Instead of the much-mocked, yet sadly typical status of New Year's resolutions, come the 2nd week of the year, I've decided to give my goals a fighting chance this year. To do so I established four "biggie" goals, and then outlined on a spread sheet the smaller steps (month by month) that it will take for me to reach those goals by the end of 2010. I am beyond tired at my constant, "Well, maybe someday..." attitude towards personal growth. No. No someday. Only today.
In order to create my own accountability (and necessary guilt-trigger), I've decided to post the status of my resolutions month by month.
1. Demonstrate an increase in humility and a decrease in selfishness in my relationships with God and others.
January's Goal: Call two people (anyone!) every week to check on how they're doing. (I know it sounds crazy, but I generally hate the phone and cringe at the thought of calling... but yet I still want to know how people are doing!) Meet with people, at least once a week to check up/maintain friendships. (Once again, a little lame, but school and my selfish "recharge" time often steals these delightful, truly enjoyable moments from my weeks.)
Success Rate: I completed both aspects of this goal with 100% accuracy, not missing a single phone call/meeting.
Changes/modification for February: I had the same goal in February, but I think I'm going to up the ante since I had such a high success rate (and enjoyed the phone calls/meetings so very much!).
2. Achieve a lifestyle that demonstrates good stewardship of my body.
January's Goal: Drink 100 oz. of water each day. Exercise two times/week.
Success Rate: abysmal. I completed 100 oz. goal maybe 5 times max. I only exercised 2x/week for the past two weeks. Shocking 50% accuracy for exercise. Horrible. No reason for this.
Changes/modifications for February: Drinking 100 oz. is completely impractical for most days, and I'm glad it's not February's goal. I'm now going to try to hit the gym 3x/week (failure is not an option!), and instead of a water goal, I want to eat 5-7 servings of fresh fruits and vegetables every day. Because of this, I think a food journal will be important. I want to keep one daily. I already have an amazing moleskin notebook...
3. Achieve with excellence the next steps in my career path.
January's Goal: Update/post resume. Complete all clinic paperwork before it was due.
Success Rate: I posted my resume. I've since received a horrible amount of annoying people calling, and calling, and calling offering me weird, under-paying Monster.com jobs. But hey, I did what I was supposed to, right? I also completed my paperwork before its deadlines. Challenging, but not impossible, and definitely more rewarding than working against the clock. 100% success all round. Whoo-hoo! (Anyone surprised that this priority is doing just fine in the goals? Yeah, I didn't think so...)
Changes/modifications for February: NONE!
4. Go to EUROPE!
January's Goal: This is (clearly) a fun goal! This month I was supposed to work 20-30 hours/week and update my passport.
Success Rate: I worked as much as I could, but I kept falling slightly short of 20 hours/week. Something about full-time student and 20 hours of clinic kept messing with my goal. I also didn't update my passport, but that was more of a money thing than anything else... It's been bumped back to February.
Changes/modifications for February: I probably won't book plane tickets (as originally planned) in February. It's too early to know if this is feasible. But the working goal still stands. I'll just squeeze in hours wherever I can!
Additional Goal (this category is for things that I want to do, but don't think they require an entire year's-worth of work)...
January's Goal: Post on the blog 3x/week.
Success Rate: Look back through, dear reader! I achieved this goal! It was a delightfully fun project as well. I think this habit will stick. I have such fun sharing my ups, downs and daily anecdotes with you all. I hope you have a wonderful time reading.
Changes/modifications for February: This goal changes every month, which is part of its charm. February's goal is to clean at least 4x/week. I started this goal just this past week. It may be a little tricky, but I love the pristine living situation!
Well, it wasn't a brilliant month, but not too shabby either. All in all, I believe it's been a passable January. Onto to February! May that distinctly gloomy month provide shining success goal-wise.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Thursday, January 28, 2010
I love, love, LOVE the sun!
“Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air…”
(Ralph Waldo Emerson)
Monday, January 25, 2010
A dream is a wish your heart makes...
Please don't gag at the corny title.
Thanks.
Okay, so last night I had an incredibly vivid dream. Usually exhaustion prevents my remembering any dreams, but recently I've caught up on my sleep debt, and dreams like this last one are real enough to make me cry.
My parents burst upon us with the news that they were, in fact going to adopt another baby. A little boy. From Vietnam. (At this point in time, Julie pouted, "I don't wants a boy. I wants a girl!") At a family dinner they showed us his picture, his cute spiky hair going all over the place, stating his name was "Caden."
Because of work restrictions, Dad was unable to go with Mom to get him, but my cute, perky mother (pictured in my dream with her fabulous new hair cut) was only mildly daunted. Anything was worth it for her baby boy.
In my dream we stood there. Waiting. At the airport. And there, down the concourse, just like when I had first met my dear little "Bops," I saw them coming. I was laughing and crying, cuddling the newest addition to our family. Caden was looking at all of us with wide, sober eyes (as anyone would do upon first meeting our loud, boisterous family). His skin was soft. His eyes were dark. And in the corners of his expressions lurked an impishness just waiting for love to blossom.
And then I woke up.
But I remembered, all over again, the tears, the joy, the almost painful feeling of love that comes from letting a new little one into your family. Nothing can compare to the love that I feel for my darling little Julie Bop. Our family was empty before she came.
Maybe someday I'll adopt "Caden."
My heart misses him already...
Thanks.
Okay, so last night I had an incredibly vivid dream. Usually exhaustion prevents my remembering any dreams, but recently I've caught up on my sleep debt, and dreams like this last one are real enough to make me cry.
My parents burst upon us with the news that they were, in fact going to adopt another baby. A little boy. From Vietnam. (At this point in time, Julie pouted, "I don't wants a boy. I wants a girl!") At a family dinner they showed us his picture, his cute spiky hair going all over the place, stating his name was "Caden."
Because of work restrictions, Dad was unable to go with Mom to get him, but my cute, perky mother (pictured in my dream with her fabulous new hair cut) was only mildly daunted. Anything was worth it for her baby boy.
In my dream we stood there. Waiting. At the airport. And there, down the concourse, just like when I had first met my dear little "Bops," I saw them coming. I was laughing and crying, cuddling the newest addition to our family. Caden was looking at all of us with wide, sober eyes (as anyone would do upon first meeting our loud, boisterous family). His skin was soft. His eyes were dark. And in the corners of his expressions lurked an impishness just waiting for love to blossom.
