Codex in the Firelight

Back and Bigger than a Bread Box

2012-01-05T05:17:00.002-05:00

Three bread boxes, even.

Between monthly newsletters and weekly e-mail updates, I run out of things to talk about here. I try my best to give my friends and family an overarching look at what it's like to live in Nanchang, so the little details get lost in translation; then when I try to think of something to tell you on this blog, I think in terms of the big picture and feel like there's nothing new to say.

But there's been a lot going on.

We threw Christmas parties for our students on old and new campuses. I watched my students wrap each other in toilet paper, and listened to them sing Father's praises in Christmas carols. I taught them about the first Christmas--the real meaning of Christmas--and most of them heard the story for the first time in their lives. That's huge. When I think about how Father has used me this semester, I'm deeply humbled and I feel kind of stupid for sometimes wishing I was Stateside.

Our team celebrated Christmas in true American fashion: we cooked a lot, ate a lot, and watched Christmas movies in our pajamas all day. We exchanged presents, and Skyped with our families. For many of us, this was our first Christmas away from home; I'd be lying if I said it didn't sting a little. A friend of mine said, "Everyone spends at least one Christmas away from home," so I guess I'm not alone.

What did I get for Christmas? Chinese checkers, of course!

I'm learning a lot about myself here, and about Father. I have plenty of opportunities to exercise patience (always a work in progress), and as I've made friends and built relationships with Chinese people, I find I'm more tolerant of things that used to bug the heck out of me. Things still aren't easy, but I keep Asking that He would complete the work He started, and from what I understand, He's faithful to do so.

A question I get asked a lot is, "What are you going to do after June, when you come home?" My students want to know, my parents want to know (I guess they're kind of entitled to know), and come March 15, ELIC will want to know, too. One of my friends told me what she did for Christmas, and she said, "Next year you'll be home for Christmas, so we'll be able to do this together!" My initial thought was, "Are you sure?" Truth be told, I have no idea where I'll be yet. The prospect of my future employment has been at the forefront of my mind, I'm sorry to say, since October. Father still hasn't given me a clear answer on where He wants me, and lately I've been concerned that maybe He isn't going to tell me at all. I have options--plenty of options--but no clear answer. And sometimes there isn't one, and we're called upon to make our own decisions based on maturity and wisdom.

Too bad I often feel like I'm lacking in those areas.

In the coming months, I'll be doing a lot of traveling; January 20 I leave for Shanghai, January 22 I leave Shanghai for Japan, and January 29 I leave Japan for Thailand. I anticipate a lot of opportunities for soul-searching in that time of transition and new experiences. In my insecurity, I return frequently to one particular verse that I feel I use a lot; in fact, it was my senior quote in high school:

"'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the LORD, 'plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.'" ~ Jeremiah 29:11

The Mean Streets

2011-11-04T22:11:00.001-04:00

I woke up to gunfire this morning.

... It's sports day on Old Campus.

Time Files So Fost in Daily Busy Life

2011-10-26T20:15:00.003-04:00

There's some Vietnamese Engrish for you.

I've settled into a routine of teaching and lesson planning and meeting with students, and there really isn't anything momentous to report, so I'll give you some insight into my weekday schedule:

5:20am
Wake up begrudgingly.
5:30am-6:00am
Work out, sometimes also begrudgingly.
6:00am-7:00am
Get ready for the day.
7:00am-7:15am
Think time with the team.
7:30am
The school van picks us up to take us to New Campus--half the time, anyway. Sometimes we have to take one of the giant school coach buses.
7:45am-7:55am
Get my stuff together for my first class.
8:00am-9:50am
First class of the day. If I don't have class at a given time, I hold office hours and lesson plan.
10:05am-11:50am
Second class block.
12:00pm-1:15pm
Lunch with students, usually somewhere on campus, though some of them have taken me across the road past a field with cows grazing in it to a really random restaurant district in the middle of literally nowhere.
1:15pm-1:45pm (Mondays)
Faculty meeting with the team. Otherwise, more planning and preparing.
2:00pm-3:50pm
Last class block of our day.
4:00pm-4:30pm-ish
Sit in the office and wait to hear if we're getting picked up by the school van, or if we need to find our own transportation home.
5:00pm-9:00pm
Catch up on e-mails and Skype with friends and family, grade assignments, eat dinner, and relax for a little bit, if there's time. On Tuesdays, our team has small group. Around this time, I eat too many Oreos, too.
9:00pm-ish-9:30pm-ish
Time specifically to be with Father.
9:30pm
Get in bed. I was exhausted two hours ago.

There you have it. It's nothing earth-shattering, just daily life in Nanchang, China.

CAUTION: Risk of Culture Shock (do not read in bathtub)

2011-09-26T08:16:00.004-04:00

Culture shock is a spectrum and a process. Duane Elmer calls it "Cross-Cultural Adjustment," and designed a cute little diagram to illustrate how messy culture shock can get.

Duane Elmer's Model of Cross-Cultural Adjustment

A person's coping strategies inevitably stem from their initial attitudes. If at first a person is open, accepting, and trusting of the host culture, when that person comes face-to-face with inevitable frustration, confusion, tension, and embarrassment, the coping strategies are to observe the culture, listen, and inquire. This leads to rapport and understanding. If, conversely, a person enters a new culture with suspicion, fear, and prejudice, when the same inevitable reactions occur, the person criticizes, rationalizes, and withdraws and becomes alienated and isolated.

I'd like to avoid that if at all possible.

Sometimes I feel a bit outside the realm of normal cultural adjustment. When I visited China last year, I got a taste of the travel brochure China; Shanghai and Hong Kong are not typical Chinese cities, they're extraordinary. Nanchang is not a city you'd find advertised in a travel agency's window. This is real urban China. This is dirty, confusing, abrupt, and stunningly real. I was open, accepting, and trusting of my starry, glittering, metropolis China, but now I'm internalizing the gritty, harrowing, developing China and all its copious frustrations.

I've found that spending time with my students really seems to help. Putting a face to the culture humanizes it. It becomes easier to deal with random strangers who treat you like a circus freak when you can remember meaningful conversations with people who have names and personalities and dreams for their futures.

I don't pretend to say that I'm okay with everything. This weekend, a girl grabbed my arm--no attempted question, no simple "Hello," she just yanked me toward her--and her two friends proceeded to take my picture against my will. If I could speak Chinese, I would have given them an earful. I can't go anywhere without garnering blatant stares. I miss conveniences from home, like being able to drink water from the tap and not having to cook everything from scratch.

All that considered, it makes me appreciate my students that much more for the bits of sanity they lend me every single day without even realizing it. I think of each of them like a piece of stained glass: individually, they're interesting specimens that reflect light and add color to my surroundings; together, they form a window through which I can visualize Chinese culture, though it is colored through each of their points of view. I think that makes things all the more interesting.

Mooned

2011-09-12T03:34:00.002-04:00

Today marks one of China's most important holidays, the Mid-Autumn Festival. Its celebration dates back to the Shang dynasty, when moon worship was in vogue--that makes it about 3,000 years old.

Nowadays, the Mid-Autumn Festival is more a symbol of family ties and friendships, and spending the day with people you love. People exchange moon cakes, the Chinese equivalent of fruit cakes in America, and cities are decorated with brightly-lit paper lanterns. Some regions even have fire dragon dances. It's a pretty big deal.

Mooncakes: the gift everyone gives but no one wants.

The symbolism behind it is cheesy, quite honestly, but given my living situation (e.g. as far as humanly possible from all that is familiar and familial), it tugs at my heart strings. You see, the Mid-Autumn Festival is a reminder that, no matter where you are in the world, you and your loved ones are all staring at the same, full, Harvest Moon.

So close, and yet so far.

Get Comfortable With Being Uncomfortable

2011-09-01T05:13:00.000-04:00

A friend in another city shared his thoughts on his first year in China, and referenced this song to describe how he felt. I find this extremely applicable to my own situation; at times I am very much torn between the new and exciting side of Nanchang and my apartment and teaching (eventually), but on the other hand, I miss the conveniences of American culture and the comfortability I grew up absorbing.

This is much more than a teaching job. This is a severe stretch, a search for the answer to His call:

"If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross and follow me."

Painting Pictures of Egypt - Sara Groves

I don’t wantto leave here

I don’t wantto stay

It feels likepinching to me

Either way

And theplaces I long for the most

Are theplaces where I’ve been

They arecalling out to me

Like a longlost friend

It’s notabout losing faith

It’s notabout trust

It’s allabout comfortable

When youmove so much

And theplace I was wasn’t perfect

But I hadfound a way to live

And itwasn’t milk or honey

But thenneither is this

I've beenpainting pictures of Egypt,

Leaving outwhat it lacks

The futurefeels so hard,

And I wannago back!

But theplaces that used to fit me,

Cannot holdthe things I've learned

Those roadswere closed off to me

While myback was turned!

The past isso tangible

I know it byheart

Familiarthings are never easy

To discard

I was dyingfor some freedom

But now Ihesitate to go

I am caughtbetween the Promise

And thethings I know

I've beenpainting pictures of Egypt,

Leaving outwhat it lacks

The futurefeels so hard,

And I wannago back!

But theplaces that used to fit me,

Cannot holdthe things I've learned

Those roadswere closed off to me

While myback was turned!

If it comestoo quick

I may notappreciate it

Is that thereason behind all this time and sand?

And if itcomes too quick

I may notrecognize it

Is that thereason behind all this time and sand?

Culturally Indirect Redirect

2011-08-26T03:57:00.002-04:00

The first full day in Beijing, teachers were split into their respective city teams and sent on the Beijing Amazing Race--a contest to fulfill as many tasks around the city as possible in a four-hour period. Our team was determined, but not overly competitive; turns out the rest of the teachers were neither determined nor competitive. As a reward for our semi-dedicatedness, we were invited to attend a traditional Chinese tea ceremony at a like-minded woman's shop.

We tried four different types of tea (we were originally supposed to try three; the fourth was quite by accident): pu'er, which is a red tea for special occasions; a mild green tea; a second red tea; and a blooming tea. Overall, I think the entire ceremony lasted something like two hours, but that was our mistake.

Chinese culture is very direct about some things (for example, "You are looking fatter today, Teacher," is commonly heard after the holidays), and obnoxiously indirect about others. For instance, when trying to hint that your guests should leave, a polite host will say things such as, "Oh, you must be very tired," or "You haven't eaten lunch yet," or even "Are you sure you know how to get home? Let me tell you." All three hints were dropped over the course of half an hour. Guess how many we caught.

Zero.

And then, because clearly I am a cultural guru who knows all and understands all and never puts her foot in her mouth, I caught sight of a bag of blooming tea and said aloud, "Oh wow, I love blooming teas, they're so pretty." When Chinese ears catch wind of this, it sets off alarm bells that ring, "Serve that tea, even though these foreigners have been here much too long already."

I didn't want to drink that tea. I just wanted to speak my mind, maybe give her a compliment, or at least sound culturally sensitive by talking about tea in a tea shop. Quite frankly, I had laundry to do and I wanted to leave twenty minutes ago. But drink our tea we must.

Pretty, no? The bulb on the coaster is what it looked like before it was immersed.

Finally we declared our departure. Our hostess, gracious as always, gave us all parting gifts: ornaments of pressed tea bricks decorated with Chinese characters. I never realized drinking tea was such an intricate process. I certainly appreciate it more now that I've thoroughly embarrassed myself while drinking it.

Beijing Birthday

2011-08-20T22:10:00.002-04:00

I've never had to celebrate my birthday away from home before this year. And quite honestly, I was dreading it.

Usually my actual birthday is pretty low-key; I might go out for dinner with my family, open a few presents, nothing too extravagant. But it's being with the people you love in the places you know that really make the occasion special. I was deathly afraid of how this birthday would turn out--more specifically, how I would handle it.

I've had bad experiences with homesickness in the past. My first semester of college was when I hit rock-bottom emotionally, and I spent a lot of time crying in my dorm room wishing I had never left home. I can confidently say I've come a long way since then, but it doesn't make being away from home super easy. There are still things I miss, the most important being the people, and probably the least important being Barnes and Noble. But that goes without saying.

I expressed my fears to my team, and they pulled out all the stops to help me celebrate. I had already made plans to go to the Temple of Heaven very early in the morning; I expected to be out the door at 7am on a Saturday. To show their support, my entire team came with me and we spent a great morning out exploring and watching retirees learn how to ballroom dance in the park. China is an interesting place.

From there we hauled it over to The Village, a collection of large glass buildings full of Western restaurants and clothing stores in the diplomatic district. My team deferred to my desire to eat Hong Kong food for lunch, and then took me to Coldstone for a birthday treat. (That's right, Coldstone is in China. Now you want to come visit, don't you?)

It's not the same, but I'm comforted to know that at least to a certain extent, my team here is forming into a family as we attempt to care for and love each other. And I did, in fact, have a very happy birthday.

The Great Transition

2011-08-11T05:56:00.001-04:00

Transitions are usually difficult for me.

Sometimes they can be softened by a familiar face or song or restaurant, but here, in Beijing, things are just difficult.

It takes way more time to accomplish something here than it would back home. Even going to the store takes more time than seems reasonable to the average I-want-it-now American (e.g. me). The food, while delicious, is wreaking its Sino-havoc on my gastrointestinal tract, which is compounded by the fact that I didn't sleep well last night and then spent six hours in class today. I didn't even bother going to lunch. I just slept through it. Like I said, transitions are hard.

On the bright side, we visited the Great Wall yesterday, and I got to walk on over 2200 (remodeled) years of history for about three hours. The weather itself couldn't have been more cooperative; we could see mountains for miles, topped by guard towers and the wall, which runs like a ridge along an undulating dragon's spine. SO. COOL.

Ever felt like you had your back against THE wall? That has to be terrible.

Classroom methodology has me over the chopping block. I never realized writing lesson plans was so difficult until I actually had to think of good ones. There's a common saying: "Whoever cannot do, teach." That's probably the stupidest saying I've ever heard. More like, "Whoever cannot teach, do, get it wrong, and then blame a teacher as a scapegoat."

If you would, please lift me up to the Father, that my intestines would right themselves and my attitude would lighten. I don't do well with transitions. Did I mention that?

Alive and Well and Gross

2011-08-05T01:28:00.002-04:00

As of 12:30pm on August 3, I am officially here, in China, until June. It's a bit of a shorter time frame than I previously expected, but we're only required to be here through the school year. That should make some of you happy.

I made it here just fine, though we had a few setbacks early on. Our initial flight from BWI to LAX was canceled, so we (myself and two other teachers, Rachel and Liane) were shuttled to Washington-Dulles to catch another flight, which was then delayed by about two hours. When we finally made it to LAX, we only had an hour to get our bags, re-check them for our flight to Tokyo, and make it to the gate. An hour is a decent amount of time, yes?

No.

Our bags were delayed; three different flights all tried to retrieve their luggage from the same baggage turnstile. We met another teacher at the baggage claim, Wes, who had been waiting for 45 minutes to get his bags. We were a bit more fortunate, but just barely; by 12:35am, Wes still hadn't received his luggage. One of our group stayed behind to help him while Liane dragged and pushed our 100+ pounds of luggage down and around LAX to the international terminal.

While we were slogging our way through the humid LA night, desperate to reach Tom Bradley terminal, Liane lost control of her luggage and had to stop. A man helped her right her suitcases and asked her where she was headed. In her exhaustion and simultaneous franticness, all she could say was, "Plane... and the... delay... friends... gotta go!"

We explained the situation to All Nippon Air agents in the hope they would delay the flight just long enough for our friends to make it up there. In the end, we were allowed on, but they were not. Rachel and Wes ended up spending the night in LAX, and most of the next day as well.

Liane and I checked our bags at 1:08am. We were at the gate at 1:12am. Our flight was supposed to leave at 1:10am. Needless to say, we were very fortunate to get on the plane at all. After that, Tokyo to Beijing was a cakewalk. I've never been so happy to shower in my entire life.

Jetlag is not really that much of an issue, I feel. I am tired, but we are also very busy. The first week is administrative stuff, but next week we start our TEFL classes. I've already experienced Tiananmen Square, and we're slated to take a Forbidden City trip on Tuesday.

I'll write more when I have time, but for now, zai jian!

T-11 Days

2011-07-21T11:15:00.000-04:00

I think I mentioned this already, but during graduation, one of the History professors commented that 40% of all college students never read another book after they graduate. I defied this horrid statistic the day after graduation by finishing Charlotte Bronte's Villete, and then my TEFL coursework books, and then more books about China, and more and more and--

I think I have a problem.

But I assume the benefit of all this eye strain is a more complete knowledge of the country and people with whom I'll be interacting for the next year. And I'm happy to do it. Studying Mandarin has even become a daily pass time. Perhaps not a very fruitful one, but a pass time all the same. I did learn easily the most useful phrase in Mandarin: "I don't understand." This is followed closely by, "I cannot speak Chinese," and, for those particularly sticky situations, "No, I'm not American. I'm Canadian."

My initial fears about leaving are blanketed now by a general desire to get out of here. I believe the past seven months have served to slowly divorce me from life here in the States, punctuated by some severe stabs of pure tension and disarray. I can't say it's been an easy journey, but this one is ending for the sake of a new one. If you'll forgive me a strange metaphor (I just saw Harry Potter two days ago), it is rather comparable to a phoenix, with its death in flames and rebirth from ashes. I don't mean to get too melodramatic, but it's been a dramatic summer.

I want to take this moment to thank everyone who has lifted me and my family up, and who has supported me financially. I could not have reached this point without any one of you.

This will most likely be my last post State-side. These last eleven days won't last very long, and yet, in some ways, they'll pass excruciatingly slowly. But one this is for sure--

Something is about to happy.

(Now you know why I'm going to teach English.)

Nanchang Or Bust

2011-06-29T10:24:00.002-04:00

Something I've learned in the past six months since I've committed to ELIC:

China waits for no man, but every man waits for China.

When you want something done, the bureaucratic molasses is dubious and sticky, but when China wants something--say a letter of intent to graduate, or a letter saying you did graduate, or a copy of your diploma because the previous two letters weren't good enough, hypothetically speaking--you'd better pay up front right then and there, because gee whiz, you don't have anything else going on, do you?

Possibly the hardest thing to wait for has been my placement announcement. I didn't even know what to pray about. Ultimately, my knowledge of China is slim at best, and how should I know which team I could benefit most? My prayer since January has been that the Father would put me wherever He wanted, with whomever He wanted, and that I would have peace about the final decision.

Well, that final decision is here.

Starting in August, I'll be teaching at Jiangxi Blue Sky University in Nanchang, China. I had heard of neither before my placement announcement. Nanchang is apparently a small Chinese city--only 4 million people--about 350 miles southwest of Shanghai, surrounded by mountains. It's on the Yangtze River, and is known affectionately as a "furnace city," implying obscenely hot summers and ridiculously frigid winters. And mosquitoes. Lots and lots of mosquitoes.

Mosquitoes are unfortunate, considering they love me more than life itself. I just got back from a Mountain trip to the Dominican Republic, and my legs looks like a war zone despite the fact that I practically bathed myself in DEET every single day. Eau de DEET--smells like roses, but roses soaked in pesticides.

As my August 1 departure date draws nearer and nearer, I'm finding the prospect of leaving harder to bear. I formed significant relationships with my teammates in the DR, and now I'm turning around and leaving them. I'm afraid I'll lose touch with important people here, since Facebook is a no-no and a lot of my friends have an irrational fear of Skype. Readjusting to "normal" life has been difficult at times after spending nine days communing with the Father and his People, but now I just have a new place to apply what I've seen and learned.

As it is, Nanchang is a railroad hub. I should have access to cities all over China (for a price and a significant amount of time, of course). I'm looking forward to diving into a fresh culture with a new perspective, though that too comes at a price sometimes.

Blink, And...

2011-05-28T18:14:00.000-04:00

It's over.

Four years, though there were days I feared for more. Countless hours, during which I sat on my bed, head in my hands. Surprisingly, no sleepless nights. And yet, Wednesday night, I sat in my room and considered the shapeless, black robe and cardboard cap hanging before me, and it dawned on me: people do really graduate college, eventually.

Thursday morning I sat in Stephens Hall next to a 6' 7" criminal justice major I had never met, but we had plenty to discuss, namely the true-to-TU deficits of the convocation ceremony. There was a bond, though age and major and (most noticeably) height separated our points of view. The head of the Sociology-Anthropology department lined us up in the balmy hallway and cracked jokes about standing in line (making the mundane hilarious, just one of his many services), and while we exchanged witty banter, I just remembered that, at the time, I forgot to thank him for his wisdom. And for being the one professor whose class broke my perfect GPA. No big deal.

That afternoon, I sat with about 700 other Liberal Arts graduates, eagerly anticipating our two seconds of semi-fame when we strode across the stage in (hopefully) graceful style, received our (fake) diploma from the infamous Dr. Rook, and then smiled for pictures taken by invisible family members in a undulating crowd of strangers. All in all, an exhausting day spent sitting, and yet an immeasurable change by the end.

I actually have a degree people notice in an economy where no one cares. But hey! It's a start.

Graduating has me thinking about where I came from, and where the rest of my life is headed. I'm thinking about making a legitimate bucket list. But I have a feeling that, regardless of whether or not I accomplish what's on it, there will be other amazing things in store. As the saying goes, the world is my oyster, but the saying holds true for everyone who made a walk across that stage. I'm excited to see how the Father leads the people I know in different directions, but equally interesting directions.

Such is life, such is the Father, and such is our potential for really, really cool things.

There's a Pill for That

2011-05-12T13:55:00.000-04:00

I may have mentioned this already, but I officially leave for China on August 1. As in, two and a half months from now. While I can say in all truthfulness that I couldn't imagine having reached this point, I can say in all humility that this should not be the case. There are so many promises in the Bible I choose to ignore, some of which I even use to define my life (e.g. Jeremiah 29:11), because my circumstances seem to dire or the plans He's made seem too far-fetched for me to fathom.

As of right now, I am $4,000 away from being fully funded, which is pittance compared to how far He's brought me in the past four months or so. I keep thinking to myself, "This is so incredibly doable, it's scary." How often do we say, "Sure, I'll go wherever You want," and then wait for our "Abraham and Isaac moment", where we're called to step back? Honestly, I can't say I ever wanted that moment, but I know there have been countless other times when I've felt that way.

At the moment, I can still see traps on the roadside, specifically set for me. It upsets me sometimes, because they're curtailed to hit me in the places it would hurt most, and like Job, those closest to me are not always immune to attack, either. But on the other hand, it's sort of flattering to think I'm a threat, perhaps for the first time in my entire life.

I've noticed something in particular that has stuck with me, a certain sickness. A real, physical feeling. Something that can't be cured (as much as I've tried) and it can't be avoided. I'm not alone in my suffering; on this campus alone, I'd wager there are over 2,000 students under the thumb of the same, incurable disease. We're carrying it, sometimes spreading it, and we're victims of it every day of the week.

Senioritis.

Oh, it sounds benign, but given time, it coagulates with another distant cousin, Wanderlust, and they combine to unleash a fury of apathy, skipped classes, and innumerable hours wasted lying face-up on the grassy quad praying professors would simply cancel class. In my case, symptoms manifest themselves as flat expressions, unfocused gazes, and, my least favorite, a sour attitude. I know where I caught Wanderlust, but this Senioritis snuck up on me, completely unexpected and absolutely unwelcome.

I graduate in 14 days. Two weeks. Not that I'm counting. And after that, I plan to have three whole days of pure unmotivated and unproductive bliss before jumping into a full-time job and TESOL courses involving textbook-reading and paper-writing. Such is the life of an academic and an overachiever. But hey, someone has to do it.

Exam Etiquette for College Students 101

2011-03-16T13:49:00.000-04:00

I never thought a fifty-minute exam would seem so terrible, especially considering the average exam is over an hour. But when those sharing the nearly uninhabitable space formally known as a classroom don't understand proper exam etiquette... let's just say if I had been forced to stay in that room a moment longer, people would have died. Horrifically.

To prevent such a tragedy from ever occurring, and to safeguard your own life, please adhere to these simple guidelines:

1. When the exam begins (e.g. when it hits your desk), stop talking. Fifty minutes is nary a time span to waste.

2. You may have won contests in the third grade and been gifted with a blue ribbon and bestowed with the title of "World's Quietest Whisperer," but I have some bad news: your teacher was a boldface liar. That's right, Mrs. Smith with the lipstick-tooth smile and octagonal glasses looked you in the eye and fibbed. You suck at whispering. In fact, I can hear you ACROSS THE ROOM.

3. Your bluebook has no personality. It doesn't care how many times you cuss at its woefully blank pages in frustation. I, however, do have a personality, do have ears, and do have a short fuse when I'm forced to write exhorbitantly long essays in a minute amount of time. Don't make me do something we'll both regret.

4. Similarly, every time the professor writes the time on the board, that is not your cue to make some four-letter remark indicating your lack of preparation for the exam. If you didn't prepare, that's too bad, but quit inhibiting the rest of us who did.

5. When the professor tells you to wrap it up, just do it. Don't go up and ask for an extension. I mean, really, after she's gifted you with a sparkly ten extra minutes, after she gave you the essay questions last week, you're going to ask for more time? In front of the rest of us? Now you're just flaunting your unpreparedness, and you make me embarrassed for you. Suck it up, be a man, and deal with it.

