C. E. Blake

Sunshine, green tea, and a lack of responsibility

2010-09-03T13:32:00.005-04:00

The sunlight is streaming in the coffee house window. A frosted glass of green tea gently mists and drips next to me. I snuggle back in a deep chair and organize my life.

Then this song comes on...

I'm milking these last days of freedom for all they're worth. On Tuesday my job will start, and this peaceful bliss will dissipate, only to return at rare intervals. But for now my nails are flawlessly manicured, my breathing is deep and healthy, and my stress level is at a restful zero. I'm trying to decide which yoga class I'll attend tomorrow.

My heart is happy.

And this green tea is yummy.

There is so little I'm qualified to write on... Shall we whip out singleness again?

2010-08-30T21:44:00.011-04:00

Hello, dear reader! Did you know that I'm single? Don't snigger behind your hand. I know that the "plight of singleness" is this blog's bread and butter, and although I try to stray to more edifying topics, the fact is: people (judging from the volume of comments) seem to like reading my "relationship posts" more than any other type of post.

I'm thinking of becoming the new Ann Landers.

Singleness has been the primary topic of the past three days. (Weddings, it turns out, will do that to you.) I and several of my grad school girl friends, drove to Indianapolis to ooh, ahh, and dance the night away at a dear friend's wedding. (And yes, my eyes held sparkly tears as I watched her walk towards her groom.) My new roomie moved in the night I got back, and (both of us being newly launched career girls) we discussed the pros and cons of our single condition. I'm also reading "This Momentary Marriage" with another friend, and we discussed it over curried chicken tonight at dinner. (My little house still smells of curry. Ick.)

All that to say, I think I've had the same conversation about six times in the past three days. I think if men knew how often we talked about them (both specifically and as a general whole), they would be... intimidated.

If, in Jane Austen's day, "it was a truth universally acknowledged that a single man, in possession of a large fortune must be in want of a wife," then today's universally acknowledged truth is that "a single girl, in possession of a fabulous career, must be in want of a husband."

The general consensus among my girlfriends? We all want to be married.

But after the first torrent of girlish frustration (smattered with jokes of looking for a man at a gun and knife show... which they whip out because they know the very thought gives me terrified goosebumps), something else (because my friends are delightful, vibrant ladies) always surfaces:

"Well, what am I going to do with the time I have now?"

Yes. We are single. But our very productive, thrifty souls shake their heads at a flagrant waste of these years. I am proud to know such friends. Ladies who ask, "What will I do with the freedom my singleness provides? Who can I serve? What should I be doing now, that in the future, a family will keep me from doing?"

We've discussed travels to orphans in Africa, philanthropic pursuits, hospitality, mentoring, and personal growth. I'm delighted to be surrounded by a myriad of women who desperately want to be wives and mothers, but who are aware of the delights, privileges, and unique responsibilities of singleness.

These are not days to be wasted, or time to be marked off as you scour the horizon for some distant (perhaps fictional) mate. These are delightful times filled with adventure and freedom that may never be found again.

Life does not start when you get married. Happiness is not automatic, troubles do not lessen, and character flaws do not evaporate. Marriage is not the magic pill to your dream life.

What are you doing now, with your singleness to guarantee that married or not, you are a better, more selfless individual when you stand before Christ? I ask myself this same question. Registering for a Kitchen Aide mixer will not make me complete. But pulling out my nifty hand-held mixer and whipping up a dinner for a new family or lonely college student- ah, that might actually produce eternal fruit.

As the adage goes: “Remember that a successful marriage depends on two things: (1) finding the right person and (2) being the right person."

You can't control one, but you can control the other.

Stop looking and start being.

Hermeneutics and Exegesis? I think so!

2010-08-26T08:27:00.003-04:00

Last night I had the wonderful privilege of attending a Biblical Counseling Training class at Faith Baptist Church. I've been re-shaping my five year goals (since the way my life turned out makes it impossible to fulfill some of my previous goals!), and one of these goals is to get my certification in Biblical counseling. Last night, perched awkwardly on one of the most uncomfortable folding chairs known to man, I was struck by two things.

The first was the total humility of the man who was teaching. Dr. Bob Smith has taught counseling classes for years. He's an M.D. with an impressive track record, and a slew of accomplishments to back him up. He's started several counseling majors at universities, he's written multiple books, he's taught in the field longer than most people in the class have been alive (this includes my parents). But he never rested on these laurels. He was gracious, he was confident, but he deferred to the younger, seminary-taught man in regards to several key points, and was very willing to acknowledge that he didn't know the answer to a question that was asked. After six years, surrounded by "competent academics" who are afraid to say, "I don't know," last night was a refreshing breath of humility. Humility not being a strong suit in yours' truly, I was reminded of its importance and my need of it.

And then I was humbled by the teaching. Last night the topic was entitled, "What Makes Biblical Counseling Biblical?" The first point is what struck me... "When it recognizes the Bible as Foundational." In this point, Dr. Smith went through a diagram in which he showed that with out the canon, hermeneutics, exegesis, Biblical/Systematic Theology, one could not claim that your Practical Theology was really from the Word of God. I'll be honest. When I saw the topic for the class, I rolled my eyes a little bit. "Biblical" counseling has been the topic of so many dinnertime talks at the Blake household, that I thought I could probably give Dr. Smith's lecture.

But as he continued to expound, I saw that unless I had the nuts and bolts of the Bible (grammar, vocabulary, history, doctrine, etc.) I could not claim an accurate view of the practical theology that I dole out. I'm very much a where-the-rubber-meets-the-road type of Christian. Philosophical debates and abstract concepts have never appealed to me, and I love the branch of practical theology much more than Biblical theology (i.e. propositional statements, abstract doctrine). I glean much of my Biblical knowledge from people who study the Bible (and I don't think this is bad), but I do little to augment that study with my own digging into the Word. I don't dig. I read. And I'm going to change that...

Suffice to say that with so much to think about after just the first night, I can hardly wait for next week!

"For whatever was written in earlier times was written for our instruction, so that through perseverance and the encouragement of the Scriptures we might have hope." (Romans 15:4)

If you think we killed chivalry, for crying out loud, give it mouth-to-mouth resuscitation!

2010-08-23T20:56:00.009-04:00

I have heard rumblings of discontent among males.

"If you want me to hold the door, don't give me a dirty look, like I don't think you can do it."

"She won't LET me pay for dinner. I was reaching for my wallet. I promise."

"She put her coat on before I could even find it to hold for her. It's not my fault."

Yes, gentlemen. I'll admit. We ladies can be a wee bit forceful at times. In fact, the rumor has been batted around that "chivalry is dead," and the rumble from the men I've talked to is that feminism* is what killed it.

Which is complete poppycock.

If all it took were some opinionated women to kill chivalry, then chivalry must have been a pretty weak specimen.

Yes, there will be ladies who sneer at your kindness and compassion. There will be those who look at your helping hand with disdain. And there will be those who will interpret every kind, thoughtful, chivalrous gesture as affront to their competence as a human being. And I know that can't be pleasant. But you must know that behind one of these commanding women, stand ten who love chivalry. We will light up when you open the car door, when you shovel our driveways, scrape our windshields, and walk us home in the dark. (And yes, with revolving doors, the man goes first.)

We're not namby-pamby, vanilla girls. In most cases we're competent, spicy ladies... who still love knights in shining armor.

All this to say:

Plan the date.
Pay for it.
Open the door.
Hold up the jacket.
Shake our fathers' hand firmly.
Chit-chat with our mamas.
Don't sit out front and honk when you're picking us up.

And please be patient with us if we seem initially unsure, or confused by your courtesies. They are often a rare commodity. But don't worry. Our surprise and confusion won't last for long... soon your chivalry will be the reason for a smile, and a sparkle of happiness.

If abrasive feminism "killed" chivalry, then let true masculinity give it a shock back to life.

*I am condoning "feminism" very narrowly in this post. I'm a "first wave" feminist. (i.e. I believe women should have the same rights as men when it comes to politics, landholding, and jobs.) There is, however, a branch of feminism whose flagrant delight in emasculating men is abhorrent. They are sexists. Period. But we'll save that rant for another post. I don't think this argument is dependent on the type of feminist any lady may happen to be, but I thought I should probably expound for clarity's sake.

**This post is not a reaction to a negative event, but rather a way (albeit a rather upside-down way) of appreciating the men in my life (aka, my father and brothers) who are remarkably skilled at recognizing the strengths of women, while simultaneously protecting them. Thank you, dear ones for your chivalry!)

Submission. Defined.

2010-08-17T11:52:00.010-04:00

Good 'morrow, gentle ladies! This post is specifically for you. Or perhaps I should say this post is for me, and hashing it out for all to read is incredibly helpful. I'm not a natural "thinker" or philosopher. I've never been labeled the "contemplative type." But by talking, by writing, by being forced to place my convictions into coherent sentences, I am able to approach something akin to intelligent thought. I hope.

For the past year I've been digging through the role of women. What does the Bible say, what does our society say, what do Christian thinkers, my mentors, and my friends say? For, whether we like to admit it or not, our definition of womanhood will define our choices and shape our lives. Recently I've started examining the men's role, because that (obviously) also has a strong bearing on how we, as ladies, act, but I'll venture into that realm after it's simmered (i.e. been studied) more.

Today I'm venturing into the realm of "submission." Don't curl up your modern noses at the term which oozes with connotations of inferiority. I know. I've been there, sometimes I still visit there. In our culture, "submission" denotes a hanging head, down-cast eyes, murmurings of assent. It summons up beliefs that one may not, or cannot use one's brain, have an opinion, or pursue one's talents passionately. Some may picture a 1950s family. I did.

To argue such a view of submission, one would have to transfer those same beliefs, not only to women, but also to men, for we are all told to submit to one another "out of reverence to Christ." (Ephesians 5:21) Submission clearly means something else, for the Christian walk is not filled with sniveling, brainless followers.

At least we hope not.

I would purport the following definition of submission:

Submission is a willing support of anothers godly interests and choices in the place of your own, with a conscious effort to enhance their service and abilities through the vibrant and passionate use of your gifts.

Let's unpack it, shall we?

"Willing support" indicates that you are not being coerced into submission. Your strength is supporting. And this is supporting without begrudging. It is "willing." I would argue that this often requires more strength than leading. A lack of willing support doesn't necessarily stem from strength, but rather from pride and selfishness. (James 4:1,7)

"Anothers godly interests" highlights the fact that submission to human authority should never be placed above obedience to God. (Deuteronomy 11:1) Should your authority's desires and choices be contrary to the scripture, or cause you to sin, you are not obligated to submit. But I used the words "interests and choices" because I believe the vast majority of strife in marriages is not caused by clear, black and white issue, but rather by an unwillingness to do something you just don't like. And while (in theory) it would be nice to have a husband whose one goal was to make you happy, there will be times when a choice is just a preference- no morality attached. And ladies, he's allowed to pick something that doesn't make you jump up and down with glee. Once again, it's at these moments when strength is not in the ability to battle, but rather in the ability to graciously not get what you want. This requires humility, another frequently abused character quality of our times. (Philippians 2:1-11) It's easy to say, but doing this "in place of your own" preferences and desires is incredibly difficult. Of this I am quite convinced.

My favorite aspect of this definition, however, is the final phrase which says you should do all this "with a conscious effort to enhance their service and abilities through the vibrant and passionate use of your gifts." This is an aspect of submission that I think is frequently overlooked, but it's what we were designed for. We are designed to help. (Genesis 2:18-24) We, as women, are beautifully gifted in a multitude of areas. I look at the women around me and am astounded at the love, insight, wisdom, kindness, generosity, and compassion which I see (in addition to skills in management, finances, design, art, and intellect). Look at each of those character qualities. How powerful they could be in the life of a man, should they be used to aid and abet his ministry. Submission is not a squashing of your talents, but rather the constant, selfless exercise of these gifts to enhance and strengthen your leader. How Christlike is this focus! And how perfect for the design of women... Think of the women who have shaped Biblical history: Sarah, Deborah, Elizabeth, Dorcas, Ruth, Esther, etc. What variety! Rich, poor, young, old, single, married, different eras, all with a variety of situations and problems, and yet, each defined Biblical womanhood with their separate strengths and abilities. What a wonderful challenge to seek to use our gifts and abilities to enhance and serve others! And let's face it, we, as women, do very well with challenges, so it's nothing to balk at.

So, bring on the challenge of submission! Invite this unconventional use of your gifts, and revel in the delight of service.

That's submission. Defined.

*I recognize that this post leaves many questions unanswered, and perhaps many feathers ruffled: What about when you're single? What about women working? What happens when your submission is abused? etc., etc. Trust me. I understand the limitation of the post I just made. However, take it as it is: a definition, not an exposition. I will touch on additional aspect of femininity and masculinity in future posts. Rome was not built in a day, you know.

