we shared a park walk today. I am grateful for our good friends the Wendles, who gave us two deer worth of meat today after we butchered them.

I am grateful for the loving effort Carla is putting forth these past few days into making Christmas cheery for us all by overcoming her distaste for shopping and spending the better part of today and yesterday shopping. We had decided after last Christmas that we would do 100% of our Christmas shopping locally. We probably won’t end up doing 100%, but the decision does mean Carla has been all over town: Jo-Ann Fabrics, Goodwill, Ross, and Target, to name a few.

I am grateful for our tenant Apoo’s eagerness to share Indian dishes with us. We had her, her husband Vijay, and her father Raju up for dinner this evening so we could meet her father. We shared garden vegetable quiche; she shared chicken biryani. Carla and I overate because everything was so tasty.

I am grateful for the culturally show of fatherly tenderness Raju made by touching Éa’s face when she caught her hand in the globe while fighting Sullivan over it. Perhaps it is purely cultural and doesn’t carry the same meaning in...

Brandon and I swapped photos of our standing desks today.

You may laugh that I write about my standing desk so much. But my body—and I hope Brandon’s back—will be much healthier because of this switch.