Sometimes it would be nicer if God just put it on a billboard...

And this is my prayer: that your love may abound more and more in knowledge and depth of insight, so that you may be able to discern what is best and may be pure and blameless until the day of Christ. (Philippians 1:9,10)

*************************************

I don't want to go somewhere
If I know that You're not there,
'Cause I know that me without You is a lie.
And I don't want to walk that road,
Be a million miles from home,
Cause my heart needs to be where You are.
So I don't want to go.
(Avalon, I don't Want To Go)

My roomie has college-level sarcasm.

no.
no.
no.
no.
no.
no.
no.
no.
no.



NO.

Just felt the urge to (calmly and emphatically) say that...

I sense that I'm becoming boring.


I packed a balanced lunch today and laid out my clothes last night. I didn't buy the red shoes because they're not practical. I'm eating vegetables every day because they're "good for me." I go to bed at a decent hour. I don't speed. I make my own coffee instead of buying Starbucks. I remember to charge my phone, change my car oil, and empty the dishwasher. I don't go places on school nights. I haven't followed any crazy urges. This is probably because I have no crazy urges...


Yes. It's official.


I'm boring.

Today Markus came and played carpet ball with "Bear" and I.

Drew and I prepped extensively for this visit. We talked about how we really, really wanted to meet "Markus Bear." (I even suggested that we call him "Markus"- sans "bear"- but Drew would have none of it.) We talked about how I really liked "Markus Bear" and how, as a result, Drew should like "Markus Bear." And then we established that Drew was the first, the only, and the favorite "bear" in my book. Finally, we were ready to meet Markus.

Drew was so excited the whole entire time that he jumped up and down and rocked back and forth and could hardly talk. He didn't growl at all. Not even when Markus beat him three times out of four. After Markus left he was still rocking and laughing.

"Did you hear Markus Bear, Courts? Did you hear him? He has a nice, growly bear voice." (I had talked about this as a positive aspect prior to their meeting.) We talked about how nice it was to play carpet ball with a "man" instead of a wimpy girl (me). And in conclusion Drew sighed,

"It was so nice to meet Markus Bear... You know, I dream about him every night- it's one of the nicest thing ever to dream about..."

I doubled over in silent laughter.
But I had to agree.

:)

Psalm of the Week

Keep me safe, O God, for in you I take refuge.

I said to the Lord, "You are my Lord; apart from you I have no good thing."

Lord, you have assigned me my portion and my cup; you have made my lot secure.

The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; surely I have a delightful inheritance.

I have set the Lord always before me.

You have made known to me the path of life; you will fill me with joy in your presence, with eternal pleasures at your right hand.

(Ps. 16)

My Co-Workers

The laminating lady. Psycho throw-yourself-in-front-of-my-car lady. I-watch-Ellen-on-my-lunch-break lady... such titles are liberally distributed across Klondike Elementary by a humble literacy tutor. (Yours truly.) The reason for such titles are the persons complete inability to either wear their name badges, or to get close enough for me to read them. (Psycho throw-yourself-in-front-of-my-car lady was wearing a coat so of course hers was unreadable...)

Laminating lady shows up on Tuesdays and Thursdays. No one else can laminate. It's her domain. Anything and everything- she will laminate. I'm afraid to leave my wallet or bag in there while she is enthroned for the simple fear of finding my driver's license laminated. While I may be able to laminate my own driver's license with impunity (I love laminating!) she is not allowed to touch it. So every Tuesday and Thursday, when she enters, fluffs her heavily starched, gray hair, and ties on her tool belt (yes, she wears a tool belt), I furtively gather all my materials and sneak out before she can accost me with, "Excuse me, but your life seems to be inadequately laminated."

But laminating lady is fairly harmless. Psycho throw-yourself-in-front-of-my-car lady made me mad. (Probably because of wounded self-dignity, but that's beside the point...) I left my last class 15 minutes late. Never, ever do this. That's what I've been told. However, a 5th grader with the work ethic of Edison (He's the one who said "10% inspiration, 90% perspiration" and pulled all-nighters like no body's business) asked for additional help with vocabulary. I'm a sucker for vocab and I have the standard teacher weakness for a "fertile mind." (Don't ask me why children's brains are compared to fertilizers. I have no idea...) So I stayed to help her. When I left I saw the buses lining up outside the school. I started to sprint.