Dreams Come Alive

2010-08-16T18:39:00.000-04:00

I love this place. The brushing wind, the puddles of sunshine appearing through white puffy clouds, the white stone beaches with clear, cold waves breaking. Mackinac Island. Our family has been coming here for ten years. The old, dilapidated house where our adventures began is now a bustling, renovated success. But we discovered it, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I look upon the other guests as intruders. This is our summer home.

People always ask why we keep coming back.

When I'm away from the Island, I can never remember. But on the ferry ride, as we are tousled and tossed by the Michigan wind, the water gets bluer, the island gets bigger, and I remember. This is where my dreams live.

There is a place where all my dreams seem possible. When I can open up my notebook and believe that I can make a living writing. Where I can read good literature and believe that I'll someday write good literature. Where I can sip coffee, laugh with my family, peddle down hills, feel the sun on my face, the wind whip my hair, and believe that my life will come together. It will all work out. That it's a good thing to be alive. To live and dream.

So, I spent a good part of today curled up, writing, reading. I played lacrosse with my brothers, drank coffee with my mom, and dipped my toes in the pool with Julie. Martha and I talked about traveling the world. Dubai sounds interesting and Brussels a possibility. Erika and I debate vocabulary, and my father alternately laughs and encourages my inept bike peddling up the Grand Hotel hill.

The horizon is hopeful. My mind is teaming with new dreams and the rebirth of old aspirations.

I love The Island...

Lost in the Cornfields... Lonely for the City

2010-08-14T10:57:00.003-04:00

I graduated.

I'm done.

And I don't have a job.

Granted, my job search suffered as my externship wrapped up. Working 10-12 hour days isn't exactly conducive to interviewing, but it still wasn't fun to tell everyone, "Nope! No idea what I'm doing!" when my compatriots had their lives perfectly mapped out.

This week I've interviewed for multiple jobs and applied for even more.

I'm not excited.

I was determine to leave this little town, the surrounding cornfields, and the complete lack of whole foods grocery stores. I am not a country girl. I'm scared of chickens, I love to wear heals, and I've always had a fascination with designer couture. I've applied for probably seventy-five jobs out of state in prominent cities. Haven't heard from a one of them. I applied for four jobs in state. Every single one has called me back, conducted interviews, and begun preliminary salary negotiations. Apparently I'm staying in the cornfields.

I don't want to do this. I never wanted to do this. My siblings are flying to the four corners of the globe, and I'm staying here. I've had nightmares of vacationing at age 32 with my mom, dad, and Julie-Bop. Just us. Everyone else out living their lives, and I'm just excited that Walmart is finally carrying organic milk.

What if I never click my heals along the New York sidewalk, apartment shop on the Magnificent Mile, or learn how to surf the sand-flecked waves of the Golden State? What if I stay in the cornfields forever?

A little, practical voice in the back of my head tells me that I can change jobs, I can move later, I can switch career paths. But right now the road stretches before me with no exciting bends.

One long, flat, Indiana road.

This gray-blue mood is probably the result of too many late nights, rejection letters, and the passing of my unconditional cheerleader (I love you, Grandma!). I understand that God will teach me many things. I love sunrises over those emerald fields. I delight in cuddles with Julie and coffee with my mom. I see the good things here... But right now I'm just a little lost, a little blue, and a little bruised and tender. My plan didn't pan out, and now I have to accept God's (much better) plan. That's a lot harder than it sounds...

Especially when I'm surrounded by cornfields.

Because of the memories... not "In Memory of"

2010-08-11T10:46:00.001-04:00

On August 9th, 2010, my darling grandma went home.

From the first day I can remember, through the last day I knew her, my grandmother struggled to breathe, struggled to move, struggled to live. But she never struggled in loving her big, loud, "Americana" family. Never in her struggled did she forget Christmas presents for all, cheese balls and home-made noodles at each family get-together. She never let the struggle eclipse her kind words and gentle presence. She was always unconditionally proud of her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.

My grandmother doesn't fit in the "famous" people of our time. She lived quietly, she raised her four boys alone, she worked, she loved, she died. But the consistent grace and love which accompanied each of these actions is more amazing because of the lack of accolades. Glorifying God and loving others are her legacy.

I love you, Grandma. I can't wait to see you again.

"Because I love you...

2010-07-08T12:19:00.002-04:00

As an almost (29 days!) speech pathologist, I work with a lot of children whose issues extend beyond their ability to say "s." I never knew I would work on social skills, inter-personal communication, and basic courtesy as a speech pathologist, but it's probably one of my favorite parts of the job.

I have a little client right now who never likes to lose a game. In fact, part of therapy has now become helping him cope with losing. (Which entails me winning, which is okay with me...)

My third week of doing therapy, we played a game in which you could earn power to ruin your teammate's chances of winning. You would slam this little rubber fly down, and they would lose all their points. Well, the little guy I was working with won the chance to slam down the rubber fly.

But he wouldn't pick it up.

He started shaking his head, "No... no... no..."

"It's okay. You can do it. Take away my points! You'll win!"

"No... no... no..."

"Come on! Pick up the fly! Don't you want to take away my points and win?"

"No... because I love you!"

My heart melted into a puddle. This little man, who loves to win, didn't want to take away my points because he loved me. Completely, totally, irrevocably made my day. I'm still smiling, many days later.

(I eventually convinced him that slapping the fly would be a good idea, and he giggled while we slapped the fly together.)

Song of the week!

2010-07-05T20:03:00.001-04:00

I have a sneaking suspicion that the main reason I love this song is because of the brass section and the cat walk on top of the freezers... it's like a dream grocery shopping trip!

Illusions and Pre-Mature Homesickness

2010-07-03T19:06:00.000-04:00

My dear reader. I speak now, on this day, to the gross injustice of illusions-- illusions which cling to our past, and mist over the future with perverse unattainability.

Don't shrug your disinterested shoulders in mocking dismissal. You know what I mean. Do you remember being five, when the Chucky Cheese commercial flipped on, and children ran screaming by with fist-fulls of tickets, beaming parents, high-fiving? That's an illusion. No parent is happy to be at Chucky Cheese.

In jr. high when everyone else was struggling under illusions (or delusions) of an eighth grade boy who would actually ask you to dance, I was reading eighteenth century literature and struggling with the illusion of bumble bee-free luncheons on a limestone terrace. Both are illusions. Bumble bees love cucumber sandwiches, and eighth grade boys are still oblivious to eighth grade girls.

The first day of school, canoeing, coffee house dates, camping, and shopping trips in NYC... most illusions in life are glorious shells of the real thing. (Okay, the shopping in NYC was pretty spiffy...)

Now I'm in the midst of brand-new illusion bashing.

The single city girl.

Pretty. Confident. Dressed to the nines. She floats cooly along. Well-informed, engaged in her culture. Aloof from the hum-drum, ant-like existence of the working class. She somehow achieves her dreams without breaking an uncomfortable sweat. She's not scared. She's not brash. She gets things done. She loves life. She parties, she shops, she flies home on vacations to kiss babies and exclaim over new home improvements. She has a chic studio, and a roof top that's perfect for parties.

She's an illusion. Probably my next illusion to be shattered...

I'm about to be this girl.

And I'm not confident. I'm not dressed to the nines. I'm incapable of calmly and cooly floating through anything. I'm very ant-like, I will probably toil in a hum-drum way for the rest of my life. I'm terrified of making ends meet. I'm confident I will be anything but successful. I'm terribly scared. I don't have a wonderful job which will let me have a studio, parties, and a shopping habit. I don't have a job. Period. I love my family. I like mid-western happy provincialism, and moderate, shoulder-shrugging politics. I haven't even left yet, and I want to run home.

Life, devoid of the illusion, is scary...

Today's Song

2010-06-30T20:46:00.003-04:00

When I heard this on the radio, I didn't even know that the artist (Ryan Star) was using the song as a platform for the current economic climate (and the subsequent challenge in job hunting), but I fell in love with it any way. The one line I copied down was "She likes New York at night."

And it's true.

I do.

Scared of being Transplanted...

2010-06-29T19:23:00.000-04:00

Over the past few months, I have made feeble stabs at job-hunting. I say "feeble" because of the small number of applications and my lackadaisical follow-up attempts. I've never seen anything that made me jump up and down, squealing, "Oooh! I want to be a speech pathologist THERE!" Of course, this could be due to a long-sneaking suspicion that I don't really want to be a speech pathologist, and as a result, my laziness kicks in, and I'd rather go to barbecues than Monster.com...

But I don't think that's the biggest issue.

The real problem is that I am FLIPPING OUT. I am terrified. I don't want to move. I don't want to sell my house. I don't want to explore a new city. I've always said that I wanted to do those things, and part of me still wants to, but not like this.

I never really dreamed that this day would happen alone. I knew it was a possibility, but in the thousands of happy scenarios I played out in my mind, I was rarely, if ever, going it alone. Family is my anchor and my safe spot, and I always assumed that if I couldn't take my family with me, I'd take someone who was my "new family." I wasn't going to do this alone.

But now I am.

And I know it will be wonderful (because my God is good), and I know I will learn, and stretch, and grow (because that's my God's all-encompassing plan), but right now I'd rather just sit in the sun, pool-side, and ignore the looming discomfort transplanting always brings.

So, I would covet your prayers as I wend my way through these last 30+ days of my graduate program. I'm bored. I'm terrified. But I'm almost done. And I'm not particularly excited about finding a job.

Quote of the Week:

2010-06-27T16:37:00.001-04:00

"You are a dating retard."

(my exceptionally loving, usually tactfully understanding dad)

Why I Want All Boys

2010-06-21T21:16:00.005-04:00

Vacation Bible School is my favorite. Although I dislike Indiana's nasty humidity, and am not convinced that craft time is entertaining, I love children. This year I am a Kindergarten leader of the "lime green" group. We promise to be a very entertaining bunch, and I believe this is due to the fact that we are predominantly male. Tonight served to solidify my desire for all boys (should I ever be a "mommy").

At snack time one of these little boys (a future all-American linebacker, I'm guessing), wiggles around, looks up at me, and says,

"Miss Courtney! You're my girlfriend."

I eyed him skeptically. "No, Bryce, I'm not. You have to ask me, and I have to say, 'yes.'"

His brow furrowed at this unexpected complication. "Hmm... well, then. I guess I'll just have to marry you."

I shook my head soberly, "Well... I'm sorry Bryce. You're not done with school. When you're done with college, call me up."

"Yeah!" piped Bryce's neighbor, "My mom said that you shouldn't get married until you're done with college. That's when she got married. Before that, it's not a good idea. That's what my mom says."

Bryce nodded thoughtfully, "Yes, that's a good idea, but you see, I'm not going to college. I'm going to Batman school."

Both I and his neighbor produced exclamations of surprise and interest.

"Well, not really Batman school... Actually, I'm going to learn how to be a Goblin and chop people up with a helicopter." Concerned, I asked,

"Oh my! Bryce... does this mean you're going to be a bad man?"

"Oh yes. Yes, Miss Courtney. I will be a very bad man."

I shook my head sorrowfully, "Then I'm afraid I can't marry you, Bryce. I can't marry a bad man."

Bryce exhaled in frustration. He furrowed his brow, looked me up and down, and said, "Oh, fine. I'll be a good man for you, Miss Courtney."

"Thank you, Bryce."

"And now you will kiss me."

"Call me when you're 23, Bryce. Please finish your nachos."

My week at a glance

2010-06-18T07:30:00.004-04:00

This had been my prior exposure to tracheostomies.

This is more like reality, well kind of. I actually couldn't find a good one of "reality"... This one needs "copious, creamy, pale yellow secretions" bubbling at the entrance, with the whole tube being buried in neck fat and flab as the patient gasps for breath, looking confused and fragile. I actually wish I could see a trach like this one below. My poor patients...

Introduction to acute long-term care... and secretions.

2010-06-16T07:26:00.002-04:00

When I started this major, I had no idea what I was getting myself into. Last semester of my senior year of high school someone told me that I would be a good speech pathologist. I had no idea what a speech pathologist was. Minimal research showed me that they worked with special needs children and had great job placement. Practicality won out and I abandoned my dream of English education and politics to pursue a degree in a field that would justify my mutual fund being washed down the tube of education.

In my first college course I was told I needed a master’s degree. I was shocked. But I could handle it.

Next I learned that we worked with people who couldn’t swallow. “Dysphagia” requires an up-close and personal look at saliva (an irrational phobia of mine). I was disturbed, but I could handle it.

Neuroanatomy was an area I had never even dabbled in. But my major requires a cursory knowledge, and I picked up a minor in psychology through a variety of neural courses. I was surprised, but I could handle it.