And then I woke up.
But I remembered, all over again, the tears, the joy, the almost painful feeling of love that comes from letting a new little one into your family. Nothing can compare to the love that I feel for my darling little Julie Bop. Our family was empty before she came.
Maybe someday I'll adopt "Caden."
My heart misses him already...
Meditation for Monday
For the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God. For it is written:
"I will destroy the wisdom of the wise;
the intelligence of the intelligent I will frustrate."
Where is the wise man? Where is the scholar? Where is the philosopher of this age? Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world?
Brothers, think of what you were when you were called. Not many of you were wise by human standards; not many were influential; not many were of noble birth. But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong. He chose the lowly things of this world and the despised things—and the things that are not—to nullify the things that are, so that no one may boast before him. It is because of him that you are in Christ Jesus, who has become for us wisdom from God—that is, our righteousness, holiness and redemption. Therefore, as it is written: "Let him who boasts boast in the Lord.
(I Corinthians 1:18-20, 26-31)
**follow-up post to come...
"I will destroy the wisdom of the wise;
the intelligence of the intelligent I will frustrate."
Where is the wise man? Where is the scholar? Where is the philosopher of this age? Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world?
Brothers, think of what you were when you were called. Not many of you were wise by human standards; not many were influential; not many were of noble birth. But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong. He chose the lowly things of this world and the despised things—and the things that are not—to nullify the things that are, so that no one may boast before him. It is because of him that you are in Christ Jesus, who has become for us wisdom from God—that is, our righteousness, holiness and redemption. Therefore, as it is written: "Let him who boasts boast in the Lord.
(I Corinthians 1:18-20, 26-31)
**follow-up post to come...
Saturday, January 23, 2010
BLAH.
Today I just want to pout. Be discontent. Disgruntled. I think I'm at a constant low-grade angry. Nothing violent enough to inflict bodily harm on the people around me, but definitely enough to make smiling less enjoyable. Usually such moods are quickly evaporated, returning only at rare intervals. However, such an outlook has hovered in the corners of my life (occasionally taking center stage) for longer than usual.
I'm blaming this recent episode of grumpiness on the complete lack of sun. I am sun-dependent. I'm sure there's a verse somewhere that says "Rejoice in the Lord always, (except when you live in the midwest and don't see the sun for 53 consecutive days...)."
Perhaps I should just publish a list of topics to be avoided until the sun re-appears. Here we go: the price of gas, bills, my current shopping hiatus, boyfriends, your love of fish/vacations/country music. Please also don't mention: spring break, promotions, raises, or how great it is to be out of school. Avoid politics, make-up brands, and controversial doctrine. The following are also off limits: any brewing love interests, your projected tax refund, how cute your new puppy is, how it's strange I'm still single, why good chocolate is so hard to find, and how your pet goldfish died.
I just can't handle it right now.
Thanks.
Address concerns to me once again.... after the sun comes back.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Dear Ice,
I wanted to use this opportunity to express my appreciation for the thin, dangerous layer of frosting you laid down over Lafayette this morning. While it made a morning gym trip more treacherous than is typically expected, I am willing to forgive that fault because of the delightful two-hour delay which all public schools felt the necessity to utilize (despite the relative safety of the roads).
While working parents of school-age children scramble for alternative care, and children watch too much "Spongebob Squarepants," I get to avoid clinic and revel in my latest book/Bible study while sipping hot, black chai tea. I appreciate your willingness to expand my morning leisure time from the designated 15 minutes to a more desirable 45.
My soon-to-be finished laundry also appreciates the extra attention, and sends its best regards.
Love-love,
C
I wanted to use this opportunity to express my appreciation for the thin, dangerous layer of frosting you laid down over Lafayette this morning. While it made a morning gym trip more treacherous than is typically expected, I am willing to forgive that fault because of the delightful two-hour delay which all public schools felt the necessity to utilize (despite the relative safety of the roads).
While working parents of school-age children scramble for alternative care, and children watch too much "Spongebob Squarepants," I get to avoid clinic and revel in my latest book/Bible study while sipping hot, black chai tea. I appreciate your willingness to expand my morning leisure time from the designated 15 minutes to a more desirable 45.
My soon-to-be finished laundry also appreciates the extra attention, and sends its best regards.
Love-love,
C
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Do you ever have clear, crystalized moments when you suddenly realize how others see you?
And that their view may be more accurate than your own?
Monday, January 18, 2010
I'm tired of talking about relationships... but I'll talk about them one last time.
I am completely done the obsession the college age bracket has regarding relationships and dating. I know all the justifications, "Well, I'm at that time in my life." and "This is very important to me right now." etc., etc. But I hope that I never become one of those individuals who confines my topics of interest solely to the items that are "very important to me right now." Eighty-year olds are at the time in their lives when hip replacements are "very important," but let's be honest, it's not attractive when a twenty-year old only talk about boys, or when an eighty-year old only talks about hip replacements. Such a narrow breadth of interest confines you to a narrow point of view, which leads to a narrow life, narrow joy, narrow personality, narrow growth.
God forbid I become that stunted, hip-replacement eighty year old...
This Sunday I was handed a very well-researched packet of information regarding dating. I'm not even going to go into the titles: "Counsel for the Concerned Single" (am I supposed to be concerned!?!), and "The Case for Early Marriage" (which I didn't finish because I'm pretty, gosh-darn sure it would have told me that I needed to be married four years ago), etc.
The people who wrote and compiled this information are wise, intelligent, loving individuals. I am so thankful for the interest they are taking in shaping this aspect of individuals' lives, but as I thumbed through yet another compilation of "dating advice" (to add to my already rich library of authors kissing all sorts of stuff goodbye), I became frustrated.
Why is this such a point of interest? Look at the Bible. How many verses deal with dating. (Yeah, that's right, count them.) Now look at the percentage of Christian literature that deals with dating. (Hmm, interesting, right?) Now look at how many verses deal with, well, I don't know, say-- gluttony. What percentage of Christian literature looks at that aspect of Christian life? (Yeah, interesting, right?)*
Why are we Christians, in a culture ridden with so many other issues of importance (abortion, gluttony, divisiveness, hatred, etc., etc.) concerned with dating? As far as I can tell, God doesn't really seem to care how you find your spouse, provided that you're both growing and godly.** Hmm...
