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?
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Monday, December 14, 2009
The love of God is greater far, Than tongue or pen can ever tell
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)
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)
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
More from Matthew... a Tireless Lord
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.
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.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
No Words, Only Songs... for our Emmanuel
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.
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.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Matthew 9-12: How much do you care? **Oldie, but a Keith-Green goodie**
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."
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Matthew 5-8: The Law and Motives
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.
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.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Matthew 1-4: a humble Savior
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.
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.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Open my eyes...
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.
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.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Car Rides, the French Quarter, and Beverly
**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.
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)
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'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!)
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
I apologize about the lack of bloggings... I will try to remedy my negligence. :)
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.
Friday, October 30, 2009
Friday, October 23, 2009
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...
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...
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
"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)
— G.K. Chesterton (Orthodoxy)
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Good morning, Fall! How I love you!
I'm wearing my white scarf.
Being someone who loves white scarves, I own quite a few, but this one is my favorite. My mother purchased it for me last fall when the family went on a trip without totally-swamped-in-grad-school me. It's a thick, cable-knit, with a softness that belies its durability and practicality. I'm not good at choosing practicality over attractiveness, but my mother was able to combine them both in this scarf purchase.
I'm sipping dark, strong coffee.
I love very dark, strong, black coffee. But it must have low acidity, or else even my mouth curdles at the excess harshness. Coffee should be soothingly smooth while still aggressively caffeinated. The Papua New Guinea blend s especially rich and smooth. I'm enjoying my bottomless cup...
I spent the morning outside.
Fall foliage is reaching its most resplendent color hues. This morning David and I went to a cross country meet (Rossville did very well!), and I've decided that my children will run cross-country, if for no better reason that they're some of the most enjoyable meets that I've ever been to, and as a mom I could enjoy them with equanimity (and pack some truly amazing snacks).
Now I'm supposedly studying in a coffee shop. In all reality, I'm trying to find a way to begin my newest venture into fiction and I have have little to no interest in completing the dysphagia report that I'm supposed to be writing. But life is more than swallowing and school. This post has no goal nor a point. It only serves to portray my general contentment with the world right now.
I love Fall.
Being someone who loves white scarves, I own quite a few, but this one is my favorite. My mother purchased it for me last fall when the family went on a trip without totally-swamped-in-grad-school me. It's a thick, cable-knit, with a softness that belies its durability and practicality. I'm not good at choosing practicality over attractiveness, but my mother was able to combine them both in this scarf purchase.
I'm sipping dark, strong coffee.
I love very dark, strong, black coffee. But it must have low acidity, or else even my mouth curdles at the excess harshness. Coffee should be soothingly smooth while still aggressively caffeinated. The Papua New Guinea blend s especially rich and smooth. I'm enjoying my bottomless cup...
I spent the morning outside.
Fall foliage is reaching its most resplendent color hues. This morning David and I went to a cross country meet (Rossville did very well!), and I've decided that my children will run cross-country, if for no better reason that they're some of the most enjoyable meets that I've ever been to, and as a mom I could enjoy them with equanimity (and pack some truly amazing snacks).
Now I'm supposedly studying in a coffee shop. In all reality, I'm trying to find a way to begin my newest venture into fiction and I have have little to no interest in completing the dysphagia report that I'm supposed to be writing. But life is more than swallowing and school. This post has no goal nor a point. It only serves to portray my general contentment with the world right now.
I love Fall.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Genesis 1:1, Hebrews 2:9,10
Stars.
Space.
Infinite, unknown world, light years long, incomprehensibly trillions of billions of miles in size.
The Creator of that massive expanse is so much larger than even His unfathomably large creation. I cannot grasp even the created's size, how can I hope to grasp the expanse of the One powerful and large enough to design, orchestrate, and execute a masterpiece of such beauty and size? Falling further and further into space, the world ceases to be visible. The sun, a massive ball of power that we cannot even approach, also slips from view, showing it to be one of the palest of the heavenly bodies. Our solar system disappears into our galaxy which subsequently fades to nothing in a sea of distant stars. An expanse I cannot quantify, cannot imagine.
But above, and throughout, and intimately involved with each detail is my unmeasurable God. And that same, unbelievably infinite, massive God cares about us. About this speck in his creation. He cared so much that he made himself one of us. He made himself small. Because his love is as vast and infinite as his greatness. He came to this tiny, insignificant, undetectable speck of a planet, to save a people who are too self-absorbed and selfish to truly worship the great God who created them in his likeness.
"And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the saints, to grasp how wide, and high, and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge--that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God."
"In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth... Thus the heavens and the earth were completed in all their vast array."
"O LORD, our Lord,
how majestic is your name in all the earth!
You have set your glory
above the heavens.