Grad school application, anatomy/physiology, stressful labs, sheep brains, biology petrie dishes, the GRE, babies, geriatrics, cleft palates, acoustic analysis, and piles of paperwork. I was continually surprised. But I could handle it. In fact, I grew to enjoy the sciences, the neuroanatomy, the biology, reveling in the pursuit of “hard fact,” dicing up research articles, pointing out their inadequacies and constructing their practical purpose. I was, in short, a nerd. But I could handle it.

Nothing prepared me for today.

My supervisor, who is conducting me soothingly through the world of special needs toddlers and adorable babies, is on vacation. I don’t get a vacation. (Of course not. I’m the unpaid student. Why would I need a break?) So I have acquired a new supervisor for this week. This supervisor works on floors in long-term acute care. The patients on these floors are on trachs or vents, severely disabled, and definitely NOT pediatric.

I have never had to control my facial muscles to such a degree for so long. Do you know how many secretions can ooze from the human body? I thought I did. I didn’t! Things wheezed, goop bubbled, and I had to chart these things with words like “thick, yellow, viscous, and copious.” As I watched my supervisor work, all I could think was that I needed to shower, and could never work in this place.

Then came a tiny, frail little lady. Her pain had been uncontrolled and dose after dose of medications were not helping. I went to the bathroom, dampened a washcloth, and sat down beside her. As I gently wiped her face, her tired eyes, her wrinkled forehead, she sighed contentedly. Some of her tension dissolved. The woman was so incapacitated by the medications, that no therapy was even practical. But after those few minutes, I didn't have to control my gag quite so much.

Because hurting people are hurting people, no matter what kind of gunk they may be oozing.

To Classic or Not Too Classic

2010-06-14T19:29:00.003-04:00

Outside, the rain is barely loud enough to patter over the whirl of the washing machine. Having no money,working with spitting babies, and owning only two pairs of scrubs, results in frequent laundry whirling this summer. The humidity is smudging up against my window, a fan flips quietly above me, and at my left elbow is a pile of untouched fiction. Tonight was library night.

I'm not pleased to report that I'm a library snob. I have this sneaking suspicion that every librarian thinks exactly as I would, if I were a librarian:

"Really? Six romance novels? Someone hasn't had a date in months... Is his life really so starved for excitement that he only reads mysteries?... This person has checked out nothing but paperback, 100-pagers. Guess who doesn't have reading level above the fourth grade."

Yes, I know. I'm a horrible person. And there have been times when I've snuck a skimpy, 4th-grade level novel in between my Dickens and Chaucer, however, for the majority of my life, I've reveled in the "classics." I love their sentence structure, the vivid vocabulary and tangential descriptions which loop back around to relevance (Dickens doesn't always do this, consequently I do not always approve of Dickens). A little bit of my world shattered when I found that Sir Walter Scott described all his heroines the same way ("eyes like diamonds, teeth like pearls"), but for the most part, my allegiance has held steady to the ancients. In high school I had a tutor for English (something about two engineering parents being at a complete loss of what to do with me). She made me read some modern classics (i.e. "To Kill a Mockingbird," "Cry The Beloved Country," etc.), but every now and then she would put down a paper, look at me sternly and say, "Courtney. Did you read Jane Austen this weekend?" Apparently, when you read only eighteenth century literature, you begin to write like eighteenth century literature.

So reader, I have a confession. Lying here, in a tempting pile, are an assortment of books which probably can't even claim the term "emerging classics." The theme of this library trip was "books-which-aren't-happy-with-where-Jane-Austen-ended." I've turned up my literary nose at such items in the past, but always with a sneaking interest. I have now caved to this interest. What person, after falling completely in love with characters, doesn't grieve a little when the author writes "The End"? (The one exception to this would be the Elsie Dinsmore series which drags on for 60+ inane books, the only interesting characters being the "sinful" errant children. The readers of this series must cry "uncle!" long before the final book in order to preserve their sanity.)

I can hardly wait to curl up on my couch, licking a popsicle and reading without needing a thesaurus. I now bid you adieu, dear reader. I'm about to imbibe some fluffy, girly nonsense to the tune of rain drops and the washing machine.

2010-06-08T20:19:00.004-04:00

Dear (perhaps long-gone) readership,

I have neglected you shamefully over the past several months. My brand-new propensity to bottle up my thoughts, my stories, and my daily frustrations is a novel sensation for yours truly. Prior to this new habit, I had an age-old propensity of hurling massive portions of incoherent words at a blank screen, hoping that in the hodgepodge of attempted literature, a coherent thought might emerge.

In short, writing was my coping mechanism.

It's not any more.

I'm torn as to whether this is a good thing or a bad thing. It swivels towards "good" in that I no longer feel as though my emotions must first and foremost be expressed in writing, pushing many other literary attempts to the side as I batter my thoughts out. However, it's "bad" because I'm neglecting to write entirely, as life's noise no longer inspires word hemorrhage.

This past week I began my second clinical externship at an undisclosed-for-privacy-issues hospital. I am absolutely and completely in love with it. Which is good, because (as you know, dear reader) I haven't loved much in my major in the past two years. Blips of joy were occluded by nagging, criticisms, nit-picking, and a constant sensation of microscopic scrutiny when it came to all things clinical. Today, after two hours of therapy, my supervisor told me two things to do better. JUST TWO! Where there was previously an hour of correction and reproof-- JUST TWO! My last few weeks at my prior placement had a similar amount of correction (i.e. a miniscule amount).

I was SHOCKED.

And pleased.

Maybe I'm finally ready to be a speech-language pathologist?

I will work harder at my writing. Promise. I miss it dreadfully, and I would keep writing today, but... I've also shockingly abandoned vacuuming lately, and I can ignore the clutter no longer.

Peace

2010-05-13T10:45:00.010-04:00

I am a (fairly) bright, bubbly person. I lack the persistence and memory to brood. At our birthday dinners, Mom makes us each go around and say one thing that we appreciate about the birthday person. I remember one birthday in particular when everyone kept saying, "She's so cheerful!" "She's so sun-shiney!" "You're always so happy!" (I was slightly discouraged that that was the ONLY thing anyone seemed to appreciate, but that's a ridiculous response.)

In short, I'm happy. Almost always. I don't think it's a sign of merit, I just honestly don't have the energy or perspective to get angry or depressed.

Well, that was then.

This is now.

My first semester of graduate school I was a mess. Some blog postings reflect this. (For example: "I hate graduate school! I hate graduate school!") But even that was filtered. You couldn't see me lying on the floor, crying, screaming, hyperventilating in panicked frustration. I was MISERABLE. My circumstances, from that point on, never changed. But my attitude adjusted (thanks to some wise counsel and a loving God), and I was able to regain a certain level of sunny contentment.

Until recently.

My life is not what I planned. And snap baby-o, when I plan, I PLAN. I am about to graduate with a degree I never wanted (Masters of Science), a career I can't decide if I like, and a very vacant ring finger, that I was hoping a diamond would be inhabiting by now. I started college with a five year plan that had me married, in a career I loved, with a man I was willing to give it up for (when babies came).

There are no babies. Not even a pacifier on the horizon.

There is no man. Not even a chance of a man. No one. Nothing. Not even someone to develop an unhealthy crush on.

Instead, there's a six year education, a demanding profession (which I don't like 50% of the time), and a house all to myself.

Just me.

And I haven't been handling it very well. I don't like it when my plans don't pan out. I get upset. I never knew that before. Most of my plans have worked.

God has been gracious as I (for the first time in a while) have done battle with my thoughts, seeking to actively be aware that my God is both sovereign (He KNEW this would happen), and sufficient (I have Him. I don't need everything my plan promised.)

I can trust Him. He will work everything for His glory AND my good. There is never a separation of those two goals. His plans never "fall through."

And God has been good. I've fought more in the arena of my mind than ever before. I understand the term "spiritual warfare." And I now know that it can happen in quiet, unseen places. (Like my thought life.)

And God has given me victory. I believe truth. I'm not bubbly just yet, but I know God is good. And that is sufficient. I'm not giddy, but I know God is trustworthy. I'm not happy, but I'm at peace.

And hence I'm writing again! Perhaps some funny stories will over-flow to my readers soon!

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God. For just as the sufferings of Christ flow over into our lives, so also through Christ our comfort overflows. (II Corinthians 1:3-5)

Today's Song...

2010-05-10T20:16:00.001-04:00

ARRRRRRRRRRGH!!!!

2010-05-10T17:42:00.003-04:00

COULD I BE MORE IRRITATED!?!

If I even knew what to rant about, I would... super, super angry, frustrated, annoyed.

I could just swear.

And take up boxing.

And then I would become violently profane.

It's probably a good thing my vocabulary is limited and my physical aggression is confined to yoga and plyometrics.

ARRRRGH!

MY GOD'S ENOUGH!

2010-05-01T11:29:00.003-04:00

Surely God is good to Israel,
to those who are pure in heart.
But as for me, my feet had almost slipped;
I had nearly lost my foothold.
For I envied the arrogant
when I saw the prosperity of the wicked.
They have no struggles;
their bodies are healthy and strong.
They are free from the burdens common to man;
they are not plagued by human ills.
They scoff, and speak with malice;
in their arrogance they threaten oppression.
Surely in vain have I kept my heart pure;
in vain have I washed my hands in innocence.
When I tried to understand all this,
it was oppressive to me
till I entered the sanctuary of God;
When my heart was grieved
and my spirit embittered,
I was senseless and ignorant;
I was a brute beast before you.
Yet I am always with you;
you hold me by my right hand.
You guide me with your counsel,
and afterward you will take me into glory.
Whom have I in heaven but you?
And earth has nothing I desire besides you.
My flesh and my heart may fail,
but God is the strength of my heart
and my portion forever.
But as for me, it is good to be near God.
I have made the Sovereign LORD my refuge;
I will tell of all your deeds.

(excerpts of Psalm 73)

Today life is much better. I'm sure that has nothing to do with attitude, the grace of God, and re-alignment of priortities.

2010-04-29T09:39:00.003-04:00

It was probably the crazy yodeling I did in the car on the way to work...

2010-04-28T12:46:00.002-04:00

I'm tired of it.

Tired of it all.

Arrgh!

I'm tired of always being wrong, always being corrected, being corrected when I'm NOT wrong, being told to write more, being told to write less, being told that I'm good at something, and then being smacked with "you're not REALLY good at it." Being told to be confident to call it, and then being told that I can't call THAT. Being told I have a good eye but my ear isn't so great, being told I have a great ear but my eye isn't so great.

SICK OF IT!

It's as though extern rotations are specifically designed to shake whatever confidence you might have, or might be developing, and move it around.

"You're good. You're not. Well, you're good at that, but not this. Nevermind, you're not good at that. Do it this way. No, do it that way. Didn't I TELL YOU to do it this way?"

ARRRRGH!

Part of it is just my pride rearing its ugly head in anger and wounded pain.

The other part, I am sure, even in my rage, is valid frustration. Don't expect me to know things you never taught. Don't expect me to do things that you never do. Don't expect me to know what that word means, how to measure that, or how to deal with them.

STOP.

I'm a STUDENT. First, I'm doing a GOOD job, I'm working my a** off (yes, mom, I said that), and I'm doing it CORRECTLY. I'm not killing anyone. I'm not even HARMING anyone or causing them pain.

Tomorrow, maybe even tonight, this rant will be funny, irrational, and incorrect. But for right now it's very, very real.

I am blessed. I love my placement. I love my experiences. I really, truly do. I'm just a little tired of being the "girl who doesn't know what she's doing" and the student who can be whipped around on a whim.

Just tired.
And a little frustrated.

And ready for the summer vacation I will never have.

2010-04-17T20:49:00.004-04:00

It's 8:51 on a Saturday night, and I'm home, freshly returned from yet another wedding. I think I average about 10 weddings a year (over the past 4 years), and I could probably marry someone, verbatim, from Pastor Aucoin's script. (But I'm very happy for the new Mr. & Mrs.! I love seeing new families start...)

I'm already in my p.j. pants, and I'm debating the value of a fruit smoothie over frozen pizza.

My life is very tame, very quiet, very void of excitement, and limited in personal interactions. I am so delighted with everything that God has been teaching me-- the quiet filing He's done on my imperfect character over these past few months. I see a (slightly) more gracious, peaceful, dependent person emerge from His tutelage.

But I'm lonely.

I can see everything God is doing. I turn to Him faster, I delight in His care, and right now I'm grieving over my discontent. How cruel, to say to a God who has lavished abundant love, grace, and joy on my life: "You're not enough." My heart rends at the lack of love I'm showing to my Father, and I pray, over, and over: "Please... I want you to be enough. Satisfy me with you. Be the only delight of my heart."

And yet my flesh fights back, and godly desires constantly war with deceitful selfishness. I know that my desire to be a wife and mother is a good thing. These are roles God designed specifically for women. He wants me to desire them. He created me to desire them.