6. Finally, this rule applies to post-exam etiquette. If you feel the need to compare grades, fine; I myself have discreetly stolen a glance at my neighbor's exam on more than one occasion. (Though may I add, it will never make you feel any better; you'll end up feeling terrible for your neighbor, or terrible for yourself.) But you do not have the right to tell other classmates what someone else received without his permission, especially if he is not in the room. I also don't want to tell you "what I got," though if you ask me, "How did you do?" I might say "Good," or "Fine," or "Not as well as I had hoped." But don't back me into a corner and make me tell you my grade. Nobody puts baby in a corner and lives to tell about it.

In conclusion, I fully intend on sitting in a different seat for the final.

Kill Murphy

2011-02-10T15:15:00.000-05:00

I've been dealing with a lot of crap lately.

I thought when I went back to school last week that things would pick up, in a good way. I had spent literally a month and a half at home, not working, not doing much of anything really, and my mind was aching for stimulation. A year ago, if a friend had complained to me about being bored over winter break, I would have put my hands on my hips, thrown my head back, and laughed. Loudly. In public. But this break was different. I think I've come down with two illnesses: One, wanderlust, which affords no rest for the weary, but simultaneously gives me hope that I will be traveling on a grand scale again sometime in the near future. The second is a bit harder to define, but I'm pretty sure it goes by the technical Murphy's Law Syndrome.

Or, for the layman, everything-that-could-go-wrong-in-a-two-week-span-definitely-will disease.

The day before the semester started, I came down with some weird cold that left me drained and groggy and snotty for a week. I felt distinctly better this past Saturday night, only to come down with the stomach flu six hours after I probably said the words, "I'm feeling better," to my parents. I took Monday off. Tuesday I made it through one class and ended up at Patient First in the evening because I felt like I was going to explode all over Linthicum Hall. (By the way, on my way home, I got stuck in traffic on route 152. WORST FEELING EVER.) Wednesday I made it through both classes but didn't go to work. And then today... oh, today. Where should I begin, the parking citation, or those two desperate hours when I couldn't find my phone?

The moment I stepped on campus this semester, I was disappointed. Towson is not how I remember it before I left. Everything is torn up and bulldozed and muddy. Construction fences trap me in a veritable maze on my way to class. Parking is even worse than before, believe it or not. And the bureaucracy bought itself some shiny new red tape while I was away, I think.

I was reading Luke today (for my Bible study which I haven't been able to attend for the past three weeks, thanks to various viruses) and realized Jesus had to deal with the same run around I do. I mean, besides the fact that he was, well, tortured, he got passed off from place to place and person to person at the whim of the proverbial man. First the high priest takes a shot at him, then sends him to Pilate, who sends him to Herod, who sends him back to Pilate, who gives him back to the Jews who nail him to a tree. Good grief. And I thought walking back and forth across campus was a nightmare.

I guess this just helps to put things in perspective a bit. I'm finally able to breathe out of my nose and eat normal food simultaneously. I got my study abroad stuff figured out. I'm slated to graduate (THANK GOD). And I'm looking forward to going to China. Things are looking up... or at least at an angle that makes me think there's something positive on the horizon.

One can only hope.

Home is Where the Dog Sheds (A Lot)

2010-12-26T13:01:00.000-05:00

One of my fantasies about coming home had been to hug my dog, Gus; being on the pet-deprived ship for so long (and there was no way I was going to pet those cats and dogs in India, sorry) made me romanticize Gus' cuteness to the point where I nearly forgot how much he sheds and that he can't hear anything anymore. Oh, and he tends to smell awful. I'm not sure he remembered me when I walked in the door. Come to think of it, he's just not that bright. (His cuteness does not disappoint, however.)

My mind hasn't come to grips with the fact that I just sailed around the world. I don't think I'll fully come to process it for a long time--I'm thinking years, actually. I have thousands--literally, thousands--of pictures, hundreds of memories, dozens of videos, and a lifetime to apply the experience. Ultimately, it comes back to the same questions they asked us in the beginning of the voyage (which are the same questions Immigration officials ask you when you enter a new country):

What is your name?
Where are you from?
What is your purpose?
Do you have anything to declare?

I can answer the first two questions, but the last two are a bit fuzzy. I know my purpose is to serve God, but I'm not confident of my niche yet. And my declarations are rather broad, such as God is love, love others, serve others, etc. I'll just have to keep searching until God fills in the gaps, I suppose.

I feel empowered. SAS left me with a strong sense of independence and resourcefulness I never knew I had. It arose in Spain when I wandered to the beach by myself. It resurfaced in Japan when I spent the night in a karaoke room. I saw it in India when I stood up to a cantankerous rickshaw driver, and again on the ship when people spoke falsely about others. But I would be fooling myself if I thought it all came from me; God strengthens us and leads us everywhere we go. He made SAS feasible and enjoyable. He taught me patience, mindfulness, and perspective through other people from all around the world, and gave me new friends who care about not only me, but the state of the world as a whole and the oppressed who inhabit it.

I can't say I know exactly what I want to do with my life from here; SAS didn't define my future by any means, but it gave me the tools to commit to God's purpose for my life, whatever that may be. I'm stoked for ELIC, though I'm still hammering out the details of raising support, but I know anything is possible with God's help--He has proved that already.

I stumbled across a verse that defined my time on Semester at Sea and gave me comfort when I felt far away from the familiar. It reminded me how God embraces the entire world, and not just the United States, or the east coast, or whatever; everyone I met and every face I saw (even the aforementioned rickshaw driver who tried to gouge us for a ride around Chennai) is precious to Him. This knowledge creates for me a feeling of community with people I scarcely know or haven't even met. It's comforting to know none of us are far from Him, even when our travels take us to far away places.

"If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there. If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast."
Psalm 139:8-10

Ken Versus the World

2010-12-14T14:25:00.001-05:00

Honolulu is a tourist's paradise. White sand beaches, lots of shops, and hey, you're only a hop, skip and a jump away from Pearl Harbor if you're into history and stuff. Pearl Harbor was totally worth it, by the way; I left feeling minuscule in comparison to the 1,177 names carved into the marble wall above the USS Arizona. You look into the water and see the rusting ship, and you think, "There are about 1,000 men buried in there." But then you look up about fifty yards away, and there's the USS Missouri, the ship where the Japanese surrendered unconditionally to the U.S. Navy. Fitting.

The USS Arizona Memorial at Pearl Harbor.

Hilo was an interesting contract to Honolulu, mostly because it's not much of a tourist destination. It's this sleepy old town on the water with black sand beaches and sea turtles and waterfalls and rainbows and a country/thrift store named "Same Same But Different." (This was the phrase all the Vietnamese used. For example, if you wanted to buy a knock-off season of some TV show, you could ask, "Is this the real DVD of such-and-such show?" and the vendor would reply, "Yes, same-same. But different," with "different" meaning it may or may not work in your computer, and it may or may not be in English. Get it? Same-same, but different.) It has surfable waves and tide pools and volcanic rocks with folds were you can see how the lava cooled and solidified.

And it has Ken's House of Pancakes.

I'm convinced Ken had a falling out with the International Pancake Community (affectionately known as IHOP) and decided to start his own business on the Big Island. Ken's is a nationally-recognized breakfast heaven, with omelets as big as your face and pancakes the consistency of clouds, minus the condensation. I had the 'Bana Mac waffle: a huge Belgian waffle liberally topped with bananas, macadamia nuts, and whipped cream. Ken's also has four different syrup flavors, including coconut, boisonberry, guava, and passionfruit.

You might be thinking, "She went to Hawaii, and all she's talking about is food? What's her problem?" Look, until you've experienced it, don't knock it. Besides, food tells a lot about a culture--how it views family and tradition and health. And this waffle was REALLY REALLY GOOD. For those who are interested, poi tastes like something that went sour that shouldn't have, not to mention it's this awful purple-gray color--like, Barney-barf color.

I learned to hula, by the way. I was told I'm pretty good at it. It's all in the hips.

Hawaii is a wonderful place, but it's tainted by American imperialism, plain and simple. I mean, we framed the queen so we could take over, it doesn't get much more blatant than that. The culture presented as "authentically Hawaiian" is anything but; it's a gussied-up, prostituted carbon copy that's paraded around for tourists, and I'm not sure that any continental U.S. citizen ever sees the real thing unless one really leaves the coast and goes looking for it. And who knows how long that could take? But isn't that usually the case? Isn't that what we are when we travel--tourists?

I've strove throughout the voyage to diminish my tourism and instead be a full-fledged traveler. Tourists go somewhere to get away from a culture (e.g. their own), but travelers go somewhere to immerse themselves in a culture (e.g. someone else's). Tourists don't care for the dirt-under-your-fingernails history of a place; they prefer to avert their gaze when something difficult crops up that spoils the scenery. Travelers dive headfirst into strangeness and uncomfortable situations, relishing the fact that things are same-same but different.

While I believe I have fallen short on many accounts to curb my tourist nature (ironically, SAS trips probably had the strongest tourist feel for me), I am confident that I made connections in every country that went beyond the surface and scratched at the unseen. Maybe when I travel again I can knock at the door of the unnoticed and not run away before it opens. Instead I can sit, wait, and ponder that what I'm trying to see, what I'm hoping to hear, is unique, rare, and most importantly, authentic.

Jumpin' Japan, Batman!

2010-11-23T00:57:00.001-05:00

I went through a phase about six months ago where I tried to teach myself Japanese. Things were going well for a while until school took over and I had no time for anything fun. I wish I had sucked it up and stuck with it, though; English, while somewhat prevalent in the population, is usually at a minimal level, making it difficult to communicate with most people. The phrase "Wakarimasen," helped a lot, however ("I don't understand,"). Don't even get me started on the metro system. What a pain. Not only are most maps not written in English, but they're incredibly poor. Japan has this thing about not providing adequate maps for its tourists, perhaps because it's a remarkably homogenous country and wants to stay that way; Japan thinks that if it confuse us enough we'll never want to come back.

In spite of all that, I loved it here. I think after doing a year of teaching in China I might come back here and teach for another year for the JET program (they actually pay pretty well, too). The food is safe, the water is safe, the cities are safe, and the food is even better than China, I think (at least, testicles and intestines aren't staples on every single menu). Sure, everywhere is crowded, but honestly the places we went were pretty quiet, even in Tokyo. Just don't expect a lot of personal space.

Kyoto bus.

I spent the first day in Kobe on a home visit, where our hostess, Mrs. Sabada, taught us how to make sushi and tempura before serving us a homemade apple pie; it wasn't exactly American-style (it was more like an upside-down cake), but hey, it's the thought that counts. The next day my ship sisters, Jillian and Rachel, and I went to Kyoto and saw the Silver Pavilion, the Philosopher's Walk, and about a million unbelievable gardens. I'm so glad we came in November; the weather is crisp and cool and the colors are vibrant enough to be compared to New England, though admittedly I've never been there. I loved strolling old streets of traditional-style houses and restaurants, eating on pillows at a low table in front of a hibachi grill, and then hopping on the bullet train to Tokyo.

Tokyo is the largest metropolitan area in the world, and it shows. There are distinct districts with their own special flavors and dynamics; my favorite was probably Harajuku, which caters to Japanese teen fashion and trends. On Sunday mornings, one can usually find tons of teenagers dressed up in crazy clothes, packing stores and restaurants and crepe stands (there's one on every corner of Takeshita Street, seriously). The only problem (and in the end it wasn't a problem) was finding lodging in Tokyo; we ended up spending the first night in a rented karaoke room, eating pizza and singing Lady Gaga until we were too tired and passed out on the couch. In the end, it was the best $30 US I ever spent, I think.

The next night we sprung for a hotel near the Tsukiji Fish Market, which is known for being a huge tourist destination. At 4:30 in the morning, we got our ticket into the market and saw bluefin tuna as long as I am tall getting auctioned off to intermediate buyers who can tell the quality of a fish just by rubbing a quarter-sized piece of tail flesh between their fingers. The auction itself goes very fast, and one tuna can go for tens of thousands of yen (hundreds USD). Perhaps even beyond the crazy experiences we had, I'd say visiting the Pokemon Center in Hamamatcho was the highlight of my ten-year old self's life. Seriously, she may have peed a little.

Classic Japanese power pose. It was nice to see Pokemon in their natural habitat.

Even in the middle of Tokyo, we found temples and pagodas and gardens galore. Japan is a country of immense cities and incalculable natural beauty. I'm already planning how to get back. It's kind of a strange concept, this being our last international port and all. I think after all the traveling and adjusting to different cultures every week or so I'm ready to come upon the home stretch; I can't wait to share all my experiences with you back home. It could also be me dreading the next ten days sequestered on the ship with nothing to do except go to class and write papers that makes me want to get home as soon as possible, as well, but let's not dwell on that, please.

Chillin' in China (a.k.a. Six Days Under Surveillance)

2010-11-23T00:50:00.000-05:00

By the second day in Hong Kong, I determined I was probably the only SAS student left in the city; everyone else high-tailed it to Beijing to see the Great Wall and Forbidden City and such, but I decided to stay put for four days independently. And I don't regret the decision. Albeit, my promise to come back to China next year to teach definitely affected my decision to forego Beijing for the time being, but even so, Hong Kong was one of if not my favorite port by far.

I met with four women who work for the Asia fundraising office for ELIC, and sat and talked with them for about an hour. They really helped me gain a better perspective of the state of things in China as far as what it's like to live there, though I know for a fact I won't be stationed in Hong Kong when I go to teach; I'll definitely be on the mainland. After that I took to my heels across town to HSBC where I spoke with a woman about a possible internship in insurance sales in the Asian sector. Just trying to keep my options open. You know how it is. I got to see a Cantonese opera last night, which was definitely a… er… cultural experience. Let me just say that every time I dozed off, their Cantonese began to sound like English and would jolt me awake.

The Peak was definitely worth the wait in the cable car line, especially for a view of Hong Kong at night. I love the fact that there is simply so much to see and do; one is never bored in this city. And the food—OH MY GOSH. If I can't find dim sum when I get home, I might flip out and commit a crime. I can't even begin to describe the pork buns, shrimp dumplings, congee, and my personal favorite, little cakes filled with red bean paste. So good, and so much better than the sauce-saturated heart attack-inducing Americanized stuff we eat in the States (though, I will admit, it does have its fatty merits). And if I can ever afford a home in Repulse Bay, I'll know I have too much money (but it's beautiful). Lantau Island is home to the biggest outdoor, bronze, seated Buddha (a strange distinction) in the world, as well as the Hong Kong airport which is built entirely on reclaimed land.

The Big Buddha overlooking Lantau Island.

The best thing about Hong Kong is that it's a Special Administrative Region of the Mainland, which means that a lot of the Communist laws in "big" China don't apply in Hong Kong, e.g. the Facebook block. It's great not feeling like you're being watched. It's also nice to be able to eat food and drink water without questioning whether or not it will give you hepatitis or something. (Maybe that's an over exaggeration.) The PRC still has a long way to go in that respect, but when you consider that the government is trying to regulate 1 billion people, it's like dropping a piece of trash in New York and expecting someone in Los Angeles to pick it up. There's no sure-fire way to enforce it without some sort of incentive, like government benefits with the one-child rule. Outside economic pressure has a lot to do with it, too; as China gets bigger and richer, the opinions of its trading partners begin to matter more, so if America says it doesn't want grade C beef and chicken with MSG in it, China will have to change (however grudgingly). But then there's the complex matter of face, which is huge in the Chinese culture; an insult, or a bruise to someone's ego, is more than a temporary embarrassment.

I took the night train from Hong Kong to Shanghai, which took about 18 hours. I was a bit concerned about my rooming situation; I was afraid I would get stuck with someone who not only didn't speak English, but was rather socially inept. Instead, I got the cutest 82-year old Chinese woman named (in English) Mrs. Anita Ro, who was not only moderately fluent in English, but also the sweetest person on the planet; she literally badgered the guy in the dining car until he gave me a mug so she could pour me green tea that she brought herself. I call her my Chinese grandma. We exchanged addresses, so I plan on keeping in touch with her when I get home. I was also about two cars away from the SAS music professor, Dr. Ferguson, who lived in China for years.

Shanghai exceeded my expectations, which were quite low; I just couldn't imagine how the PRC could measure up to the brilliance of Hong Kong. But from the moment I saw the Bund, I knew I could envision myself in China, teaching for a year. It was gorgeous, especially at night. My friends and I spent most of the night just walking along the water admiring the skyline. The Oriental Pearl Tower even had a glass floor viewing deck, which was fun on several levels.

Part of Shanghai at night.

I enjoyed my two days under a Communist regime, though the whole no Facebook thing kind of bugged me. Not to mention Wifi was scarce. But hey, the gardens were pretty, and honestly, the above picture was worth a little stifled creativity.

Good Morning, Vietnam!

2010-11-06T23:33:00.000-04:00

I've never been in a more dangerous country. Not dangerous in the typical sense—I find Vietnam quite safe compared to some of the other places we've been—but dangerous in the sense that everything here, from North Face to knock-off Gucci, is dead-beat inexpensive.

The trick is not to withdraw more than $50 US at a time, that way you are more conscious of how much money you're spending. But if you want cheap stuff, Vietnam is the place to get it, especially considering most of it is made here. North Face is a hot seller; one can buy a Borealis backpack for $10 or fewer; it retails for approximately $80 in the States. A friend of mine bought—I kid you not—13 North Face backpacks and no fewer than three coats; he says they'll be Christmas presents, but I think he just needs an intervention. Then you have DVDs (both legitimate and pirated), jewelry, handbags, clothing, and don't even get me started on the shoes (chances are they're not big enough for American feet, though).

I should have bought this shirt.

The people are super friendly. I visited an elementary school and the children were precious—so incredibly well-behaved. It makes you wonder what they're feeding them. Probably phở (pronounced "fuh"), which is the BEST noodle dish I've ever tasted. If I ate that every day, I'd be a better person for it. I also ate what was called an elephant ear fish… but we won't go into that. It tasted a lot better than it looked (and it looked straight at me). Fresh coconut milk is fantastic, and I'm so happy I can cross "drink coconut milk straight from a coconut with a straw" off my bucket list.

The Mekong Delta, and... well, I was really excited about the coconut.

On a more sobering note, I visited the War Remnants museum today. In Vietnam, the Vietnam War is known as the American War, and for good reason. Coming from a rather conservative background, I never really understood why people protested the Vietnam War; I always thought it was solely because their brothers, fathers, husbands, etc. were going off to war, which is reason enough to be upset. It was not until I actually came to Vietnam that I realized just how horrific this war really was, and how its ramifications stretch across time and space. Why we don't place more emphasis on it in high school, I can only guess, and my best guess would be that the U.S. screwed up so badly that no one wants to talk about it. But that's the worst possible mentality to take.

I've never been able to look at war photographs. War movies don't get me nearly as much as the real-life scenes of blood, death, and suffering. I hate seeing it. It strikes me as somewhat insensitive; people are photographing dead sons, daughters, fathers, mothers… Who wants that? Who needs that? Apparently we do, because otherwise war is a distant, inconsequential jaunt in a foreign country. No one talks about Agent Orange—heck, I didn't even know what it was until today—and how children are being born with deformed limbs, serious dermatitis, and debilitating mental problems. Agent Orange is the most toxic chemical discovered to date, and American forces doused Vietnam in it via crop dusters and hoses. According to the museum, 1 tablespoon of dioxin, the stuff in Agent Orange, could kill an entire city of 8 million people.

This is the Chernobyl of Southeast Asia, except it was absolutely intentional.

3 million Vietnamese were killed, 2 million of which were civilians. On top of that, chemical spraying affected between 2.1 and 4.8 million people. This wasn't normal warfare, this was all-out murder. I never would have taken the accusations of war crimes by American troops seriously if I hadn't seen the pictures myself; even if I did describe them, I'm not sure my peers would believe me, though older generations might. But for instance, in a single day, U.S. troops killed 504 civilians—not soldiers, civilians—including 182 women (17 of which were pregnant), 173 children (56 of which were between newborn and five years old), and 60 men and women over the age of 60.

Think about this in light of the Iraq War. What do we know about it? Is it publicized the same way the war in Vietnam was? Not at all. If we were exposed to the same newsreels, photographs, and draft that our parents and grandparents experienced, would we be sitting around twiddling our thumbs, waiting for our troops to pull out? Don't make me laugh. Lives are destroyed every single day—maybe not in death, but in maiming and PTSD—and we are ill equipped to deal with it, let alone understand it. Please understand, I am by no means accusing our troops of doing anything inappropriate, and I support them fully. But unless we stare our past mistakes in the face, history will repeat itself. If that is the only thing I've learned after four years of studying the subject, I'd say I've earned my degree.

Single in Singapore (but jailed indefinitely)

2010-11-06T23:27:00.000-04:00

Nestled in the bosom of Southeast Asia is a tiny island—smaller than Rhode Island—where one can ride the metro to Little India, Chinatown, and a Malay village, all within an hour. Things are always on time, the streets and sidewalks are clean, and the taxis are reliable. Stuff is expensive, no doubt, but one of the poshest hotels on the planet is worth at least a look-see (it's the one that looks like three pairs of cards supporting a hotdog—so classy).

The Marina Bay Sands Hotel at night. The top is supposed to be a ship, ironically.

On the flipside, there are a few caveats you should know:

Selling, buying, importing, or spitting gum on the street gets you a fine and/or jail time. They really hate gum here.
Littering gets you a S500 fine and/or jail time.
Jay-walking, besides serious honking, gets you a fine.
Failing to flush a toilet gets you a big fine (I'm not entirely sure how they prove you are at fault, though).
It is illegal to pee in an elevator (you know who you are).
Smoking in public areas gets you a fine of S1,000 for the first offense. (This law I actually like.)
Vandalism, robbery, breaking and entering, assault, rape, etc. gets you a good dose of caning with a wet rattan rod that the officer is ordered to use "with as much force as possible" (for men between 18 and 50 in good health).
Carrying durians, flammable goods, smoking, or eating/drinking on the metro can get you a fine anywhere from S1,000 to S5,000.
Carrying drugs or trafficking drugs gets you complete, unadulterated, absolute capital punishment by hanging.

Oh, and did I mention there are no jury trials in Singapore?

All in all, Singapore is an incredible place and I loved it. I got to stay in the Marina Bay Sands hotel (the aforementioned posh hotel) for free with some friends, swam in the Infinity pool, had dinner with a Singaporean family… Though I almost jay-walked. Thank goodness I stopped short, no?

Finding Benny Lava*

2010-11-06T23:13:00.000-04:00

I fully recommend a visit to India for anyone and everyone; I myself plan to return sometime in life to see the Taj Mahal. If nothing else, eat the food, watch the movies, and ride the rickshaws. Once you get over your innate fear of dying, it's really a lot of fun.

Real Bollywood lives up to all the hype; like our dear Professor McLemore said, "Bollywood makes the best movies, and the worst movies." So true. Fortunately we saw a good one, "Robot". It has some pretty catchy dance numbers, for sure. For the potential Bollywood enthusiast, I would recommend going to a Bollywood movie with the understanding that regardless of how it is presented—as a romance, a thriller, a horror film—you will always see a comedy, because it's just that hilarious.

India is a country of contrasts. The lucrative business of Bollywood is juxtaposed with an ancient history of Hinduism and caste oppression, and yet there is a strange sense of progressiveness mixed in the batter, as well. One of the biggest surprises for me was the sheer pervasiveness of Christianity in Chennai; I was expecting to see all Hinduism all the time, but there are Catholic churches, Catholic schools—even St. Thomas is supposedly buried here (I saw his basilica and his tomb before inadvertently sitting in on a funeral that I originally thought was just a random afternoon mass). Much of this could be attributed to the fact that Hindus believe Brahma, their creator god, is represented in countless numbers of forms (contrary to popular belief, the pantheon of Hindu gods are actually all Brahma, just in different forms), one of which is considered to be Jesus Christ. They sort of incorporate him in there with the rest of them. Call it soul security, if you will.

Shiva is not happy.

Even more shocking is the role Christianity plays in society here. In the States the conservative right is dominated by pro-life, anti-homosexual, somewhat radical protestors. I met with a group of transgender women in Chennai who have set up an organization to care for transgender and HIV/AIDS patients who get significant support from Christians. They were shocked when we explained that to get a sex change in the U.S. was like trying to go the wrong way on an escalator. In Tamil Nadu, the region where Chennai is located, the government pays for the operation as well as the aftercare. Generally, transgendered people are widely accepted, at least in the region we visited; it is by no means the norm in India overall. But still, here's India, which is a country dominated by social caste and the status quo, and they're making progressive inroads that the United States can only dream about. I'm not advocating for one position or the other; I just find the contrast very interesting, not to mention ironic.

It's strange, such progressiveness and such "backwardness," as we would call it. I visited a Dalit village overnight and learned that the Dalits—the "untouchables"—aren't even included in the regular caste system; there are four official varnas in India, and the Dalits are considered the "fifth caste," are consigned to the most menial type of work, like night soil removal and corpse clean-up. One's caste is recorded on the birth certificate, so getting a respectable job is near impossible, and Dalits who work to improve their lot in life face opposition from multiple fronts, often in the way of violence. In light of all this, I was utterly shocked to witness our welcoming ceremony; we were donned with necklaces of jasmine blossoms and paraded around the village like celebrities. Children hung on my hands the entire night. An old woman ran out to me and threw her arms around me, ecstatic to see us. They put on an incredible show for us with elaborate costumes and dancing and singing, and people were throwing fire around—it was nuts. It was easily one of the best experiences of my entire life, hands down. I left feeling elated, and also very sad; it's amazing in the most depressing sense that India underwrites these talented, kind, joyful people—16% of the population.What could they do if they tapped into this resource? Overtake China, most likely. But economic gains isn't based on the economy alone--it also has roots in social and political progressiveness, as well. (Thanks, Dr.