It's a commonly known fact at Klondike Elementary that if you don't make it to your car before the buses cue-up you will be stuck at the school for an additional 30 (unpaid) minutes. I jumped into my car, backed out, headed for the entrance---

And was cut off by a bus. Now, this bus has a place to park. A nice, wide space. But it doesn't want to park there. It wants to park right in front of the entrance. I can't leave. What's more, I'm stranded in the middle of the parking lot, in danger of being crushed by buses. I do the only smart thing to do. The nearest children are 20 feet away. I check all mirrors. I ease off the break. I look around. I look at the buses near me- no, none are being boarded. There is no danger of me running over any children. (There is a danger of me being run over by a bus.) I need to get back in my parking space so I'm not obliterated by a bus. I start to move. I'm going so, painfully slowly that my speedometer is not even registering movement.(Once again, it's a school. I'm being careful.) Suddenly, out of nowhere, a huge, puffy coated, red-nosed teacher hurls herself in front of my barely moving car. She yells,

"YOU DO NOT DRIVE. NO DRIVING!!!" I am shocked. She scared me so badly she's lucky I didn't floor it. "STOP DRIVING NOW! DON'T MOVE!" She gets ready to bang her hands on my car hood for emphasis. (Oh, no she doesn't!)

"I'M GOING TO MY SPOT!" I yell, indicating a vacant parking spot about a car length away.

"NO. NO. NO. NO DRIVING!!!"

"YES. YES. YES. I'M MOVING!!!" I was so mad.

"NOOO YOUUUU'RE NOT!!!" It was at that point she made a tactical error. She moved out of the path of my car to bring another teacher (who doubtless heard her dramatic outburst) over to curtail me. (By this time there are no children around anywhere and the buses are revving their engines to leave.) I pull forward (perhaps the length of 1 1/2 cars) and park.

Yes.

I parked.

There were no children around. And I was petrified sitting behind those buses. My car's no bigger than a bug. I was in danger of being squashed. Livid psycho throw-herself-in-front-of-my-car lady stood behind me with her hands on her hips. Livid trying-not-to-be-squashed-extremely-careful Courtney sat in her car for 30 minutes waiting for the buses (and psycho throw-herself-in-front-of-my-car lady) to leave. While sitting there, I came to this conclusion:


She ran in front of my car faster than my car was going.

She could have seriously hurt a child.

My roommate made chicken parmesan for dinner because she's amazing.



I had toast.

So there, Duke Energy!

It is so incredibly cold in my apartment that I have resorted to drastic measures. I'm wearing one of those back-woodsman thermal shirts. My roomie from sophomore year introduced me to them- thank you, Molls! A hat garnered from the boyfriend for the simple reason that I hate hats and he likes them (and thinks I should wear them), and I'm currently nursing a mug of hot water. Not because I'm going to drink the hot water, but because nothing else will keep my hands warm. (I tried gloves, but when you're cleaning the kitchen floor, it's not advisable to wear wool...)

Why, you may ask, has a working woman resorted to such oddities (in addition to heating up her bed each night with a hair dryer)? Well, first off, I've only worked like 3 days so far, so my bank account is still at "college student" meager and doesn't really want a huge electric bill, and secondly Duke Electric charged me $200 to come out, look at my meter, and tell me "Yes, your lights are working." I already knew they were. So was the airconditioning. But they called it a "set-up fee." They lied. There was nothing to set up. And I (young innocent that I was) became very jaded.

Ever since that fateful day I have looked for ways to get my $200 back. Layering socks and drinking hot beverages all day every day. Watching TV under piles of blankets. Opening the oven after I'm done baking the casserole to let surplus heat roll out after I turn it off. (Same strategy with the dryer.) I'm freezing, but gosh darn it, my electric bill has never been cheaper.

And who wants to spend money on heat? I'd rather buy those stunning, red peep-toed shoes. Granted, they don't really help the cold feet problem...

Maybe if I wore them with wool socks...

All I have to say is that if I don't get into grad school at Purdue, American Airlines had better get ready to dole out some significant frequent flier miles.

Calculating monthly trips back to Hoosier-ville, along with the less important odds and ends such as tuition and housing, I've decided that if I graduate with $250,000 of debt I will have been incredibly economical.

What else is a girl to do when the triple incentive of cute lil' sister, wonderful church family, and (charming) boyfriend?

Outside the mosque

There's probably another name for it. I'm pretty sure that if I actually called it as a "mosque" to a Muslim acquaintance, they would look at me in askance. However, since my freshman year, when I unsuspectingly walked by during "prayers" at the Muslim campus building (and was stared at by a large group of heavily bearded and robed, somber men who doubtless disaproved of my skimpy jeans and sweatshirt enemble), I've referred to it as "the mosque." Some of my friends don't even believe it exists. But it does.

And today I parked outside it. (Parallel parked- quite adroitly, I might add.)

