Nuances of 'My"

I've been reading C.S. Lewis of late and today's excerpt was the Nuances of Ownership. Screwtape is discussing the different meanings of the word "my". His examples? My boots is a lot different than my God. Hmm...so that got me thinking. If I was a person who did not really understand the English language would I get that there's a difference between the two. When one says my boots, it basically means I own them, I bought, got, was given, whatever a pair of boots and they're mine. But think about this...you cannot use the same definitions to describe my God. Same word - but so different in meaning. No one gave you God, you did not buy Him, or trade for Him, or get Him second-hand. Yet it's the same word. How is He yours? What makes it different from say your neighbour's God? He still uses the same word to describe Him. It's that sense of ownership that defines what we believe we possess.

But do we ever really possess it? Can we say we "own" our bodies? We are perhaps the caretakers of the house we call our own, but do we "own" it? Are our feelings ours? Why? Why do we say "you hurt my feelings". How is it yours?

When I say my job - it's the place I've chosen to go to work. So is the possessive my choices rather than ownership...can I apply the same rules to my God? It's my choice. I choose to believe in God therefore he's mine?

I love this book. It makes me think and write about it. It's good to think...

The Land Where the Blues Began

I am also reading a book by Alan Lomax about an summer he spent in the deep Delta researching where the blues began. What an amazing story. Railroad chain gangs singing African rythmic patterns to lay ties, blind preachers rasping out hellfire and damnation songs on street corners, moonshine plantation workers like Son House singing in the shanties while the white man worked them for profit picking cotton, roustabouts making good money on the paddlewheelers loading cotton and drinking. Wow...

And I'm only about 4 chapters in...

The Horror of the Same Old Thing

Have you ever felt like you couldn't spend another minute doing the same old thing? That every routine became a ball and chain around your ankles dragging you down and down? I'm reading CS Lewis selected readings right now and was impressed with the way he spoke about change. He believes that humans love change but they also love permanence. So it's like wishing for an amazing thing without the current thing changing. Lewis likens it to spring where it happens every year but it always feels like something new. Would we be content if it were to change all the time? Would we relish the craziness of a mutable world?

Food for thought...