Operé.)

My entourage and me in the Dalit Village. Cutest little girls ever.

* For those of you with access to YouTube (I, unfortunately, do not), look up Benny Lava. Essentially it's a Bollywood song that someone subbed in English based on what the lyrics sound like phonetically.

Wishin' You Were Mauritian

2010-10-23T12:04:00.000-04:00

Sorry for the lag between posts; Mauritius was a time of pure relaxation for a lot of us, since we only spent two days on the island, and it happens to be known for beaches, beaches, and… oh, right, beaches. After I got back, I was swamped with homework and tests and papers, since this leg between Mauritius and India is the longest stretch of class time we'll have until we leave Japan. I literally have 14 days of class between India and Japan—that's the entire month of November, and then some.

While the prospect of traveling almost continuously is exciting, especially since we'll be visiting many places that intrigue me, I've noticed that I need time to process things after each port, usually. It's nice to come back to the ship and have some time to catch up with things, even if it's just catching up with my own emotions and understandings about the previous port. I just wonder how things will change once I don't really have that.

There wasn't much to process in Mauritius, except the dichotomy between post-apartheid South Africa and feely-intermingling Mauritius; there were no racial tensions on the island whatsoever despite Mauritians having ethnic histories drawn from all parts of the globe. The first day I visited a tea factory, which was just neat to see how tea is manufactured, especially considering I a.) am a self-proclaimed tea connoisseur, and b.) used to work in a tea room. A lot of things about the factory were not what we would be used to in the states, e.g. sweeping stray tea off the floor and putting it back on the machine, not wearing hairnets or safety gloves while working around machinery, etc. It smelled amazing in there, though. I also visited a sugar museum; apparently there are two types of sugar that are only manufactured in Mauritius. Crazy.

Don't adjust your monitor--that really is the color of the water at Perey Bere beach.

The second day I hung out on the beach with my extended family (in other words, three Lifelong Learners and some students who were paired up in a pseudo-family situation for the voyage; we have dinner together about once a week and support each other in general terms). I pretty much have the coolest family ever; Frank and Louise are fantastic, constantly telling us how proud they are of us and how much they want to help us in any way possible (as long as it's not financial, har har). My brothers and sisters are pretty amazing, too; we have a lot of fun together.

From left to right: Louise, Edgar, me, Jillian, Rachel, and Frank. Missing are my two other brothers, Matt and Corey, who obviously had better things to do than be with their FAMILY. JEEZ.

So, this is just a lighthearted, "Here's me on vacation, by the way I'm getting credit for this, too," post. India translates to huge culture shock and probable mental breakdown over the course of six days. Wish me luck.

Cape Town Capers

2010-10-07T08:40:00.000-04:00

I'm reassured that if anyone comes up to me and asks, "What is the most beautiful city in the world?" I can confidently reply, "Cape Town, South Africa—to an extent." Delicately situated at the tail end of the African continent, Cape Town combines the best of mountain and ocean views into a stunning display of wind, fire, and earth (wind being that force that almost bowls you off Cape Point, fire being that pink and orange sunset last night, and earth being that 3,000-foot mountain you just climbed—congrats).

Cape Town is an outdoorsman's paradise. I've hiked two different mountains, but you can also bike through the winelands (I opted just to go visit), dive with sharks, bungee jump off bridges, skydive, kayak, swim—you name it. The more extreme, the more Cape Town would like to have you pay to take your life into your own hands. Fortunately, when we hiked Table Mountain, Cape Town's most famous landmark, we had several amazing guides who took very good care of us. Over the course of eight hours we got to know them very well, and it's encouraging to hear the promise and potential in each of them.

Mike, the head of 2 Way Travel, and me on Camps Bay beach. He bought us all ice cream after our hike.

Table Mountain was rough, but I felt so accomplished at the top. One is surrounded by pristine blue ocean and rugged outcrops, and the entire mesa is blanketed by silence. The beauty around Victoria Wharf and the mountains is counter-balanced by the extreme poverty one sees in the townships surrounding Cape Town. Townships are essentially collections of shacks to which blacks were relegated during apartheid, but because of the intense unemployment (25%) and remnants of segregation and discrimination, many have not had the opportunity or education necessary to move out of the slums. Indeed, inner Cape Town is dominated by tourists and whites, the middle ring is mainly coloreds (the proper term used here for mixed race individuals), and the outer ring is predominantly black. It reminds me of Immanuel Wallerstein's core-periphery theory.

One of the townships.

It's interesting, the juxtaposition of such beauty and such resentment. I took a service visit to the Amy Biehl Foundation Trust, which seeks to educate those in the townships about HIV/AIDS, and provides after-school activities for children. While there, we spoke to one of Amy's murderers, a man by the name of Ntobeko, who fought for equal rights for blacks during apartheid, and killed Amy with three other accomplices in a fit of rage during a mob. Amy was lobbying for equal rights, as well. Her parents completely forgave the four men, and now two of them, Ntobeko included, work for the Foundation. It was strange standing next to him and knowing he killed a woman only five years my senior, but clearly forgiveness has changed his life for the better. It's comforting to see that kind of grace, and to know that while things may not be completely integrated after apartheid, the hearts of people are changing for the better.

It's Ghana Get to You (Part II)

2010-09-28T09:25:00.001-04:00

I recognize that my last blog post was extremely heavy and somber, and I didn't want to leave you with the impression that that characterized my entire time in Ghana. On the contrary, each day my mood was increasingly lightened by what I saw and experienced.

The day after the slave castles, I went to Habitat for Humanity, and worked with local Ghanaians on building the foundation of one of three houses for needy families. I also received marriage proposal number one. (My goal is to break hearts in every single country, obviously.) While sometimes I felt we did more harm than good—we toppled stacks of bricks three times, breaking probably a month's worth of work in five seconds—we grew close as a work group, and we were able to glean some insight from the locals.


Before you ask, yes, this is the "after" picture, believe it or not.

The next day was a free day for me, so I walked around Takoradi and got minimally lost in the local market, which sold mainly raw meat and smoked fish of an unidentifiable specie. Poverty was very apparent in all of this, and my friends and I were literally the only white people in the market. It was odd to feel the role reversal—for once, we were the subject of all the pictures and stares. Our search for Wifi was pleasantly assisted by a Lebanese man and his son who selflessly allowed us not only to mooch off their Internet, but also use their laptop to Skype with our families. I wouldn't trade our conversation for the world; we talked extensively about Americans' perceptions of Arabs and Muslims, and the father's hesitation to travel to America for that very reason. His name was Muhammad—his last name was Arab.


Seif, me, and Muhammad in their wholesale warehouse.

That evening, my friend Aaron and I took a drive with one of the workers from port, George, who graciously showed us the "real Takoradi and Sekondi." He willingly answered all our questions about Ghanaian daily life, and made a very strong point that, yes, poverty is real, but so is the joy and kindness of the Ghanaians we met on the street.

George and me in front of the M.V. Explorer.

The last day was by far my favorite. I visited the Father's Care Children's Home, which takes in orphaned children. Vincent, the vice-executive director, made it very clear that we were not to refer to the compound as an "orphanage" or the children as "orphans", however—the staff at Father's Care fill the roles of the children's parents, and make sure they know that they have not been abandoned. Father's Care is a Christian organization, and it was incredibly uplifting to play drums with them (I'm awful at it) and hear them sing their very own worship songs to the same God I worship.

Collins trying to teach me how to play the drums. He's very patient.

So yes, Ghana has some deeply painful history, but it also has a future characterized by peace and hope and joy. The children at Father's Care were smiling, laughing, and playing with us all day. They were loved, cared for, and definitely not abandoned. It was a beautiful picture of what Ghana could be, may be, and hopefully will be.

It's Ghana Get to You

2010-09-24T17:43:00.000-04:00

So far, Ghana impresses me. The poverty is very apparent, but everyone is so nice and open that you almost forget about the slums and unclean water and open sewage with which they live. Almost. As we drove past the people in the street, they would wave and smile at our buses, the kids especially. I'm even more interested to go to the orphanage on Saturday, as strange as that sounds. Ghana is a primarily Christian country, and there are Scripture references and Jesus references on signs everywhere—I'd say 90% of the little roadside shops have them. It's so interesting a dichotomy next to blatantly Islamic Morocco. I just enjoy countries that shove their religion in your face; it feels like they're living for something bigger than themselves that is part of their daily lives. I feel like we can't really grasp that in the States, where everything is secularized and prioritized and categorized to death.

I visited two colonial castles on Wednesday. El Mina was cool if for no other reason then it's nearly 600 years old. I did think Cape Coast was much more interesting, however, because they had a museum with slave trade history and artifacts and information on contemporary Ghana that El Mina lacked. Both were very sobering places. Seeing the cells were slaves were kept, feeling the closeness with only 30 people in the room while knowing the slaves had to endure 200 bodies sharing the same space, plus the smell and presence of excrement everywhere, terrible food and water—not wonder so many died. How did humanity sink so low as to enslave each other? How do people get away with looking at another human being and seeing him as bestial? Why does capitalism win over compassion so often? We walked on floors six centuries old that were covered in so much dirt and human excrement we couldn't see the original brick. We stared down the trapdoor and ladder that female slave were forced to climb to be raped by the governor and other military officers. We stood in the very chambers where "troublesome" slaves were condemned to die a slow, suffocating, starving death.

Cape Coast, Door of No Return.

How could one walk out unmoved at the tragedy of human existence? And yet, surrounding both forts, there was the everlasting buzz or activity: Ghanaians buying and selling fish, mending nets, sailing canoes. Life continues. Time continues. Redemption is possible.

Moroccan' the Kasbah

2010-09-14T06:06:00.000-04:00

I only had half a day between Cadiz and Casablanca to really digest Spain and all its eating and siesta-ing glory, but the predominant thought in my mind was something along the lines of, "Holy cow, how am I going to transition between Spain, the most Western port I'll see until Hawaii, and Casablanca, my first African city ever?" Fortunately, the changeover has been nearly flawless; Morocco is definitely not the proverbial Kansas to which all Americans are accustomed, but it is a very cosmopolitan city. This does mean, however, that it is not indicative of Morocco as a country--Casablanca is 5.5 million people in a country of 30-some million, most of which are agriculturalists. There is no middle class in this country; citizens are either extremely poor or extremely rich, and not in the way we think of poor and rich, necessarily. Regardless of their social standing, the vast majority of Moroccan people are incredibly hospitable; in my case, I met a guy who spoke no English and little French walk with my two friends and me until he found us a cab in the middle of nowhere and made sure we were going where we needed to go. Did I mention he was was walking in the opposite direction of where we were going?

Last night I was blessed to attend an SAS-sponsored trip called "An Evening with a Moroccan Family." This was easily the most sought-after trip on the Moroccan itinerary, and someone sold me a ticket literally an hour before the trip left. I was in a very large group--17 people--and we met with one woman, but she has hosted far larger groups in her Casablanca apartment, and was extremely forthcoming with answers to all of our questions about Moroccan daily life. Fatima was so gracious, I can't even describe her adequately; she cooked us chicken in lemon and olive oil and a cold salad of fresh vegetables, and then sifah, a dessert of steamed noodles, sugar, and raisins to which one adds butter, and then tops with cinnamon and powdered sugar. It's essentially the Moroccan version of Kugel. While Fatima told us tons of interesting tidbits, the most interesting part, at least for me, was about women's lives in Morocco. Apparently the current king, Mohammed VI, is rather Western-minded, and has passed various laws pertaining to women's freedom and protection in regards to divorce. Women are now entitled to half their husbands' possessions upon divorce, and also keep their children and their house, whereas before they would be left destitute and most likely childless.

The Hassan II Mosque (second largest in the world), with Casablancan slums in the foreground.

Women here still wear julabas, which are the long dresses, usually with head coverings but not always. Casablanca is much less conservative than other places, such as El Jadida, which my friends and I visited for a day. El Jadida was much smaller and poorer than Casablanca, and the countryside we passed through on the train to and from the city was barren, dusty, and impoverished. I have seen very few women in Casablanca wearing the chador, which is the full covering most Americans see Afghan women wearing on CNN.

This year, at least in Morocco, the first day of the Muslim Eid festival (which celebrates the end of Ramadan) fell on September 11. Perhaps some of you in the States heard about the preacher in Florida who was planning a protest, I suppose because he believed the entire Muslim community was celebrating 9/11 with a feast, by burning Qurans. Not only is this guy an idiot with no cultural sensitivity, but he also put every American expat, tourist, and student in Muslim countries in danger. Thankfully, nothing untoward happened here. I can't help but draw a comparison between the obvious hatred and intolerance shown by this preacher, whose entire religion proclaims love, and the Moroccan people, who had every reason to hate us and yet showed us kindness throughout our stay in their country. Religious affiliations should not dictate our actions, love should.

¡Arriba España!

2010-09-07T15:30:00.001-04:00

Once upon a time, there was this little peninsula called Iberia. Around 1140 B.C., some Phoenicians came upon this little spot on the Western side of the peninsula, towards the south, and thought, "Hey, we should set up camp right about here." They did just that. The city they founded was first known as Gadir, and later took the name Cadiz.

Cadiz is the most ancient city in Europe still standing. One important sight includes the cathedral, which was originally built in 1260, burned in 1596, and wasn't even attempted to be rebuilt until 1776 (good year), and took 116 years to complete. But it looks really good now, so we'll let it slide. Behind the cathedral sits the ruins of an old Roman theater. Pretty much everyone and his mom came through Cadiz—Phoenicians, Greeks, Romans, Moors, Aragonese—because it's just so dang cool.

The Catedral de Cadiz.

Seriously, this is THE PLACE to go in Europe (never mind it's the only European city I've ever seen). The city itself is very safe, the beaches—which span several kilometers down the coast—are pristine, the historical elements are never far from one's fingertips, and the modern elements are ever present (as long as you're awake at two in the morning). The Spanish have everything figured out; here's a typical Andalucian day:

8am: Wake up, grab some café con leche.
9am: Go to work.
10am: Have some tapas, most likely a croissant or some other pastry.
12pm: More tapas, such as coquerrones.
2pm: Lunch.
2-5pm: Siesta, pretty much everything closes.
5pm: Reopen businesses, eat some more tapas, maybe some empenadas or bocadillos.
9pm: Close businesses.
10pm: Get some friends and family and eat dinner, perhaps paella and some gazpacho with some sherry.
12am: Dessert is an option, such as churros con chocolate or gelato. Go to bed if it's a weekday.
2am: Go to a club (if it's a Friday or Saturday night).
4am: Go to bed.

Basically, it's a lot of eating, drinking, and sleeping. I'm not sure why we do things the way we do in America, because trust me, this is so much better. Most of my souvenirs from this country have been edible, to say the least. After being on the ship for ten days and eating monotonous meals for that long, it's nice to come to a country where we can eat anything, drink anything, and practically do anything we want. Actually, just being on land in general is nice.

I'm a little anxious about heading to Morocco after this, because I feel as though that is truly when the culture shock will hit. So far, I have not been rocked by Spanish culture. While it is different in many ways (many good ways, see above), it is still a Westernized, developed country, and I speak the language moderately well, so there's really no huge adjustment necessary. I almost feel like I'm on vacation instead of at school, which is not the impact I believe this semester is supposed to have.

I imagine that, when I make it to Casablanca on Thursday and see a less-developed, Muslim country, or when I go to Ghana and visit a children's home (read: orphanage) and Habitat for Humanity, things will begin to kick in. This isn't about going out and just having a good time, though hopefully I will enjoy the experience. Semester at Sea, for me, is about seeing the world through someone else's perspective and gaining a fuller view of our Earth, instead of just the Americanized "Things are bad, just not here." It would truly be a shame to see the world and come back unchanged, though, on the other hand, I feel that would be near impossible, also.

I'm On A... Ship?

2010-08-31T20:11:00.000-04:00

It is extremely difficult for me to resist the urge to quote a very popular SNL skit about a sea vessel, bathing suits, and flimsy shoes. But yes, in case you were wondering, I am, in fact, on a boat. (Actually, it's a ship, but I digress.)
I am living on the fourth deck in a room the size of a walk-in closet with another girl named Jane. She is from Vista, California, and honestly, we couldn't be more dissimilar. Fortunately, she is very nice, and we get along well enough, even if we don't hang out together much. I think this is mostly for the best; after a while, you just need some space and time to yourself, especially when you're essentially captive audience to the other 650 people on a ship in the middle of the Atlantic. I mean, how would I escape? Jump? Exactly.

We will dock in Cadiz, Spain on Saturday. Already we are about four hours ahead of my hometown; each night we lose an hour. Because we are traveling clockwise around the globe, this will be the pattern for much of the voyage; I'm just going to have to get used to 23-hour days.

A neat thing I've discovered: if one removes the ambiguous hotel-style painting from the wall, one will find several notes written by past SAS students. Most of the notes are pure advice, such as "Take this trip, but not this one, travel on your own, etc." One guy in particular went on for half the frame about how to get laid, which makes me think he's probably a virgin. (And a tool.)

The M.V. Explorer is absolutely beautiful. Internet is slow and extremely limited (I only logged on to post this, nothing else), and doing laundry is a hassle. I learned the hard way not to wait a week before doing my own laundry in the cabin sink, as there is no space to hang things to dry. From now on, every B rotation will be laundry days. The ship does have laundry service, but it's $6 a bag, and they only come around to our deck about every two to two-and-a-half weeks. Forget that.

One of the first nights we were on the ship, we were asked a series of rhetorical questions: who am I? Where am I going? How will I make a difference? While these are fine in and of themselves, I think it adds a whole new dimension to think about it from a Christ-centered perspective: Who am I? God's child. Where am I going? Wherever He takes me. How will I make a difference? He'll do all the work, I just need to go where I am sent. I am excited to find specific answers to these questions.

Oh. Canada?

2010-08-25T15:51:00.000-04:00

This morning when my family and I trudged through BWI with my two huge suitcases, I thought, "Wow, I guess I didn't pack as lightly as I should have." When I met other Semester at Sea students, however, I quickly realized that, if there was a prize for the lightest packer on board, I would win it. I met a girl on the plane to Halifax who invited me to ride with her family to my hostel in their rental car, and soon discovered that her family of four's luggage wasn't evenly distributed among all of them; instead, she commandeered three large suitcases and her family had four small overnight bags. I guess bringing an entourage for your gigantic luggage helps skip those baggage fees.

The flight was uneventful; I read quite a lot, trying to finish James Clavell's last monster of a book, Whirlwind. 1150 pages of deception, parallel plots, and fate-bound characters make for an interesting read, but not necessarily a quick one. I'm relishing the free WiFi as long as possible; SAS' WiFi is anything but free, and Skype, being a bandwith-sucking program, is inaccessible on the ship.

So far things are going quite well. Nothing untoward as happened yet (knock on wood), and I haven't discovered anything crucial I may have lost. I'm looking forward to getting on the ship just so I can unpack and gain some sense of normalcy; trying to find all of my toiletries for a shower distributed among two large suitcases is a real drag. Tomorrow night, I am called to "mingle" with parents that aren't mine at a reception on the ship. I'm not really sure why parents who brought their own kids would want to talk to me, but hey, whatever. I'm getting paid to do it (at least, it goes toward my tuition), so I suppose I shouldn't complain.

I am comforted by the fact that homesickness has not been an issue--at least not yet. This is a marked improvement from three years ago when I was on the other side of the Chesapeake Bay and felt that was much too far. Now I'm across our national border and feeling this isn't quite far enough; we hit China in October.

SAS' president was also on my flight; he mentioned skipping Singapore for Australia. I'm not sure which I would be more excited to see. Singapore is an interesting place--rather Big Brother-ish--while Australia... well, it speaks for itself, mate.

He's a Dirty, Dirty Man

2010-08-17T16:15:00.001-04:00

I'd just like to send out a big thank you to all the people who read this blog--including those in Germany, Canada, Latvia, China, South Korea, Lithuania, etc. Yeah, I'm not sure where you heard about this, but... that's cool, I guess. Thanks!

Also, be sure to spread the word among folks who may happen to know me also; I leave for Semester at Sea in eight days, and I would love to be able to keep people up-to-date with my comings and goings via this blog. But it only works if people actually read it (such a catch-22), and since I won't have a phone, this would be the best way to keep in touch.

Since eight days is rather soon, my parents have made their own list of things for me to check up on, most of which revolve around my personal safety and well-being. I called SAS today and talked to a woman for a good ten minutes about weird things that happened on previous trips and how SAS prepares to handle them. In the spirit of health and safety, I thought I'd bless you all with this wonderful footage of Mike Rowe, Dirty Jobs extraordinaire. He went to Towson, you know; he also grew up in Dundalk, sang opera, and worked for QVC before making a lucrative living swan diving into toilets and... whatever else he does. I really want him to speak at my graduation.

Warning: Permanent Ink Does Not Come Out in the Wash

2010-08-03T11:16:00.001-04:00

I got a tattoo on Saturday at this place called Flesh. The artists were extremely personable and knowledgeable, and I fully recommend them to anyone who is looking to get anything inked or pierced. They are a little pricey, but hey, I'd rather pay a little extra and be taken care of than pay next to nothing and end up looking like this.

I've had several people ask me why I did it. I guess when it comes down to it, I wanted a physical reminder of God's perception of me: as a beautiful person with potential. I took up the verse from Song of Solomon about the lily of the valley and decided an Asiatic lily was prettier. Plus I'm going to China, so it had even more significance. Ta da!

I promise I'm not a delinquent. I also promise it's not a tramp stamp.

Soccer: A Swift Kick in the Ball(s)

2010-07-12T11:44:00.000-04:00

Congratulations to Spain for winning the World Cup, even though I was rooting for the Netherlands. Honestly, I didn't have any particular loyalty to one side or the other; I just really liked Netherland's coach's scarf. He looked like a beat poet. Just watching those guys play made me tired; seriously, they're incredibly fit. I wonder how many miles they run in a single game of soccer.

I still made it to FUEL last night, even though I was royally exhausted. The sermon was about our intentions behind reading the Bible, which I have come to understand can negate the actual good that is supposed to come from reading Scripture. I had a revelation last night: I have been using the Bible incorrectly for some time now. I have been reading it to justify my own actions and condemn others internally, when in reality I should be using it as a mirror for my own soul. Anything else just feeds bitterness and anger. The Bible should be read with the intention of changing one's thoughts, actions, and attitudes. For someone whose sole intention for the past few months has been to find fault with others, this realization was a humbling experience.

In all of this, it's not about guilt--it's about being proactive and choosing to make the necessary changes in my life. Fortunately, this is very easy; just keep reading, but with a change of heart. Hopefully, the bitterness will fade over time with this new attitude. Time heals all wounds, yes? Unless, of course, it becomes gangrenous or leprous or something. Then time just eats away your flesh until you have nothing but little stubs where your limbs used to be, and you stink all the time.

But that's neither here nor there.

UFC: Ultimate Frisbee Championships

2010-07-03T18:53:00.000-04:00

After several months of extended invitations, I finally made it to John Carroll High School for a game of pick-up Ultimate Frisbee. From what Dan had told me, I expected a few high school and college students with no significant connections to each other except for the shared desire to fling a plastic disc through the air. What I got was a cohesive group of post-college men and women with significant frisbee skills that quite exceeded my own who also seemed to have a very clear set of rules in playing their "pick-up" game. Naturally, I felt very out of place, not to mention extremely inadequate. Don't get me wrong, they were really nice; I just felt incredibly out of place. I did happen to learn a few important lessons during my two hours of dropped passes and mediocre throws that I will now try to convert into all-encompassing words of wisdom:

1. One can't expect one team to always wear light colored shirts and the other team to wear dark-colored shirts; in the same way, some sins are not readily discernible from good things until you look back and think, "Crap, that guy's not on my team."

2. Sometimes, when readying for a baseball game, you have to use the restroom. If said restroom is locked, maybe check if other people--say, the people playing Ultimate Frisbee--can see you peeing against the wall. Catcalls may follow.

3. Try not to wear the same colored outfit as three other people playing the game; be unique. If you all happen to show up in, say, a light-blue T-shirt and dark shorts, use it to your advantage. (I didn't say these were scrupulous life lessons.)

4. If you can afford to take your shirt off, do it; it's hot out there. Plus people are less likely to cover you extremely closely, just because it's awkward. In life, if you can afford to take your shirt off, great, but people secretly hate you.

5. Covering your own brother is only fun if he's not a foot taller than you are, but it can be a good learning experience. Similarly, knowing people of different walks of life can be a good learning experience.

6. Watch where you're going so you don't elbow people in the back. (Learned that the hard way.)

7. We internalize bad things much more readily than good things, but one good play can reinstall enough confidence to feel like an asset--or, if not an asset, perhaps not quite as much of a burden. Encourage others.