But I am never to prize these roles more than bringing glory to my Savior. Should my lack of fulfillment in these areas of my life lead me to bitterness, anger, self-pity, and ungratefulness, then I know my desires are no longer God given: they are now mangled atrocities my sinful flesh has twisted and warped.

So, I'm lonely. And constantly battling my desires.

I want to be married. And I want God to be enough.

I don't want to be lonely. And I want to be okay with being alone.

I want to cultivate admiration and skills for the roles of wife and mother. And I want to be satisfied and joyful, should they never come about.

Such a delicate tight-rope!

I delight greatly in the LORD;
my soul rejoices in my God.
For he has clothed me with garments of salvation
and arrayed me in a robe of righteousness,
as a bridegroom adorns his head like a priest,
and as a bride adorns herself with her jewels.

For as the soil makes the sprout come up
and a garden causes seeds to grow,
so the Sovereign LORD will make righteousness and praise
spring up before all nations.

(Isaiah 69:10,11)

Quote of the Day:

2010-04-15T10:04:00.001-04:00

"You know what... I'm just going to have to start double-stacking my awards."

(My brother on his organizational "quandry." Life is just hard for some people.)

Wordless Learning... (or an empty brain)

2010-04-14T09:48:00.001-04:00

Hello, all... such a long sabbatical from my blog has not happened in many moons. In fact, initially 2010 was looking to be my most prolific year yet.

However, that is not to be. Over the past several months I have been sick almost constantly, and have been battling complete incompetence throughout my clinical externship. The combined effect of this duo has been a constant sense of inadequacy, stomach cramps, and anemia.

But God is gracious, is He not? And despite my barely cognizant existence, I have been learning, and growing, and delighting in Him more and more each day. In ways that I would never have been wise enough to discover without external prompting, my God has become a focal part of my life, the delight of my existence, in ways that I never imagined.

What a great God.

All that to say:

I've been learning massive quantities, and occasionally, through my brain would flash a thought: "I need to write about this!" But the anemia, and the pills drained all my big words and energy, and instead I'd just curl up on my couch, under 12 blankets, and doze.

As I'm emerging from my cocoon of maladies, I can hardly wait to recount the numerous hilarious, delightful, painfully-taught lessons that I've learned.

But my written ramblings will have to wait.

I haven't done laundry in a month, and the gush of energy, propelling my thoughts and words is as of yet, still hampered by horse pills and sleepiness.

But someday... someday soon... I'll be writing massive quantities yet again.

(Seriously, if you haven't seen the movie, "Becoming Jane" you need to. LOVE it.)

"That's just what every man wants... to start his dinner with half a grapefruit."

2010-03-29T17:46:00.001-04:00

The benefit of being ill and couch-ridden in your parents' cable-deprived house, is that you only have access to channels that you ordinarily would not deign to watch. While some may view this deprivation as a fate worse than ulcerative colitis, it is, in fact, a valuable opportunity to examine prior generations. I have learned many valuable lessons over the past three days, and I feel compelled to share them with you.

From "I Dream of Jeannie" I learned...

It is perfectly acceptable to paint your living room wall sherbet orange.

Even if you give him ulcers, he'll still want to keep you-- in a pink, bejewelled bottle, maybe, but he'll keep you nonetheless.

And the way to a man's heart is by serving him half a grapefruit for dinner.

From "Beverly Hillbillies" I learned...

If you're over the age of fourteen, you're "past your prime," and it's time to employ a little love-voodoo.

Rope belts are totally in vogue.

And from "Bewitched" I learned...

One should interview live-in maids, and ones named "Agatha" (or "Amelia" or something...) are the ones that are most likely to be trusted.

Also, your mother-in-law will always sabotage your hollandaise sauce. Even if you have magical powers.

What can I say? Maybe I should stay home more often...

Blessings of a day on the couch

2010-03-26T14:41:00.002-04:00

Today, curled up under multiple blankets...

Paula Dean(my Food Network icon) just made deviled eggs with goat cheese. It looked amazing, and I promptly boiled some eggs, despite my very obvious lack of goat cheese.

The sun was streaming through the windows, and the clean blue sky reflecting in my living room windows, and I curled up a little closer under my blankets and hummed a happy Easter song to myself.

My dad left me a funny message on my voicemail, and in the background I could hear Julie giggling.

Nothing can rival the comfiness of my brother's old, faded, soft sweatshirt.

As I curl up, napping amid comfy, down pillows, I reveled in my blessings.

Collecting blessings is my Easter hunt, and searching for tidbits of happiness is far more rewarding than any chocolate bunny and jelly beans.

Introvert at lunch time

2010-03-24T12:46:00.003-04:00

When everyone else crowds into the breakroom, ready to munch their hard boiled eggs and moist sandwiches, while discussing the drama of their morning...

I just want to go outside and soak up the sun. Alone. In the silence.

I feel constantly overwhelmed these days, and alone time... silence... peace... They serve to rejuvenate me in a way that hilarious patient stories fail to do.

Perhaps someday, when I'm less stressed and... new, I'll hard boil some eggs and chuckle over the little old lady who thought an allergy test was like surgery, but for right now:

Just give me the sun and a breeze... peace...

Good doesn't always equal "good"

2010-03-23T21:06:00.005-04:00

Today was the crappiest of all crappy days.

And I'm not even supposed to say the word "crappy." I view it as crass and jr. high-ish. Especially when it slips out in front of patients who are triple my age.

But it really was crappy. I cried almost the entire way home, which can't be good because:
a) bawling while driving 77 mph on the highway is hardly safe, and
b) It's a pretty long drive, and that much crying is sure to dehydrate my already feeble mucous membranes.

I just kept saying, over and over and over, "I will never stop doing good to them..." (Jeremiah 32:38-41 is this week's memory verse). But it took 55 miles of highway before I began to breathe normally again.

Today I...

recorded all of one patient's information into another patient's chart and had to spend half of my lunch break correcting my error.

I successfully gagged a patient while conducting an exam of their larynx. I went into this woman's mouth FIFTEEN TIMES and was unable to obtain a clear picture of her vocal cords. FIFTEEN TIMES. And it wasn't my first strobe. Oh, no. I had practiced. Rigorously. And I still failed.

I sat. On edge. Grinding my teeth through a two-hour patient session in which I couldn't help thinking, "Could these people get more abrasive, stupid, and illogical?" You have barely completed high school, and you're sitting in my office chair and telling me that doctors-- DOCTORS: aka "forever students"-- are stupid? Why are you incapable of giving me an accurate, organized medical history? Just answer my questions. Can you do that? Apparently not. And no, the drug DOESN'T just do what the ad on TV says it does. It helps with additional problems. You are not a freakin' pharmacist, stop medicating yourself. And for crying out loud, please stop railing everyone as a complete idiot when you can't even correctly pronounce your own diagnosis. And God help me, if you start developing some sort of superiority complex because, "No one can figure out what's wrong with me... Aren't I special?" I will hurt you.

My day in conclusion: blinded by a light, horizontal in a dentist's chair, I had to defend my "no dental insurance" policy to a man who clearly wanted to rip my gums to shreds at the happy tune of $1714.

I'm sick. Tired. Incompetent. Poor. The proud possessor of two "inoperable wisdom teeth." And I'm anemic. (Which is why I'm sipping orange juice. Supposedly it will speed the absorption of my multiple iron pills.)

This week I've been seeking to revel in God's grace. Sobbing my way down I-65, I repeated my "verse of the week" over and over...

"They will be my people, and I will be their God. I will give them singleness of heart and action, so that they will always fear me for their own good and the good of their children after them. I will make an everlasting covenant with them: I will never stop doing good to them, and I will inspire them to fear me, so that they will never turn away from me. I will rejoice in doing them good and will assuredly plant them in this land with all my heart and soul." (Jeremiah 32:38-41)

God's definition of "good" and my definition of "good" are radically different.

My definition of good is flawless performance, beautifully executed exams, healthy teeth, and orange juice for pleasure, rather than medical necessity.

But God's definition of good is so much deeper. Richer. More complex.

In Jeremiah 32, prior to my "special" verses, the outlook is anything but pleasant. The people are depraved. Sacrificing their sons and daughters in violent rituals. Saturated evil. God has sent plague, sword, and famine while handing them over to their enemies. "They turned their backs to me and not their faces." Despite the face that the Lord had "performed miraculous signs and wonders in Egypt and [had] continued them to this day," the children of Israel had "done nothing but evil in my sight from their youth." They are obliterated by their enemies. Handed over for 70 years of torturous exile.

And yet God said, "I will never stop doing good to them." During those 70 years, God's goodness did not stop. Esther saved her people. The Jews integrated into the society. Developed homes. Freedom to worship. Eventually (after the promised 70 years) they received royal blessing and funds to rebuild their kingdom. Nehemiah and Daniel are stunning examples of the fact that God's punishment served to turn the people back to Him. God's definition of "good" is not what will make us happy, but rather what will make us holy.

If my debilitating health, impossible patients, repeated failures, and cantankerous teeth cause me to become more like Christ, to cling closer to my God, to remain broken and dependent on Him, then God has "never stop doing good" to me!

"But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me." (II Cor. 12:9)

A guest blogspot for my little bro...

2010-03-20T20:54:00.003-04:00

**The following was written for my little bro's "Man Blog" per his request. The blog is witty observations and advice, and I was delighted to appear as a guest columnist. Check the blog out for yourself at: http://thingsifoundinjasonstathamsgarbage.blogspot.com/**

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

From The Enemy Camp
Words of pseudo-wisdom from a lady on the other side

Dear Sirs, Noble Gentlemen, and Knights in Shining Armor,

It is my pleasure to address you on this exceptional day. Disclaimer: although I am addressing you from the “enemy camp” and can, after many years of experience (i.e. late-night ice cream talks) provide an accurate view of the female mind, I cannot claim insight to every female mind. Such ability would require divine intervention.

So… the question hovering before all your eyes is: “Why?”

“Why on earth does she like that shlub?” “Why do they care about mascara?” “Why doesn’t she realize that I like her?” “Why is door-holding such a big deal?” “Why is chocolate like a drug?”

Yes. We women come with quite a few question marks—some perplexing, some obvious, some as of yet hidden and unknown to man. Let’s address the first one, shall we? What are we looking for when it comes to men? What do we want? To touch the tip of that iceberg today, I will address several misconceptions. Possible further conversations are at the mercy of these fine gentlemen.

Women want a man who is tall,
False. Tallness is completely arbitrary. If you are a midget—rally. Women don’t care if you’ve touched six feet, or gone toe-to-toe with Shaq. We care whether or not we can wear our favorite shoes when we are with you, and not look like the gorilla Homo-sapien of the duo.

dark,
False. Darkness is unnecessary. If you are a purebred albino, you still have a chance at truelove. (Maybe with a sunscreen rep, but still… you have a chance). The average woman cares more for your eye/hair combo than your swarthy appearance. Should you be freckle-y and redheaded, but have shockingly green eyes—bemoan not your freckles. They only serve to make us love your eyes more.

and handsome.
This one is true. Every woman wants a handsome man. But don’t bury your pug nose into your misshapen hands and moan. Women are not like men in their definition of “handsome.” You can be a complete dog (true!), but still have a drop-dead gorgeous woman claim you as a “hottie.”

Let me explain. The details of your appearance are not the determiners of our attraction. This explains the couples you see in every town, city, state, and nation. Next time you sip a cup o’ joe in your favorite java spot, take a look at the couples around you. How many are equal in attractiveness? How many adoring women are hanging on the arms of men, far inferior in appearance? Lots, right? How many Pierce Brosnan men are sweet-talking completely dog-faced women? Not so many.

It’s because the first thing we, as women, are attracted to is your general demeanor. Should you be intelligent—cite your most interesting facts. Witty—break out your banter. Quiet—listen intensely. Focus on her. Not yourself. Never forget that your service and thoughtfulness will serve you far better than six feet of solid manhood, dark swarthy skin, and ruggedly proportioned features. Remember her favorite latte (skim milk, no foam, extra hot, added shot, caramel macchiato) and you have an in. Listen to yet another “horrible hair cut” story, and you’re golden. Maximize your character’s best assets. And you will find a lady who finds you very handsome… despite your midget height and albino complexion.

Best of luck from the enemy camp,

Lady C.

Sometimes I feel as though my life has been paused.

2010-03-17T21:30:00.002-04:00

I'm going no where.

But it seems so fast.

Sorry for the lack of posting. As soon as I figure out my life, I'll be back in the swing of literary endeavors. Thanks for your patience!

2010-03-10T23:20:00.004-05:00

I just had an amazing evening, a fabulous talk with God, and then I make the mistake of opening my e-mail inbox.

Arrgh!

I am so frustrated that all my holiness flies right out the window when confronted with (what I perceive to be) rude, petty behavior.