Perhaps instead of fixating on how to get married, we should instead fixate on, oh gosh, I don't know: growing to be more like Christ, abolishing sinful habits, developing fruits of the Spirit, practicing transparent fellowship with other believers, bringing glory to God through the beauty of the Gospel instead of trying to hash-out minute details of: when you can see a person of the opposite sex (not at night, God forbid!), who else should be there, how long you have to "get to know someone as a friend" before you can ask her out on an "intentional meeting to define our relationship," etc.
I'm over it! It's ridiculous! For crying out loud-- Grow to become more like Christ! Stop trying to find that perfect, pin-point of contrived "holiness" which the latest dating book tells you will help you find your Prince Charming (or Lady Fair). Good grief!
Maybe I should write a book: "Date And Get Over It, You Christians." Actually, that's a good idea...
Here's my dating book:
Don't sin.
Get married.
The End.
Pithy. It'll be a best seller because it has the words "Date" and "Christians" in the title.
I'm done. My relationship-related blog rants are over. (For the time being.) I'm just so completely exhausted with the entire topic. It's starting to nauseate me from its sheer insipidity.
Tomorrow I'll discuss something less horrifying, like pandemics or athlete's feet...
*A cursory overview by this author found more than 15 Bible references to indulgence/gluttony and none regarding dating...
** In the Bible there are accounts of people who married reformed prostitutes, persons they had never seen before, people who cheated on them, etc.
God forbid I become that stunted, hip-replacement eighty year old...
This Sunday I was handed a very well-researched packet of information regarding dating. I'm not even going to go into the titles: "Counsel for the Concerned Single" (am I supposed to be concerned!?!), and "The Case for Early Marriage" (which I didn't finish because I'm pretty, gosh-darn sure it would have told me that I needed to be married four years ago), etc.
The people who wrote and compiled this information are wise, intelligent, loving individuals. I am so thankful for the interest they are taking in shaping this aspect of individuals' lives, but as I thumbed through yet another compilation of "dating advice" (to add to my already rich library of authors kissing all sorts of stuff goodbye), I became frustrated.
Why is this such a point of interest? Look at the Bible. How many verses deal with dating. (Yeah, that's right, count them.) Now look at the percentage of Christian literature that deals with dating. (Hmm, interesting, right?) Now look at how many verses deal with, well, I don't know, say-- gluttony. What percentage of Christian literature looks at that aspect of Christian life? (Yeah, interesting, right?)*
Why are we Christians, in a culture ridden with so many other issues of importance (abortion, gluttony, divisiveness, hatred, etc., etc.) concerned with dating? As far as I can tell, God doesn't really seem to care how you find your spouse, provided that you're both growing and godly.** Hmm...
Perhaps instead of fixating on how to get married, we should instead fixate on, oh gosh, I don't know: growing to be more like Christ, abolishing sinful habits, developing fruits of the Spirit, practicing transparent fellowship with other believers, bringing glory to God through the beauty of the Gospel instead of trying to hash-out minute details of: when you can see a person of the opposite sex (not at night, God forbid!), who else should be there, how long you have to "get to know someone as a friend" before you can ask her out on an "intentional meeting to define our relationship," etc.
I'm over it! It's ridiculous! For crying out loud-- Grow to become more like Christ! Stop trying to find that perfect, pin-point of contrived "holiness" which the latest dating book tells you will help you find your Prince Charming (or Lady Fair). Good grief!
Maybe I should write a book: "Date And Get Over It, You Christians." Actually, that's a good idea...
Here's my dating book:
Don't sin.
Get married.
The End.
Pithy. It'll be a best seller because it has the words "Date" and "Christians" in the title.
I'm done. My relationship-related blog rants are over. (For the time being.) I'm just so completely exhausted with the entire topic. It's starting to nauseate me from its sheer insipidity.
Tomorrow I'll discuss something less horrifying, like pandemics or athlete's feet...
*A cursory overview by this author found more than 15 Bible references to indulgence/gluttony and none regarding dating...
** In the Bible there are accounts of people who married reformed prostitutes, persons they had never seen before, people who cheated on them, etc.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Saturday, January 16, 2010
This is me incoherent and in love with nineteenth century vocabulary...
I'm just tired.
Tired of the same academic hoops I've been jumping through for the past six years. Tired of weekends that consist of studying and really, really long Sundays at church functions. Tired of everyone else leaving town, and me still being here. Tired of bills, dishes, but still feeling like I'm in seventh grade. Tired of well-meaning people telling me I need to get married, and then other well-meaning people telling me that I'll never get married. Tired of being sick half of the week.
Tired of having nothing legitimate at all to be tired of.
Tired of my own selfish griping in the midst of comforts, and family, and love.
Allow a moment to decry the deterioration of the English language: The word "tired" does absolutely nothing to help you grasp the emotion that I am (for whatever reason) attempting to convey. We have, in our cheap education, literacy-starved culture, completely killed vocabulary. As a result, I have to grapple with phrase after phrase, trying to convey with only the word "tired" what I'm really, truly feeling.
But there's a better word.
And I'm going to use it, despite the fact that the use of such words usually allow me to be labeled as a "nerd," "geek," "bookworm," loser," and/or "pandering over-achiever." I don't care. If the word was in more common circulation, it would have allowed for a simple, one-lined blog post such as:
I'm suffering from ennui*.
And I think the cure is to go shopping.
*en·nui (ŏn-wē', ŏn'wē)
–noun
a feeling of utter weariness and discontent resulting from satiety or lack of interest; boredom.
Tired of the same academic hoops I've been jumping through for the past six years. Tired of weekends that consist of studying and really, really long Sundays at church functions. Tired of everyone else leaving town, and me still being here. Tired of bills, dishes, but still feeling like I'm in seventh grade. Tired of well-meaning people telling me I need to get married, and then other well-meaning people telling me that I'll never get married. Tired of being sick half of the week.
Tired of having nothing legitimate at all to be tired of.
Tired of my own selfish griping in the midst of comforts, and family, and love.
Allow a moment to decry the deterioration of the English language: The word "tired" does absolutely nothing to help you grasp the emotion that I am (for whatever reason) attempting to convey. We have, in our cheap education, literacy-starved culture, completely killed vocabulary. As a result, I have to grapple with phrase after phrase, trying to convey with only the word "tired" what I'm really, truly feeling.