8. A friendly face in an unrecognizable crowd brightens the playing field. (This may also be a fortune cookie saying.)

9. Everyone makes mistakes from time to time; just dust yourself off and COVER YOUR MAN, FOR THE LOVE OF PETE.

10. The only way to play a pick-up game is to step outside your comfort zone and just play. God doesn't want us to be comfortable, either; He wants to challenge us to do hard things.

For those of you following the potential ELIC saga (see previous post from like, two or three weeks ago), I got a call from them this week saying they couldn't find my personality profile scores. They then e-mailed me the next day and said they did in fact have them and were sending them to a psychologist for analysis. So, basically, they're going to determine if they have a team that can accommodate my insanity while in China. I hope to hear whether I am accepted or not within the next week or so.

True Lies

2010-06-14T15:38:00.000-04:00

It's funny how I don't readily classify myself in certain cases, and then mistakenly consider myself one thing when I am, in fact, something completely different. For example, I never dreamed, three years ago, that I would be running races for--gag me--the fun of it. Running? Fun? Does not compute. Or that I would be labeled a "techy" by those aquaintances who don't know me well enough to understand that my IT job is really a learning experience and that I am merely an average technological heathen. Six months ago I would have blanched at the idea of taking a year and teaching English to Chinese students as a means to share Christ; now I'm anxiously anticipating the phone call that will tell me whether or not my dream of teaching in China will be realized or dashed.

Many times we sell ourselves short because we underrate our own potential, or we allow others to make decisions for us. I used to think I was assertive; now I see that I am easily swayed by others' stronger, more adamant opinions, even when they conflict with my own. I am tethered to false guilt like a drugged-out junkie, always needing that fix to point me in the right direction. Often, if I feel guilty about something, I immediately feel I acted wrongly.

Now I realize this is a blatant lie.

"But the wisdom that comes from heaven is first of all pure; then peace-loving, considerate, submissive, full of mercy and good fruit, impartial and sincere." James 3:17

The above is the perfect description of God's wisdom and the Holy Spirit's urging. God doesn't teach by backhanded slaps across the face; He tries to guide us with His Spirit and His Word, and through our own shortcomings and mistakes we reap the consequences of our actions. How often have I listened to an unkind word and internalized it? How often have I allowed others' opinions of me to dictate my perception of self-worth?

Well, no longer. This isn't a feminist rampage, nor is it strictly a means to assert my independence; it is a call for defense against the lies of the Devil, who reputedly hates my guts. What a butthead. This is the last time someone tells me I am insensitive, selfish, or immature and actually makes me believe it.

Don't get me wrong, an honest look at one's personality and character is incredibly important; introspection is one way to discover flaws and, eventually, to fix them. But I think the responsible way to determine if something in your character is amiss is to go to wise, God-fearing mentors who know you extremely well and ask their opinions. Notice: mentors. Opinons. Consider this a doctor's visit about the life-and-death situation of your soul--wouldn't you want a second or third opinion? Upon realizing the consensus, take appropriate action. Otherwise, test the nature of the wisdom and inklings you are receiving; are they pure, peace-loving, considerate? If not, maybe they're not true.

Here's to hoping for a more upbeat and truthful future. No one has the right to make you feel like crap. Period.

Dream On

2010-06-04T14:51:00.000-04:00

This week I've had a series of very strange dreams. Some were glorious, some were frightening, but all were stress-induced, I'm convinced. One in particular stands out as a rather telling mirror of my subconscious: Humans were a dying race, overwhelmed by the zombie apocalypse, which included an odd species of rabid wolves, very similar to the dogs in "I Am Legend" (with Will Smith--horribly scary, in my opinion). My only form of defense was a meat cleaver, which I utilized liberally against the onslaught of brain-hungry animals in my backyard. I had to give each one several hacks to the neck to have the desired effect, but might I just say, if my knife skills in the dream extended to real life I would be a world-class chef. Cutting edge, even.

That was basically the extent of it. There was no plot, no other character, the victims of my knife-scapade faceless in my memory. I think the only real purpose it could have served was to give my racing mind a stress-relieving outlet, though the fact that the outlet was killing a murderous zombie horde sort of concerns me.

I wonder if anyone analyzes their dreams. I personally don't do much of it; from time to time something sticks out to me, and I feel it has personal significance, though to anyone else it would just be some odd story with no character development and a shoddy subplot.

Another dream I had painted a beautiful picture of God's forgiveness. In my dream, I had treated someone visciously--I was shocked my subconscious could even conjure the idea of me acting the way I did, because it was completely out of my real character--and the next day I regretted my actions. Guilt ate me up, I ran through a small, unidentifiable town screaming for this person who could not be found. Eventually, at my wit's end, I walked up a set of stairs leading up the outer story of a rickety old house. When I walked into the attic, I was immediately greeted with a smile and a laugh, and then a hug. While I cried my sincerest apolgies and expressed how worried I was, I was told, "That's enough." It wasn't said harshly or curtly, quite the contrary; it was kind, forgiving, and soft. And I knew I was forgiven and cared for deeply.

After days of feeling unsure and second-guessing myself, I finally have a small example of what true forgiveness must feel like, and what it feels like to be treated like an honored, cherished human being. I woke up with a smile on my face that day.

In the end, this may just be a silly dream, but I think the effects can have deeper meaning for the dreamer. I'm interested to know if anyone else has had similar dreams--the kind that soothe your soul and assure you that, yes, you are loved just the way you are.

"The End Justifies the Means"--Niccolo Machiavelli

2010-05-27T10:40:00.000-04:00

I've made a huge discovery in the past month or so:

I don't want to go to graduate school.

It's not that I don't love to learn, or that I don't appreciate the open doors that a doctorate can bestow, but honestly, the only reason I would get another degree is to provide the means to an end. And I think I may have discovered the "end" in question.

Since about April, I have taken to researching Christian nonprofit and missionary agencies, including CMF, World Vision, Compassion International, and more. While any one of these organizations would be a stellar choice for employment, I couldn't help but feel that I would be relegated to a desk job as an unpaid intern somewhere in the midwest. Not exactly my ideal position.

Then I stumbled upon ELIC--the English Language Institute of China--which is a Christian missionary organization that sends people of all walks of life to Asia to teach English in universities. They've been around since the 1960s and have since sent over 9,000 teachers to Asia, and taught over 1 million students. Essentially, teaching English is their means to an end; in the process of providing a service to Asian governments and universities, ELIC faculty are able to forge relationships with their students and perpetuate Saint Francis of Assisi's "preach the gospel, and if necessary, use words" phenomenon. While this may seem like a small thing, one can never underestimate the power of relationships. Think about your own friends and family and how they have impacted you in the past year--no, six months--and tell me relationships can't be powerful.

Well, you could, but you'd be lying.

Anyway, that's what God is doing in my heart right now. The only contingencies to this plan are a.) completing ELIC's application process, which should be finished by July, b.) actually getting accepted, c.) graduating in May 2011 as planned (even if it kills me), and d.) raising funds--like a legitimate missionary. I'm just taking it one step at a time, praying about it daily, and hoping that others will ask me questions about it, because I would certainly love to talk about it. Even more so, I would love some advice; missionary work wasn't even on my radar until about a month ago, so this is all very new to me.

I guess this is just a way of combining several of my passions into one very unlikely pursuit. I never thought I'd be a teacher--let alone in a foreign country--but if God's means to an end is to use me, then so be it.

HIST 102: Is That Your Final Answer?

2010-05-15T09:48:00.001-04:00

Considering this is finals week, and I am here, writing a blog post, that should speak volumes as to my initiative regarding studying. My last final is Monday, and it happens to be my European Civilization class, which practically mirrored my Renaissance History class after the midterm, so I'm not feeling that inspired, to say the least; after getting hit over the head with Petrarch and Erasmus for two months, one loses all interest.

I have, however, taken some steps to preparing for this test; our professor gave us a series of questions that might be on the final (emphasis on "might"), so I took some notes and compiled some short answers to almost all of them. Here is an example:

9. The Great Plague, the Hundred Years' War, and the Great Schism were events of great repercussion in European societies at the end of the Middle Ages. What made them new and unique events?

I assume by "Great Plague" you really mean the Black Death, even though you never called it by the former all semester. The bubonic plague hit Europe approximately 1348 when it came in through southern Italy on trade ships from Asia. It was unique simply in terms of the widespread destruction it caused; France alone lost 1/2-2/3 of its population, and millions of people across Europe keeled over and succumbed to easily one of the grossest diseases on the planet. I mean, think about it: you're coughing up blood, you're writhing in pain and probably hallucinating because you have a raging fever, and on top of that, you have these massive buboes all over your groin. Disgusting. Not to mention the sanitation measures in Medieval Europe (or lack thereof) didn't help; it's hard to fight off disease when you're swimming in your own filth.

The Hundred Years' War is one of the first examples of the entangling alliances of which European countries seem so fond. Basically, it was a throw-down between the French Valois dynasty and the English Angevin dynasty. In 1066, William of Normandy in France defeated King Harold II in the Battle of Hastings and crowned himself king of England, but remained a French vassal as well, since he was duke of Normandy. Two centuries later, Edward III of England marries Eleanor of Aquitaine for her land. (Maybe that's where I've been wrong--I just need to own a ton of territory to get a rich man.) King Edward wanted to rule Aquitaine and the rest of his French territory as a king, not a vassal, but King Phillip VI of France was like, "No way, Jose," so Edward was like, "Screw it--I'm taking your whole bleepin' country." They went to war in 1337 and didn't stop until 1457 (116 years, to be exact, because the conflict was punctuated by periods of peace). It's unique in the sense that new military technologies were wrought, such as the longbow, the crossbow, and the canon (ironically, mostly on the English side); mercenaries were also widely used, such as the Burgundians, who captured Joan of Arc and burned her at the stake. And the feminist movement was born. Oh, right, and England lost and got kicked out of France.

Finally, the Great Schism, a.k.a. Papacy: "Our bad." After the Babylonian Captivity during which the popes shacked up in Avignon, France, they returned in 1377, at which time Pope Urban VI was elected. Urban turned out to be incredibly harsh and overbearing in his push for reform, so the Cardinals decided to high-tail it back to France and elect a new pope, Clement VII. Urban decided to go down without a fight was not Biblically sound, and secured the support of England, Italy, the Netherlands, and others, while Clement stood on the shoulders of France, Spain, and Scotland. Eventually, the cardinals decided that to have two popes wasn't exactly good for PR, so they held a Council at Constance 1414 to pick one, new and omnipotent pope: Martin V. He also turned out to be kind of a loser, but at least there was only one of him. This was unique and important because it underscored the frailty and corruptness of the papacy, eventually spawning the Reformation.

I should totally be on the History channel.

Calvin the Cactus

2010-05-03T11:17:00.000-04:00

Only in the past month or so have I really made a concerted effort to take time out of my day to pray regularly. If I can be quite honest (which, as we've probably already established, I most certainly can), prayer is an area I struggle with constantly. When I was younger, I was the "laundry list" prayer--just ticking off things that I felt needed to be prayed for whether my heart was in it or not. After a while, my prayers got so long that I would have to get in bed half an hour early just so I could hit the pillow at my appointed bedtime.

I was an odd child.

After that, I tried more heartfelt prayers, and then moved to Brother Lawerence's method of "practicing the presence of God," which has its benefits in incorporating thoughts about and prayers directed to God in your daily, mundane activities. Brother Lawerence is arguably the most famous dishwasher in the world; the man led an apparently boring life, but he made it a point to defer to God in all things, regardless of how mundane the task.

Lately, though, I've found that spending time with God--literally making time in my day to sit down and hold a conversation with Him--has its benefits. Besides proving to myself that He is worth my time and concentration, it gives me a moment to reflect on the day and walk through it with Him again. Maybe I find something I missed the first time, or maybe I just realized that I saw Him in ways I previously overlooked; either way, it helps me see how God is working through my own, mundane, day-to-day life.

Cultivating prayer as a habit, however, is like trying to grow a garden in the Sahara. Mind you, I am a terrible gardener; last semester, my mom gave me a cactus (named Calvin, rather fittingly), and it survived up until finals, when it passed away rather suddenly. It was really quite a blow. Calvin, it seems, is a lot like my prayer life; I start out great, and then after getting dropped on the floor a few times, and forgetting about it for a while, I fall back into the same dead conversations as before. I think in Calvin's case, however, I may have overwatered him. Or, you know, dropped him one too many times. I hear that isn't very good for plants, go figure.

If You Roll with the Punches, You End Up in the Dirt

2010-04-19T13:04:00.000-04:00

I hate these patterns of dismay and rejection. I've been an emotional wreck all weekend, and things just keep getting worse. None of it is a life-or-death situation, and I assume eventually things will bottom out and I'll continue on the up-and-up, but until then, I'm tired of trying to be positive; I keep getting disappointed.

Friday night I had a veritable breakdown that carried into Saturday morning in my anxiety over the GRE and just a general feeling that I am, in fact, a horrible person. Saturday I bombed the GRE. Sunday I broke my phone's screen, which is still mostly readable and the phone is usable, but I can't get a replacement because I don't have insurance. Today I received my study abroad course form from the History department, and Dr. Rook marked all of them as lower division equivalencies even though all but one are upper division courses. I don't know what to do with my life, I have this nagging feeling that I won't be accepted into any of the grad programs I want, and now I'm afraid that my entire study abroad experience will be all for naught.

The solutions to the aforementioned problems may seem simple to some: Re-take the GREs. Get over your emotional funk. Use a broken phone. Talk to Dr. Rook. All I can imagine, however, are the negative impacts of such actions: Flunk them again. I can't. The phone thing is just obnoxious because I only bought it four months ago. Dr. Rook will tell me to take a hike and deal with it.

I'm trying to find peace in all of this, but it's sort of difficult when I get over one thing and something else seems to take its place. It's a giant snowball effect of depressing outcomes that have me seriously wondering what I'm going to do about my future. Last week I was so excited for the weekend, for the opportunity to do well, to see my friends (which, I'll admit, was the single happiness I had in all of this), and now I'm at the start of another week thinking, "What will go wrong next?"

I know God cares about my life and each minute event that knocks me on my backside, but it's so hard not to ask Him to just intervene and take it away. James 1:2 says, "Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance." I wonder how many people wanted to smack him in the face for that. Good thing he wrote it in a letter and didn't deliver it in person. Later on he says that if you persevere, God will reward you with "the crown of life." Right about now I'd rather take the assurance that I'll be working towards my major while abroad and not just taking stupid classes for the sake of taking classes.

I guess this is just a taste of the anxiety and frustrations that come with everyday life. It isn't ideal, and it certainly isn't easy, but there isn't really any other alternative except to duck my head and bowl through it, all the while praying for strength and guidance and for Dr. Rook to lighten up, for Pete sake.

The Delegate from El Salvador Would Like to Pose a Blog Post

2010-04-09T10:50:00.000-04:00

I can't believe I find out in three weeks how I'll be paying for Semester at Sea. Scholarships, holy cow. Recently, I've been running around D.C. in a skirt acting all diplomatic with other MOAS universities from across the hemisphere, and when I got back this week it was like a reality check. Snap, girl, you have to like, pay for stuff and junk.

MOAS in and of itself was an interesting experience; I made good friends with Chile and Venezuela. Honestly, I learned their names, but everyone is referred to by their country of representation. It got to the point where if someone yelled out "El Salvador!" I would instantly turn around and answer. Walking around the city made me realize how much I would like to live in a city--as long as it was the good part of the city, and I lived in an apartment up far enough so as not to be bothered with sounds of the street below. Oh, and if I had a bike. Oh, and a metro pass. And if it was sunny all the time and...

Needless to say, last week was ideal, but not fully realistic.

The most shocking part of the whole week was introduced by the delegation of the Dominican Republic, who actually came from La Universidad de Caracas in Colombia, ironically. Venezuela introduced a resolution that called for an HIV/AIDS education program for indigenous populations, and the DR decided to speak against it not based on any inherent flaw in the resolution itself, but against the principle of spending money on educating indigenous people. In his words, indigenous peoples are "primitive" and "one with nature, so they wouldn't take help if it was offered anyway."

I don't know, but personally, if I was dying of AIDS, I probably wouldn't say, "Nope, I don't want your medicine, I'm one with nature!" I sat there, incredulous, shocked, and appalled. Worse still, my adviser was sitting behind him; Pineo works with indigenous populations all over Latin America. He looked like he wanted to strangle the kid.

I guess I simply did not fully grasp the sheer pervasiveness of racial boundaries in some Latin American countries. Obviously, this is an issue that finds its roots in colonialism, when Spaniards came to the New World and instantly created a hierarchy based on skin color and facial features. The same basic criteria for social class exist today; for example, Bolivia's president, Evo Morales, is the first indigenous president in that country--period. Like, they haven't had an indigenous ruler since before the Spanish landed.

I guess we see that in America, too; I mean, we just elected our first black president. But I still don't see racial lines as heavily drawn here as I do in Latin America. I suppose that has something to do with where I live, but also with the "us" versus "them" mentality that, as a budding anthropologist, I try to avoid at all costs.

The DR was made to apologize for his remarks, but be assured he apologized in the most condescending manner possible. The faculty leadership committee actually asked our delegation and Venezuela's delegation to censure the DR in voice and vote, which basically removes him from any active participation in the remainder of the Model, but the Chair considered that a waste of time (I wasn't a big fan of her, either) and ignored our delegation for the rest of the day. This bothers me in principle, because we're supposed to stand up for what we believe in, but then we get gaveled down for doing so. I've just resigned myself to not understanding why people act the way they do; it takes too much energy to psychoanalyze things all the time.

Los Sueños

2010-03-27T09:36:00.000-04:00

Next week I will be in Washington D.C. for some serious Model OAS-ing. For those of you who have no idea what that is, the Model of the Organization of American States is a collaboration of several different schools who send ten students to D.C. for a week to hold a mock OAS session; we debate resolutions, argue important Latin American issues, and make snarky comments about each other's countries in the most diplomatic way possible. It's intense.

We met with the permanent delegate from El Salvador (to the United States) a couple of weeks ago to get some pointers. Unfortunately, the only things I gleaned from that meeting were some of the strange comments he made, such as, "As diplomats, we do not lie. Only liars lie. We tell half-lies." And my personal favorite, "I once was at a workshop for coup d'etat..." Who knew they had workshops for that? I guess after you've done it so many times, a method of standardization is prudent.

My professor and advisor to MOAS met with me this week to discuss graduate school options (for those of you who remember, this is the same man from the coca tea story; for those of you who have no idea what I'm talking about, read all about Pineo's exploits in this post). He urged me to think about the issues I'm passionate about and try to apply them to areas of the world in which I have an academic background, the most logical being Latin America. His exact words were "do some soul searching," to which I replied, "Nothing good ever happens when I do that." He didn't get my reference, but he did say, "It doesn't matter what your answer is, because if it's the truth about you, it's the right answer."

WHOA. Heavy.

But it's the truth. As a college student, this is the a time in life for me to define my future academically and professionally; I know what my dreams are and what I'm passionate about, and to compromise those dreams for something I have no strong connection to would be a disservice to myself. Though I have no formal background and no language skills in Asian studies, if that is truly my passion, Pineo said I should take the time to learn a language and take classes, even if it means going to school an extra year, because compromising one's aspirations this early in life only sets one up for disappointment later.

This is a lesson I have learned the hard way this week, but I like it all the same. And while I don't undervalue compromise by any means, I think there are some dreams that are nonnegotiable, and there is no shame or blame in sticking to said dreams. I felt deeply convicted about the way I have judged other people's aspirations compared to my own, and regret ever thinking that one path was better than the other. But hey, I've turned over a proverbial new leaf, and things are about to get way more exciting, I'd say.

"Walk." --Michelle; "Teleport." --Matt

2010-03-18T16:19:00.000-04:00

I can't believe how beautiful the weather is this week. It's like God saw spring break and said, "It is not right for the student to be inside on her week off," and then created 65-degree weather. YES.

First win of the break: The Shamrock Run. Awesome race, mostly because of the guy who juggled five balls the entire race. I beat him, by the way. But he was totally cool. And then there were about twenty some runners in kilts, which doesn't make a whole lot of sense, since kilts are Scottish, and St. Patrick's Day is clearly celebratory of Irish heritage... but I'll let it slide. Any man who wakes up in the morning and says, "I'm going to run 3.1 miles today--in a skirt," is secure enough not to care if he's Scottish on Saint Patty's Day.

Second win of break: two papers finished. I can't believe how fast I churned them out, which leads me to think that I probably wrote them incorrectly. But the point is they're written, and at this point, that's all I really care about. Check that off the list.

Third win: this picture.

To explain the title, when I leave at some absurd hour of the morning to go for a walk or run or whatever, I always leave a note on the whiteboard on the side of our refrigerator. Since I was pressed for time, the only words I could bring myself to write were "Walk" and my name. When I passed through the kitchen later that day, I noticed Matt had written "Teleport" in response; apparently he just wanted me to use a more effective means of getting from point A to point B. How thoughtful. I wittily replied, "I did, thanks."

There was no point A or B to any of this.

Indy!

2010-02-26T10:43:00.000-05:00

I love these films like children, but seriously, if he was a real archaeologist, he would have been hailed a menace to his field.

The clip below is especially cheesy.

AIA News

Harrison Ford Elected to AIA Board

"Indiana Jones" shows his commitment to real archaeology.
Harrison Ford

After years of being identified on screen as the legendary archaeologist "Indiana Jones," actor Harrison Ford has won election to the Board of Directors of the Archaeological Institute of America. With his Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull set to hit U.S. movie theaters on May 22, the film star commented on his real world dedication to archaeology, "Knowledge is power, and understanding the past can only help us in dealing with the present and the future."

The Archaeological Institute of America is North America's oldest and largest non-profit organization devoted to archaeology. With more nearly a quarter of a million members and subscribers and 105 local chapters, it promotes archaeological excavation, research, education, and preservation on a global basis. At the core of its mission is the belief that an understanding of the past enhances our shared sense of humanity and enriches our existence. As archaeological finds are a non-renewable resource, the AIA's work benefits not only the current generation, but also those yet to come in the future.

"Harrison Ford has played a significant role in stimulating the public's interest in archaeological exploration," said Brian Rose, President of the AIA. "We are all delighted that he has agreed to join the AIA's Governing Board."

In addition, the current May/June issue of ARCHAEOLOGY magazine, published by the AIA, features a cover story devoted to the mysteries surrounding the alleged crystal skull archaeological finds that inspired the new "Indiana Jones" film. For the complete article, go to www.archaeology.org.

Harrison Ford is already helping to raise public awareness of the AIA and its mission as the news of his election to the Board has spread. Many media outlets have covered the story. ...

The AIA was delighted to honor Harrison Ford with the inaugural Bandelier Award for raising public awareness of archaeology through his on-screen work in the Indiana Jones film series.

In 1880, Adolf Bandelier was sent by the Archaeological Institute of America to study prehistoric sites in the Southwest. At Los Alamos, northwest of Santa Fe, Bandelier investigated Tyuonyi pueblo, Long House, and other sites. These were preserved in a National Monument established in 1916 and named after Bandelier. Visitors to the National Monument can experience the wonder of seeing archaeological sites first hand, much as viewers of Harrison Ford's Indiana Jones movies experience the excitement of exploring lost civilizations.

"I'll Take Calligraphy And Then I'll Make a Fake Degree"

2010-02-22T14:25:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I wonder if I should throw my own insecurities out the window and just live life with a confident edge. While I believe being humble is a virtue, perhaps by constantly feeling as though I'm falling short is more an insult to God than an accurate depiction of my own ability (which, on its own, is rather small). One cannot help, however, but feel slightly inadequate knowing that next week one must meet with a delegate from El Salvador and ask him questions about his own country... about which, hypothetically speaking, one is comparably unknowledgable.

Just saying.

I've actually been assigned work at work now, which means less time to complete my reading and note-taking assignments for a rather demanding History professor who also happens to be Portuguese (not that I'm naming names or anything). Honestly, this semester is looking rather bleak, simply because of the sheer amount of work I'm expected to accomplish, most of which is due at the end of the semester, which means April is my equivalent of academic Judgment Day. Bum Bum BUM. *thunder and lightning*

Last Friday was a my first real day at my internship. I organized magazines and looked up articles on Eastern office-owned sites--for eight hours. EIGHT HOURS. And then I got stuck on 695 for two. I've never wanted to get out of a place so badly, except maybe the State Archives. Or African History class. But that's neither here nor there. Good thing Saturday made up for it.

One of my assignments for my internship is to search for a job for which I would be qualified upon graduating and then write a cover letter and autobiographical page based on that position. The only problem with this assignment is the commonly-known fact that a History and Anthropology double major has absolutely no prospects with a BS. It's just BS. That was a pun, people. So now I'm looking for jobs completely outside of my field in the hopes that I'll be able to find something that I could see myself working for the rest of my life without wanting to shoot myself.

Like I said, bleak.

V-Day

2010-02-15T10:20:00.000-05:00

Ironically, V-Day stands for a movement to end violence against women. But this isn't exactly what this post is about.