Changing this simmering anger to a gracious, loving firmness is not something I want to tackle at 11:24 p.m.

Tonight, instead of pouring over voice notes, starching my beautiful GAP shirt, and obsessing about shoe choices for my first day of my internship:

2010-03-07T20:38:00.003-05:00

I drank chocolate soy milk and watched "The Little Mermaid."

Longer, more in-depth posts to follow my drug-induced haze. Tomorrow's going to be crazy!

No one had better tape-record my Tylenol P.M. ramblings...

2010-03-05T19:45:00.003-05:00

Last night I was convinced that I was getting married in a drainage ditch.

I got trapped in a MacDonald's play-scape. It was slowly filling up with water.

I wandered up and down Target aisles for hours.

I was turning into a giant tortoise.

I was in Hawaii. A tsunami came. But somehow lava saved me.

Fact and fiction meld into one cohesive mess when I'm drugged...

Where I'm Supposed To Be...

2010-03-04T11:01:00.003-05:00

I'm not supposed to be here.

I'm supposed to be cruising down 5th Avenue, avoiding the allure of Saks. I'm supposed to have basked in the musical, theatrical grandeur of "The Lion King" with my little brother beside me. I was supposed to be exploring Central Park, meeting all his amazing friends, and wearing my golden heels out, trekking from one end of Manhattan to the other.

Instead I'm here.

Curled up on a couch, sipping tea, sucking on sherbet, anything to soothe my persistently painful throat. I'm curled up under massive amounts of blankets, alternately shivering and then shaking them off. I can barely read. My grasp of words has flown. I'm sick. Very sick. More sick than I've been in years.

The only thing I can assume is that this is where I'm supposed to be.

And I have no idea why.

2010-02-27T01:22:00.004-05:00

Regardless of what anyone tells you, being "hit on" by a (very attractive) stranger, who runs after you, despite the bevy of protective girl friends around you, is amazing.

Even if he was smoking and I'll probably see him in ten years when his larynx is removed due to cancer and he needs speech therapy...

In Lieu of Originality... Here's Some Crazy

2010-02-25T22:33:00.002-05:00

Hello, readers! (Don't you hate it when I address you as that? I always hated it when writers did that... it bespoke unwarranted familiarity. Now I do it to you. Proof that our greatest pet peeves are often exhibited most prominently in our own persons.)

Relationships have been the discussion of several of my blogging peers. As you know, I'm no stranger to an occasional relationship rant, and I feel that I must fall into line behind several of my more intellectual colleagues and try flex my relationship writing skills once again.

The primary topic of recent posts has been desirable traits for a future mate. Insights and comprehensive lists have been proposed, and I have been impressed by their breadth and intelligence. I cannot hope to achieve the wit and knowledge that my peers display, but I have a few notes of my own to add:

Nine Things Necessary In a Spouse (of mine): (numbering does not denote importance, merely organization.)

1. He has to eat the crusts on his bread. Flagrant waste of such nutrients is not to be tolerated. Besides, it's yummy.

2. I would prefer a man who knows the difference between the oil and the windshield washer fluid openings under the hood of my car. Mixing up the two is not pretty.

3. If his eyebrows are large enough to have their own personalities, he must not be adverse to waxing, plucking, and/or restraining them in any way necessary.

4. No squashing of my competitive nature is to be tolerated. I become animated (some say, "violent") when playing Monopoly. If you don't like having board games tossed at your head, please look elsewhere.

5. Good penmanship is appreciated.

6. He should not be easily shocked at the multiple fluctuation in moods and opinions that occur, often over the space of a mere 24 hours. (i.e. Some days I will want 12 children, the next day I will be convinced that children are of the devil and any number of them is completely out of the question.)

7. Must be willing to give an intelligent opinion on scented candles. I find it virtually impossible to pick out a new candle on my own. And I can tell when you're patronizing me and not really paying attention. Unacceptable.

8. He will probably have no bathroom cabinet space. I experiment with too many hair products. I hope he is okay with this.

9. Must be okay with the fact that many things, like the length of this list, will be determined, not on the basis of thought, or even random chance, but rather on the basis of whether or not they are divisible by three. (i.e. the volume on my car radio, the length of time I microwave my tea, the number of miles I run on a treadmill, how many pancakes can go onto the griddle at the same time... etc., etc.)

There.

I feel as though I've tossed my teaspoon of thought into the great, big cauldron of simmering spouse advice. (Ah... gotta love a metaphor...)

Here's my point: I'm completely and insanely crazy. The nine above? They're only a snippet of my craziness. Only love that's aspiring to be like Christ's sacrificial love, will ever be able to hug me and say, "Honey, you're a nut case. And I love you."

I think when that much of your grocery bill is devoted to Greek yogurt...

2010-02-25T13:22:00.002-05:00

You might have a problem.

Singles "Non-Wedding" Registry

2010-02-23T22:37:00.004-05:00

I think people labor under the delusion that if you smile at them, make a wise decision, and actively pursue other areas of your life, then you must (of course) be doing "all right."

That's a crappy assumption.

Here's my deal, I'll shoot it to you straight.

I am a twenty-four year old, finishing a higher degree that 6 years ago I had no intention of ever earning. I'm looking for jobs I never wanted to hold, and I have a mortgage, a will, and a college-sized debt in my name. I have cultivated an aggressive, go-getter work ethic, because it's safe, and a sure-fire winner. I've learned about inter-office politics, and insurance billing codes. I own a power suit and have stilettos that could shatter any glass ceiling.

But that's not what I wanted.

I wanted a family, a husband, little squealing children. Mock the white picket fence all you want, it's my heaven. Ridicule SUVs, I've had mine picked out since age 21 (Cadillac Escalade, black. Thank you very much!). I was sitting in my first freshman class when I realized that I would rather be a soccer mom than a scientist, and I'd rather have finger paintings than research articles on my desk.

But I was also sitting in my first freshman class, when I realized that that might not happen. Part of my stomach curdled when I heard girls talking about men as though they were the ultimate ticket to happiness. I watched wonderful ladies marry sub-par men, simply so they could wave a diamond under the nose of their lab partner. And I decided that I would never be that. I would never be the girl who believed that her ultimate satisfaction lay in a man and a rock.

So I got my degree. And I really do love what I do, I love it passionately. I love it enough not to want to marry Joe Shmoe of the homeless shelter or Larry the Loser of Welfare. That being said, all I've still wanted to do was to get married, be a mom, and a wife, and pack excellent, balanced lunches for my husband and children (carrot stick, anyone?).

And I thought I was almost there.

I really, truly did.

I was dating an amazing guy. Truly amazing. He made me laugh, bought sweater vests on command, and could make grilled cheese and chocolate cake. I was finishing up classes, I was tying up lose ends, and I was debating registering for the red or black KitchenAid mixer. I had spent months studying the appropriate role of women, and countless hours realigning my views (cynical, stomach curdling me had taken over for a while and drowned out the picket fence), when it all fell through.

My plan. The future. It all went up in the air, and landed in one big fat mess.

Oh, it needed to happen. It wasn't a bad thing. In fact, it was a very good thing. I know it was a good thing because it happened, and nothing happens that isn't for my good and for God's glory. But all my dreams of my SUV, picket fence, and KitchenAid mixer disappeared.

Sitting on a couch, munching chocolate, and not watching a movie, several "career" friends and I were talking about our "freak-out year." The "freak-out year" would be the year in which, if not married, we just might have a royal break-down, and sprinkle salty tears over a yummy cake.

Their "freak-out year" is one year away from my current age. Snap.

My freak-out year is still hovering out, closer to thirty (it's moved steadily, with each year), but today, I found myself saying, "Well, you know, I could take that job, at least until I get married, you know, around 29... or 30...." And then I made myself stop.

I don't want to every cry over a yummy chocolate birthday cake, and I don't know that I will ever get married. So I'm going to stop. As of right now, I have no "freak-out" year. I've banned it. I refuse to think that "I'm not really living until I've gotten my mixer and SUV." Gosh, dang it, if it comes down to that, I'll buy them myself.

So yes, I smile. I made a wise decision. I changed my plans. And some nights that just sucks. So, no, tonight I'm not "doing all right." Everything isn't peachy. Every thing's a little crappy.

But tomorrow I'll break out my stilettos and eBay-hunt for a kitchen mixer, so I'm sure I'll be just fine...

This is my day: at 2:32 p.m.

2010-02-22T14:29:00.001-05:00

I just spent an hour and a half on the phone.

I made approximately 40 calls.

I talked to maybe 6 people. I left at least 10 messages.

It's official:

Job hunting is of the devil.

Some days are just harder... And I didn't expect that. Especially not now...

2010-02-21T18:50:00.001-05:00

Déjà Me

2010-02-20T11:17:00.000-05:00

Juggling... Exhausted

2010-02-17T07:08:00.002-05:00

Lately, I have felt an overwhelming sense of panic. It's not overwhelming because of its intensity, but rather because of its low-grade consistency.

I feel as though I'm juggling 107 different balls, different areas of my life, different to-do lists. Despite my efforts to tick things off, one by one, I never seem to get ahead. On top of it all, my nasty health problems have chosen (probably in part because of the stress) the flare up right now, causing my energy to tank and migraines to increase.

I'm in my final stages of grad classes, and although the work has settled into a type of normalcy, it hasn't settled into a normalcy that's easy or relaxing.

I'm working (or trying to, between crazy clinic hours) part time, and my boss and co-workers are amazing. However, I spend all my time at work cold calling people all over the United States shmoozing for information they don't want to give out. (And some people are grumpy. The further north you go, the worse it is. Customer service in Minnesota is atrocious compared to Florida's. I blame the lack of sun...) So it's not a restful job (but whose job is?).

I'm trying to sell my condo, and prepping for selling while working part time and going to school full time, is a major pain. I'll clean and purge as much as I can on the weekends, but two weeks have gone by and I still haven't scrubbed my carpets and re-arranged the linen closet, and I'm creeping dangerously close to my deadline (i.e. "Have condo listed on market by end of February.")

I'm looking for jobs in Manhattan, and let's just say, if people in Minnesota are grumpy, at least they have room to exhale and relieve their stress. Those New Yorkers are horrible at stress management. Consequently, cold calling them to set up interviews and observations is enough to make anyone go crazy.

Then there are sundry other little things: exercise more, eat right, direct children's play, teach choir, babysit, etc., etc. Things I LOVE, yet seem to increase my stress load.

All of this would be manageable were it not for one thing: my health.

I'm twenty-four years old, and I am tired, light-headed, anemic, and in pain on a consistent basis. I feel like I'm eighty (actually, I hope eighty feels better than this...). Last night, as I crawled into bed, exhausted at eight p.m. (after a 45 minute nap earlier in the day), I wanted to pound my pillow in frustration. I can go weeks, months without any fatigue, and then wham! It hits me like a freight train. Suddenly I'm barely able to move, I have a constant low-grade head ache, my brain ceases to function, I black out whenever I stand up. I love to go, go, go. I'm very goal driven, to-do list oriented, and when I can barely make a to-do list, I become so frustrated.

I measure my life by things accomplished. A successful week is when every list is finished. And I can't do that right now. I'm trying to look at the bright side: that God doesn't measure success in to-do lists. That because of where I am now, I can sympathize with persons with chronic health problems, something I was never able to do before. That because of what I'm feeling I appreciate healthy days so much more than I ever have. That I have a gracious, loving support system which constantly tries to help me.

But sometimes all I can think is:

"I am twenty-four years old. This should not be happening to me. Why is this happening? Why?"

My days have passed, my plans are shattered,
and so are the desires of my heart. (Job 17:11)

My lists are not everything.

There is no wisdom, no insight, no plan
that can succeed against the LORD.
The horse is made ready for the day of battle,
but victory rests with the LORD. (Proverbs 21:30,31)

I do not control my future.

Many are the plans in a man's heart,
but it is the LORD's purpose that prevails. (Proverbs 19:21)

A lack of strength is not a lack of purpose.

And God is able to make all grace abound to you, so that in all things at all times, having all that you need, you will abound in every good work. (II Corinthians 9:8)

Through God, because of God, today is possible.

Praise be to the Lord, to God our Savior,
who daily bears our burdens.
Selah
(Ps. 68:19)

Pick up the phone. No excuses. Listen! You can do this! NO ONE ever got their dream job by sitting on their bum. Work hard. Achieve the goal. DO IT.

2010-02-15T15:59:00.004-05:00

*Today's (and the next 172 days') personal mantra.

To Valentine or Not To Valentine

2010-02-13T12:13:00.005-05:00

Happy weekend, dear reader.

As you may, or may not have noticed from the proliferation of pink, red, and white cardboard hearts which seem to pop-up in the oddest places (i.e. Taco Bell drive thrus and bank teller windows), this is the weekend of that fateful day of St. Valentine.