But there's a better word.
And I'm going to use it, despite the fact that the use of such words usually allow me to be labeled as a "nerd," "geek," "bookworm," loser," and/or "pandering over-achiever." I don't care. If the word was in more common circulation, it would have allowed for a simple, one-lined blog post such as:
I'm suffering from ennui*.
And I think the cure is to go shopping.
*en·nui (ŏn-wē', ŏn'wē)
–noun
a feeling of utter weariness and discontent resulting from satiety or lack of interest; boredom.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Necessary Grappling with Inadequacy... Goals for 2010
I've been rather hesitant to post my 2010 goals to this blog, and although I believe such an exercise would induce an abstract version of accountability which might be good for me, my pride keeps rearing up. Goals, perforce, display inadequacy to the world. I don't like that.
But one of my goals is an increase in Christ-likeness through cultivating humility (which is a very difficult attribute to cultivate if you've ever tried...). So here are some of my goals for 2010:
1. Read a total of 4, non-fiction, Christian life and growth books.
I hate reading non-fiction, and I'm appalled that this is the case. However, most authors bore me halfway through their books as they start to repeat themselves over and over. Suggestions for excellent books in this genre appreciated.
2. Try at least one extreme sport and run a race.
I loathe, yet admire athleticism. 2010 is my year to become slightly more "athletic."
3. Find a job. In a major metropolis. Preferably NYC.
I graduate in August. It's time for real life to begin, and if it must start, I'd prefer that it start somewhere where I can shop for Burberry and visit art galleries on the weekends.
4. Go to Europe!
I've dreamed about it for the past 6 years. I tried to go after my senior year of college, but obstacles arose, and I didn't go. But that's not going to happen in 2010! I want so very, very badly to back-pack across that history laden continent for several weeks. It sounds amazing.
Goal #4 is probably the goal that will encourage most of the other goals to keep going. So if random pictures of Ireland, France, or Germany appear on this blog, just know that it's a rough day, and I'm existing on the hope of travel alone.
But one of my goals is an increase in Christ-likeness through cultivating humility (which is a very difficult attribute to cultivate if you've ever tried...). So here are some of my goals for 2010:
1. Read a total of 4, non-fiction, Christian life and growth books.
I hate reading non-fiction, and I'm appalled that this is the case. However, most authors bore me halfway through their books as they start to repeat themselves over and over. Suggestions for excellent books in this genre appreciated.
2. Try at least one extreme sport and run a race.
I loathe, yet admire athleticism. 2010 is my year to become slightly more "athletic."
3. Find a job. In a major metropolis. Preferably NYC.
I graduate in August. It's time for real life to begin, and if it must start, I'd prefer that it start somewhere where I can shop for Burberry and visit art galleries on the weekends.
4. Go to Europe!
I've dreamed about it for the past 6 years. I tried to go after my senior year of college, but obstacles arose, and I didn't go. But that's not going to happen in 2010! I want so very, very badly to back-pack across that history laden continent for several weeks. It sounds amazing.
Goal #4 is probably the goal that will encourage most of the other goals to keep going. So if random pictures of Ireland, France, or Germany appear on this blog, just know that it's a rough day, and I'm existing on the hope of travel alone.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
It's Thursday morning! Time to determine what percentile your expressive and receptive language occupies...
This semester i have the delightful task of a clinic placement at a certain (unnamed) elementary school in the area.
(Mild rant inserted before actual inspiration for this post): I have no desire to ever work in the schools. I did it for a semester after my undergraduate work, and have spent many additional hours in elementary schools while in graduate school. I cringe every time I walk in and see the gross inefficiency of time management that must needs come from trying to constantly corral 30 children. My very schedule oriented, to-do list focused person cannot fathom how it could possibly be adequate to turn a herd of children loose on a library for 27 minutes and call it "literacy". Elementary education friends, feel free to correct me. I'm sure there is much I don't know. But my skin still crawls whenever I see what I perceive as a flagrant abuse of educational time. (Note the emphasis on "perceive")
No hate mail due to that above paragraph, please.
This morning I was testing a young lady regarding her vocabulary, receptive and expressive language. She was hilarious.
One of the tests consisted of a picture. I would provide a cue and then the child would complete the sentence or story. Most pictures only require one-word, or at most one sentence answers. My dear little testee was too involved in the story to provide the expected short answer. For example:
(picture of John breaking a lamp and then of John talking to his mother)
Me: John was playing and broke his mother's yellow lamp. What is John saying to his mother?
Girl: Mmmm! He shouldna done dat! He say, "I sorry mom. I sorry." And she say, "John, you be bad! You's broke my fadorite lamp. I gonna give you a whippin'." And den John get a whippin, and it not be good. He shouldna done dat...
And so it continued.
There was nothing in the answer key to appropriately score her answers.
I completed an hour of testing without laughing. I deserve an award...
(Mild rant inserted before actual inspiration for this post): I have no desire to ever work in the schools. I did it for a semester after my undergraduate work, and have spent many additional hours in elementary schools while in graduate school. I cringe every time I walk in and see the gross inefficiency of time management that must needs come from trying to constantly corral 30 children. My very schedule oriented, to-do list focused person cannot fathom how it could possibly be adequate to turn a herd of children loose on a library for 27 minutes and call it "literacy". Elementary education friends, feel free to correct me. I'm sure there is much I don't know. But my skin still crawls whenever I see what I perceive as a flagrant abuse of educational time. (Note the emphasis on "perceive")
No hate mail due to that above paragraph, please.
This morning I was testing a young lady regarding her vocabulary, receptive and expressive language. She was hilarious.
One of the tests consisted of a picture. I would provide a cue and then the child would complete the sentence or story. Most pictures only require one-word, or at most one sentence answers. My dear little testee was too involved in the story to provide the expected short answer. For example:
(picture of John breaking a lamp and then of John talking to his mother)
Me: John was playing and broke his mother's yellow lamp. What is John saying to his mother?
Girl: Mmmm! He shouldna done dat! He say, "I sorry mom. I sorry." And she say, "John, you be bad! You's broke my fadorite lamp. I gonna give you a whippin'." And den John get a whippin, and it not be good. He shouldna done dat...
And so it continued.
