Words we have lost but still use

Everyone who lives in America, who hasn't been living in a cave or something, has witnessed a flood of words entering our language to accommodate the flood of new technology, among other new things--new types of education, new ways of defining relationships and family and even new ways of committing crimes, and this only names a few of the avenues for new words. But does our language really have the capacity to expand infinitely? Or are new words coming in bound to force old ones out? Words only stick around if they are actually used and can we really use more words per day, per year? Or will the aspects of life that brought the new words in leave no room for the other parts of our life--or that used to be part of our lives--that caused the use of the old words.

I know, this is a deep thought. And may not seem significant in any way. Who really cares of we lose a few words, if we gain so many? Well, as a linguist, I care for one.

Perhaps, though, the greatest loss, is not when we lose words as much as keeping words that lose their meaning. I've been reading a book series to my kids (The Five Little Peppers) that was written over a hundred years ago and the language is so different, and certain words have completely different meanings and connotations than they do now: words like "cunning" and "elegant" and "prime"... and the one that disturbed my kids the most was when I first used in the 19th century sense--"toilet" :)

There was a learning curve, but after a few chapters, they caught on.

Eugene H. Peterson--the author of The Message--in most of his other writings spends a lot of time explaining precise definitions of words as they were originally intended in the Hebrew or Greek. I used to assume that every language was equally capable of translating the meaning of any phrase from any other language. But language reflects the culture. And the further our culture moves away from resembling what it did when the bible was written, that harder it becomes to translate, I imagine.

Some words have not changed meaning as much as become the equivalent of nutritional fillers and as potent as placebos--they, as far as I can tell, have little meaning whatsoever. We carelessly toss words around in such a way to certainly confuse the listener (as it can easily mean one thing as intended by the speaker and received as something completely different by the listener). Perhaps our lips have just become to far removed from our hearts.

The classic example, which I've heard mentioned in many a sermon, is the word "awesome", which we use to describe mountains towering above but may be just as likely be used to describe the news that a favorite team has won one of the hundreds of games they will play this year, or even more trivial, we have found the cap to our favorite pen!

The word that I'm tempted to stop using altogether is "love". The bible says "God is love." That sets the standard for the definition, or it ought to. There ought to be a certain reverence for a word that, in one word, encompasses the whole of God's character (and the summing up of God's law as well).

But I am as guilty as anyone of throwing that word around with little reverence. I "love" my children, my dog, my husband, chocolate, a joke, sleep and my favorite TV show--oh, and God. Jesus defines love as laying down your life (not being willing mind you, but actually laying it down) for the one you love. Does this definition apply to all these things on my list? I certainly hope not, though it probably applies more to things that it ought not to than the things that it ought. And what I probably "love" most, by this definition, would be my pride, my reputation, my comfort and my selfish lusts.

So what would I say about the things I say I "love" if I was forced to remove "love" from my vocabulary?

For my favorite TV show?

"I am diverted by this show and it numbs me from the pain that my heart constantly smarts from due to the blows life has dealt."

For chocolate?

"I feel good so little of the time and when I put this in my mouth, I feel good and feel pleasure, thought it's only a shadow of what I wish I could have in my life."

For my child?

"I see you, my child, and I feel a swelling of pride that my old, tired body could have produced anything so seemingly unspoiled and beautiful. I look at you and I can have hope that my life hasn't been wasted."

For my dog?

"O my doggie, I am so grateful to have anything look at me that way, like I could do no wrong and you would follow me to the ends of the earth and never complain about what I give you for dinner. You are so much easier than people."

For my God?

This is one that's going to take some thought, so I'll leave that for later. :)

I mostly just want to be left alone... but then I get lonely.

Every once in awhile, I get a fresh glimpse of just how vast is the chasm between myself and the Lord. Here is a description of my latest glimpse. Notice a common thread in all these sayings of the Lord--a spirit of welcoming with arms open wide: "Come unto me...and I will give your rest," "Come and follow me," "I long to gather you as a hen gathers her chicks," "Come all who are thirsty." This just scratches the surface. Pay attention, as you read his Word how the Lord constantly beckons: Adam out of hiding, Moses up the mountain, to his people to turn towards him and away from their sin... and even without the words, his posture is the one of the Father of the prodigal, arms open wide.

Then I considered myself and what my kids hear from me most of the time. "Not right now," "Go and get your work done," "Go back to your room and let me rest," "Go outside and play". Sadly, my kids are probably more likely, if they hear me actually calling them to come to me, to believe that I have a chore in mind for them and they don't come very quickly. Rarely do I call them to come with me to the store if Nick is home to be able to watch them, but may find myself trying to sneak out before they notice I've gone, because for every child I end up taking to the store, you can probably add 20 minutes to the trip and when I have all four, I'll probably forget several things on the list.

So of course, this is not characteristic of all my interactions with my children, and there are certainly good reasons for me to need time to rest or go the store alone. But I guess I'm not feeling guilt for my words to them as much as the attitude of my heart. I always have my guard up to protect myself from my kids and protect my own interests in general. The demands certainly are great and my supply is limited (except when God's grace intervenes) and I hoard my time and energies like the servant burying his talent. (And I won't even go into my poor husband and the leftovers he deals with if there are leftovers I'm willing to spare at all. And of course, he'll agree, it goes both ways. We're both guilty of assuming we couldn't possible ask for one more thing from our spouse that the world around us hasn't already sapped from us and have come to this sad truce best described in "I won't bother you if you don't bother me.")

This is where I am completely in awe of Jesus. He and his disciples have ministered non-stop and haven't even had a chance to eat (Mark 6) and Jesus leads them to slip away with him in the boat to a place without public demands for rest. The people on the shore are not caring whether Jesus and his disciples should rest and race on foot along the shore and are waiting for them when they land. Instead of having the breakdown I probably would have had (though a mother's heart does tend to rise to the occasion, but in the instance... I just don't know if I could have done what Jesus did), Jesus had compassion on them and decided they were needier than himself and continued to minister to them.

So I ponder how soon after we are moved by every instinct to bond with our parents and make social connection with others that we start to desire separation from others, starting to hate them in our hearts as we compete for possessions, turf, the affection of our parents, the last piece of cake. We see our siblings as in the way, making a mess, a source of annoyance or hurt, and we daydream of life as an only child

My girls (3 of them) all share a room. When they get to bickering or keep each other from going to sleep when they ought to, night after night, it's tempting to start seeking the solution of separate rooms (which would mean moving or renovating). But do we want to teach them this sort of solution to interpersonal problems? Do good walls really make for the best neighbors? Granted, certain respect for personal bounderies must be taught, but do the walls need to be physical?

Life without others is more simple, uncluttered, streamlined, productive... and lonely. The bottom line is, God says, "It is not good for man to be alone." I used to try to get around this by reasoning this just applied to the male of the species, that men cannot function will on their own, but women aren't near as helpless. Apparently, I've been brainwashed by the modern media.... Shame on me.

So this whole meditation caused me to reflect back on the book by C.S. Lewis called The Great Divorce in which Lewis gives a picture that we all are making progress towards heaven or hell throughout life and prepare ourselves in a gradual way for one or the other. And that hell is simply the end of the path which, as we travel down it, we become more and more isolated from others and we are fit for nothing but the ultimate isolation in the trash heap outside the city. (I'm mixing my own thoughts here with my memory of the book, I'm sure.)

And on our way towards heaven, we travel the path where are hearts become softer, more able to receive others into our thoughts, enter into their joys and sufferings, and we make ourselves fit for community, until we finally land, in the end, in the ultimate eternal fellowship with the Church and the Trinity.