I remember when one of my dear friends snorted and stated an aversion to "single awareness day." I chuckled along with her, glad to have some sort of phrase to put with my distinct out-of-place feeling I get every time I try to do anything (alone) on Valentines Day.

That being said, I've had a Valentine before. In my 24 years, I've had one February 14th that wasn't spent in contemplation of my singleness. (Technically two, but Prince Charming the First didn't "believe" in Valentines Day. Huh.) But that one year was really lovely (and chocolatey), and as I fell asleep on my boyfriend's shoulder watching "Mary Poppins" (yes, "Mary Poppins"), I realized why people celebrate this holiday.

It's delightful to feel wanted, and cherished, and special, and (in serious cases) loved. Why would you not want to exploit a day which promises all that and more? Women don't want Valentines Day because of the chocolate (which is heavenly) and the expensive dinners (after months of fast food), and the diamonds (who doesn't love sparkles?). Women, on Valentines Day, want to feel special and cherished and loved, and showing that is harder than spending money and making plans. How does one make arrangements to show love? How do you find something that makes a person feel like a prize?

You can't, really. So you buy chocolates (because of the chemicals which induce feelings of satisfaction and love), you buy sparkles (because spending money, lots of money, surely means that you care), and Valentines Day becomes a time of panic as you try to express something at the level you feel. ("I cherish you like a cherish my new wax job on my car." or "I want you like I want to watch the Superbowl for the rest of my life." "I love you, so will you promise to love me forever, too?")

The angst from Valentines Day isn't created by the cheesy, shiny hearts in Walmart (although the things are cringe-inducing), but rather by the necessity of vulnerability. "How much do I show I care? How much do I care? What if it's too much, too fast? Does she think I'm making up for something? Is he okay with me liking him this much?"

For me, a single with commitment problems, I prefer to not look at people who, like myself, haven't said "I do" just yet. Such individuals tend to be splashing and paddling inefficiently in the shallow end of affection. I like, instead, to look at people who have plunged into the depths of love, and find years later-- the vulnerability, the love, and the commitment are still there. They still want each other, they have seen the dirty, nasties in each others' lives, and yet still cherish one another. There may be no chocolates, it might be a year to pinch pennies rather than flaunt diamonds, but there's a constancy and commitment that has been worn every day of the year, not just on Valentines Day. Those ordinary days are the true Valentines days. So don't smirk in disdain, you singles (happily or unhappily single, it matters not to me). Buy yourself a box of chocolates and smile at the little old couple holding hands.

Constant commitment and sacrifice is true love, as God meant it to be portrayed.

Happy Valentine's Day.

Word-Freeze, Brain-Block, Cover letter-Conundrum

2010-02-11T09:45:00.002-05:00

Usually, dear reader, as you have doubtless surmised, I do not have difficulty in stringing a series of words together. Granted, I often string too many words together, but it could never be argued that I can't produce a sentence.

Well, that is until I start writing cover letters.

I'm an epic failure at writing cover letters.

I have all my jobs listed, organized from least to most desirable. I updated my resume, I've contacted various hospitals, and I've done a detailed search of 27 different websites in order to gather all desirable jobs into my collection. What an organized, professional life I lead!

Until it comes to cover letters.

My goal is four today and four tomorrow, and at least four every week until a job is obtained.

How hard could it be to boil down years and years of work into a one-page word document with an appropriately polite heading "Dear sirs,"?

Very hard.

I've currently consumed two cups of coffee, opened three different word documents, caught up on a variety of e-mails, all of which have done nothing to actually get me a job.

My cover letter currently reads:

To whom it may concern:

I've worked hard.

I will work hard.

Hire me.

Please.

Sincerely, Me

Clearly it needs some work...

So, next time you see me, dear reader, ask me in a stern voice (it will only work if you're stern), "C., did you finish your cover letters?" And if I hem and haw about color-coded decision-making charts, you slam your fist down on that table and say,

"C! WRITE THOSE COVER LETTERS. NOW!"

I would appreciate it.

Thanks.

And there was great rejoicing... hurrah!

2010-02-10T20:52:00.004-05:00

Well, after more fuss and hullabaloo than is caused by a state visit from the Queen of England, I've finally been granted permission to take four days off and travel to NYC.

It's not a pleasure trip.

It's a job-hunting trip.

And I'm scared out of my mind... and excited beyond belief!

Is there a job for lil' ol' me in all that glorious, glittering (grimy, gritty) city?

Dear Me,

2010-02-10T08:26:00.001-05:00

Please stop being sick all the time. It is exhausting and not fun.

If you could please be healthy-ish for just one week, I would appreciate it.

Sincerely,

Yourself.

Selfish, Single, or Satisfied?

2010-02-06T20:56:00.006-05:00

My life, despite sundry Monday morning Facebook updates, is wonderful. I love where I am, I love how I'm growing, I love what I'm working on, I love my job, my family, my school, and my future.

But today, curled up on my couch (which I also love), sipping coffee with a friend, (who is in love with her current life), we began to question our contentment.

Part of what I love about my life is my singleness. I love, love, LOVE it! My mother, noting my recent increase in peace and joy, asked my father if I had the "gift of singleness." (Whatever that means...) I have always been the girl who loves looking at wedding magazines, planning out color combos, and imagining a Prince Charming with impossibly conflicting cockiness and compassion. But recently, within the past several years, I've noticed a decrease in my wedding planning and in increase in peaceful contentment.

Not a bad thing, right?

Eh, I'm not so sure.

This afternoon, cradling a steaming cup o' joe, I asked why I was so content. Polaroid, quick snap of holiness would seem to show that I'm resting with perfect contentment in God's plan for my life, trusting without reservation that all the plans He ordained for me are good and glorious.

But I'm sorry. I've been around the "sin block" enough times in my short 24 years to know that if the choice is between my behaving perfectly, or some deeper, sinful motive... then it's probably the sin, not my "perfection," which is the answer.

I think I might be selfish.

Don't chuckle. I know I'm selfish, but I'm talking about being selfishly single.

Being single is easier than being a couple.

Don't roll your eyes at me, lonely damsel on a couch or sex-deprived single man fighting temptation. It is. For me. I don't have to consult with anyone, I don't have to check in with anyone. I don't have to plan my future with someone else, I don't have to rearrange that future for someone else. I get to do what I want to do, when I want to do it. I can sell my house, take a new job, move out of state, plan my next vacation-- all on my own.

I am on my own.

Sure, sometimes it's lonely. Sure, sometimes the thought of no children, no spouse for the rest of my life turns me a pale shade of blue. Sure, I want to register for hand towels and glass bowls like the rest of them. (I mean, come on! Have you been in Pottery Barn?) I remember playing "bride" when I was four. (The groom is now married with two children.) Sure, it sounds wonderful. But something in the back of my mind is nagging...

What if Prince Charming, complete with motorcycle and Porsche shows up, with his rugged chiseled jaw, impossibly hilarious (yet tasteful) sense of humor, and his life on scorching fire for God?

Would I say "yes"?

Because being single is easy. There are no problems to solve, no fights to be had, no conflicts to resolve. There are no tandem plans to be made, money to be haggled over, and pet peeves to battle.

It's just me. And God. And I'm liking that right now...

So, do I trust God with this? Yes, part of me does. Part of me loves what He's doing and teaching. But the other part of me likes it because I don't have to share the space heater and no one tells me I can't go to Vegas in April.

So, while I'm here, I'm not "waiting" for some as yet unknown Mr. Perfect to come and rescue me from my singleness. No, I'm growing, I'm moving, I'm trying with every once of my being to destroy the selfish tendencies which love to run my life. I don't really know if I'm succeeding. All I can pray is that I'm "bearing fruit in every good work, growing in the knowledge of God," so "that [I] may live a life worthy of the Lord and may please him in every way."*

Hmm... I guess we won't know until Mr. Chiseled-jaw shows up.

But until then... I'm a selfishly, satisfied single. Bring on Vegas.

*Colossians 1:10

2010-02-05T10:30:00.006-05:00

sparkles
twisting cotton
sugar glaze

wet kisses
biting scratches
soft brushes

snow...

Old MacDonald... had a pig!

2010-02-04T10:26:00.000-05:00

So, on the way home from church on Wednesday, Julie-Bop and my mom got to talking. They had been learning the different names for baby animals and their mothers. Julie wiggles in her car-seat and says,

"I'm a baby pig! I'm a piglet!"

My mother smiles. "Yes! Yes you are, good job, Baby Piglet."

Julie's not done,

"And if I'm a piglet, that means you're a SOW! Oink, oink!"

My mother learned that there are some animal/parent combos that maybe you shouldn't teach your children...

January 2010, in review

2010-01-30T15:49:00.008-05:00

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.

I love, love, LOVE the sun!

2010-01-28T12:39:00.002-05:00

“Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air…”
(Ralph Waldo Emerson)

A dream is a wish your heart makes...

2010-01-25T15:11:00.004-05:00

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...

Meditation for Monday

2010-01-25T07:39:00.002-05:00

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...

BLAH.

2010-01-23T21:34:00.004-05:00

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.

2010-01-21T08:19:00.002-05:00

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

Do you ever have clear, crystalized moments when you suddenly realize how others see you?

2010-01-20T22:13:00.004-05:00

And that their view may be more accurate than your own?

I'm tired of talking about relationships... but I'll talk about them one last time.

2010-01-18T18:29:00.008-05:00

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.

Story of my (boardgaming) life...

2010-01-17T19:21:00.000-05:00

This is me incoherent and in love with nineteenth century vocabulary...

2010-01-16T13:36:00.007-05:00

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.

Necessary Grappling with Inadequacy... Goals for 2010

2010-01-15T09:05:00.004-05:00

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.

It's Thursday morning! Time to determine what percentile your expressive and receptive language occupies...

2010-01-14T12:16:00.003-05:00

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...

Over 1.5 million new titles are published every year...

2010-01-13T17:51:00.002-05:00

Perhaps somewhere in that vast compilation, there might be room for a humble missive from yours truly...

Hope springs eternal.

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.

2010-01-11T16:44:00.004-05:00

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...

I'd Like a Magnifying Glass, Please

2010-01-09T10:14:00.003-05:00

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)

All I can do is play with children...

2010-01-08T09:54:00.009-05:00

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/

Not-so-fearless Snow Adventure

2010-01-07T08:56:00.003-05:00

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.

When I Woke Up as Me

2010-01-06T10:31:00.003-05:00

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...

Vicarious Dancing... Oh, Fred and Ginger...

2010-01-05T19:08:00.000-05:00

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?

My bridal wound...

2010-01-04T11:15:00.003-05:00

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...

Snowflakes. Sunrise... Sanctity, Splendor

2010-01-02T08:32:00.009-05:00

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.

2010!!! (and 2009)

2010-01-01T14:57:00.002-05:00

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!!!

Maybe I should always write about relationships...

2009-12-29T09:25:00.008-05:00

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife. (Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice)*

So here's a question posed by my inimitable grandfather:

"Why do persons in the bigger cities get married later in life?" Conversely, "Why do people in Middle America get married in their early twenties?"

(As a side note, my dear grandfather is a fan of the early-twenties bracket and both he and Grandma are starting to view me as an anomaly.)

Trevs and I hashed this out, both with different theories...

Trevs' thoughts tend more to the "Larger Dating Pool Hypothesis," in which he argues that people in the larger metropolises can date more people. Because there are more people, there are more social circles. The expanded social circles give you the option of moving from one relationship to another without the awkwardness and social ostracism that so often follows a break-up in more rural America.

For example, here, if I date someone (and I have), there is a certain dating pool of acquaintances that becomes "polluted" when the relationship ends. People consciously, (or unconsciously) take sides. All future relationships are measured against the previous ones, and everyone knows everyone else and talks about everyone else. It may be a sad side-effect, true. Although it's not always negative; it's close to inevitable. And there's no where else to go. The number of single, evangelical, growing, desirable persons are usually confined to a fairly limited group. (There are only a certain number of single, evangelical, growing, desirable persons in every 10,000 of any populace.)

Go to a bigger city- more 10,000s of people, hence more single, evangelical, growing, desirable persons. More people to date, so you date longer before running out of options. This is Trevor's hypothesis.

My theory is completely different: As a general rule (GENERAL!) young twenty-somethings in a city moved there because they are extremely career driven. You do what you need to do to climb whatever ladder you're on, and you do it when you have the most energy and drive. Family can wait. It is socially acceptable to focus on your career, so they do. In middle-America, it's more puzzling when you're crazily-career driven. Many of our social outlets revolve around family, not career. So, you don't get married until later because that's completely acceptable and expected because you're "establishing" yourself.

I think I need to move to a city. I'm tired of my growing anomaly-ness.

*I love how Jane Austen will never cease to be relevant...