After slipping neatly into my selected, all-day, no parking-permit-required, kill-your-mother-to-get-it spot, I did the awkward half-crawl into my back seat to transfer everything from my black bag to my brown bag and pick up my three different kinds of lip gloss from where they had fallen during my too impetuous turn into McDonalds (where they sell awful coffee.). If you are female you will understand this move, and you will also understand my endless search for a bag that you can carry with either black or brown shoes. However, that's for another post.

Mid-crouch and with bags but half transferred, I hear a, "Hmhm." You've heard it. It's the polite throat-clearing hum which says, "I'm-standing-right-behind-you-and-you-need-to-turn-around-and-talk-to-me." (Amazing what can be conveyed in a "hm" and throat clearing...)

In obedience to the "hmhm" I straightened up, bashed my head on my car door, and turned around. And almost wet my pants. There was a man standing right next to me. A big man. With a big, thick, frizzy beard, dark beatling eyebrows, and a Carhartt.

If he hadn't been wearing the Carhartt I might have run for the hills, he was so scary and intense. But the Carhartt "Hoosier-ized" him, and I've seen my fair share of intense men in Carhartts (once again, another post for another day...).

"Excuse me... Excuse me." (I must have looked very shook-up. He repeated it twice.) "Your car? You... you cannot park here." And he crossed my patience threshold. With that statement it probably wouldn't have mattered if he had been Sadam Hussein, or the President of the United States- I probably would have gone postal on him. You do NOT, I repeat do NOT tell me that I cannot park somewhere after countless, frustrated minutes of circling Purdue's campus, "Christian cursing" under my breath at the famous astronaut who got a building- another building- for the engineers (who clearly already own half the campus) and neglected the incredible (and unarguable) need for a parking garage. He must have seen the wrath of Courtney rising in my eyes, because he quickly added-

"You park here. You can park. Yes. You park. I just warn you- it's prayer time. Prayer time soon, and you not be able to get out. 1:20-3:30. We pray. The street will be full. And you be packed in. Not able to move."

My jaw unclenched. My brow unfurled. The corners of my mouth even raised to a polite smile as I thanked him for letting me know.

So... there is TOO a mosque at Purdue.

And if you park in front of it before 1:20, don't expect to leave before 3:30.

Just so you know...

Coffee
(early!) phone call
smile
clean laundry
cardigan
Target
girl's night
campus meeting
crazy hair
Belgian White Chocolate Macademia Nut creamer




Excellent Friday.

Drew Viars

First of all, Mr. Viars would be quite disgruntled if he saw the title of the post. With a very burly, growly voice he would demand, "My name is 'BEAR'! Call me 'Bear,' Courtenaem." And I would, in a soothing voice tell him that I always call him "Bear" but other people may not understand since "Andrew" is on his birth certificate. At which point he will mutter something like, "Stupid birth certificate..."

Andrew Steven Viars happens to be one of my favorite persons on God's green earth. (A fact he constantly checks by asking, "Do you love me, Courtenaem?" More recently he's even started checking that I like him MORE than other people... He's not too fond of Markus or the new lil' sis Julie.) Why "Bear" is one of my favorites will hopefully become obvious in this post.

We were playing in the Walmart toy section one day (yes, we do this frequently- rotating between Walmart, Meijer, and "Tarjay"), when I told him, very firmly that he was not allowed to take home the stuffed bear he was holding so tightly. He looked at me and said, "Hmf! You can't say that- It's a Bear's perogative."

Driving in the car on an incredibly steamy day, I began to bemoan my curly frizz developing all over my head. Drew cut me off- "Court! God made you with curly hair. Cope and deal."

Whenever we go to the Community Center if Mr. Joe Keck is there, Drew usually winds up with a Fuji apple. Apples are "Bear's favorite," and Joe always remembers. One day before lunch (which contained one of the aforementioned apples) I told Drew that he needed to pray and thank God for making his favorite food- Fuji apples. Drew snorted- "Oh Courtney, God doesn't make Fuji apples. Joe Keck does."

He made up his own country, "Hmnavia." In Hmnavia all the people wear red bathrobes all the time, live in cabanas on the beach (the entire country is beach), and eat only fish and fresh strawberries. He even made up his own language (Hmnavian) for this country. On very bad days we talk about running off to Hmnavia and never coming back.

He calls me, "hot one," and beats me at carpet ball. He'll sing, "You Are My Sunshine" with words just for me. He calls me "Courtenaem" (for no obvious reason), and he uses Spanish and German adjectives to describe things he likes. Whenever he works out on the treadmill he asks me, "Can you see my muscles growing?" He calls Julie a "hot tomale" and loves to make cookies. He doesn't like macaroni and cheese. When told to smile in a photo he tries... he really does...

I love him lots and lots.

He's my DrewBear.