Here's a little something I found, courtesy of Luke Morrison, which I thought might spread balm on the wounds that good ol' St. Valentine annually leaves on the hearts of single women:

For the Ladies by almantas

Somebody go to say it, and somebody will be me
I’m sick of the way we portray women on TV
Real beauty can’t be seen all up on the silver screen
And it sure can’t be found in Cosmo magazine.
The most beautiful thing that I ever seen
Is a girl deep in love with the man of her dreams
But the man of her dreams is the only King of Kings
So don’t let nobody treat You no less than a queen.
That’s why You ain’t gotta have a guy
To make You feel like You worth something in Your life.
See, I know a man that will always treat You right
Who will take care of You and never make you cry.
You can call anyplace anytime
Whether it’s a middle of the day or the middle of the night
He will always call You back, never leave You high or dry
See, He’s so in love with You that He would give His life.

Don’t ever let this world to fill You up with stress
There’s no need to doubt no need to guess
That You’re beautiful and special, wonderful and blessed
You are daughter of the King and
That makes You a princess.
That’s even on the days when You just feel depressed
You’re looking at the mirror and You feeling like a mess
But You got just remember very words that He says:
“I LOVE YOU AS YOU ARE AND I CAN NEVER LOVE YOU LESS!”

That’s why it ain’t about any way You dress
Or Your hair or Your make-up or anything like this
It’s about the Son who gave His very last breath
Because He loved You so much that He would meet His death.
But You ain’t got to be like the rest
I know staying pure ain’t easy, I confess
But I’m so very sure and of one thing I’m convinced
That there is so much more when You wait for God’s best.

Snow Way, Jose

2010-02-06T12:27:00.000-05:00

I don't know about the rest of you, but I am rooting for this snowstorm like its New Orleans in the Superbowl. Seriously, I'm thinking I'll have off until at least Wednesday. Wishful thinking, anyway. Though I did just spend a good half hour or so shoveling a path to my car, and then knocking two feet of snow off of him with a broom. I'm sure there are thousands of similar stories to go around.

I've basically thrown myself into my schoolwork this weekend, as there is absolutely nothing else to do around the house. I came back to Bel Air Thursday night to beat the snow and spend time with my family, but now I'm out of ideas and all the books I want to read are at the apartment. Fortunately, my computer is here, so I can always revise my MOAS resolution or research American Indian tribes or... something equally as stimulating... Or I could actually get a life.

Even though sitting around the house twiddling my thumbs gets kind of lonesome, I'm glad I feel this way, because when I actually get to see the ones I'm missing it will mean a heck of a lot more. At least, that's what I'm telling myself. For the time being, however, I'm staring out the window at the swirling precipitation and hoping "The Book of the Courtier" actually turns out to be a good book.

I sent one of my professors a question about the book; I couldn't understand how a book about proper court etiquette would make it to the Inquisition's list of banned books. Instead of sending me back a two-sentence answer about how certain terminology in the book, in the Catholic church's opinion, pointed to a disregard of God, she told me a book to look in for the answer to my own question, and then proceeded to tell me that I would be presenting the answer in front of the whole class next week.

I'm sorry, but last time I checked SHE was getting paid to teach, not me. Oh, and I thought when a student showed interest and incentive to learn a topic, said student was to be commended, not slapped in the face. My mistake.

School makes me a little apprehensive about my relationship with God. I find that I get caught up in a very analytical and secular mindset when I spend all my time studying and going to class; it eats up my time because I feel guilty when I have work to do and choose not to do it. I try to make time during the week to read my Bible in the morning, but on days like today I put it off again and again. I need a packed schedule to actually motivate me to do anything. What a shame.

Living in Linthicum (a.k.a. big Linth)

2010-01-25T13:27:00.000-05:00

School is back in session for Towson University, as seen by the intense amount of cars parked in Union Garage this morning. In two weeks I estimate their numbers will be halved as people drop classes in droves. It's interesting being back in the same general schedule I was last semester; I almost feel as though I didn't just come out of the longest break of my entire life. The gym is still dead in the morning, work is still anything but, and class--well, I haven't been there yet. All I know is that every single class is in the same building: Linthicum Hall. Hopefully classes will be more engaging than last semester. And I'm praying I don't have to write too many papers. That would be a plus.

I finished moving into the town house yesterday; my roommate and I established that we will not see each other for about two weeks, since both of our schedules are insanely busy. I personally am looking forward to getting home on Tuesdays and Thursdays before nine o'clock at night. That would be amazing.

It's difficult feeling pulled in two different directions; while I am happy to be back to a normal schedule that adds academic purpose to my life, it was nice to be at home and spend time with people. Now I officially have no life. Again. I did, however, read two National Geographic articles this morning.

Case and point.

The beginning of the semester always carries a feeling of uncertainty and excitement. In fact, I usually go through an extreme emotional low for the first two weeks after I receive all my syllabi and imagine dropping out would be easier than trying to pass all my classes. Fortunately, by identifying such a desperate mental state, I can force through it against my better judgment. It is exciting, though, to learn something new. And to meet new professors--sometimes. Sometimes you walk into class and realize you're going to hate the next five months.

I like to temper my optimism with some good, old-fashioned cynicism. It's a honed skill of mine.

Decisively Indecisive... Maybe

2010-01-18T18:22:00.000-05:00

Once upon a time, I was in the eighth grade, and my favorite teacher inspired me to study History for a living. (He also gave me a plastic spoon with the words "Keep Writing" written on the handle and a smiley face on the ladle portion, but that's a story for another time. Preferably never.) I then journeyed through the morass of dramatic incongruity that is high school and came out with my sanity intact (shockingly) to study History and Anthropology in college. And now, I come to a crossroads, sort of like the riddle with the two brothers, one which always lies and one which always tells the truth and you have to ask them one question. (The answer is the other brother. The question is just plain complicated.)

One brother thumbs over his shoulder and says, "You know, relief work is rewarding. Why don't you see if you can get a job with one with a bachelors degree and travel the world or something? P.S.: You might end up at a desk job that you will find completely unsatisfactory. Just f.y.i." The other brother wears glasses and a pocket protector and wheezes, "Keep studying. Go to grad school and get a PhD! You'd be the first Kenner in the history of Kenners to be called Dr. Kenner! ... You'll also be saddled with insane amounts of dissertation work for the next six years of your life."

Now, I like writing thousand-page reports as much as the next person, but my previously-accepted life plan of grad school suddenly seems negotiable. I can't even fathom the idea of writing a thesis. But then again, I can't fathom the idea of stopping my education at the undergraduate level. I'm a life-long learner; if I could get paid for learning, I would do it. Hands down. If I never had to take another test I would do it. Hands down. ... Wait...

You see my dilemma. While I understand that no one else can make this decision for me, sometimes it's nice to get some feedback. Or advice. Or just... something. Cash is always good.

Dreaming About Armageddon: Priceless

2010-01-07T18:49:00.000-05:00

I was watching Gilmore Girls with my mom this evening, and I was completely dumbstruck by the poor quality of commercials on TV. Everything from furniture galleries to home security systems made me want to wrench the television from the wall and chuck it out the bedroom window, if not for the incredibly expensive consequences of such an action. I mean, seriously, if you saw your neighbors getting robbed, would you stamp your foot indignantly, and say in a huff, "I TOLD them to get the Slomin's Shield! And it's FREE." Needless to say, I can't wait for the Superbowl; at least that has some decent advertisements, such as the following:

Things have been a little nuts lately; between our Kentucky excursion and my entire family being sick, I feel as though I've seen some friends come home and leave without getting more than a word in edgewise. Don't get me wrong, not all of it has been busy or bad by any means, but I suppose nostalgia has been the name of the game. Ugh. I hate it. Moving forward is necessary, but I guess I feel like I'm being separated from people without my consent.

I even had a terrible dream last night that the world was going to explode and the United States had discovered four viable planets to which everyone in the country was being shipped. The average American had no control over where they were getting sent, however, and I knew I was going to get separated from those I loved. The rest of the dream is kind of obsolete (one of my best friends had a twin I never knew about, and then I tried calling my parents from a tube of toothpaste across the galaxy--stuff like that). At one point I remember running through the convention center-type place from which we were disembarking shouting for someone, crying because he was getting sent somewhere to which I could not follow.

It was rather distressing. Not to mention the guy in question was named Seth... which is what I call my car... I'm not sure what the significance is there.

Perhaps, while I have resigned myself to the fact that things could never be the same as they were (the old adage, "the only thing that stays the same is that everything changes" applies) I subconsciously have not found a way to deal with it... ? Ironically, my boss came in today with "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" on CD today; for those of you who haven't read it, the scatterbrained plot revolves around Earth's destruction to make way for an intergalactic super highway. Maybe my dream wasn't a mirror of my subconscious, but rather a premonition.

And So It Goes

2009-12-28T07:49:00.000-05:00

Elkton, Kentucky: population 1,984, a third of which are probably related to my dad in some way. When you drive into the square, you catch a full-frontal glimpse of the historic courthouse, which unfortunately sits on a sinkhole and is therefore never used, except during Christmas when someone decides to put four Christmas trees in the windows. Other important sights include the only three chain stores in the entire town (Subway, Weather's Drugs, and Save-a-Lot), the Mexican restaurant that has changed hands at least half a dozen times in the past three years, and easily the biggest cemetery I have ever seen.

My grandmother's house sits on eight acres of unused farmland, equipped with a decrepit barn full of old stuff (like my dad's old saddle, weathered and stiff from years of neglect), a garage also full of just... stuff, and at least six cats, all of which are cute but none of which have an affinity for humans. My grandfather built that house for her in the 1950s, and she's lived in it ever since. They've added rooms onto it, but it still only has one bathroom, which makes for quite an interesting morning shower routine when we come to visit. Even Grandpa's old truck is still there--thirty years old and still running, or at least until Bart broke down in Clarksville last week.

I probably can't count the number of cousins I have, but I'm thinking first cousins alone are somewhere around six or seven, the majority of which are noticeably older than I am. Kevin is in his thirties, married with a twelve-year old kid. I only have one female cousin, and she also has a son... or two? I forget. It's hard to keep track of family you only see once in a blue moon.

I was completely shocked when I saw Grandma; she's lost a lot of weight in the past six months, and her back hurts all the time. The entire visit was underlain by a sense of depression. On the bright side, she seems to be doing much better than when we first arrived. I'd like to think that somehow we made her feel a little happier just by being there.

I managed to steal a small conversation with her; she doesn't talk much in large groups, but one-on-one she's quite the chatterbox. I can relay one story, which may not speak too highly of my ancestors, but whatever.

Grandma told me that, in addition to her two sisters and grandparents, she also lived in the same house with her three uncles and at least one aunt. Uncle Hanam, Uncle Corbin, and Uncle Ernest were brothers on her father's side, more commonly known as Grandpa Wilson. Ernest was a notorious alcoholic, and would spend his days sleeping off his drunken nights. When he was passed-out on the porch, Grandma Wilson wouldn't even let the kids outside. The guy was nuts.

Hanam, on the other hand, worked hard all the time. Grandma spoke very highly of his agency. Hanam and Ernest went halfsies on a saw once, and I'm sure that Hanam got much more use out of it than Ernest ever did. One night, however, Ernest came back from the bar or the moonshiner's or wherever you get booze around Lake Malone and saw Hanam sawing away at something and he got angry. Ernest shouted at him, telling him to put down his saw, that it didn't belong to him, that he should have asked him before he just up and used it. Hanam ignored him and the pleadings of his wife, arguing that Ernest would just go sleep it off, as per usual.

Ernest didn't sleep it off. He went back to the house, grabbed his gun, and shot Hanam dead. Corbin reported him to the authorities, who admitted him to the sanitarium, since all the drinking had basically fried his brain. Before they took him, Ernest vowed that when he got out he would come for Corbin next.

Several years passed. Ernest contracted TB in the sanitarium, which pitied him enough to offer him the his last few months of life in freedom. By then the only relative who could take him was Corbin, who effectively said, "Over my dead body," and let Ernest rot alone in the asylum. When Ernest died, he was buried next to Hanam, which seemed perfectly natural to everyone else in the family except Grandma, who was incredibly peeved by the entire affair.

I totally should have visited their graves while we were there, but something about this story freaks me out. Can't imagine why.

Go Army, Eat Navy

2009-12-15T07:53:00.000-05:00

Finals are upon Towson University like a fluffy snowfall--of death, destruction, depression, and sleeplessness. This is the type of snowfall that freezes your car door shut, leaves your tongue stuck to the metal flag pole, and then causes you to slip and break your tailbone on the sidewalk in front of the hottest kid on campus.

Before you jump to any conclusions, none of this has happened to me. Though I did come across a guy who looked EXACTLY like Brad Pitt yesterday. If he turns out to be Brad Pitt, I'm going to be kicking myself for all of eternity. (It also means Brad has a pension for chocolate ice cream cones.)

My first final was characterized by apathy and lathered in shrugs, as I only needed a 65% or higher to keep an "A" in the class. I think I managed that. My final today is slightly more intense (I need a whopping 73%) but again, not too concerned. Thursday is essentially zero hour, what with two essay-format History finals back-to-back. Como se dice "carpal tunnels" en espanol? My History 300 paper--the one on which my grade for two classes rides--earned a solid "A", which I will have no qualms about waving under Dr. Rook's nose when I get the chance. He probably doesn't remember me, anyway.

It's hard to get back into the mundane swing of things after an awesome weekend. Easily one of the best of my twenty years thus far, even if Army did happen to lose on Saturday. The fact that the West Pointers stole Navy's mascot's head and tossed it around like a beach ball completely makes up for that. Also, the signs that said "Navy was my Safety School" and "Navy=Army Support" and "Eat Navy" (a stunning variation of the well-known slogan, "Beat Navy") speak for themselves.

These people are protecting our country, my friends. Rest assured, liberty is in their capable hands.

Just Another Manic Monday

2009-12-07T14:02:00.000-05:00

Last night after FUEL, I stumbled into the apartment, hamper in tow. Bella was there, as usual, and proceeded to attempt to cling to my foot as I dragged myself to the thermostat and turned up the heat. An hour later, I was in bed, wondering why my neighbors were taking a shower at ten o'clock at night, but since I was glorified exhausted, I thought no more about it (in fact, I fell asleep).

Fast-forward to 6:10 am: I come downstairs, and lo and behold, that shower sound is still present, but for some reason, it's louder in the kitchen. That just doesn't make sense to me, so I check under the sink to make sure nothing is leaking. I had just enough time to peek before Bella tried to eat a sponge. As I walk to the coat closet to get Bella's food and placate her appetite for cleaning supplies, a sickening realization dawns on me:

The hot water heater is in that closet.

Sometime last night, my hot water heater broke, and upon opening the closet door, an inch of standing water seeped out into the living room. I couldn't find a water shut-off valve, and the only valve on the heater was stuck. I resigned myself to my soggy fate and called the emergency maintenance guy, who I assume is drying out the carpet with a gigantic fan as I type this, twenty minutes away at TU.

What a Monday. I wanted to clean the house before Meredith and Josh got home; now I'll just be happy if I can get it dry.

It could have been worse, though; it could have been finals week. Or it could have happened on Thursday when I was in Philly. Or... maybe I should stop speculating before I jinx myself.

The Flash-Bang Theory

2009-11-30T15:54:00.001-05:00

The semester is three weeks from zero hour; I desperately want to skip the next two weeks, coast through finals and be done with it. I feel as though I am perpetually on an emotional precipace. Last night I couldn't sleep I was so mentally restless, so I started thinking up what I would say at a graduation ceremony, just for the heck of it.

I flatly refused to speak at my high school graduation, mostly because I had no desire to put the required effort into crafting a speech. Plus I didn't feel like I had anything good to say about the school besides, "I'm glad I'm finally leaving." Oh, FHS. How I miss your jagged walls that could scrape some kid's face off if he fell sideways; your horribly anti-climate controlled halls; and your smelly... aw, heck, the entire thing smelled weird. Especially the back hallways, which always smelled like pot.

Ah, high school.

Anyway, this speech I thought up at three in the morning was actually quite insightful. I drew a comparison between the time I and two friends almost burned their house down and looking towards one's future. In our case, we had taken to playing with a votive candle on Halloween on the porch. When it came time to douse the flame, it must have sparked some sort of grease fire, because the flame shot ten feet in the air and licked the underside of their porch roof. One of my friends lost part of an eyebrow, got her eyelashes glued shut by melted mascara, and singed her hair. I came out with an awesome story.

So, even though the flame was huge and hot and amazing, it burned out in a matter of seconds, whereas a normal votive candle would have just burned itself out over several hours. At graduation, your entire life is laid out ahead of you like a red carpet, but are you going to walk it or get rolled up in it? Are you a bright flame, or just a flash-bang?

Poignant, eh? Not bad for three a.m. ... It sounded a lot better then, too.

I still feel emotionally insane.

Tribute Gone Post-al

2009-11-19T19:00:00.000-05:00

Ah, the weekend. Roughly translated, this means "ah, an entire Saturday devoted to writing the second half of my paper just so I'll have enough time over Thanksgiving break to write a completely different paper for another class." It never ends in the realm of Towson University. On the bright side, my weekend is looking fine otherwise; I'm sure the good will outweigh the bad, all told.

I was hoodwinked into running the Turkey Trot on Thanksgiving. Alright, not really "hoodwinked", more like peer pressured. When the subject of costumes arose, I was no more good. I want to make a headband and put fingerpaint on my face and go as an American Indian. Anthropologically tasteless? Yes. Inordinately fun? Also affirmative. Maybe if I dressed up in costume every time I went running I would enjoy it more.

Since this post is lacking in the inspiration department, I'll just give a general shout out to my professors. Though I don't always agree with their teaching styles (i.e. they can be kind of dry), I do appreciate how much work most of them do for the greater good of the class. Pineo, whom I mentioned previously as the man with the coca tea experience, takes time out of his schedule to sit down with students and hammer out the schematics for their papers, and hosts review sessions before every assessment. I think I often take for granted just how much devotion it takes to be a decent teacher.

This is especially poignant in the wake of Mr. Brown's death last Friday night. Though I never had the man as a teacher, I can appreciate others' high opinions of him; to be respected by average high school students is uncommon, to be loved is especially rare. Again, I didn't know him personally, but I am definitely praying for all those who did. I feel as though the FHS community has gone through some huge changes recently; strange how detached one gets only two years out.

HIST 300 Oath

2009-11-11T11:55:00.001-05:00

This marks my third week at OTS, and I still haven't received a paycheck. Somehow my first one got lost in the mail or the post office or a wormhole or something, and the second one doesn't come around for another week. I'm not too concerned; I figure I'll get it when I get it. I just wish things weren't so complicated all the time.

On the bright side, tomorrow I register for classes. Well, I guess that's a bright side... relative to the side on which you're standing. I just want to get my schedule hammered out so I can focus on other things, like solidifying an internship (in FREDERICK of all places) and keeping my awesome (though apparently not well paid) job at OTS next semester. As for the classes themselves... well... let's just say they fulfill requirements. Otherwise I wouldn't be taking them. I wish they offered good classes, like Japanese History.

Again, "good" is all relative. Don't hate.

Yesterday I met with Dr. Rook, the daunting 6-foot-something head of the History department, regarding my petition to waive HIST 100, which is essentially a research class that is altogether unecessary considering my background at HCC. He was rather reluctant to grant me any sort of clemency, but fortunately my African History professor e-mailed him a bit of a character reference on my behalf, so he let it slide. He did, however, give me a consternating ultimatum: fulfill the gen ed requirement regardless (which I already have) and pass HIST 300 with no less than an "A" average.

On the one hand, I'm concerned that this puts undue pressure on my already loathesome Louis Leakey paper, but on the other hand, I'm glad he said that because now it's going to feel even more amazing when I actually do it. And believe me, I will do it. Just to prove that I can. And when I do, I'll stride up to his office with a nail and a hammer and tack that thing to his door like it was the Wittenburg Church and I had just crafted 95 theses.

Mark my words... and consider yourself warned.

Let There Be Calabi-Yau Manifolds

2009-11-02T13:57:00.000-05:00

At CRU last Thursday, we had a guest physicist/chemist/NASA-ist speaker extraodinaire give a presentation on miracles. Honestly, when he took the microphone, I didn't imagine I would be getting a crash course in quantum mechanics. Silly me.

Essentially, his argument was that for Jesus to perform miracles, he would need command of eleven different dimensions--many beyond those of which humans, in our three-dimensional world, are aware. His argument, though extensive, seemed convincing to someone who has no formal background in physics. I did notice, however, that most of his argument was founded on things that were not unanimously agreed upon in the scientific community; then again, few things are, unless your name is Gravity.

While he was clicking through his professional-looking PowerPoint, I flashed back to a conversation I had with a friend over a month ago regarding miracles. When I told her how I had read an article about the Red Sea being piled up by certain winds, she seemed to get offended and said, "Please don't tell me you're trying to explain this." Well, actually... I sort of was, but I wasn't about to say that right then.

How should I know how Moses parted the Red Sea? Sure, God could have done it Himself and completely destroyed His own laws of physics, or He could have created the sea in such a way that it would react in just the right fashion in a certain storm and had Moses put his staff in the water at just the right time. If God created the world this way, why would He go out of His way to screw up physics for the sake of doing miracles? Wouldn't He be able to work with physics instead of against it?

I have absolutely no idea how miracles work. This is all speculation. I think that, regardless of how its done, a miracle is God's signature stamp on His own prowess. It's amazing how Jesus could be in one place talking to a centurion, and then simultaneously heal the guy's son in a house miles away. Whether he did that through 11 dimensions of time and space or merely bent the world in half is irrelevent to salvation.

I do not think, however, that questioning certain aspects of one's faith is a bad thing. You can't believe in something if you have no idea what it's all about. Though I often fall prey to cynicism instead of discernment, the latter is an excellent gift and should be put to good use.

Kentucky is to Pumpking Picking...

2009-10-26T13:48:00.001-04:00

My job with the Office of Technology Services at Towson is possibly the most productive part of my week, but for all the wrong reasons. I get paid to do my homework, peruse the Internet, and read books for five hours. I'm not even required by the federal government to hold this job for a work study. This was all voluntary. Strange. To top it all off, my supervisor wasn't even here today. I dare not complain, however, seeing as this really works to my advantage. As far as I'm concerned, it's just one small way that TU can pay me back for the money that I spend on its expensive (and rather hilly, might I add) campus.

Because of this rather school-centric start to my week, my entire existence is hinged on the activities I schedule on the weekends; I literally looked forward to picking pumpkins for a month--I just went yesterday. I don't think I looked forward to it so much when I was a little kid and it was actually permissible to get excited about pumpkin picking. Perhaps that is because it isn't so difficult for me to carry a pumpkin now that I am older.

One thing I'm greatly anticipating is my family's trip to Kentucky in December for Christmas. I can't remember the last time we actually spent a holiday down there--well, I guess I sort of can remember it, but I don't remember when it was. Honestly, I was never that excited about it when I was younger, but now the thought of seeing all these relatives with whom I've had next to no contact for several years is intriguing.

I decided to interview my grandmother when I visit. I was just going to ask her about her family and memories and such for posterity, in good historian style. I have to get my questions together sometime... I'm not even sure how responsive she'll be; Grandma's not much of a talker. But I feel like this is something that I have to do; I realized recently that I've been visiting this woman almost annually since I was three, and I hardly know her. Now that we're both older and her health isn't as good as it was, I have almost a sense of urgency about understanding who she is and what her life was like.

I can't help but feel like a lousy granddaughter in light of my ignorance. I suppose one can blame distance on the shallowness of our relationship, but really, I keep in touch with friends who live almost as far away as she does better than I do my own grandmother. I guess I've always felt a little awkward about it... because we live so far apart, and because I'm not exactly... er... never mind. That shouldn't be a problem, either. I just never really knew how other relatives felt about the fact that... well... I'm not blood-related to any of them. I personally don't mind--that family has been my family since I was so young that it shouldn't make a difference--but I suppose sometimes I just get self-conscious.

Maybe I think too much and should just stop.

Girls Like Cars and Money (and Good Charlotte?)

2009-10-16T19:00:00.000-04:00

I'm afraid that my blog may have neglected to portray my character in the most realistic fashion, so I am writing this post to make a confession:

I have planned out my entire undergraduate college career on an Excel spreadsheet.

Whew. That feels so much better.

That being said, I've realized that my future year-and-a-half has taken a slightly more complicated turn because of my decision to take a semester-long jaunt around the world next fall. Instead of being two classes away from an Asian Studies minor, I will be two classes over a manageable course load by the time I'm supposed to graduate. I'm not really sure how to rectify this dichotomy, but I'm thinking it will involve a minimester or two. I could always take the Archaeological Field School this summer--and forfeit a paycheck.

Decisions, decisions. It's hard for me to let go of analyzing my life, even though there's nothing more I can humanly do right now except wait for an advising appointment and go from there. What is it that keeps me hooked to the worries about my future? I trust God to take care of it, so what's the big deal?

I'll tell you the big deal: $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

Every minimester, whether it is nine days in Cumberland digging up pottery sherds or five weeks at HCC taking a rudimentary class that just happens to be required by both my majors, costs money. I shouldn't be complaining; I'm not hurting for cash at the moment. I am essentially self-sufficient, and my parents always say they're not opposed to supporting me financially if necessary (a nice thing to know), but somehow this might end up setting me back a notch. I wish college wasn't so expensive, and financial aid actually lived up to its name instead of giving me a headache.

If there's one thing I'm learning the hard way this semester it's Aztec human sacrifice. ... No, just kidding (sort of). I'm learning how to trust God with every aspect of my life: time, money, future... And it's hard. I don't like it most of the time, and by "most", I mean "all". But I have a feeling that this is one lesson one which you can't put a price tag, for once.