When I consider your heavens,
the work of your fingers,
the moon and the stars,
which you have set in place,
what is man that you are mindful of him,
the son of man that you care for him?"
"In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning.
Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made. In him was life, and that life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, but the darkness has not understood it."
Space.
Infinite, unknown world, light years long, incomprehensibly trillions of billions of miles in size.
The Creator of that massive expanse is so much larger than even His unfathomably large creation. I cannot grasp even the created's size, how can I hope to grasp the expanse of the One powerful and large enough to design, orchestrate, and execute a masterpiece of such beauty and size? Falling further and further into space, the world ceases to be visible. The sun, a massive ball of power that we cannot even approach, also slips from view, showing it to be one of the palest of the heavenly bodies. Our solar system disappears into our galaxy which subsequently fades to nothing in a sea of distant stars. An expanse I cannot quantify, cannot imagine.
But above, and throughout, and intimately involved with each detail is my unmeasurable God. And that same, unbelievably infinite, massive God cares about us. About this speck in his creation. He cared so much that he made himself one of us. He made himself small. Because his love is as vast and infinite as his greatness. He came to this tiny, insignificant, undetectable speck of a planet, to save a people who are too self-absorbed and selfish to truly worship the great God who created them in his likeness.
"And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the saints, to grasp how wide, and high, and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge--that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God."
"In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth... Thus the heavens and the earth were completed in all their vast array."
"O LORD, our Lord,
how majestic is your name in all the earth!
You have set your glory
above the heavens.
When I consider your heavens,
the work of your fingers,
the moon and the stars,
which you have set in place,
what is man that you are mindful of him,
the son of man that you care for him?"
"In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning.
Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made. In him was life, and that life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, but the darkness has not understood it."
Monday, September 21, 2009
Paranoia and Flashing Nascar Shoes
**sigh**
What on earth is wrong with me!?!
Today, while perusing the flow of my Facebook news feed (yes, I was doing so instead of studying), I came across yet another friend from my high school years who had taken the plunge into matrimony, and now she's a mom!
Oh. My. Flipping. Word.
She hasn't been the first of my acquaintances to add the term "mommy" to their resumes. Baby pictures are springing up all over my "home page." And now I'm getting wedding AND baby shower invitations. I had steeled myself to deal with the weddings (and I really enjoy them!). I've gotten pretty good at that. (You don't attend eight weddings in one summer and NOT get good at that.) But BABIES!?! I'M NOT READY FOR BABIES!
If I'm not ready, my peers shouldn't be ready! Right?
I'm still floundering with the idea of what it means to be a wife, but children? I haven't even THOUGHT of children. And now I see others tackling the monumental task of parenting, when I haven't even had the guts to address the "I do forever" aspect of a family.
I spent the morning screening little four and five year olds for speech and language problems (they all passed), and as one little boy sat in front of me, smacking his feet on the floor so I could see how his "flashy Nascar shoes" lit up, while he explained to me that shoes were bought at a shoe store-- I wanted to be a mommy.
I want to teach colors, and marvel at little hands and feet. I want to debate with my husband on whether the baby has my eyes or his. I want to make massive amounts of peanut butter sandwiches, and buy silly band-aids, and pack snacks for the soccer team. I want to paint a wall with chalkboard paint and teach them how to sing "Father Abraham."
But there's so much MORE! The baby will be an immortal soul. It's a baby who will one day grow up and make decisions, and choose whether or not he/she will follow Christ and bring Him glory. The adorable baby will be a sinner who needs to be instructed in the way he/she should go.
I think my view of parenting is the same as my view of marriage. The day-to-day aspect, I think I'd be able to handle. Sure, there will be tough times, but for the most part I think I would enjoy it. However, when I dwell on the enormity of the task, and the seriousness of the commitment, I blanche in terror at my inadequacy to fulfill those roles.
And that's where my problem lies- in expecting my own strength to be the foundation of my "success." What pride on my part! God knew that I wouldn't be able to do it on my own, so He sent His Son. Only when I'm fully relying on His power and the grace administered through the gospel, can I live the role that He designed me for.
Now, how to take that head knowledge and apply it to the fact that I still get abjectly paranoid at the thought of MY being a wife and mother...
What on earth is wrong with me!?!
Today, while perusing the flow of my Facebook news feed (yes, I was doing so instead of studying), I came across yet another friend from my high school years who had taken the plunge into matrimony, and now she's a mom!
Oh. My. Flipping. Word.
She hasn't been the first of my acquaintances to add the term "mommy" to their resumes. Baby pictures are springing up all over my "home page." And now I'm getting wedding AND baby shower invitations. I had steeled myself to deal with the weddings (and I really enjoy them!). I've gotten pretty good at that. (You don't attend eight weddings in one summer and NOT get good at that.) But BABIES!?! I'M NOT READY FOR BABIES!