There was nothing in the answer key to appropriately score her answers.
I completed an hour of testing without laughing. I deserve an award...
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Over 1.5 million new titles are published every year...
Perhaps somewhere in that vast compilation, there might be room for a humble missive from yours truly...
Hope springs eternal.
Hope springs eternal.
Monday, January 11, 2010
Forgive this short post, but I just finished writing 33 pages of essays for comprehensive exams and my word quota for the day is completely depleted.
This depletion could be due to the fact that I procrastinated atrociously on these exams. The majority of these 33 pages were written within the past 72 hours. Oops...
Saturday, January 9, 2010
I'd Like a Magnifying Glass, Please
I have a new, and shockingly awful hobby, that I am determined to annhilate in this new year. I didn't list it among my New Year's resolutions because I didn't recognize its prevalence in my life until just several days ago. Since recognizing it, I've attempted to justify, ignore, and cater to it. Nothing will suffice. It needs to leave and I'm appalled that it's become so fixed in my thinking.
I always compare myself with others.
And not in the traditionally proud way of, "Well, you can tell my hair is better than hers" and "Aren't we glad that I don't struggle with that..." But in a more insidious, creeping way.
Instead, I look at everyone around me, and I see how amazing they are, how they are giants in areas where I am still a baby, how they are beautiful, talented, smart, gifted... and I'm not.
In my defense, I'm surrounded by some pretty incredible family members, friends, fellow students, etc., etc. They have amazing abilities, some that I have absolutely no hope of ever accomplishing.
But what I'm doing is still a variation on the more commonly known attribute of "pride."
No, I don't have low self-esteem, no I don't need affirmation. The fact isn't that I don't consider myself enough, it's rather that, just like the traditional proud man, I do look at myself too much, I just choose to do so from a different angle. The majority of my focus is still me.
And that's pride-- thinking that I am entitled to think of myself to this degree.
I'm not entirely sure how I'm going to address this. I know that the focus needs to be removed from myself and others and transferred to a Higher Power. And that I'm going to need to learn how to stop my thoughts at, "Wow, she's amazing at ________________." Without continuing on to "and I'm not... **sigh**"
We'll see how this goes...
When they measure themselves by themselves and compare themselves with themselves, they are not wise. We, however, will not boast beyond proper limits, but will confine our boasting to the field God has assigned to us, a field that reaches even to you. (II Cor. 10:12,13)
Friday, January 8, 2010
All I can do is play with children...
Hello, dear reader,
There are times when I feel sorry for the readers of my blog. There's no valuable information, I rarely provide scintillating antidotes, and my posts are usually irregular and random compilations of my pet peeves, emotions-off-the-cuff, frustrations galore. My mother calls it "emotional journaling." Which is nice of her. The word "journaling" gives it some amount of redemption.
Today I made Julie-Bop some hot chocolate. I turned the whole activity into a therapeutic teaching moment. It was beautiful. Then my mom comes out of nowhere with a can of whipped cream, and my beautiful hot chocolate tutorial (emphasizing the words "in" and "stir") ceased to be a teaching moment as my little sister jumped around the kitchen screaming in glee.
Oh, and Julie has taken to calling us all by boy names. Today, as I handed her the hot chocolate, she said, "I'm Bob, and you're George, okay?"
Today my name is "George." Yesterday I was "Franklin."
However, that's not why I'm writing. (The brief paragraphs above were my attempt to deviate from my traditional "emotional journaling" as I provide something redemptive to the future generations.)
Last night, lounging on the couch after a not-so-strenuous day of trying to decide if I was avoiding, or working hard on my comprehensive exams, I picked up the magazine "Voice of the Martyrs."* For anyone not remotely aware of this organization, please visit the website posted below. VOM is an organization near and very dear to my heart. Last night, after a lazy day, grumping about how boring and awful my life is, I picked up this magazine. Bad idea. If there is anything, perfectly designed to make you feel small and petty about your daily complaints, it's the suffering of people in third-world countries around the globe.
An 86 year old Pakistani man, beaten, repeatedly, for 3 days. He refused to alter or renounce his faith. After being rescued, he clutched his Bible, tears of joy streaming down his face. He cannot read.
A mother, in Somalia, watching as her 11 and 12 year old sons were beheaded "for the sins of their father." Musa, the father, led a house church.
What about India? A land of progress... There is a growing conclave of women, raising children alone, because their husbands (pastors) were brutally murdered. Their homes burned. No where to go. And yet one such woman said, "I am giving pardon to them. One day let them come to Christ. That is my hope."
And I sit on my couch, whining because I have massive papers to write. It sounds more ridiculous now, doesn't it? Yeah, that's what I thought too...
Halfway through the magazine, I got up. I walked into the living room, and sat down at the piano. In the dim light I played, "Oh the deep, deep love of Jesus." There are moments when I just don't understand. I don't know why the world is the way it is. I don't know why God hasn't descended in righteous anger. I remembered the words in Revelations: "I saw under the altar the souls of those who had been slain because of the word of God and the testimony they had maintained. They called out in a loud voice, "How long, Sovereign Lord, holy and true, until you judge the inhabitants of the earth and avenge our blood?" Then each of them was given a white robe, and they were told to wait a little longer, until the number of their fellow servants and brothers who were to be killed as they had been was completed." And I just don't understand.
But it makes my griping about papers, my desire for an amazing job, nice car, cute shoes, etc., etc. look less desirable, more paltry.
I am surrounded by people with amazing gifts. Amazing talents. People who can do great things to alter the current way of the world. And I have a degree in speech pathology... (Forgive the over-simplification of our job, fellow SLPs) but how many starving children are actually concerned that they can't say "r"?
I can't take amazing pictures, raise money, or use valuable political connections to alter the status of entire nations. But I do love children.
So I will finish these exams. I will get my degree-- while I dream of finding a way to spend at least six months of my life with tiny children in Africa.
Because even if it's not big and important-- this is what matters.
*http://www.persecution.com/
There are times when I feel sorry for the readers of my blog. There's no valuable information, I rarely provide scintillating antidotes, and my posts are usually irregular and random compilations of my pet peeves, emotions-off-the-cuff, frustrations galore. My mother calls it "emotional journaling." Which is nice of her. The word "journaling" gives it some amount of redemption.