This is Clearly a Post Filler

2009-10-07T12:00:00.000-04:00

October is the month of midterms and stress. Next week alone I have two presentations, a quiz, a paper due, and two midterms. Just thinking about it makes me want to curl up in the fetal position and rock back and forth in a corner while crying softly to myself. This is going to be about as fun as a colonoscopy.

I finished reading the Bible in 90 days last Saturday. There's a certain amount of satisfaction that comes with that, but then again, it's not like I'll never pick it up again. I've discovered that I really enjoy reading the historical books--Genesis and Exodus, especially. Something about the patriarchs makes me yearn for the good old days when we lived in animal skin tents and wore big cloaks and drove sheep all over Canaan. Doesn't that sound FUN.

Dorking-out aside, I've vented my stress and frustration with academics by reading webcomics, one of which happens to be about Civil War reenactors...

This sounds worse and worse as I say it.

JUST READ IT. IT'S FUNNY.

Dovecote Crest.

Apple of My Pie

2009-09-26T13:44:00.001-04:00

Blogger totally revamped their editor; I'm really tempted to incorporate all the new features in one post, but for the sake of readers' sanity, I won't. You're welcome.

I'd like to relay a fantastic story involving friendship, intrigue, teamwork, and food:

A week ago, some Journey kids got together at Jared's house for a bonfire. They engaged in catch-up conversation, mostly revolving around what each of them had been doing since the beginning of the semester, as they watched the Jenga-style firewood decompose to a pile of burning embers and smoldering ash. Jared brought out the classic S'mores (which were very tasty, by the way), and stories were swapped (which were very funny, by the way) well into the night. An hour into the festivities, Christine stopped by with a gift for Jared, who was living alone for two weeks while his parents were on a short-term missions trip in India.

"There's an apple pie sitting on your kitchen counter," she said. Jared's eyes glinted in the firelight with a passion one can only feel for the sweetness of dessert. He was, simply put, totally stoked.

Three hours passed, and Christine left. This initiative spurred Abby and Michelle to likewise call it quits. As they walked alone back up to the darkened farmhouse, carefully staying to the left of the willow to avoid tumbling into the freezing stream, they talked of upcoming FUEL events and various other silly shenanigans.

It was when they reached the kitchen, innocently placing their dirty cups in the sink, that the trouble started.

"Abby," Michelle said, "you know what we should do..."

"What?" Abby inquired, leaning against the granite-topped island.

"We should eat out the middle of Jared's pie."

It was a strange proposition, one which Michelle had not taken seriously at the time of its conception, but Abby seemed to think otherwise. She gasped, completely taken with the opportunity, and exclaimed, "Let's do it!" She began rummaging through drawers, searching desperately for forks. Michelle frantically joined the search.

"Found them!" Abby shouted, triumphantly holding the instruments of pie slaughter aloft like the Heisman. Each girl took a fork in their hands and stood over the pie, complete with crimped crust edges and cute little apple indentations on the top. It was the aesthetic envy of every homemaker in Street, Maryland. And, without a word spoken between them, the two girls summarily destroyed it in about three seconds. The middle gone, Abby and Michelle dropped their forks in the sink with a clatter and ran out of the house, laughing too hard to swallow their spoils.

Reportedly, when Jared came in later that night and saw the carnage, he dropped to his knees, shook his fists at the ceiling and shouted something along the lines of "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooooooo..."

~*~

Good enough to be fiction, ironic enough to be real life. I guess, in a sense, this is also a public apology for my... er... On second thought, it was totally worth it.

The Poison Apple

2009-09-16T11:45:00.003-04:00

I know what I said about not having time to update, but apparently I severely overestimated the intensity of my schedule. I'm on campus twelve hours or more on Tuesdays and Thursdays, but my homework is going faster than I expected. That means more blog posts for you to read! Yay!

I had a conversation with a friend of mine last night about the Fall of Man. Our perspectives on the actual event--when the snake offered Eve the forbidden fruit and Adam subsequently took it from her--differed considerably, in a sense. He explained that he had seen Adam's acceptance of the fruit as more of a complete disregard for the consequences of his actions in light of the wonderful woman before him; in other words, Adam was utterly smitten with Eve and would do anything for her, even if it involved disobeying God. My own take on it was that it was Adam's passivity that caused a problem. Passivity in and of itself is not necessarily a sin, but the consequences of not asserting one's self can lead to disaster. Instead of filling the role of the warrior, Adam took a backseat to Satan's advances and didn't stand up for his help-meet.

Either way, relationships and one's role in relationships played into the Fall. In the first scenario, Adam put Eve ahead of God in importance, and violated the First Commandment as we currently know it (kick it old school with the KJV: "Thou shall not have any other Gods before me.") In the second scenario, Adam forfeited his role in his relationship with Eve, effectively throwing her to the wolves (or, in this case, the snake). Don't get me wrong, Eve was equally as guilty for ignoring what God said even in the face of temptation, but it's not like woman was the only culprit here.

The same risks still apply to relationships. You could be so taken with someone that they consume you completely, or you could lose your identity in the relationship. (Harken back to the "unequally yoked" bit.) It doesn't have to be a romantic relationship, either; friends can just as easily lead you to sin against God, knowingly or unknowingly. Both stem from finding your purpose in someone other than God. So, I guess the moral of the story is to be conscious of your relationships with others and how they change your relationship with God: for better or for worse.

This is sort of heavy. I'm interested to know what other people think. Please comment and let me know.

Have Your Coca and Drink It Too

2009-09-10T11:40:00.007-04:00

My classes may or may not be growing on me; I think it depends on what day it is and how my morning turns out. Tuesday morning I got lost on my way to the Union garage, found out I packed a shirt with three holes in it, and spilled water all over my notes and textbooks. That day was mediocre, at best. Today, however, things are going quite smoothly; my Latin American History professor likes my topic proposal for my paper, and he pushed back our excruciating map quiz for two whole weeks. Dr. Pineo just made my day.

This is the same man who, on the first day of class, recounted a story of his travels to Peru, I believe, where they promptly give you cups of coca tea when you exit the airport. As the name would suggest, coca tea is basically coca leaves brewed in water, and it's perfectly legal there. He said he liked that one cup so much that he went out the next day and had twelve cups in a row. His life started looking really good; he was waving and smiling at people he saw on the street, spouting out positive quips to unsuspecting Peruvians who probably thought all Americans are happy-go-lucky and incredibly energetic. From that point on, he said, he was never going to drink that tea ever again.

I wanted to ask, "Well, what did it taste like? And if it's so amazing, why do people snort it when they can drink it all sophisticated-like?"

Lemon, sugar, and/or cream, Dr. Pineo? Perhaps I should suggest this flavor to Erin and Janet at Tea By Two and see if it makes the menu in time for Christmas.

My term paper is going to be on Cortes' conquest of the Aztecs, and how I don't think that the Aztecs were motivated primarily by religious prophecy to invite the Spaniards to take over their empire. Honestly, I always found that theory a little shoddy. Sure, the years happened to match up and Cortes vaguely fit the description of Quetzalcoatl, but it just doesn't seem logical at all that they would give over the secrets of their empire to some guy they've never met before just because he showed up in the proposed year of Armageddon.

I mean, if some guy waltzed up to you on October 12, 2012 (which people keep claiming will be the end of the world, though I'm not sure who told them that) claiming he was the Christ, would you automatically sell your house and give him the proceeds? No, you would consider him insane and keep walking--very, very fast. Why would the Aztecs have been any different? Obviously, their religious ideals were very different from ours, but I'm pretty sure they still possessed the elusive Common Sense mechanism. Montezuma II wasn't completely daft. I think it was just some conquistador conspiracy to make them sound barbaric and simple-minded.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to put away my soapbox before my next class.

Adieu to You, and You and You and You (for now)

2009-09-02T15:32:00.004-04:00

I will be taking a short hiatus from blogging until I can get my life in order. Currently, I am sitting at one of the hundreds of computers in Towson University's library checking my e-mail (let's be honest, I'm checking Facebook, too) because my computer's Internet connection has been screwy since I moved to Middle River. As such, my poor baby is at the mercy of the OT department, which seemed baffled when I explained my problem. Not a good sign, but whatever. It's not like this costs me anything except valuable time. And stress, lots of stress.

Anyway, TU is okay, except that it takes me twenty minutes to walk anywhere. I could traverse WAC in ten, HCC in eight. And the traffic is a nightmare if, hypothetically speaking, one tries to leave during rush hour on a Tuesday... (NEVER AGAIN).

My classes are nuts. Geology should be pretty straightforward, and by straightforward I mean a joke, but the rest of my schedule (basically 9-5 Tuesdays and Thursdays) is going to beat me over the back with the righteous two-by-four of learning. WHACK. Read six chapters. WHACK. Write seven papers. WHACK WHACK.

Ugh.

Sail, Navy, Down the Field (and sink the Army, sink the Army grey)

2009-08-23T14:19:00.009-04:00

The relief that came with the conclusion of my prison term at the archives is indescribable except in the heart-felt exclamation, "THANK GOD." No, really, thank God.

As far as I know, no one who works there reads this. I hope.

I concluded my month in Annapolis with a trip to the United States Naval Academy, mostly to see John Paul Jones' crypt, but I suppose also to catch a glimpse of my friend Chris, a West Point cadet who is "studying abroad" at the Yard. I trekked to Navy Stadium to catch the bus into Annapolis and snapped a couple of pictures of the Blue Angels jet:

Annapolis I had seen in weeks previous, so I stepped right through the Academy gate as confidently as possible when one suspects one is about to get cavity searched. In reality, all they wanted was my driver's license. Apparently, the security hype is just that: hype.

I wandered around the visitor's center for a few minutes checking out the Academy's history and various USNA graduates who made it into space. Chris showed up and promptly took me on a tour of the grounds (at least, we walked around for a while; he didn't really know his way around too well yet, either).

He always looks like that.

The campus itself I didn't take many pictures of, since I have this irrational fear of looking like a tourist. I did manage to take a few shots of Bancroft Hall, though--the outside, anyway:

Next we struck out for Dry Dock, a little eatery underneath Bancroft at which a parched soul can find refreshment in the form of Navy football memorabilia plastered on the walls. Oh, and then there's this:

Sweet hat, right? I still feel partial to the Air Force. And apparently I have "the worst salute [Chris has] ever seen." Thanks.

Anyway, despite the heat and humidity and general boredom that was my Annapolis experience, it wasn't all bad. I am, however, eternally grateful that God knows what I want better than I do, and didn't give me that three-month internship. I would have thrown myself into the Severn or something.

These pictures sort of commemorate the close of my summer; I don't have much planned before school starts again on August 31, except moving to Middle River, at which I am sure I will have many more adventures of USNA proportions. Or something like that.

Gold, Glory, and Glod (I mean, God)

2009-08-16T19:13:00.004-04:00

This Thursday will mark the half-way point in my 90-day Bible read-through. This change of scenery and seven hours a day at the archives has created a bit of an issue; sometimes I forget until nine o'clock at night that I need to read 24 psalms. I guess I've come out of this with quite a bit of historical understanding; the chronology of Israel's/Judah's kingships before their subsequent sackings make a little more sense, anyway. On the whole, however, I find that I have many more questions than answers. Most of them are probably inconsequential in terms of the grander vision of God, but some stuff just doesn't make sense to me.

As I write this, I'm watching "Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe" on TV. How did C.S. Lewis make it sound so simple? I remember reading those books when I was eight, and how much I loved them for their fantastical scenery. Now I read them and I think, Why couldn't the Bible be written this way? it makes a whole lot more sense. I'd prefer the C.S. Lewis version of The Message, I think.

Anyway, some menial questions to which I'd like some answers, if possible:

* What's with Jacob's wrestling match with God? It seems sort of random to me. I mean, yeah, Jacob gets a new name out of it, but why couldn't God just say, "Hey, your new name is Israel," and be done with it?

* The Nephilim? What the heck are they? I understand that they're considered "sons of God" or sons of the angels or something, but are there any theories on how this is possible?

* I have issues understanding how God specifically chose Saul as king and then "grieves" about it later. I mean, creating humanity is one thing, but choosing ONE guy for a couple of decades to be king... seems sort of avoidable. And sure, Saul beat back some Philistines, but in the long run, he lost more than he won, right?

* Oh, and why would God send an evil spirit on Saul to torment him? Or how? If God is inherently everything good, how could He send something evil to torment someone? Or maybe this can be chalked up to cultural understanding instead of literal understanding? This is also reminiscent of God "inciting" David against Israel by taking a census and then striking the kingdom with a plague.

There are more things I simply don't understand, but I think the principles that the above questions represent sort of overshadow the rest.

Totally Stacked

2009-08-05T17:24:00.005-04:00

The past three days have felt like a week. Spending eight hours a day at the archives filling requests for marriage and death certificates doesn't necessarily drag, but when I come home to my aunt and uncle's house at the end of the day, it feels like I've been gone a year. Five hours later I go to bed only to get up at six the next morning, go for a jog and repeat the process. It's been a strangely contenting existence. Not particularly exciting, not really surprising, just normal.

I'm learning how to live on my own, budget my time and money, and live off tuna salad for lunch every day. I've honed my sense of direction around the sprawling residential mass that is my uncle's neighborhood. I've developed a strange sense of loyalty to my schedule, of all things. My biggest worries are driving to and from work each day (Annapolis traffic is obnoxious) and the amount of mercury I'm ingesting with this tuna binge. But hey, all things considered, life is pretty good.

I can't see myself making a living doing archival work. Quite frankly, if I had to wake up every morning and think, "This is what I'll be doing for the rest of my life," I would quit my job, blow my savings, and live with my parents until I died or got kicked out. It's boring. I'm still learning the ropes, but once you know all the procedural stuff it's just another marriage certificate request to fill, another death certificate request to send out. I like deaths better than marriages; marriages send me running all over the stacks* looking for the proper index, and half the time the patron doesn't remember his or her own anniversary.

I try to imagine why people request certain things, like death certificates. Most of the time I assume they're doing genealogical research, until I can't find the person in the death indexes, and then I begin to suspect that there are sadists who write requests for random names and dates just to drive me nuts. Not only are the stacks on three separate floors (one of which is the basement), but I need to borrow someone's badge to enter, since I'm just a grunt when it comes to archival work. Then I have to figure out which box contains which files, most of which are mixed up anyway. If I take too much time, the motion-sensing lights go off, in which case I am left in semi-darkness in the frigid stacks between ten-foot shelves of stoic steel. On my first day, I asked Sarah, an reference services archivist, if she thought anyone could have possibly been killed between stacks before.

"... If someone had what?"
"Like, maybe they were looking something up, and then there was this shadow, and the next thing they knew, WHAM! They were crushed."
"No, I don't think so. You'd have to be incredibly strong to crush someone in here."

Whatever you say, Sarah...

As I'm straining for boxes on the second-highest shelf, I also begin to wonder if people have ever made-out between the stacks before. In all seriousness, it's a very opportune spot for... well... stuff. It's cold, it's relatively dark (if you don't move much), and there are no security cameras between the rows. I'm not implying anything, I'm just saying...

I would ask Sarah about that, too, but she would never speak to me again.

* Stacks are tall shelves on tracks. You move the shelves apart by spinning a lever on the outside of the stack; it conserves space, because you can push them together when you're not using a particular row. I always imagine I'm superhuman when I'm moving several stacks with one lever. ... Don't knock it until you try it.

Changes are Baer-able

2009-07-25T20:37:00.005-04:00

I keep finding out more and more people read this, and I'm torn between being extremely flattered and feeling a little freaked out. My uncle said he even read some of it. I never thought I'd have a readership beyond, say, two people. So, if you're reading this for the first time or the fifteenth time, thanks, it means a lot.

All fluffiness aside, I took a whirlwind tour of Annapolis and the surrounding area today to prepare myself for my month-long stay starting August 2. I'm pretty excited for the change of scenery and day-to-day tasks; I'll be volunteering at the Maryland State Archives' reference department until I go to Towson. I do, however, feel the pinch of only having a week left at home. I still have things to send to Towson, and I feel like there are problems that need to be resolved before I can leave. Yikes.

I guess making a list might help. Being torn in several different directions is never a happy feeling.

Speaking of which, I just finished reading this book called "Switching Time" by Dr. Richard Baer about a woman with seventeen personalities. Karen's story was upsetting enough, what with all the abuse she endured as a child, but the way that her alters took certain parts of the experiences and hid them from her simply boggles my mind. The way our brains work never ceases to amaze me, especially when they're under stress. This woman literally had an alter for everything: Holdon "held" the group together; Katherine organized; Miles took pain; Sidney stole things to please the father; Sandy was the doormat for her mother; Claire was the feminine, sweet little girl; and that's only a few. With every integration, Karen gained a part of herself she never knew existed, and without the caring, unconditional support of Dr. Baer, she never would have become whole again. At the end of the book, she even remarks that Dr. Baer was the first person she felt really cared about her; knowing he was there for her kept her from killing herself multiple times.

Even beyond the power of our minds is the fantastic ability for people to support each other. It's fascinating how much stock we put into a simple offhand comment from our fellow man; we could end our day sky-high or torn to pieces.

(This actually reminds me of a true-life experience when a woman with fourteen personalities called the store and asked me to be her prayer partner. I still remember her name, even though the experience summarily freaked me out. I had no idea who the woman was, and yet, there she was (part of her, anyway) asking me to pray for her. It's weird thinking that these personality disorders actually affect real people.)

I highly recommend "Switching Time" if you can stomach it. It is very graphic, but definitely worth a look.

The next time I post, I will probably be in Annapolis, referencing things and such. Solid.

Sex God

2009-07-13T14:28:00.003-04:00

Ugh. I have this cold, and for the past five days it has been steadily progressing into something that keeps me in bed all day playing my DS. I took a walk with my mom this morning, fully intending to do six miles, and could only stomach two before I felt like I was going to collapse.

In all honesty, I'm not really that ill. I have a cough and a stuffy nose. I don't know why I can't stay awake during the day.

Regardless, I have managed to stay on track with my reading; I'm now in the throes of Leviticus (don't get too jealous), and learned recently about the importance of burnt offerings and which animals to bring on which occasions and when to call a priest to asses the mildew in your house. You better hope that weird stain goes away after two weeks, or your house will be torn apart stone by stone and thrown outside the town. That's right, slob.

I'm torn between thinking that these laws are meant to bring God closer to His people, and thinking that had I been an Israelite around 1400 B.C. I would have been smote three or four times for my disobedience. How on Earth did they keep track of all this stuff? I guess when God lives in the tent down the street you sort of can't forget.

At CIY, there was this dating seminar that really took a fresh perspective on relationships. Instead of focusing on the lines that thou shant cross-eth, this guy talked about how the Bible is innately sexual. (Several people shifted in their seats when he said this. "God knows about sex?!") Every step God took throughout history was a strategic step to get closer to us. After the fall, He chose His people to set them apart; then He made the law to define them further and dwelt in a tented tabernacle; then He gave them prophets to speak His words to his people; then there was Solomon's temple; and then there was Jesus, God in the flesh. But that wasn't close enough, so after Jesus left Earth God sent his Holy Spirit to dwell IN us.

Crazy. Talk about getting under someone's skin.

Arguably, that is how our relationships should jive. When married, spouses should love each other like Christ loves the church; dating is practice for this. In fact, every relationship we hold should be reminiscent of God's love for His people: unconditional, unwavering, and unabashed. And humble, but the alliteration wasn't there, so I left it out of the aforementioned list.

Sorry.

I've been reading Rob Bell's Sex God at work (WHEN IT'S SLOW AND NO ONE IS IN THE STORE AND DURING BREAKS--my boss reads this, just a disclaimer). The first three chapters are good, so as of right now, I fully recommend it to anyone who is open to having their perception of God and sexuality riled up a bit. A little turbulence never hurt anyone--unless you tend toward motion sickness.

Around the Word in 90 Days

2009-07-06T11:14:00.002-04:00

If anyone attended Mountain last year, you'll know that the above title is a total rip-off of one of their sermon series. Sue me.

CIY: Move was last week, and it was nothing short of spectacular. On the last day, we each received a small card in a small envelope containing no small task that we have been called to complete before next summer. It is called a Kingdom Worker assignment, and it is supposed to prove to ourselves and each other that, despite our fears and doubts and inadequacies, God is bigger than all of us and is capable of accomplishing anything through us. We were told that if we were unsure about our ability to complete the assignment enclosed, or if we felt we simply would not care enough about it, to not open the envelope. Once the envelope was unsealed, we were bound to put 110% into completing whatever it said.

I was legitimately freaked out.

But I opened it anyway.

It was sort of anti-climatic. Here I was, expecting to have to live in some third-world country and find a cure for AIDS, and really all I'm doing is reading the Bible in a year. I was like, "What? Seriously?" But I decided, after Matt Silver suggested it, to try to read the Bible in 90 days, simply because I want more of a challenge.

Yeah, I'll probably regret my big talk later, but whatever. It's not like it's a waste of my time. It will be totally worth it.

When I stop and think about it, maybe this is God's way of telling me that, in order to take the big steps, one has to start on a slightly smaller scale and build a spiritual foundation. You can't just run off to Cambodia and serve the poor when you don't even know Who it is you're really serving. I really need to get back in the habit of spending real, quality time with God each day, and if reading sixteen chapters of Leviticus is what it's going to take, then so be it.

Anchors Aweigh, My Friend

2009-06-18T17:34:00.004-04:00

I signed up for a semester study-abroad program called Semester at Sea. Basically, I would sail around the world on a cruise ship for 108 days and visit ten different countries (12 different ports) for 12-15 credits from the University of Virginia. I'm pretty sure it's the coolest program ever. I've already started planning out things I want to see in each port, and I'm not even going until Fall 2010. I wish I was going sooner. I wish I had the money to go more than once. I AM SO EXCITED.

I'm trying to separate my ability to have fun in college with its financial cost. When my bank account is strained, so are my nerves, which I suppose is normal to an extent, but I think this is just something I have to get used to. After all, as my mother so eloquently put it, chances are I'll be in debt for the rest of my life. (Hopefully manageable debt, but debt all the same.) The fact of the matter is that most college grads end up with thousands of dollars in student loans to pay off, and most of them do it without any trouble. I will be one of these people.

I guess living your life to the fullest has its costs at times, whether they are monetary or other kinds of costs. In the end, one has to way the pros and the cons and decide if the opportunity will help or hinder one's walk with Christ. In some cases, this may seem inapplicable, but most of our decisions have a direct impact on how we represent God to the world, or how we grow in Him. A study our small group did recently had a formula for working out decisions with God's will in mind. It asked certain specific questions about the consequences of the decision, had you weigh the advantages and disadvantages of alternatives, consider what the Bible said about it, and take Christian counsel into account. In the end, however, the decision is still yours, and prayer is necessary to make an informed decision.

This ties into my trouble with prayer and looking for answers and feeling like I don't get any, but hey, it seems like a really good method.

Anyway, the point of this post is a.) I'm psyched about this international cruise, and b.) I feel like it's a solid decision and God can really use me and teach me things by going to all these different countries. SAS is very outreach-conscious, too, so chances are I will be helping with Habitat for Humanity in Africa or something.

As of now, this is our itinerary:

And now the countdown begins: only a year and sixty nine days to go...

For Alice In "Wonderland" (otherwise known as South Africa)

2009-06-14T09:39:00.004-04:00

This post is way overdue. I promised it to someone.

Sunday, November 25, 2007

"I'm not excited to be back. I am homesick, yet again, as I returned to college today. I thought I was getting better at handling my homesickness, but apparently not. I don't understand it. When I'm at home looking at what I do at college, my life at WAC seems to minuscule and meaningless. But once I get back into the swing of things here and settle into a schedule, I just take it one day at a time, and it takes on a life of its own. Though, I will say, at times it still feels pointless even when I am here. I don't know what to make of it. I think it's a little too late to consider transferring next semester, but over the summer I think I'm going to do some serious soul-searching. I just... can't bring myself to say, 'Wow, I love it here,' because I don't. I like it, and I can find it tolerable usually, even when I don't like it, but I wouldn't call it my 'second home' or anything.

"I don't have problems academically or socially; I'm getting 'A's' consistently and I've made friends. It's just this incredible longing for home that causes me problems. And I know it doesn't help Mom and Dad when I spend all Sunday depressed and crying because I know I have to leave that afternoon..."

Everyone goes through a phase in life when one branches out and leaves everything known and understood. You are not alone in your feelings of loneliness, nor are you alone in feeling that everything is meaningless. But it isn't, and it doesn't last. Feelings do not determine your standing with God, and you can't possibly know how He is using you and working in you at the moment. Growing happens in the valleys of our lives, not the triumphant peaks.

Tuesday, January 8, 2008

"Well, I'm officially going to HCC next semester. Two weeks, actually. I bought all of my books today, and they were incredibly expensive. I hope all this works out. I feel like this is the way things should go now, but I can't predict the future... I guess this is where faith comes in..."

There's never a quick fix, but there is always hope.

Love, Michelle.

Pardonez Mois Francais

2009-06-03T11:53:00.002-04:00

Disclaimer: I took Spanish in high school.

Second disclaimer: This book review covers only two chapters. If you want a full synopsis, don't look here. But take this as a spoiler, and consider yourselves warned.