In honor of the fun I'm NOT going to have*

2009-12-28T07:17:00.001-05:00

Snow! Finally!

However, I'm a grown-up now, and so it's off to work I go!

Let the glee pictured below infuse my cold, boring cubicle...

*please do not mistake this post for a lack of appreciation for my wonderfully flexible, bill-paying job.

Day-After Happenings

2009-12-26T11:06:00.002-05:00

It's the day after Christmas, and part of me loves this day more than Christmas (although the other part of me argues that one can never top the sparkle and cozy delight of any Christmas morning). The family is "puttering" about... there's really no other word for it.

My father is planning all of 2010 on a spread sheet, while sipping Columbian coffee. This morning we all discovered that he plans his romantic gestures month by month. We hooted and hollered and told mom.

She already knew.

Bops has been pushing her new stroller and baby doll (a boy named "Madelyn") around all morning. There's nothing like waking up to the sound of plastic wheels on ceramic tile...

The boys spent a good hour watching pointless boy humor on YouTube. If some male wants to enlighten me as to the fascination this particular activity holds, please feel free to do so.

My mom looked at 487 pictures on my facebook profile. I sat next to her and taught her how to facebook stalk. I might regret this at some point in time in the future.

And Erika... well, I haven't seen her yet today. My guess is that her frowsy head is buried deep beneath her comforter, as she continues to blissfully snooze.

Christmas vacation is delightful.

"I need to get dressed..."

2009-12-25T23:19:00.000-05:00

We were all so excited about Christmas with Boppy this year. She's four, and just old enough to experience the joy of opening presents (giving presents was a little more tricky... She still doesn't get that...)

Alex bought her this amazing baby doll. It's a little boy whose lips are formed into a grumpy pucker, and whose outfit is completed by a little stuffed lion and a hat with ears.

She squealed with delight when she opened him, but as soon as he was out of his package, she ran from him, hiding behind everything in attempts to avoid holding her new baby.

Over and over she kept saying, "I need to get dressed. I don't want the baby. I need to get dressed."

I got her a stroller. We opened it next in an attempt to alleviate her odd fear of the baby. (Maybe if she wouldn't hold him, she'd push him around.)

Once again she squealed in glee, and then ran. "I need to get dressed. I don't want it. No. I need to get dressed."

We were all puzzled.

However, after she was dressed, she began to cuddle the baby and take him for walks around and around and around our circular floor-plan.

Apparently she thought she couldn't be a good mom until she was properly attired.

I wonder if she'll be the same way when she has real children...

Maybe I'm just tired...

2009-12-23T22:20:00.003-05:00

Why am I discouraged?
Why is my heart so sad?
I will put my hope in God!
I will praise him again—
my Savior and my God!

Psalm 43:5

Baptists Psychics (in regards to me, alone under the mistletoe)

2009-12-22T23:02:00.008-05:00

Merry Christmas, deck the halls, thank you for the fudge, yada-yada-yada.

I have an irascible query.

(Well, not really, but I'm trying to get out of the habit of hemorraghing anger onto the pages of my blog. So, instead, I was in a funk last night, I'm over it tonight, but I still think it needs to be said. Tonight I'm saying it with firm, yet gracious patience. Last night I would have said it with vehement rhetoric. So instead...)

I just have a inquisitive question.

Why, in the name of all that is good and holy, do people pat me on the arm and tell me:

"Don't worry, there is wonderful guy out there for you..."

First, I'm not worried. Please don't assume I'm worried.

And second... how on EARTH do they know that?!? Seriously, is there some weird, Baptist, psychic ability that allows people to see that somewhere, out there in the distant (or not so distant) future, there is a "wonderful guy" for lil' ol' me? Because if they can tell me that, with all honest sincerity, then I need to ask them some tough questions... like:

"So, am I really going to finish grad school?"
"What are the side-effects going to be of my purchasing those insanely high heels?"
"Should I go vegan?"

Because if they can see, with that degree of clarity into the future-- baby, we've got to use that gift! Why does anyone think that it would be a good idea to assure me that there is, in fact, someone waiting for me in my future?

There might not be.

And whenever I respond with, "Aww, thank you, but if there isn't- isn't God still good?" I get expressions of taken-aback confusion.

Yes, I would love a time in the future when I read the Christmas story to wondering little faces, before snuggling with my honey in front of a fire after (finally!) decorating the tree. I would love to instigate new traditions and carry out old ones. And the cute, artsy side of me, that only peaks out when I'm well-rested and over-achieving, imagines all sorts of new family goodies and Christmas cards.

But that may never be me. And if that's the case, then that is the way in which I can bring God the most glory! And I know it is there because it also brings me the most good. Not good in the way of eating-spinach-good, but rather in the way of sheer-unadulterated-joy-good.

So, no, I won't worry, wonderful people-who-care-about-me-and-sincerely-believe-they-are saying-something-encouraging. Because even if your psychic powers fail, and there really, truly isn't a "wonderful man out there" for me, I think life is still going to be pretty stinkin' awesome.

Merry Christmas Eve of the Christmas Eve's Eve!

I know exactly how you feel...

2009-12-18T12:08:00.001-05:00

Merry Christmas to you too!

2009-12-17T08:59:00.004-05:00

So, as one more hoop to jump through in Purdue's hoop-filled graduate speech pathology program, this winter break we have to complete "comps."

"Comps" are "comprehensive exams" which have to be passed in order to graduate. (By "exams" I mean multiple 5-10 page long answers to a clinical questions posed by an expert in that field.) Should you fail to pass, there are all sorts of horrible terms that are hinted at, like "remediation." And you'll wind up doing even more work, hoping to prove to the professor that you actually know your stuff.

Now, we all groan over "comps," and apparently they're not that much fun for the faculty either.

Yesterday, in the grad room, one of the professors divulged that he tries to make his question as hard as possible so that no one will pick it and he won't have to grade any tediously boring papers. It just so happens, he's not the only one. Apparently many of the faculty compete to see who can submit the hardest question so that the students will pick someone else's question. (We are required to answer 5 questions total.)

So, in the end, what we as students wind up with is a massive exam packet, full of tedious, long, intense questions, all of which require research paper level work to answer...

THAT'S what I get to do over Christmas break.

Delightful.

Thank you, Purdue.

2009-12-15T13:44:00.002-05:00

At the close of Wednesday, I will be officially done with my last finals week. EVER. The end. I am exhilarated, thrilled, and terrified.

For six years I have been going to classes, trudging through paperwork, finding the right things to add to my resume, and making sure that my GPA is sparkling-clean and admirable. The problem is, that although I have my long-term goals meticulously outlined, and although I have everything that I could possibly need at this point in time in order to accomplish them, I've started to realize that my "preparation time" is coming to a close.

College has been phenomenal. And though, at times, I may gripe about my limited window of experience since I'm attending an institution so near my family and high school memories, I have absolutely loved my undergrad and graduate experience at Purdue University. I'm happy here. I'm safe. I'm comfortable. I know exactly what is expected and what I need to do in order to fulfill the role that I've been filling in Lafayette, IN.

But now it's time to grow up.

Technically, I'm already "grown-up." I pay my own bills. I have a house. I remember to change my oil, and I plan my own weekend activities. However, I'm still operating in the comfortable sphere that I've known for 12+ years here in Lafayette, IN. It's still safe. My parents are still my safety net. My church is still wonderful. My siblings are near-by, whenever I want to have a casual movie night.

But now it's time to grow up.

I'm looking for jobs, thinking of selling my house, and leaving my comfortable family sphere and homey Indiana setting.

For almost a year, I've been convinced that staying in Lafayette, while wonderfully comfortable, would not encourage me to consistently be growing and reaching new heights. I get lazy when I'm comfortable.

So. I'm moving.

I'm not really sure where.

I'm not sure what I'll be doing.

I'm scared out of my mind.

But I know that this is right. That this is good.

And that it's time.

Did you know apartments in Manhattan are three times the cost of my mortgage?

The love of God is greater far, Than tongue or pen can ever tell

2009-12-14T09:23:00.005-05:00

But he had Jesus flogged, and handed him over to be crucified. (Matthew 27:26)

Today, I closed my eyes in church, and, per the urging of the pastor, imagined what it would be like to be blindfolded and scourged. The terror of not knowing when or where the next blow would fall had never been evident to me. The mental readying which so often precedes a blow or pain was denied to our Lord, as the custom in those days was to blind-fold the victim so that the terror and pain would be confounded by a lack of knowledge regarding the next blow.

And He's God.

So He knew this would happen. He knew that this pain was coming throughout his entire ministry.

And he still "had compassion on them."

My God's love is astounding.

The love of God is greater far
Than tongue or pen can ever tell;
It goes beyond the highest star,
And reaches to the lowest hell;
The guilty pair, bowed down with care,
God gave His Son to win;
His erring child He reconciled,
And pardoned from his sin.

O love of God, how rich and pure!
How measureless and strong!
It shall forevermore endure
The saints’ and angels’ song.

Could we with ink the ocean fill,
And were the skies of parchment made,
Were every stalk on earth a quill,
And every man a scribe by trade,
To write the love of God above,
Would drain the ocean dry.
Nor could the scroll contain the whole,
Though stretched from sky to sky.
("The Love of God," Lehman & Mays)

More from Matthew... a Tireless Lord

2009-12-09T08:59:00.004-05:00

Good morning, all! I am trudging glibly through the book of Matthew. Very soon I will begin my perusal of Mark. I will miss Matthew. His obsession with numbers and detailed (if unexplained) accuracy is quite wonderful.

Rather than having one thing stand out as I read, this time I was more impressed by a global character of Christ seen from chapter to chapter and story to story.

When you read the book of Matthew in massive chunks, with complete disregard to chapter/paragraph separations, the busyness of Christ's ministry becomes incredibly obvious. From one thing, to another, to another, and he's constantly being required to stop to serve others, to perform miracles he's performed before, and he's ceaselessly explaining things to his rather slow disciples.

I am, I confess, quite worried about the holiday season. As things accelerate in my school and family requirements, the pressure and constant work/interaction with others that is required can be quite daunting. What am I going to do when I have to do the same thing over and over? How will I react if required to give up what I prefer over and over? How am I going to show Christ-like behavior in the midst of the panic, bustle, and selfishness which any break from routine incites?

But how foolish to worry! Everything I need in regards to self-less service has been outlined for me. And, as Hebrews says, "For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are—yet was without sin." Christ knows the panic, the busyness, the constant service that is required to be effective. And I know what I need to do (thanks to Hebrews) in order to serve as he did: "Let us then approach the throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need."

I don't have to do it in and of myself.

Yay!

Bring on my Christmas craziness!

I serve and ever-serving Lord.

No Words, Only Songs... for our Emmanuel

2009-12-03T21:47:00.000-05:00

Every Thursday this semester, I've had a clinical placement at the Indiana Veterans' Home (IVH). To say I was thrilled at this clinic placement would be a gross over-statement. I had observed at IVH prior to my experience of working there, and my reaction to this assignment was less than ideal. I was, in short, dreading it.

However, after a couple scary first few weeks, I gradually began to tolerate it, and then (lo' and behold!) to enjoy it.

The whole facility is full of grumpy old men (and a couple of equally grumpy ladies), who are starved for attention and confused about where they are and what's going on. Several weeks ago we added a new client. I'm going to call him "Murphy."

"Murphy" is younger than most of the residents at IVH. He's in his 50s and suffered a debilitating stroke that left him almost completely unable to walk, talk, or take care of himself. He had just gotten married, and his family was not expecting this tragedy (what family ever is?). Instead of complete sentences, "Murphy" is only able to say the word "differ" (with excellent inflection and charisma), in addition to some occasional phrases that we speech therapists call "memorized wholes." (For example, he can sing all of "Happy Birthday.")

Today, due to an evaluation on another resident, I was late to "Murphy's" therapy session and found the other clinician already done with most of the activities. When I walked into the room, "Murphy's" face lit up and he animatedly greeted me. (I felt like a million bucks). Because singing had gone so well in the past, we decided to try some Christmas carols.

Apparently I was the only clinician who couldn't claim to be tone-deaf. So, all on my own, I began singing, hoping that "Murphy" would join in and remember some of the words to these old favorites.

And he did.

For ten minutes, the only sound in his room was both of us singing. Using his communication device, he requested "Joy to the World," "Away in the Manger," "We wish you a Merry Christmas," etc.

As we finished with "Silent Night," "Murphy" teared up. Unable to say all the words, he followed my pitch, only producing words at the end of the phrases. These were the only ones he was able to sing.

As you sing with your family this holiday, be it around the Christmas tree, or in a candlelight Christmas Eve service, really, truly sing. God, the one who became man, who released his immeasurable power, who became a helpless, ignored baby, is the one we are celebrating this Christmas. And although many others have forgotten people such as the residents at IVH, God never has.