Today I made Julie-Bop some hot chocolate. I turned the whole activity into a therapeutic teaching moment. It was beautiful. Then my mom comes out of nowhere with a can of whipped cream, and my beautiful hot chocolate tutorial (emphasizing the words "in" and "stir") ceased to be a teaching moment as my little sister jumped around the kitchen screaming in glee.
Oh, and Julie has taken to calling us all by boy names. Today, as I handed her the hot chocolate, she said, "I'm Bob, and you're George, okay?"
Today my name is "George." Yesterday I was "Franklin."
However, that's not why I'm writing. (The brief paragraphs above were my attempt to deviate from my traditional "emotional journaling" as I provide something redemptive to the future generations.)
Last night, lounging on the couch after a not-so-strenuous day of trying to decide if I was avoiding, or working hard on my comprehensive exams, I picked up the magazine "Voice of the Martyrs."* For anyone not remotely aware of this organization, please visit the website posted below. VOM is an organization near and very dear to my heart. Last night, after a lazy day, grumping about how boring and awful my life is, I picked up this magazine. Bad idea. If there is anything, perfectly designed to make you feel small and petty about your daily complaints, it's the suffering of people in third-world countries around the globe.
An 86 year old Pakistani man, beaten, repeatedly, for 3 days. He refused to alter or renounce his faith. After being rescued, he clutched his Bible, tears of joy streaming down his face. He cannot read.
A mother, in Somalia, watching as her 11 and 12 year old sons were beheaded "for the sins of their father." Musa, the father, led a house church.
What about India? A land of progress... There is a growing conclave of women, raising children alone, because their husbands (pastors) were brutally murdered. Their homes burned. No where to go. And yet one such woman said, "I am giving pardon to them. One day let them come to Christ. That is my hope."
And I sit on my couch, whining because I have massive papers to write. It sounds more ridiculous now, doesn't it? Yeah, that's what I thought too...
Halfway through the magazine, I got up. I walked into the living room, and sat down at the piano. In the dim light I played, "Oh the deep, deep love of Jesus." There are moments when I just don't understand. I don't know why the world is the way it is. I don't know why God hasn't descended in righteous anger. I remembered the words in Revelations: "I saw under the altar the souls of those who had been slain because of the word of God and the testimony they had maintained. They called out in a loud voice, "How long, Sovereign Lord, holy and true, until you judge the inhabitants of the earth and avenge our blood?" Then each of them was given a white robe, and they were told to wait a little longer, until the number of their fellow servants and brothers who were to be killed as they had been was completed." And I just don't understand.
But it makes my griping about papers, my desire for an amazing job, nice car, cute shoes, etc., etc. look less desirable, more paltry.
I am surrounded by people with amazing gifts. Amazing talents. People who can do great things to alter the current way of the world. And I have a degree in speech pathology... (Forgive the over-simplification of our job, fellow SLPs) but how many starving children are actually concerned that they can't say "r"?
I can't take amazing pictures, raise money, or use valuable political connections to alter the status of entire nations. But I do love children.
So I will finish these exams. I will get my degree-- while I dream of finding a way to spend at least six months of my life with tiny children in Africa.
Because even if it's not big and important-- this is what matters.
*http://www.persecution.com/
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Not-so-fearless Snow Adventure
Erika and I were going to have a study date-day. I had a whole itinerary mapped out (does that surprise anyone?). We were going to camp out the meter-allotted time at Einstein's, imbibing amounts of free-refill coffee that will never be known to the non-coffee-drinking world. Following our designated parking time, we would trek across the street, beg the library parking guard to not tow us at the end of two hours (who spends just two hours in a library?), and hunker down to some serious studying.
Except I got stuck in the driveway.
Mock me if you will, fearless Michigan/Canada/Wisconsin/God-forsaken-northern-corner-of-the-world driver, but getting out of one's drive way is sometimes the most fearful leg of an across-town trip.
Especially when you're not paying attention and you just back right off the driveway without realizing it...
Just think of the copious amounts of coffee money we are saving.
Except I got stuck in the driveway.
Mock me if you will, fearless Michigan/Canada/Wisconsin/God-forsaken-northern-corner-of-the-world driver, but getting out of one's drive way is sometimes the most fearful leg of an across-town trip.
Especially when you're not paying attention and you just back right off the driveway without realizing it...
Just think of the copious amounts of coffee money we are saving.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
When I Woke Up as Me
I realized the other day, mid "I-wonder-what-I'll-be-when-I-grow-up" thought, that I was, in fact, grown up.
I am me.
I am the grad student, with chronic health problems, and a tendency to drink too much coffee. I'm the girl who loves voraciously reading historical biographies, early classical literature, and Pulitzer Prize winners. I don't like doing dishes. I love ironing my sheets. I continue to try to develop an affinity for non-fiction, exercise, and steamed broccoli. I read every plaque in a museum, and I get goose-bumpy "walking in the foot-steps of ________." (You fill in the blank) at different historical locations. I have read every Jane Austen book several times. I have the Chronicles of Narnia memorized. I don't like Keira Knightley, Keanu Reeves, and Natalie Portman- I don't think any of them can act. I practice arguing in the car because I've never quite been able to carry it off effectively. I think I can dance (but I really can't).
I love chocolate indiscriminately. I prefer Beethoven to Mozart, but I love yowling to soundtracks best of all. Part of me is a snob, but the other part of me loves fun too much to maintain any snobbishness. I would rather swear than use crude humor. I love college football, and watch Purdue for college basketball-- occasionally. I would trade lives with a short list of people (even though I have it incredibly good). My dream car is a BMW Z3. (No, I do not want a Z4, I like the Z3 best.) I've dated three guys, for a total of 5 dating relationships. I thought I would date only one once when I was 18. Part of me wants to be artsy, and the other part gets really bored with anything remotely tedious and time-consuming. I don't have hobbies (aside from reading and writing). I love espresso. I get up early in the morning to study-- I don't stay up late.
I admire people who start their own businesses and have phenomenal work ethics. I love my family, Indiana, my church, and Purdue. But I need to leave someday or else I will stunt my own growth. Some days I'll spend an hour getting ready. The next day, I'll just wash my face and leave. I am not consistent. At anything. Ever. I worship school, success, and a brilliant career. Half of me loves that, half of me hates that. I have no rhythm. I rarely drink hot chocolate. I look at architectural magazines for fun. I love InStyle. I rarely feel like I've worked at maximal capacity. I want to write a book. And be on a talk show. Maybe even have my own.