If I'm not ready, my peers shouldn't be ready! Right?
I'm still floundering with the idea of what it means to be a wife, but children? I haven't even THOUGHT of children. And now I see others tackling the monumental task of parenting, when I haven't even had the guts to address the "I do forever" aspect of a family.
I spent the morning screening little four and five year olds for speech and language problems (they all passed), and as one little boy sat in front of me, smacking his feet on the floor so I could see how his "flashy Nascar shoes" lit up, while he explained to me that shoes were bought at a shoe store-- I wanted to be a mommy.
I want to teach colors, and marvel at little hands and feet. I want to debate with my husband on whether the baby has my eyes or his. I want to make massive amounts of peanut butter sandwiches, and buy silly band-aids, and pack snacks for the soccer team. I want to paint a wall with chalkboard paint and teach them how to sing "Father Abraham."
But there's so much MORE! The baby will be an immortal soul. It's a baby who will one day grow up and make decisions, and choose whether or not he/she will follow Christ and bring Him glory. The adorable baby will be a sinner who needs to be instructed in the way he/she should go.
I think my view of parenting is the same as my view of marriage. The day-to-day aspect, I think I'd be able to handle. Sure, there will be tough times, but for the most part I think I would enjoy it. However, when I dwell on the enormity of the task, and the seriousness of the commitment, I blanche in terror at my inadequacy to fulfill those roles.
And that's where my problem lies- in expecting my own strength to be the foundation of my "success." What pride on my part! God knew that I wouldn't be able to do it on my own, so He sent His Son. Only when I'm fully relying on His power and the grace administered through the gospel, can I live the role that He designed me for.
Now, how to take that head knowledge and apply it to the fact that I still get abjectly paranoid at the thought of MY being a wife and mother...
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Recognizing that 1) I am too busy to adequately maintain this blog, and 2) that women have crazy ideals, and 3) men like football
And because this just makes me laugh... :)
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Together Happiness
Tonight, as Julie and I were walking into Target holding hands, she stopped and looked up at me,
"Cookie! We're together!"
My little heart became very happy, and I replied,
"Yes, we are together. I like it, don't you?"
She smiled and sighed contentedly, "Yes."
"Cookie! We're together!"
My little heart became very happy, and I replied,
"Yes, we are together. I like it, don't you?"
She smiled and sighed contentedly, "Yes."
Monday, August 24, 2009
Define: seek (sēk) v. sought (sôt), seek·ing, seeks: To try to locate or discover; search for, To endeavor to obtain or reach
This morning, I spent some time on Psalm 105:4, and the following struck me...
If it is my job to seek God, and if the riches that follow such a quest are as great as they are, why is it that I so constantly get pulled away and distracted? The competing activities and thoughts all come down to one thing:
I do not know my God.
Could I but see a glimpse of the power and overwhelming beauty of my Savior and God, no doubt all else would be wiped from my mind, and I could not even entertain viewing another as more important than the Almighty.
A life that is lived seeking the glory of my God is accomplished by knowing that same God. That knowledge erases all other thoughts and distractions. How simple is the recipe for Christian growth! How gracious of God to make it so! Only through knowing him, having an increasing knowledge of his love, grace, mercy, justice, sacrifice... (etc.) can I expect life-transforming change as I become the creature he created me to be for his glory.
What a delightful quest! How pleasant the painful task of change becomes when I realize that I am not in the foreground. My God is.
Lord, allow me to follow Psalm 105:4 today...
"Look to the Lord and his strength; seek his face always."
(Ps. 105:4)
If it is my job to seek God, and if the riches that follow such a quest are as great as they are, why is it that I so constantly get pulled away and distracted? The competing activities and thoughts all come down to one thing:
I do not know my God.
Could I but see a glimpse of the power and overwhelming beauty of my Savior and God, no doubt all else would be wiped from my mind, and I could not even entertain viewing another as more important than the Almighty.
A life that is lived seeking the glory of my God is accomplished by knowing that same God. That knowledge erases all other thoughts and distractions. How simple is the recipe for Christian growth! How gracious of God to make it so! Only through knowing him, having an increasing knowledge of his love, grace, mercy, justice, sacrifice... (etc.) can I expect life-transforming change as I become the creature he created me to be for his glory.
What a delightful quest! How pleasant the painful task of change becomes when I realize that I am not in the foreground. My God is.
Lord, allow me to follow Psalm 105:4 today...
"Look to the Lord and his strength; seek his face always."
(Ps. 105:4)
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Vacationing in Motherhood
My parents are out of town (celebrating 28 years together), and I've been staying at their house, playing "mom." Tonight Julie, my three year old sister, walked up to me cradling a bottle of baby shampoo.
"Cookie, 'dis is Baby Sutton." I look down, distracted from the fifteenth checking of my e-mail in the past twenty minutes.