Last night, I found myself as work (as I so often do), and when there is a lull in the general, "Hi, how are you? What can I help you look for? Are you all set? Are you on our mailing list?" shindig, I find myself flipping through books (as I work at a bookstore). One book in particular caught my wandering eye in its net of intrigue; it is called What He Must Be... If He Wants To Marry My Daughter by Voddie T. Baucham, Jr. Now, considering I am a woman, and, subsequently, a daughter, this book seemed like a lovely little nonchalant jaunt through the mind of a nervous father about to give his daughter's hand (perhaps both of them) to a (hopefully) nice young man.

What it was instead was an incredibly hostile attack on everything I had, up to this point, held as a perfectly acceptable life plan.

Don't get me wrong, the book made some good points. Men should be able to lead their families, should be driven to provide for their well-being, etc. Good stuff, I completely agree. But it crossed some lines that left me feeling like I had rubbed my face across the carpet--burned.

First of all, Mr. Baucham asserts that stay-at-home fathers are neglecting their God-given responsibility of leading their families by being the primary breadwinner. Furthermore, women who are essentially "allowed" to pursue their own professions are neglecting their God-given responsibilities, as well, to nurture their children and keep tabs on their households. Baucham begins this chapter with an awkward recap of a true encounter with the fabled Stay-At-Home Father. In essence, the fact that the father didn't have a "real job" caused a rift between himself and the rest of the parents in the room.

I have several problems with this chapter. My primary complaint is that Baucham is implying that staying home and raising your kids first-hand isn't a "real job." (I tried to imagine how many women he inadvertently insulted in this chapter alone. I couldn't.) So your wife makes more than you do. Whatever. You are making an investment in posterity. How is that any less important, or any less of a leadership role, than, say, working a 9-5 dead-end job that you hate? And why shouldn't women have the same opportunity to pursue a career as men? If their families are not neglected, I see no problems here. Besides, there are so many other leadership roles a man can take in his family than simply making money. Money isn't everything, right?

Next, the story that begins the chapter speaks more to the bigotry of the people in that conservative Suburbia than the backwardness of the stay-at-home father, in my own opinion. If the father had said, "Yeah, I work in a cubicle all day. It runs me ragged and provides me no professional stimulation whatsoever, but I bring home the bacon, even though by the time I get home I'm so depressed and dragged out that I ignore my children and neglect my wife," would they have thought more of him?

The second chapter I forced myself through was about children. Before I delve too deep, let me preface this by saying that, though I do not have the desire for children at this point in my life, I love the cute little buggers and respect those who choose to raise a family. I think families are great. I happen to be a member of one myself. Baucham, however, would probably consider me a heretic that is stunting the growth of God's Kingdom for not wanting to procreate. This chapter asserted that it is, again, a couple's God-given responsibility (not right, but responsibility) to have kids, and any man who does not want children "need not apply" for a woman's hand in marriage.

I almost choked on my own vomit reading this.

First of all, though God does say to "be fruitful and multiply," I don't think He means at the expense of our children's well-being. Some people simply aren't wired to be parents, let's face it. They're great at lots of things, but raising our society's future is not one of them. (Sometimes I would be hesitant to trust them with my pets.) Baucham does not consider any other life path except, "Get married, make babies." Gag me.

Second of all, what about the couples who cannot physically have children? Are they consigned to a life of religious failure? What about parents who choose to adopt one of them millions of parentless children in the world? Are they less "holy" than the couples who choose to have biological children? I think not, Mr. Baucham.

God does not call everyone to the same life. Not everyone is meant to get married. Not everyone is meant to have children. When we forget that the body is comprised of many parts, we begin to hack off the limbs that we, in our finite wisdom, consider obsolete. God calls people to as many different futures as there are people, and if believing so makes me a feminist, well... I guess I'll just have to braid my pit hair.

The Man, The Myth, The Ninja

2009-05-30T10:47:00.005-04:00

If this guy was real, I'm pretty sure I would marry him. I mean, he's a doctor, AND he's a ninja. What could be better?

Oh, and his receptionist is a gorilla.

"Crayons Can Melt On Us For All I Care"

2009-05-18T16:28:00.003-04:00

I am doing everything in my power not to study for my Russian History final. I simply cannot bring myself to study for a test that is for all intents and purposes open-note. Micro-handwriting comes in handy (no pun intended) when one needs to fit a semester's worth of information on a 3x5 notecard. Yeah, that's right--I'm an amazing scribe. Hire me for your next open-note test; I'll offer my scribbling services for a nominal fee.

I signed up to go mountain biking and white water rafting the first weekend in June. On one hand, I'm totally psyched; on the other hand, which happens to be the more realistic hand, I'm freaked out that I'll fall off my bike into a ravine of rocky rapids and die a slow, painful (foamy) death. Or the boat will flip over and I'll get my foot stuck in something and struggle my way into oblivion. The possibilities are probably endless: bear attacks, bee stings, food poisoning, swine flu, moose muggings, swine flu... SWINE FLU. You never know.

Even though I've graduated, marking the midpoint in my college career, I don't feel any older. In fact, when my grandparents were talking about my twentieth birthday this year, it was as if they were speaking about someone else entirely; I was totally removed from the conversation, an outsider looking in the windows of someone else's life. Weird. I move out in the fall. In about a year, I'll be legal. For anyone else, this might seem like a milestone, but I hate the smell of alcohol, so that first drink is probably going to be forced down my throat with my eyes squeezed shut and my nose pinched.

My mom took me out yesterday to celebrate my coming-of-age ceremony (i.e. commencement) to the mall to get my ears pierced (first holes--I'm behind the times, people) and to P.F. Chang's. I love that place. The cement horses out front just scream hard-core Chinese restaurant. And then they give you plastic chopsticks, and the aura is ruined, but hey, the food is still good.

This post has no point. Thank you for reading the ENTIRE thing.

Gradumetoriumencement

2009-05-11T17:47:00.002-04:00

I get my AA on May 21, at which time I am expected to don the traditional shapeless, see-through robe and cardboard hat and strut across a makeshift stage all while praying inwardly, "Please don't let me trip. Please don't let me trip. Please don't--QUICK SMILE FOR THE CAMERA. But don't trip." Hopefully all the pomp and strange circumstance will be worth the calligraphic piece of paper in the end. If not, well... at least I still get bragging rights.

I told my mom the other day that I was questioning my desire to go into archaeology specifically; I don't know if it's just that my class on Maryland archaeology wasn't all that interesting to me, or it I'm losing interest in archaeology in general, or if the prospect of not being able to dress like Indiana Jones and catch Nazis every day sort of burst my bubble or what. I thought my mom was going to have a heart attack. She let loose this horribly falsetto groan.

"Does that mean you have to start all over?"
"No, it just means I'll change my Anthropology concentration."
"But does it change the classes you take in the fall?"
"No, it doesn't change anything for the fall."
"... Well, what am I going to tell people when they ask me what you want to be?"
"TELL THEM I WANT TO BE WHATEVER THE HECK I WANT."

If there's one question that bugs me more than, "So, who are you dating?" and "What high school do you go to?" it's "What do you want to do with that," "that" being a BA in History and Anthropology. Usually people don't even go so far as to keep an open mind; they just say, "So, you want to teach?" to which I generously reply, "Over my dead body."

Though 92-year old Uncle Ed will tell me, "You've got your whole life ahead of you," as if it's a good thing, sometimes I find the prospect of choices rather daunting. How am I supposed to decide all of this stuff? Why can't I press my Spanish easy button and have my life laid out for me like those Fidelity commercials with the green line and the arrow that tells people where to go? I WANT MY ARROW.

And then the little voice inside me says, "Whoa, girl, chill. God's like, totally got this, babe." (Doesn't the Holy Spirit talk to everyone like that? ... Doesn't it?)

I try to remember that God has never let me down before, even when things looked incredibly bleak, but I still get goosebumps when I think about the future. I guess that comes with any rite of passage, like wearing stupid clothes and walking across a stage; I still wish I could see the future, though. Or at least the path that I'll be walking for the next five years or so. But no, I only get enough light to see where I am at the moment. God is funny like that; He has this whole "faith" idea, because when we step out over that canyon of nothingness and find an invisible bridge (see "Last Crusade"), that's when He does his best work.

Schindlerjuden

2009-05-04T16:50:00.004-04:00

I watched "Schindler's List" again. It doesn't get any less depressing the second go-around, in case you were wondering. In fact, I still teared-up at the end when he broke down amidst the Jews he had saved, sobbing about how he could have saved one more life. Even though the 1,100 Jews Oskar Schindler delivered from the gas chambers of Auschwitz have families of their own and now number over 6,000, Schindler viewed his own monetary sacrifice as minuscule and incomplete.

"This pin," he said, staring at the Nazi Party emblem on his chest, "this would have been worth two people. It's gold, he would have given me two. At least one. That's one more life."

Schindler's story is the ultimate tragedy. After fleeing Czechoslovakia to avoid Allied capture, he divorced his wife, failed in business, and died a broken man in more ways than one. I wonder if he ever fully came to grips with the fact that he couldn't change what happened; there are no second chances, you can't jump back in time and do things better. Like it or not, his number was capped at 1,100.

I am so worried about missing what God has called me to do that I consistently stare behind me, caught in a net of "what ifs" instead of focusing forward on what could be. It's a bit of a catch-22, when you think about it: we worry about what will happen, so we fail to see the present opportunities to make the most of the future, which causes more worry when things fall through because we were preoccupied with the past... and so on and so forth. You've got flies in your eyes, Appleby. Focus.

I suppose I had never really understood how far forgiveness can take someone, and how much un-forgiveness can hold someone back. Jesus offers freedom to pursue His plan in our lives; Satan keeps us locked in the status-quo, a completely lassaiz-faire existence. Instead of leaving it up to the world to determine your life, put it in God's hands. He has more experience in these matters, anyway.

So, in the presence of grace, let go of the embarrassment and regret. Instead, press on toward the goal that calls us Heavenward in Christ Jesus, and prepare yourself for the amazing plans He has for your future. (Phil. 3:14)

Rock 'n' Roll With It

2009-04-24T07:55:00.005-04:00

This week has been sort of disappointing. I've had my sights set on an internship at the Maryland State Archives in Annapolis for about a year and a half, but those dreams were squashed by governmental budget cuts. Now I'm an alternate for the next two weeks, just in case someone decides they would rather not have an amazing, paid internship through which several important contacts could be made in reference to their field.

Yeah. I'll probably be in HarCo this summer.

Wednesday my iPod of five or six years broke, I was blamed for dirty dishes that weren't mine and the stupidity of a dog, and then I left all of my school books at my house when I left for class. Trivial, perhaps, but when all of this is compounded with the less-than-holy mess in my house and the fact that I have to drive up the street to take a shower every day... well, my nerves are a bit strained.

I'm trying to focus on the positive side of all of this: Maybe God has better plans for me this summer. Our house should look pretty amazing when it's done. At least my dog is cute, even if he is stupid. And what's more, today was payday. Who doesn't love payday?

I wish I could say I was the type of person who was always optimistic and looked on the bright side of life (insert Monty Python whistle here). But, alas, I am exceptionally cynical and always the pessimist when it comes to strings of bad occurrences. When it rains, it rains rocks, and I get stoned. ... Not like that, but, like, stoned--like Steven in the Bible. Under a pile of rocks.

Just forget it.

I wonder if there's a certain level of faith or hope or love that's supposed to go into having a positive outlook, or if I'm just wired to be more of a realist. My parents would say I'm not really a realist, I simply take everything personally. Well, if that's all... (I'm also confined to a sense of humor that borders on sarcastic. All the time.)

Once in a while I find a break in the lies Satan whispers all day long to say, "You know, I actually feel pretty good about myself. So, shut up." The rest of the time it follows the whole stoning analogy. I wonder if anyone else relates, especially women? Eh? Feedback?

Give Me Liberty, or Give Me Something Comparable (which I can exchange at my local retailer for an item of equal or lesser value)!

2009-04-18T11:58:00.006-04:00

I've been trying to organize my life on paper--my academic life, anyway. So far things seem to be working out better than expected, which makes me wonder what exactly I'm doing wrong, because Murphy's Law of Transfer Students clearly states that if one's credits seem to flush out perfectly with one's intended major(s), then one is certainly not taking some variable into account that will cause one to remain in school for at least an extra semester.

When I'm not being anal, I'm watching Miyazaki films, which, to most readers, will mean absolutely nothing. Which is fine. The less you know, the better, both for your sanity and my reputation. (I only have four left, though, which is pretty exciting.)

Our house is officially a disaster area of drywall dust and plastic sheets. We have two guys from Alabama working on an upstairs bathroom, drop-down stairs for the attic, and repainting the entire first floor. I feel like I can't leave my room without getting in someone's way, so I spend an inordinate amount of time locked away from the chaos outside my door, or outside the house altogether. Good thing I picked up extra hours at work this week; it gives me an excuse to be somewhere more sterile.

Since I've been confined to one room in the construction war zone that is my abode, I have had plenty of time to think about life, the universe, and everything. (I've also been reading Douglas Adams--can you tell?) I have since come to the conclusion that I like my life very much the way it is.

I enjoy going to the gym in the morning, taking classes that pertain to my major, watching weird foreign films in my spare time, and reading books that have been sitting on my shelves for three years. I particularly like deciding to go running around the neighborhood on a whim (not too often, though), calling up a friend and hanging out aimlessly at a book store or coffee shop, and picking up extra hours at work to pay for my car repairs. In short, I like doing what I want when I want simply because I want... to. I want to.

Suddenly, Paul's words seem to make sense: singleness is actually a tool, not to mention a gift. Spending my time with God has its perks, not the least of which seems to be a clearer idea of one's future. It's nice to be able to go away to college, pursue whatever future career I please, and plan to purposefully climb the corporate ladder (however one does that digging in the dirt) to whatever ends suit God's plan for me.

Am I staunchly against romantic relationships? No, but I think I've finally come to terms with the fact that, if God wills it, I could remain single for the rest of my life. The contentment that comes with this realization is quite staggering; I seriously thought that if God consigned me to a life of chastity and relational solitude (so to speak) that I would melt into the floor in a puddle of oozy, emotionally-agonized goo. This is a revolution of common culture: singleness is a good thing (for some) just as marriage is a good thing (for some). It's up to God whether He wants us to experience the former or the latter.

Love in Iambic Tetrameter

2009-04-15T17:28:00.002-04:00

I now am on my way to Crete
To see a man I’d chanced to meet
One summer oh-so long ago
When once we loved like none before.

My heart was his, I’d told him then,
But he just smiled and then he said,
“My dear, if only you could see
How much that truly means to me.”

Without a warning, there we saw
A shining room of frightful awe,
For in its confines stark and cold
Were mounds and mounds of sparkling gold.

I gasped—my word, it was a sight!
Like stars all gleaming in the night.
I tried to touch a ruby jewel,
But as I reached, the vision flew.

A silence followed, shocked and still.
His hand found mine, and it was chill.
His smile, though shaken, said, “Don’t fear.”
He seemed to glean a meaning here.

“My dear, my wish for you came true,
And now I state my love anew:
For you’re as precious gold to me,
And that, my dear, at last you see.”

So that is why I make my way
To Crete, for love cannot be stayed.
And I care not what money is
For he is mine, and I am his.

I hate writing poetry, but I had to come up with something to turn in for my Creative Writing portfolio, so... ta da! The title should be "This Started Out As a Joke".

Love II

2009-04-10T22:44:00.002-04:00

Good Friday: the world's largest funeral service. It's weird being moved to ecstasy when it seems like you should be moved to tears. I guess it doesn't really matter what the emotion is as long as it is God-breathed and productive. Such has been my day.

I've been very retrospective lately, especially in terms of past relationships. I wonder how many opportunities I forfeited over petty social standards and high school drama (because, no matter how hard we try, drama sucks you in like a hungry black hole no matter where you are in the universe). Some would say it's not worth crying over five-year old spilled milk; I would prefer to learn from my mistakes.

I can't think of a particular moment when I decided to befriend people for the Jesus' sake rather than avoiding them for my own sake. I guess it happened somewhere around eighth grade when I realized that I was at the mercy of a foreign school full of people who already had a set clique of friends. It was only through the gracious offer of one person in particular to show me around on my first day (to which I deftly applied, "No thanks, I've got a map,") that sparked a friendship with a group of girls that would effectively carry me through high school and beyond.

I guess this sort of taught me to get over myself; there's nothing more humbling than realizing you're alone in the world, and when you're thirteen, school is your world, unfortunately. Here we are, forced outside of our comfort zones and into a strange environment with people who don't think or act at all the way they are "supposed" to, and we're supposed to be friends with these heathens? Sounds ridiculous. Sounds difficult. Sounds like, as an introvert, I would rather shoot myself in the foot.

Christianity is one giant outreach. We're called to "seek and save the lost", just like Jesus did when he left Paradise (the ultimate comfort zone) to mingle with pagans and befriend us even though he knew we would turn on him and nail him to a dead tree. We're called to be sensitive to what moves God's heart and act accordingly. God is not into condemning people--He's into saving people. Why else would He sacrifice his Son on a cross? If he was into condemning people, He could have just struck the Earth with lightning and fried everyone like moths on one of those zapper things you hang on your porch in the summer. BZZZT! Problem solved.

Good Friday is about salvation born out of love. Not necessity, not ownership, not debt--love. I went to a service at Great Hope Bible Church tonight, and at the end of the service we all wrote a sin on pieces of paper and nailed it to a cross in the front of the church. I wrote, "A DIVIDED HEART"--divided between myself and God, between things that don't matter and things that should matter. Love should be wholesome and pure, not cut into pieces and divvied out to the highest bidder.

Let us be like Christ. Let us love wholly, purely, unconditionally.

"The War of All Wars"

2009-04-04T17:06:00.003-04:00

I wrote my History paper on the social and health ramifications of Chernobyl. The UN actually published a couple of studies (one in 2000 and another in 2005-2006) about how Chernobyl really didn't have a direct impact on people's health; it blames cancer and disease on the psycho-social consequences of "radiophobia."

Watch this, and then tell me if you don't think the UN is retarded.

Faultline of Faith

2009-03-29T22:43:00.005-04:00

After a three-hour layover in Chicago and an unexpected one-and-a-half hour delay in Detroit, I finally made it home from Hilton Head Island yesterday. I'm still dealing with jet lag, and although my nap today was refreshing, I'm currently wired and probably won't be rested for class tomorrow. I've never known a spring break to fly by so recklessly. Not that it wasn't a restful and eventful break; I thoroughly enjoyed kayaking with dolphins, picking out sand dollars on the beach, and biking through a national preserve, but it's a little disheartening to know that tomorrow all that fun will be a dream, distilled and simplified in the back of my mind to conjure a sigh when I'm sitting in Health learning about cancer or CPR or whatever from an overweight ex-football coach with high blood pressure. (Nice guy, though.)

I keep having terrible dreams about driving, too. Last night I dreamed my brakes didn't work and I was skidding in reverse towards at least three cars. I slammed down my foot to no avail, so I threw the parking brake and that didn't work, either. I woke up in a panic. I hate driving. I wish I could get around on a bike, just like in Hilton Head. I wish it was seventy-five degrees here, too. The weather today was dreary and gross and bipolar, in true Maryland style. I miss sun and sand and... sun.

In the week I spent in Hilton Head, I really got to know Meghan's grandparents. They're incredibly generous people, even despite their... quirks, to say the least. But who isn't abnormal nowadays? I will say this much: I am glad for quiet.

Anyway, Meghan and I met the owner of this mom-and-pop coffee bar who happened to be a Christian. The only reason we ended up having a theological discussion with Rick was because Meg's grandmother practically dragged us there to get something to eat; funny how things work out. He had some interesting things to say, not the least of which were centered around the so-called short-comings of the Catholic faith. It was only afterward that I found out Meg's grandmother, who was not an active participant in the conversation, was Catholic, and found Rick's comments presumptuous and untrue.

What is it about dogma that splits the Church? I feel like Stretch Armstrong, pulled between the desire to find common ground, and the desire to stand my ground. When we get right down to it, all Christians have a fundamental commonality in an acceptance of Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior, so what's the big deal with the rest of the silly shenanigans we call tradition? I know some people feel very strongly about their own denominations, but does that merit such ill will among us? We're supposed to be united against the gates of Hell, but personally, I think with every argument we help to break them down and, well, all Hell breaks loose.

Don't get me wrong, there are a lot of things about Catholicism I don't understand, but then again, I was raised Protestant, so I don't expect to understand it. I would be more than happy to learn, however, and try to bridge the gap between sects. I think both sides--Catholics and Protestants--need to have civil discussions with open minds, and need to band together to really make a difference in their communities. Two cords make a strong rope, but three are even better (Ecclesiastes 4:12 style); the more we understand each other the stronger we become. Ignorance is not bliss--it's suicide.

Maybe there are some serious shortcomings within the Catholic faith, but Protestants are no less guilty of idolatry and hypocrisy and for whatever else Catholics are usually blamed. We as humans like to take the old "Animal Farm" approach to sin: "All sins are equal, but some sins are more equal than others." In God's eyes, all sins are equal, and... all sins are equal, regardless of whether you attend Mass in a cathedral or Sunday service in a high school gymnasium. The first step to shaking hands between sects is a recognition of Biblical truths; the second step is to take these Truths and apply them to our lives and quit making excuses for the things we do. Like Rick said, if we pick and choose what parts of the Bible to believe, pretty soon the entire Book is compromised, and then we're left out in the cold with no lamp to light our path.

Sir Seth Returns

2009-03-16T18:35:00.005-04:00

I can't describe what it's like to be confined to the schedules of one's parents and friends, except that it seems a lot like prison. For the past two weeks (exactly) I had been without transportation; my dear Sir Seth had been confined to a car-gurney for closer inspection of his lifeblood (i.e. transmission), and as a result, I was greatly reliant on the benevolence of others. Thankfully, I know some patient people, and my day-to-day routine was hardly interrupted.

I think God was trying to teach me two things through this harrying and generally unlikeable experience: one, I need to be careful in bad weather, and two, that sometimes doing everything by oneself is not only irresponsible, but selfish. I forget who told me this, but someone made the statement that it's an insult to your fellow Christians not to confess your problems and ask for help, because you are depriving them of the opportunity to minister to you. After all, our calling is to be like Christ, right? And how can we do that without people to whom to be Christ?

What an odd paradox.

Domo Arigato, Mr. Roboto

2009-03-11T15:15:00.006-04:00

This is an official thank-you for all of the friends and family who have shuttled me around on their own precious time this past week-and-a-half. I can't express just how grateful I am that you stepped up and allowed me the passenger seats of your cars when I didn't even have my own.

... And this is a cop-out of a regular post, because I'm super busy. But the thanks is truly heartfelt! See? Proof:

The dogs cannot lie, my friends.

Let My People Snow

2009-03-01T21:51:00.005-05:00

I was just watching the snow fall not half an hour ago, and now... it has stopped. I shouldn't have even allowed the hope of snow to raise my hopes for a delay or--for shame!--an entire day off school. Whatever. Maryland weather is ridiculously sporadic and has taught me a whole new degree of cynicism.

I spent all weekend in Harrisburg, PA for the Pennsylvania Christian Teen Convention with my ninth grade small group. Why a Maryland church is invited to a Pennsylvania convention is really a matter of connections, which manifests itself in an ability to say, "HA! We're special." Anyway, it was fantastic, tiring, and informative in the fullest senses. My brain is still burned out and I even took a two-hour nap this afternoon.

I think it's interesting how God can use the adrenaline of an all-Christian conference to reach into your soul and pull out a golden nugget of spiritual endurance. It goes beyond just having fun; God moves in the pit of your heart and brings you to your knees in awe and appreciation for His grace and faithfulness. Heck, this conference wasn't even aimed at me and I still felt God move me. FANTASTIC.

But conferences like this are always tainted, at least for me. Hypothetically speaking, when you're trying your darnedest to kick a sinful habit like an old tin can and you are thrust into a situation that practically keeps you a captive audience for three days... well... The mind wanders. It gets tricky. Satan uses everything he can to twist the knife deeper into where God is trying to heal a wound. What a jerkface, that Satan.

It seems to me that a mental sin, like any other sin, requires a complete schism from whatever catalyzed the sin in the first place. This is especially difficult, because even when you cut yourself off cold turkey, you still remember what it was like... and then you sin again, because your mind wanders off to Memory Lane and shacks up with Satan for a while. At least with a "physical" sin you have to literally move your butt out of a chair to get what you want. Not that I am not saying that sins of a physical nature are easier to beat, I'm just trying to give an example.

Emotional attachments are a good example of a sin that isn't quite physical. Whether it's a friend or someone who could be potentially more than a friend, the heart gives pieces of itself away. Then, when dreams are dashed to the ground like a cigarette butt, the heart is left divided, broken, if you will. Our hearts are supposed to be wholly given over to God. The mind feeds into this heart. In the words of my friend Cait, do you smell what I'm steppin' in here?

Women especially are notorious for having thick ties between their minds and their emotions. I don't think trying to sever these ties (which may not even be biologically possible) is the answer; rather, I think trying to find a way to cope with our God-given natures is the way to live. This requires some boundaries, and when these boundaries are breached, especially in the early stages of cutting sin off at the knees, things get sticky, like gum in hair; you try your best to separate the two, but in the end, you end up bald.