But this is who I am now.
When did this happen?
And why does 24 (which sounded so old, 4 years ago), sound so very young right now...
I am me.
I am the grad student, with chronic health problems, and a tendency to drink too much coffee. I'm the girl who loves voraciously reading historical biographies, early classical literature, and Pulitzer Prize winners. I don't like doing dishes. I love ironing my sheets. I continue to try to develop an affinity for non-fiction, exercise, and steamed broccoli. I read every plaque in a museum, and I get goose-bumpy "walking in the foot-steps of ________." (You fill in the blank) at different historical locations. I have read every Jane Austen book several times. I have the Chronicles of Narnia memorized. I don't like Keira Knightley, Keanu Reeves, and Natalie Portman- I don't think any of them can act. I practice arguing in the car because I've never quite been able to carry it off effectively. I think I can dance (but I really can't).
I love chocolate indiscriminately. I prefer Beethoven to Mozart, but I love yowling to soundtracks best of all. Part of me is a snob, but the other part of me loves fun too much to maintain any snobbishness. I would rather swear than use crude humor. I love college football, and watch Purdue for college basketball-- occasionally. I would trade lives with a short list of people (even though I have it incredibly good). My dream car is a BMW Z3. (No, I do not want a Z4, I like the Z3 best.) I've dated three guys, for a total of 5 dating relationships. I thought I would date only one once when I was 18. Part of me wants to be artsy, and the other part gets really bored with anything remotely tedious and time-consuming. I don't have hobbies (aside from reading and writing). I love espresso. I get up early in the morning to study-- I don't stay up late.
I admire people who start their own businesses and have phenomenal work ethics. I love my family, Indiana, my church, and Purdue. But I need to leave someday or else I will stunt my own growth. Some days I'll spend an hour getting ready. The next day, I'll just wash my face and leave. I am not consistent. At anything. Ever. I worship school, success, and a brilliant career. Half of me loves that, half of me hates that. I have no rhythm. I rarely drink hot chocolate. I look at architectural magazines for fun. I love InStyle. I rarely feel like I've worked at maximal capacity. I want to write a book. And be on a talk show. Maybe even have my own.
But this is who I am now.
When did this happen?
And why does 24 (which sounded so old, 4 years ago), sound so very young right now...
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Vicarious Dancing... Oh, Fred and Ginger...
I am disgruntled. With myself.
For whatever reason, I feel restless in my current status, and my current out-look, and my current life. All of which is completely ridiculous, because my status is great (never felt better), and my life is phenomenal (check them off: great school, great family, good job, nice car, nice house, etc., etc.). But instead, I want to curl up in bed and ignore all of this great niceness, and watch Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, while eating ridiculous amounts of incredibly bad food.
And I want to do this for an entire day.
And not move.
That sounds nice.
Who wouldn't want to do that?
Monday, January 4, 2010
My bridal wound...
I've waited, hoping that my anger and furor would subside as the hours ticked by. But it hasn't. It still stings. And I have found that most things lose their sting when a violent bath of cold words is poured over them, so allow me to vent, dear reader.
I was in a wedding this weekend.
It was wonderful.
Beautiful.
Picturesque.
Delightful.
Except for one portion of the ceremony.
We were all standing there, listening to the traditional "charge to the couple." The Christmas lights shimmered appropriately. My bouquet smelled amazing, and my bridesmaid's dress fit. (Hallelujah.) I stood there, smiling with joy, until I heard the officiant:
"We are delighted these two are joined today. Because they are married they will now fully live their lives. Without marriage, their lives would be empty and unfulfilled."
I felt like I had been slapped. The sting of those words made my eyes well up with tears. Hopefully people watching thought, "How sweet, the bridesmaid is touched by the ceremony..."
But I was thinking, "My life isn't worth living? I haven't truly lived? My life is empty and unfulfilled? What about all those years of school so I can help others? What about the children who I've spent delightful afternoons with? What about those little old men at the Veterans Home who only smile when they came to speech therapy? That's my empty and unfulfilled life? You're telling me that I will never truly live? That my purpose to bring glory to God is empty unless there's a man by my side?" Then I got angry. "Would anyone notice if he showed up missing, because right now I could throttle him in a dark corner and not care about the ramifications."
But my anger was brief (it's exhausting to stay angry!), and now it just hurts occasionally, when it gets hit at just the right spot.
It upsets me that things like this can cause that reaction. I don't like that raw, sensitive area. I wish I could cover it up and never reveal the slightest hint of it. Better yet, I wish it would heal, go away, develop into a tiny scar to chuckle at with fellow war buddies someday.
And maybe it will. God is good. God is enough. Contrary to whatever any officiant may tell me, I can live out my purpose alone or paired. To God be the glory.
I wonder if that pastor had ever read I Corinthians 7...
I was in a wedding this weekend.
It was wonderful.
Beautiful.
Picturesque.
Delightful.
Except for one portion of the ceremony.
We were all standing there, listening to the traditional "charge to the couple." The Christmas lights shimmered appropriately. My bouquet smelled amazing, and my bridesmaid's dress fit. (Hallelujah.) I stood there, smiling with joy, until I heard the officiant:
"We are delighted these two are joined today. Because they are married they will now fully live their lives. Without marriage, their lives would be empty and unfulfilled."
I felt like I had been slapped. The sting of those words made my eyes well up with tears. Hopefully people watching thought, "How sweet, the bridesmaid is touched by the ceremony..."
But I was thinking, "My life isn't worth living? I haven't truly lived? My life is empty and unfulfilled? What about all those years of school so I can help others? What about the children who I've spent delightful afternoons with? What about those little old men at the Veterans Home who only smile when they came to speech therapy? That's my empty and unfulfilled life? You're telling me that I will never truly live? That my purpose to bring glory to God is empty unless there's a man by my side?" Then I got angry. "Would anyone notice if he showed up missing, because right now I could throttle him in a dark corner and not care about the ramifications."
But my anger was brief (it's exhausting to stay angry!), and now it just hurts occasionally, when it gets hit at just the right spot.
It upsets me that things like this can cause that reaction. I don't like that raw, sensitive area. I wish I could cover it up and never reveal the slightest hint of it. Better yet, I wish it would heal, go away, develop into a tiny scar to chuckle at with fellow war buddies someday.