How great is our Emmanuel.

Matthew 9-12: How much do you care? Oldie, but a Keith-Green goodie

2009-12-02T07:15:00.004-05:00

Jesus went through all the towns and villages, teaching in their synagogues, preaching the good news of the kingdom and healing every disease and sickness. When he saw the crowds, he had compassion on them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd. Then he said to his disciples, "The harvest is plentiful but the workers are few. Ask the Lord of the harvest, therefore, to send out workers into his harvest field."...Go rather to the lost sheep of Israel. As you go, preach this message: 'The kingdom of heaven is near.' ... "And if anyone gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones because he is my disciple, I tell you the truth, he will certainly not lose his reward."

Matthew 5-8: The Law and Motives

2009-12-01T20:38:00.000-05:00

Jesus, in the "Beatitudes," (I'm speaking particularly of 6:1-18) plays flawlessly a game that many of us fumble. There seem to be two general ditches into which people glibly drive their works following salvation.

The first is the ditch in which everything is done to the letter of the law. You* will never miss a Sunday. You will never miss a Wednesday night. You serve in every outreach activity, and you minister in every ministry. You are a spiritual Energizer bunny. However, underneath all the doing-doing-doing, your heart may be very different. Jesus talks about the heart in startling ways in these passages: you're angry = you've murdered, you lust = you've committed adultery. Or perhaps you merely follow the age-old, talked-to-death, still incredibly relevant motive of doing your works for men, rather than God: "Be careful not to do your 'acts of righteousness' before men, to be seen by them. If you do, you will have no reward from your Father in heaven." (6:1) Regardless, acts which should have been spiritual disciplines, such as the fasting, praying, and giving mentioned in chapter 6, become your pill you pop when you want approbation from men.

The other ditch is never stated blatantly (at least not in my cursory run-through of these chapters), and that is this: fear or worry that you are going to start doing these works for men, or that in doing these works you will get angry and consequently sin, are never options to STOP doing what the Law requires. I've heard many times (and partly because I move largely with college students, and we're remarkably good at excuses), "Well, I'm just not going to work on my prayer life, because then I'd be doing it for other people and not for God." What!?! No where in these chapters does Jesus say, "If you pray before people and you can only do it for your glory, then stop praying. Stop giving. Stop fasting."

Today I was struck by the way in which Jesus upheld the Old Testament Law: "Do not think that I have come to abolish the Law or the Prophets; I have not come to abolish them but to fulfill them. I tell you the truth, until heaven and earth disappear, not the smallest letter, not the least stroke of a pen, will by any means disappear from the Law until everything is accomplished. Anyone who breaks one of the least of these commandments and teaches others to do the same will be called least in the kingdom of heaven, but whoever practices and teaches these commands will be called great in the kingdom of heaven."

While he at the same time took that law and expanded it with his phrase, "But I tell you" as he addressed ideas on murder, giving, adultery, revenge, etc. throughout this entire passage. He truly is the phenomenally wise God.

*You in these posts is not referring to you specifically, dear reader. I just find it a more friendly pronoun than the academically accepted universal pronoun of "one." I could all the more easily say, "I" for these are the truths that are convicting me.

Matthew 1-4: a humble Savior

2009-11-30T10:07:00.005-05:00

While reading this morning, I was expecting to be struck by a brilliant epiphany regarding Christ's birth and the beauty and love it exemplifies. It was, after all, what I asked for in my pre-devotional prayer. (Which sounded very knowing and wise, but was clearly inadequate.)

Instead I read dutifully through Christ's advent and arrived in chapter 3 without any significant epiphanies, goosebumps, or new perspectives.

Until verse 15.

[John the Baptist had just said it was ridiculous for him to baptize Jesus, and I agree] "Jesus replied, 'Let it be so now; it is proper for us to do this to fulfill all righteousness.' Then John consented."

Jesus followed the rules!

Often I think of my Savior as a rule breaker, someone who defied the conventions of his day, but he obeyed certain mandates. Why?

Why would the God, who can control all of the universe, be humble enough to be baptized by a man whose every sin, he knew?

The commentaries I looked at all said similar things, but I like the summary provided by "Matthew Henry's Concise Commentary" best of all:

"Christ's gracious condescensions are so surprising, that even the strongest believers at first can hardly believe them; so deep and mysterious, that even those who know his mind well, are apt to start objections against the will of Christ... Christ does not deny that John had need to be baptized of him, yet declares he will now be baptized of John. Christ is now in a state of humiliation. Our Lord Jesus looked upon it as well becoming him to fulfil all righteousness, to own every Divine institution, and to show his readiness to comply with all God's righteous precepts."

The humility and obedience of Christ in this one watery, small act is amazing! It would be as if I was being conferred an honorary PhD. in a field that I created, and the person, chosen to give me my hood and diploma was a lowly ditch-digger who knew nothing of my area of expertise. Conversely, it's as if I were asked to give Martha Stewart home decorating tips.

To know of such humility and obedience on Christ's part, is a challenge to practice such humility myself. For of this I am sure: any gap between my knowledge and my "importance" is no where near the gap between Christ and the sinful man who baptized him.

Open my eyes...

2009-11-29T21:15:00.001-05:00

Two things have been of recent conviction to me. (Make that three...)

The first is that if I, feeble as I am, desire to become more like Jesus Christ, then I need to know more of Jesus Christ. How does one emulate someone they have merely a passing acquaintance with? For example, I know my mother very, very well. I emulate her without conscious effort. I unconsciously mimic her hand gestures, her inflection, and her opinions. I've spent a lot of time with my mother. I'm delighted to say I have so much in common with her. But there are other women who I would also love to emulate: wise ladies who have had an impact in how I view womanhood, service, etc. But I haven't spent extensive time with them. It would be excessively difficult for me to model someone who I observe on Sundays or holidays. I just don't know them.

The same is true of my relationship with Christ. If I'm not following his gestures, accepting his opinions, chances are that's because I haven't spent enough time developing that relationship-- knowing Christ.

The second conviction is that I am tired of Christmas. **gasp of shock!** There's nothing new. It's the same thing every year. Every year I feel the crunch of my already slender wallet, the frustration of not being able to give people what they really want or need. The decorations are the same. I don't get goosebumps from Christmas carols, and everytime someone says, "Let's read the Christmas story!" I inwardly groan because I've heard the Christmas story so many times that my feeble humanity can no longer expand and wonder at the love which came to earth for me.

And the third conviction is that I've been sadly, woefully neglectful of my writing. I've become apathetic and bored with it as well. Apathy could almost be said to describe this semester... and apathy, my dear friends, is a manifestation of multi-headed sin: selfishness, laziness, pride, and a lack of love.

It is, with this introduction, that I give you my latest project.

I am reading through all the gospels (Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John) in the 24 days prior to Christmas 2009. And rather than allow myself to read apathetically once again, I am issuing my own challenge. Following each day's reading, I will post a small tidbit of my devotional journal on-line. By doing this, I hope you will become my great, (if silent) accountability group.

Tomorrow's journey commences in Matthew 1-4.

Lord, open my eyes that I may see new, delightful things in the great love you showed through your birth, life, and death. Grip my heart with the emotions you experienced, and may your love and self-sacrifice become manifested in my life.

I love this architecture...

2009-11-19T19:05:00.003-05:00

**New Orleans, ASHA 2009**

Car Rides, the French Quarter, and Beverly

2009-11-19T08:28:00.006-05:00

**New Orleans; ASHA 2009**

Good morning, peoples!

Last night we ate some delicious sea food and were fortunate enough to find the best oysters in town. (We know because they told us so on their sign...)

Actually- "Acme Oysters" were phenomenal, so I believe their claim to be the best in town.

We left Lafayette, IN around 6:15. Look at us, so chipper and optimistic...

Thirteen and a half long hours later, we pulled into New Orleans. Every older, wiser person told me that thirteen hours was a long time. I didn't believe them until hour ten, when time began to stand still. Those last three and a half hours were longer than the entire rest of the trip.

My graduate school friends stop for bathroom breaks more than my family does. As a result, we all stayed very polite and kind the entire trip.

After arriving late (and sneaking into our hotel because they only allow two people per room and we had four), we dolled up and went out on the town. Unfortunately, I had completely forgotten my camera for this expedition, so there is no Courtney footage to document everyone's first oyster, and our incredible Mid-Western shock at the strip clubs that line Bourbon Street.

(Well, at least I was shocked.)

However, the colors are phenomenal, the food indescribable, and our hotel filled with timeless class.

Here's where I'm sitting now- this would be the breakfast nook. Amazing, right?

The yummy breakfast was advertised as "hot," but I'm afraid the only thing that's truly hot is the coffee. However, I'm a college student. Hot coffee is really all I need to survive.

Well, it's off the to convention. I promise that future posts will have more entertaining pictures, but for now, these will have to suffice. I'm going to go get smart now, and stop taking pictures in our hotel hallways.

N' AUHLEANS! (New Orleans)

2009-11-19T01:18:00.002-05:00

Good morning, faithful readership! It is bright and early on Thursday morning. In fact, it is so bright and early on Thursday that I haven't even had my Wednesday-night rest.

I'm running on approximately 3 1/2 hours of sleep so everything written from here on out should be taken with a grain of salt.

We are safely camped out in our amazing hotel in the French Quarter (pics to follow, of course!).

We drove thirteen hours.

We are all still friends.

And tomorrow (the purpose of this craziness) begins with registration at ASHA (American Speech and Hearing Association). The annual conference is quite a big deal... There are almost 10,000 speech pathologists gathered to fill New Orleans with J. Crew cardigans and talk of "evidence based practice." Some guys on Bourbon Street told us we "looked like speech pathologists."

I'm not sure how I feel about that....

More updates in the morning, this serves as merely a cursory introduction to our adventures in the deep south!

(P.S. I ate some crawfish for y'all!)

I apologize about the lack of bloggings... I will try to remedy my negligence. :)

2009-11-10T14:19:00.004-05:00

There recently was a death of a 98 year-old lady named Irena. During WWII, Irena, got permission to work in the Warsaw Ghetto, as a Plumbing/Sewer specialist. She had an 'ulterior motive' ... She KNEW what the Nazi's plans were for the Jews, (being German.) Irena smuggled infants out in the bottom of the tool box she carried and she carried in the back of her truck a burlap sack,(for larger kids..) She also had a dog in the back that she trained to bark when the Nazi soldiers let her in and out of the ghetto. The soldiers of course wanted nothing to do with the dog and the barking covered the kids/infants noises.. During her time of doing this, she managed to smuggle out and save 2500 kids/infants. She was caught, and the Nazi's broke both her legs, arms and beat her severely. Irena kept a record of the names of all the kids she smuggled out and kept them in a glass jar, buried under a tree in her back yard. After the war, she tried to locate any parents that may have survived it and reunited the family. Most had been gassed. Those kids she helped got placed into foster family homes or adopted.

Last year Irena was up for the Nobel Peace Prize ..... She was not selected. Al Gore won, for a slide show on Global Warming.

What if, when asked "Can you hold please?" while making phone call, you said, "NO! NO, I CANNOT HOLD! I REFUSE!" What would happen then?

2009-10-30T17:17:00.006-04:00

2009-10-23T16:18:00.002-04:00

Sometimes I look like a vagabond. A homeless person. A decrepit wreck.

The reason for this general appearance can usually be closely tied to the stress level of my week. Usually, I am understanding of other people's derision of my appearance. It is acceptable. I look awful.

But this week, as I was crossing the street, looking like a homeless vagabond wreck, I got an up-down and snort of derision from a little old, nasty lady smoking a cigarette in her massive, deteriorating automobile. Her lip actually sneered at me!

I didn't blink. I just looked right back at her and thought,

"Sure, I may be wearing an ugly sweat shirt, but my skin care is miles ahead of yours, Ms. Smoker."

This sort of petty vindictiveness means my life is too small...

If I didn't know there was God...

2009-10-21T11:56:00.005-04:00

2009-10-20T08:15:00.000-04:00

"I had tried to be happy by telling myself that man is an animal, like any other which sought its meat from God. But now I really was happy, for I had learnt that man is a monstrosity. I had been right in feeling all things as odd, for I myself was at once worse and better than all things. The optimist's pleasure was prosaic, for it dwelt on the naturalness of everything; the Christian pleasure was poetic, for it dwelt on the unnaturalness of everything in the light of the supernatural. The modern philosopher had told me again and again that I was in the right place, and I had still felt depressed even in acquiescence. But I had heard that I was in the WRONG place, and my soul sang for joy, like a bird in spring. The knowledge found out and illuminated forgotten chambers in the dark house of infancy. I knew now why grass had always seemed to me as queer as the green beard of a giant, and why I could feel homesick at home."

— G.K. Chesterton (Orthodoxy)