Or something like that. (Even my similes are exhausted.)

The good news is that these boundaries can be reestablished. As much as I fail, if there's one thing I learned this weekend it's that God forgives way more than I could ever screw up, as unbelievable as that seems.

Same Old Tune, Different Lyrics

2009-02-22T20:15:00.002-05:00

Ah, so, I completely retract my statement about having no work to do on the grounds that it was ironically premature. This internship has got me over a barrel trying to research the lives of dead people, I've done enough research on Chernobyl to depress me for three lifetimes, and I still have to make a science fair project out of an archaeological site.

Don't ask.

I also filled out an application for housing at an apartment complex on Towson's campus. The bottom of the tenant profile sheet asked me if I had any tidbits of personal information that I wanted to add to what was already available to check off, so I told them that if I didn't have peace and quiet I would become "testy and generally not a nice person to be around." Chances are they will reject my application with "WORST ROOMMATE EVER" written across my forms.

That would be quite a shame, considering that lately I've been smitten by the notion that leaving home would be nice. Don't get me wrong, I love living at home, and my family is pretty chill, but I'm about ready to be as selfish as possible with my schedule. I feel like the constraints of living under someone else's rules have delayed the development of my individuality, and I'd really just like to go nuts and have my own place. Except I would have to pay for it, which adds a whole new layer of responsibility that is simultaneously exciting and yet makes me want to rip my hair out.

I feel pretty confident in myself as a person that I don't think I would get ripped apart by the tides of social change if I left home. I think I could surf on top, be my own person, make my own way, and all that other cliched stuff that makes teenagers' eyes sparkle when they're too young to even know how to cook spaghetti or what a lease-option entails.

I really hope I'm not jumping into things head-first without a life vest again. I've always had issues with imagining that God's will is my will simply because what I want feels right at the time. If it's not written in the Bible specifically how to behave in a certain situation, I'll pray about it, but I usually feel like it doesn't get me anywhere. I almost feel as though I should flip a coin. I need my own personal Ummin and Thummim.

Does anyone relate, or am I out in left field here?

Awkward Turtle-Zombie

2009-02-16T16:21:00.011-05:00

This wouldn't happen if everyone did surveys on TNMT, like we did in AP Stat.

(Click on the image to open in a new window and make it bigger if you can't read it. I had to fiddle with the HTML to actually get it to fit.)

"Wii Need to Talk" --God

2009-02-10T08:22:00.004-05:00

I hate to say this, mostly because I know I will regret it later, but why on Earth do I not have homework?

I thought by now I'd be settling into the rolling rhythm of schoolwork, day in and day out of class, gym, homework, work, repeat. Instead I find myself sitting at home, floundering for things to occupy my time, and usually ending up in front of my blessed Wii, thanking God for technology. Perhaps I am going about this all the wrong way. I mean, most people would be extremely grateful for a day full of nothing. I say when these days full of nothing create nearly a week full of nothing after a whole month and a half break full of nothing, you begin to lose your mind, or the little part of it that has not already melted away into an abyss of apathy and lassitude.

I actually finished a project for one of my classes that isn't due until May 6. MAY 6. That's how desperate I am for some form of mental stimulation. I NEED HELP.

Anyway, for lack of anything else to think about, I've been thinking about how bitter I am being a third wheel, only to find myself staffing at FUEL Sunday night hearing a message about the gift of singleness. Honestly, I had never really thought of it as a gift, but now that I think about it, sometimes it's nice to be as selfish as you want and not have to worry about someone dogging your steps at every turn wondering why you won't spend time with him. After all, one of my biggest pet peeves is clinginess; maybe this is a blessing in disguise.

And then I realized that not only have I totally missed out on the gift aspect of my solo existence, but I have also been pittering away my time doing... oh, I don't know... exhorbitant amounts of PWNG on the Wii, for example, instead of spending my time with God, who wanted me to be single in the first place. My senior quote keeps coming to mind, which I stole from Jeremiah (because he's dead and probably okay with it): "For I know the plans I have for you, says the LORD, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future" (29:11).

I forgot about this when I was drowning in my own homesick tears at WAC, and I forgot about this earlier in the week, when I was feasting on my own feelings of inadequacy. God has a plan for me right now, whether I know it or not, and I should be opening my heart and my mind to the possibilities instead of waiting for my life to start. As a society, we always wait around for the next best thing, and in the process, we miss out on the truly amazing things that are going on around us. God wants you to be with Him first and foremost, and no matter how hard we try, no one else can fill His shoes. (If he wears shoes.)

Shut Up, Swan!

2009-01-29T19:44:00.003-05:00

Ah, school. The institution that consistently reminds me that not only am I not as smart as I previously thought, but that there isn't as much time in the day as I previously thought, either. We have a love-hate relationship, depending on the day; Saturdays we usually get along fine, but Mondays the gloves come off. (It still beats me senseless, too.)

In a spirit similar to the one conjured by Billy Madison, I have tried to come up with a positive spin on higher education. Albeit, Billy was going to school to hit on his teacher and inherit his father's multi-million dollar corporation, but really, I'm sure there are comparisons to be drawn. Despite the fact that I had to pledge my first born to buy textbooks, it takes months to apply for acceptance into any college, and it will end up costing me more money than I ever plan to make, the life of the learned really isn't that bad. I have more freedom than I could have ever dreamed in choosing my classes, so I actually get excited about going to school on most days; and when someone asks me if I'm a sophomore in high school, I get the satisfaction of responding, "No, I'm a sophomore in college." Actually, I take that back; getting mistaken for a high school student gives me no satisfaction at all, period.

I guess it's a little thrilling in a sad sort of way to have so much freedom over my future. I'm blessed to have parents who could care less what I study in college (mostly because I'm paying my own tuition) as long as it won't result in my needing to live off of them until I'm thirty. I walk around campus with the confidence that comes with knowing that, no matter which path I choose, I'm going to enjoy doing it. Hopefully, I'll enjoy it for the rest of my life, but even if it is just for the next four years or so, I can take heart knowing that it is my decision and no one else's.

It's strange how, even in failure, simply knowing that I have ownership of my own choices is satisfying. Except when people rub in the fact that I failed in the first place; then I want to crawl into a hole and die. But that, again, is my own peroggative. (See? Isn't it great?!)

I don't think I would feel nearly as good about my future prospects if I didn't know God had my back. I don't pray nearly as much as I should--like, a "get-down-on-your-knees-and-PRAY-sister!" sort of prayer--but I can rest assured that He's never let me down before, and He's not about to start now. Even if things don't go the way I plan (WAC, for example), it's not because God's withdrawn His hand from the whole deal, but because He has a better idea. And when I look back, I don't regret any of the decisions I've made; WAC was something I simply had to do for my own sake, and it helped me realize what I truly want in a "college experience." Plus I made some really good friends and I got to row in beautiful Chestertown... the water was poop-brown, but the scenery was nice.

I do not, by any means, trust God completely. I never have, and it kills me to entertain the idea that I may never fully resign my will to Him. It's a constant battle between my pride and His design for my life, but hey, all the more time for Him to claim victory once and for all. I just wish I wouldn't jump into things without consulting Him first; I feel like my decision to go to Towson was made overnight (and a particularly bad night at that) and I should have prayed about it first, but the past is the past.

We can't control what has happened, that much is obvious. We can, however, look forward to what lies ahead of us, without reservations and without fear, knowing that God is with us.

You Gotta Choose

2009-01-21T21:55:00.004-05:00

I watched the inauguration yesterday, and it got me thinking:

I hate politics.

I don't necessarily mean national politics (at least, not in this case), but just the socially-constructed rules of behavior that everyone follows but no one understands. I heard a statistic on the radio the other day that when women go out to eat, 40% will order dessert only if someone else orders it first. I find this especially ironic, because Journey just had an ice cream social at Coldstone, and I, in fact, did not order anything.

As a woman, I feel especially constrained by social chains that I had no hand in creating, but aspire to uphold, regardless. (I can't really speak for men, but I'm sure they identify with many of the same issues.) Watching television makes me hate myself, and then I have to voice this self-deprecating mindset to all of my other female friends as a way of "hanging the lantern".* Most of our conversations revolve around how much we ate or what we did at the gym. There are relationship issues that I won't even begin to divulge--

Actually, I lied.

Women walk a fine line in their friendships with men. Men can flirt with women all they want, but if we develop feelings for them, it's our fault, because they weren't leading us on at all, absolutely not. Men can look, heck yes, but if they even so much as hint at peeling back the skin-tight tube tops and cut-offs they're labeled as perverts. Nice.

Double-standards riddle our daily lives. I am hailed as a scholar in my pursuit of higher education, but then again, it's simply expected that I'll settle down in a few years in the suburbs with a husband who works a nine-to-five job and we'll have 2.1 kids and I'll never dream of being an archaeologist again. Way to put those student loans to work.

I have nothing against stay-at-home moms; in fact, I harbor a lot of respect for my mother's choice to remain at home to raise my brother and me. It's simply the prospect of being forced to conform to someone else's expectations that gets my goat. I want to be my own person, live my own life, and make my own way. I want to define my faith by what I personally have experienced and researched, and not just by what is preached to me on a stage once a week. I want to experience love on my own terms, and I want to travel the world and dig up bits of broken pottery, dang it.

I would implore everyone to think for oneself. The thought of being unknowingly shoved into a social track makes me burn with anger. I can't explain it. All I know is that sometimes I get on this soapbox about defying social standards, and this is one of those times.

We live in the United States. The election of an African-American president amidst a crowd of two million people chanting his name like he was a rock star speaks for itself. We have the opportunity to be the people we want to be, and not the people someone else wants us to be. What do you want to do with your life? Good, now do it.

* "Hanging the lantern" is frequently used in fiction; whenever a character is in a bind and is miraculously saved by circumstances that seem too good to be true, the character will often say, "That was easy," or something to that effect to disarm the audience. Then the audience goes on thinking, "Oh, well if he recognizes its simplicity and coincidence, then I guess it's okay to ignore."

Gray is Just a Color

2009-01-10T12:03:00.004-05:00

I don't know if this is peculiar or not, but I find myself trying to rationalize a lot of things. For instance, I try to rationalize why there's a little girl in Costa Rica who lives in poverty with next to no chance for improvement while I sit here at my personal laptop computer in my heated house and complain about higher education. Or why there are people who try to fulfill society's expectations as a man or a woman, and yet feel inexplicably pulled toward the opposite gender role. Or why a nine-year old is diagnosed with malignant, unforgiving cancer that is second in brutality only to the chemotherapy treatments she receives that ravages her small body.

I can think of other examples, too, of things I don't understand. War, murder, abuse, adultery, infertility, lies, gossip... It all seems so... invasive. As if, no matter where one goes, something in the above list will inevitably follow, tainting our view of God's creation. I've asked Him the proverbial "why" on many occasions. I've ascribed to the "fallen world" ideal; creation is blackened by sin, and that's why bad things happen, but when Jesus returns, things will be hunky-dory again. But I can't help feeling that this is all my own rationalization.

When I don't know the answer to something, I try to make one up. It didn't work very well in AP Stat, and I don't think it works well in other parts of my life, either. I have a difficult time saying, "Okay, God, I don't understand any of this, but You have it under control, and that's more than enough." In fact, I don't know that I've ever truly said that, except when my great-aunt was in hospice for several months and slowly lost her mind to several consecutive strokes... But that was a long time coming, and I didn't want her to suffer anymore, so I'm not sure if that counts. What I mean is, I've never let God just have control of things that seem unstoppable.

When Aunt Grace died, at least it was over, and I knew she went to Heaven. That was comforting. But there are still people suffering around the world with no end in sight. How do I look someone in the eye and say, "I'm really sorry all of this happened, but it will get better," when I'm not sure I believe it myself?

It all comes down to faith again. In the end, I have to be content with the fact that I don't know all of the answers. As I get older, I've noticed that this doesn't bother me as much as it used to, but I still have this desire to understand how everything in the world is connected, how it all works for the greater good of God's plan, and when I can't figure it out, I get discouraged. Faith is such a big deal. Everything hinges on Jesus and what He said, if it was true, if what He did was real... if not, well... we're proverbially screwed.

I don't have an end-all way to determine if Jesus really is who He said He is, but little things tend to lead me to believe Him. When I step outside and see the beauty of nature, or when I see the selfless devotion of a human being for a perfect stranger (even if this person is selfless without Jesus in mind), I am convinced that God is present. Christians aren't called to have all the answers; in fact, I think we're called to make it clear that we don't know squat, but in following Jesus anyway, we show others the strength of faith.

An Apostrophe (I mean, an epiphany)

2008-12-29T16:29:00.004-05:00

Lightning has struck my brain.

I love those moments when I sit down and all of a sudden think, "God is so awesome." I really got to thinking about Jesus last night and the whole idea of His sacrifice totally washed over me, and I just felt my brain expand with the unbelievability of it all. Not like I don't believe He died, but the concept of Him dying just to save me is so intangible. What have I done lately that would merit His death for my soul? Absolutely nothing, which is the crazy part: He did it out of unconditional love for me, dirt and all.

I read Blue Like Jazz by Donald Miller a while back, but last night I pulled it out and read the chapter on how to love oneself. It's difficult for me to grasp the idea that whenever I hate myself, I'm affecting more people than just yours truly. I inhibit my ability to accept love from others, which in turn affects their perceptions of themselves. I've noticed this before, where someone will essentially take a compliment and beat it like it stole something, and I'm left wondering if there's something wrong with me that I would deserve such a slap in the face.

I would implore those of you who haven't read it to pick up Blue Like Jazz and check it out. Miller is a gifted author, and he speaks on the truest terms I've heard from a Christian author in a long time. That's something to which I aspire; I want to speak my mind as transparently as possible, with an edge that comes from experience and a deep-seated wisdom that isn't learned, but instead, is gifted through no power of one's own.

Maybe that's a bit lofty, but hey, who doesn't dream?

"I was scrubbing the toilet when the voices began. I'd listened to them so often before, but on this day they were shouting.They were telling me that I was as disgusting as the urine on the wall around the toilet.
"And then the sentiment occurred. I am certain it was the voice of God because it was accompanied by such a strong epiphany like a movement in a symphony or something. The sentiment was simple: Love your neighbor as yourself."
--Blue Like Jazz, Donald Miller

He Said, She Said (but she said it better)

2008-12-21T05:20:00.009-05:00

If you check the timestamp on this post, you'll understand that this train of thought stems more from insomnia than actual inspiration, probably. What a shame. I would have much preferred sleep to this, no offense.

I've felt lately that the odds are stacked against me, the planets are misaligned, or something of that nature. Everything I say seems either to offend straight out, or is misconstrued in such a way as to offend, regardless. I feel like one of those people in the Tide commercials with the stain on her shirt that keeps yelling over whatever it is she's saying, except instead of just yelling nonsensical gibberish, it yells obscenities, instead. I've pretty much taken a vow of silence just to avoid any more trouble. Except for blogging, of course; the vow only extends to verbal communication. Written words and gestures are permissible.

We're so easily offended nowadays it's scary. I have this theory that it stems from our being a very politically-correct society (or trying to be, for the most part) and also from the natural desire to be accepted; in order to conform to the larger PC society, people will take offense to almost anything in an attempt to be accepted by said PC society. There are two instances when this is not the case: either the person really is that offended because he is just too proud to take a joke, or the person really is offended because he has more to his past than meets the eye.

I've already spoken on my tendency to stereotype on first glance, but one thing I try to do (though, albeit, I probably fail miserably most of the time) is, no matter who I think someone "is", I will keep an open mind as who this person "was". Pasts are easily obscured and hidden. It's like trying to see a photograph behind opaque glass; you can sort of get the gist of who you are seeing, but there could be crucial details that you're missing because you can't see the whole picture.

A couple of examples: take a look at Bill Gates. The guy is swimming in money, he's too smart for his own good, and he has business skills to boot. But he never went to college. (It makes me wonder why I'm spending a fortune on an education when we gets by more than well without one, but that's irrelevant.) Another one: James Brooks is a famous football player from Georgia; in the words of a school secretary who doesn't even work where Brooks was enrolled, "James! James Brooks! Why everyone remembers James." Brooks is functionally illiterate, however; despite all his fame and riches, he can't read court documents telling him he owes over $110,000 in child support.

How many times do we assume we know people, even our best friends, when in reality they are complete enigmas? Too many times, in my opinion. It seems like Christians get the butt end of this, too; everyone automatically assumes Christians have got it all together, that they led charmed lives with loving parents in suburbia with a family income of $70,000 or higher. Some of the strongest Christians I know have gone through some sort of serious trial and came out of it with the understanding that the only way to get by in life is to rely on Someone stronger than oneself.

Sometimes I wonder if we're too close-fisted with our pasts. As marred as I might feel, my scars could be the salve for someone else's wounds. By keeping our experiences to ourselves, we are depriving others of the knowledge that they are not alone in their struggles and the wisdom to come out on top. To beat the dead horse of cliches, everything happens for a reason; God can use even the worst experiences of our pasts as the building blocks for someone's future, but only if we let Him.

The Gift List

2008-12-16T18:11:00.007-05:00

I've decided that, in preparation for Christmas, I would make a list. But instead of making a wish list, I would make a gift list--a list of all the gifts with which God has blessed me so that I may bless others. (This is that uplifting post I promised. Feel the love. FEEL IT.)

Gift List

Sing
Humorous--sometimes I think I'm a little sarcastically abrasive... I'll have to work on that.
Sensible--most of the time.
Compassionate
Literate--as in I ain't too bad at writin' good.
Love learning
Listen well--except over the phone; I have a hard time understanding people on the phone.
Financially stable--for a starving college student, anyway.
Friendly
Encouraging--except when I'm being sarcastically abrasive.
Organized
Clever
Understanding
Diligent
Punctual
Responsible
Cautious
Prepared--usually.

That's all I have right now. I would encourage you to make your own gift list, too, especially when you're feeling a little on the insignificant side of things. I find this rather encouraging, myself.

Trust Me, I Can't Be Trusted

2008-12-14T09:44:00.006-05:00

Now that the semester is over, I've been itching to go see some relatives in Tennessee and Kentucky with my dad. It's been over a year since I last saw them, and though I'm not as close with that side of the family as I am with my mom's side, I have this nagging feeling that they're not getting any younger; if I don't cultivate some kind of relationship, I'll feel as though I've dropped the ball and come to regret it later, I'm sure. Unfortunately, my dad has no idea when he's going in January, and my work schedule is due this coming Wednesday. This complicates things a bit. So now my prayers for taking a fourteen-hour drive to the boonies of all boonies is hinging on my dad, as are my chances for a $30,000 renewable transfer scholarship, come to think of it.

I'm sensing a pattern here. And where there are patterns, there are blog posts.

I hate relying on other people for anything. At work, especially, I find myself trying to do the majority of the tasks, even though delegating some of them to the person standing next to me behind the counter would be the smart (and almost polite) thing to do. I take on a lot of responsibility for myself, and I am well aware that this can be harmful. I do not, however, trust other people to get things done. Why? I am convinced I am just not a trusting person. Plus, experience teaches me that if I show one ounce of potential, I will be instantly saddled with everyone else's work in addition to my own.

It extends beyond work, though. Just trusting people in general is a chore sometimes. This probably stems from experience, as well, but still... it's not like I was shoved off a cliff by my best friend. I shouldn't have this much trouble giving people the benefit of the doubt. I shouldn't be killing myself trying to do three times as much work as is allotted me just because I can't imagine someone else actually being responsible. How many relationships have I shot to the ground, Cheney-style, because I am relationally retarded?

(Speaking of which, did anyone else happen to catch the footage of the guy who chucked his shoes at President Bush's head? That was crazy!)

I guess it will take a greater reliance on God to break this paper chain of behavior. I find this blog quite helpful if for no other reason than I am able to make a more unbiased assessment of my spiritual life. Unfortunately, I've found the results rather depressing. So far I've noticed I am judgmental (which I sort of knew already), not trusting, and generally unhappy with myself. Whoo hoo, introspection.

I will attempt to take a more uplifting road in a future post.

Error 404: Prayer Not Found

2008-12-08T10:07:00.006-05:00

Today kicks off the last week of the semester, and my motivation to study for finals has officially flown the coop, kicked the bucket, and left me high and dry--simultaneously. I plan on spending my free time in the least productive way possible as opposed to pouring over notes for exams; I believe this is a tell-tale sign of burn-out, but thankfully this symptom prevents me from caring, as well.

My computer had about six viruses on it the other day, caught in large part from Facebook; thankfully, all is now quiet on the western front, and things are back to normal (relatively speaking). My parents have decided to put off the slew of home improvement projects until after Christmas, which means we can actually decorate before December 24. And, most fantastic of all, I danced in bare feet on Friday and didn't get any blisters.

A year ago, if I had gone through a comparatively decent time, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have been nearly as excited as I am today. In fact, my emotions remained quite stagnant, thanks in large part to a good dose of anxiety about college and such. Yesterday I was so grateful that my computer actually connected to the Internet that I laughed out loud--at nothing. Strange, yes. Merited, probably.

This time last year I was gearing up for finals, getting an average of four hours of sleep a night thanks to my roommate's pneumonia, and practically ripping my hair out in frustration with Washington College. My relationship with God, however, was probably three times better than it is now, which makes me rather upset. I can't understand how, when things are terrible, I run to God like a little kid, but when things are good, I can't bring myself to share it with Him. If I won the lottery, I would certainly tell my family about it. So, why don't I sit down with God and talk to Him about my stupid computer? (No offense, Computer.)

I have a difficult time talking to God, usually. I tend to have a million things going on in my mind at any given moment, so to quiet myself and listen for the Holy Spirit to move first is a challenge for me. When things are going well, I take just enough time to mutter a heartfelt, "Thank You," and that's about all I can get out. Although I know that God has no problem with how I pray as far as eloquence, I wonder if He is frustrated with my insincere prayers for people halfway across the planet, or my rushed prayers for people next door. I've never seen prayer as my strong point; I wonder where I would go for tutoring. The Bible, of course, but from what I gather, we're supposed to make time for God and pray sincerely, regardless of how it sounds. So, if I do that already (albeit, probably not as well as I should), then what next?

I feel like this is a serious hindrance to my relationship with God. If anyone has any advice, I would be more than happy to hear it.

I So Hate Consequences

2008-12-01T11:11:00.006-05:00

I hate it when I take a lapse in maturity, because it's usually a pretty big lapse. Sort of like how some people never get sick, but when they do, they catch something comparable to Ebola. This lapse usually ends in my feeling like an idiotic jerk and tends to put the freeze on a relationship. Why this happens, I'm not entirely sure; I guess everyone is liable to make mistakes, I just wish mine were slightly smaller.

I suppose I should be thankful, because I could always make things worse. The biggest consequence of my temporary suspension of judgment is prolonged embarrassment on my end, and maybe a slight dent in someone's perception of my trustworthiness. There is no permanent damage, though, nothing that can't be repaired eventually. I guess this is God's way of saying, "Hey, pause for a second and take a look at what you did. I'd prefer if you didn't do it again, and so would you."

On the other hand, this experience has also taught me the humility that comes with an apology. Not that I haven't already felt as humble as dirt before; it's just such a prominent feeling that it renews itself with each new circumstance. I'm still trying to find a good balance between genuinely apologetic and borderline pathetic, though. And I'm trying to figure out how to let go of feeling like humbled dirt after I apologize; I guess it has to do with my controlling personality, and how I need to know exactly how the situation is progressing at all times, even on someone else's behalf. I hate not knowing if I'm truly forgiven or not. It feels like I'm about to jump out of a plane but someone keeps pulling on the back of my shirt whenever I finally get up the gumption to leap.

So, besides feeling like a hypocrite, I've also learned to mix a healthy amount of trust in others with a good dose of common sense. As much as I'd like to believe I can trust everyone around me to the full extent of trustworthiness, I can't. It's a hard horse pill to swallow, especially when I want to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, at least.

This life is one huge cycle of forgiveness. One day we're forgiving someone for their debt owed us, and the next day we're asking someone else for forgiveness. And in the midst of all of that, God is constantly forgiving us for whatever we ask, whenever we ask. As embarrassing or humbling the experience, without forgiveness, we would be lost. It is necessary, regardless of the circumstance, for the benefit of both parties involved, because personally, I don't want to lose sleep over someone else's mistake any more than they do.

Forgiveness certainly doesn't happen over night, either. In fact, it may not happen at all, which is depressing, to say the least, but that's life: imperfect, without closure. My family had a terrible experience with some people from our own church family, and I struggled for years over how to forgive not only the perpetrators, but also the people who refused to discipline the guilty parties for their actions. It's hard going to church on Sunday morning and seeing people being rewarded for their pious service to God when I know they still get away with almost breaking up my parents' marriage. And even though sometimes it still makes me angry, I've learned to let go enough that I'm able to worship on Sundays without having to run out of the sanctuary when I became overwhelmed with bitterness.

For those of you who are waiting for forgiveness, try to find solace in the fact that God forgave you the first time you asked Him, and He never withholds His love. For those who need to do the forgiving, please don't tarry; pray about it consistently, ask for empathy and grace, and with time, healing can take place, for you and the other party. You don't need to wait for them to come to you for forgiveness, either; you can put it on your heart right now to do the forgiving, but you will need God's help to truly let go.