And maybe it will. God is good. God is enough. Contrary to whatever any officiant may tell me, I can live out my purpose alone or paired. To God be the glory.
I wonder if that pastor had ever read I Corinthians 7...
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Snowflakes. Sunrise... Sanctity, Splendor
Barely, just barely the bravely yellow sun peaks through the trees lining the horizon. Dainty ice crystals, as yet unmarred by anything more pressing than 11 degree temperatures, try to sparkle as the shy light hits them. The sun turns the snow faintly pink.
It is a beautiful day.
A cup of coffee, close enough to my forearm is all I need in order to wax eloquent on this day of days.
Today my friend Jen is marrying her best friend, Jeremy, in a ceremony at the Conservatory in the Indianapolis Zoo. Last night, at the rehearsal, as the lights flickered on in the huge glass room, we all oohed and aah-ed the beauty and made appropriate comments as such to the bride and her mother. Dinner was served at Harry&Izzy's down town, and as people sliced through their filet mignot (or chicken, or salmon-- who goes to a steak place and orders fish?) comfortably full after lobster bisque in a golden, soothing atmosphere, they ooh-ed and aah-ed abouot the incredible food, the ambiance, etc. etc.
I love events like this. If you know me at all, you know that one of my biggest problems is struggling with the lack of such events. Not because I don't love the more casual family dinners that I usually gather around (although my parents make amazing displays of love multiple times in a year through classy dinners and down-town experiences), but because I genuinely revel in, and am most relaxed when other people would probably be least comfortable. I love ambiance, and balanced menu, people talking in appropriately social voices, without coarse jesting, inappropriate comments, and bad manners. I know, it sounds horribly snobby, and I don't want anyone to think that I am turning up my nose at many wonderful, casual evenings. This is just something I love. So I ooh-ed and aah-ed with the best of them.
But the moment in which I wanted to ooh and aah most profusely, and the moment for which I wished I had saved all my oohs and aahs, didn't come in the ambiance that I so admire, or the glitz or glam that I enjoy. It came during yet another car ride with my "roomie," our last one together as single buddies.
In this ride, somehow we happened upon the subject of marriage. (Maybe it had something to do with her getting married in the morning...) And as we talked, I became so delightedly happy and peaceful, for I saw (again) that here were two people who recognized the sanctity of marriage. The joy and giddiness, as with any engaged-almost-married couple, is still there, but underneath it is a foundation that promises a delightful, God-honoring future. They both recognize that the wedding, despite all the glitz, decoration, dress and tux, isn't really about them. It's about displaying the sanctity of a relationship that God created second only to our relationship with Him. And as my dear "Roomie" discussed this, mourning the loss of purity and honor in our world, and delighting in the opportunity presented to her and Jeremy, I delighted with them.
Blessings, "Roomie"!
May the beautiful sunrise, at the dawn of your wedding, be a promise of the beauty your marriage will portray to the world.
Friday, January 1, 2010
2010!!! (and 2009)
Happy New Year!
I'm currently sitting at one of my best friend's kitchen table typing away on her laptop. (My poor little laptop, "Bob" was unable to make the trip with me due to a shortage of luggage room.)
In exactly 15 minutes we will be leaving for her rehearsal dinner, and tomorrow I'll watch yet another friend embark on the adventurous voyage of matrimony. This past month has been a month of weddings, as has been my summer, so one can only conclude that 2009 (and early 2010) is a popular time to tie the knot.
Other happenings of 2009...
I developed even more of an affinity for cooking shows, Paula Dean is on every time I cook.
I landscaped my own flower beds for the first time in my life. Not ALL the flowers died.
Yet another 365 days of being a grad student has passed. Only 218 more to go!
My little sister, Julie-Bop discovered what princesses are, and loves to act out climactic scenes from "Enchanted."
My darling friend, Bunny said "I do" to Mr. Ginger-Bunny (yes, he hates that name), and I did not cry during the wedding.
I went to NYC. Twice.
Vacationed with the fam, partied with friends. Led accountability groups, got up at 3 a.m. to study, discovered that I love working with elderly persons, and that I loathe doing dishes. Developed the perfect manicure technique, learned how to read non-fiction books, and didn't learn how to love running.
Last night, I watched "Pride and Prejudice" curled up in the corner of the couch, and cheered the new year (gently, between Mr. Darcy's wooing) with two couples (one married, and one almost).
Tomorrow, I get to watch a wonderful wedding between two delightful, beautiful people.
I'll try not to weep copious amounts of tears into my bridesmaid's bouquet, but 2009 was lovely and 2010 is off to a great start!
Happy 2010!!!
I'm currently sitting at one of my best friend's kitchen table typing away on her laptop. (My poor little laptop, "Bob" was unable to make the trip with me due to a shortage of luggage room.)
In exactly 15 minutes we will be leaving for her rehearsal dinner, and tomorrow I'll watch yet another friend embark on the adventurous voyage of matrimony. This past month has been a month of weddings, as has been my summer, so one can only conclude that 2009 (and early 2010) is a popular time to tie the knot.
Other happenings of 2009...
I developed even more of an affinity for cooking shows, Paula Dean is on every time I cook.
I landscaped my own flower beds for the first time in my life. Not ALL the flowers died.
Yet another 365 days of being a grad student has passed. Only 218 more to go!
My little sister, Julie-Bop discovered what princesses are, and loves to act out climactic scenes from "Enchanted."
My darling friend, Bunny said "I do" to Mr. Ginger-Bunny (yes, he hates that name), and I did not cry during the wedding.
I went to NYC. Twice.
Vacationed with the fam, partied with friends. Led accountability groups, got up at 3 a.m. to study, discovered that I love working with elderly persons, and that I loathe doing dishes. Developed the perfect manicure technique, learned how to read non-fiction books, and didn't learn how to love running.
Last night, I watched "Pride and Prejudice" curled up in the corner of the couch, and cheered the new year (gently, between Mr. Darcy's wooing) with two couples (one married, and one almost).
Tomorrow, I get to watch a wonderful wedding between two delightful, beautiful people.
I'll try not to weep copious amounts of tears into my bridesmaid's bouquet, but 2009 was lovely and 2010 is off to a great start!
Happy 2010!!!
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