"Ohhh... that's Baby Sutton?" She nods, bouncing the baby on her non-existent hip.
"And Cookie, Baby Sutton not happy now. She need Cheerios."
"Will Cheerios make Baby Sutton happy?"
"Yes. She need 'em. She grumpy." (Hmmm... there are days when I could do with a handful of Cheerios...)
I obligingly got the cereal down from the pantry, and we both picked out a "baby" bowl that was suitable for Baby Sutton.
"Now, Mommy Julie," I said, "you need to be careful, and help Baby Sutton eat her Cheerios. Sometimes babies choke if they don't have help." Her eyes opened wide, and she nodded seriously.
"I be careful. Promise, Cookie."
For the remainder of that hour, Baby Sutton and Julie went everywhere together. Julie told her "be kind, have a happy heart, Baby!" and rocked her, introduced her to the various family members, and sang creative, yodeling lullabies that only she and Baby Sutton could understand.
As I watched her ministrations to a bottle of shampoo, treating it as tenderly as she would have any baby, I remembered something I heard one of the sponsors of the college class say this morning,
"I have the best job in the world- I'm a wife and mom."
Tonight, cuddling Julie on my lap, making yummy yogurt smoothies, and playing "pretend" with a shampoo bottle, I couldn't help but think: no matter what the world may tell me about "building my career" and "not letting your talents be 'wasted' at home," and no matter where others may tell me my worth lies (money, fame, etc.)- I think I could ask for no better job than to listen to yodeling lullabies and teaching colors one Crayola crayon at a time. Thank you, Julie and "Baby Sutton", for reminding me of that.
:)
"Cookie, 'dis is Baby Sutton." I look down, distracted from the fifteenth checking of my e-mail in the past twenty minutes.
"Ohhh... that's Baby Sutton?" She nods, bouncing the baby on her non-existent hip.
"And Cookie, Baby Sutton not happy now. She need Cheerios."
"Will Cheerios make Baby Sutton happy?"
"Yes. She need 'em. She grumpy." (Hmmm... there are days when I could do with a handful of Cheerios...)
I obligingly got the cereal down from the pantry, and we both picked out a "baby" bowl that was suitable for Baby Sutton.
"Now, Mommy Julie," I said, "you need to be careful, and help Baby Sutton eat her Cheerios. Sometimes babies choke if they don't have help." Her eyes opened wide, and she nodded seriously.
"I be careful. Promise, Cookie."
For the remainder of that hour, Baby Sutton and Julie went everywhere together. Julie told her "be kind, have a happy heart, Baby!" and rocked her, introduced her to the various family members, and sang creative, yodeling lullabies that only she and Baby Sutton could understand.
As I watched her ministrations to a bottle of shampoo, treating it as tenderly as she would have any baby, I remembered something I heard one of the sponsors of the college class say this morning,
"I have the best job in the world- I'm a wife and mom."
Tonight, cuddling Julie on my lap, making yummy yogurt smoothies, and playing "pretend" with a shampoo bottle, I couldn't help but think: no matter what the world may tell me about "building my career" and "not letting your talents be 'wasted' at home," and no matter where others may tell me my worth lies (money, fame, etc.)- I think I could ask for no better job than to listen to yodeling lullabies and teaching colors one Crayola crayon at a time. Thank you, Julie and "Baby Sutton", for reminding me of that.
:)
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Wordless, in need of Wisdom
Written words are my delight. If I am unable to verbalize something, or incapable of communicating what I truly mean, I sit down, and begin to write. I write when I'm happy, sad, nostalgic, contrite. I write when I learn, when I want to learn, and when I don't even know that I need to learn. I write to make people laugh. I write to make people think. I write for the joy of stringing together words such as "glinting gossamer" and "merciful justice," creating new ideas and new pictures, and new thoughts.
However, although it does not happen often, sometimes I am completely unable to write. I have no words, only emotions, and typing over and over again does nothing to coherently convey what I'm attempting to tell.
That's what's happening tonight.
I don't have the words, I don't have the wisdom, and I don't have the knowledge. I can't put a series of vocabulary words together to make sense of what I'm attempting to convey. But "every word of God is flawless." (Proverbs 30:5) and "If any of you lacks wisdom, he should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to him." (James 1:5)
Lord, tonight I lack wisdom. But you create flawless words, give me some of those... Because tonight Lord, I really need them.
However, although it does not happen often, sometimes I am completely unable to write. I have no words, only emotions, and typing over and over again does nothing to coherently convey what I'm attempting to tell.
That's what's happening tonight.
I don't have the words, I don't have the wisdom, and I don't have the knowledge. I can't put a series of vocabulary words together to make sense of what I'm attempting to convey. But "every word of God is flawless." (Proverbs 30:5) and "If any of you lacks wisdom, he should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to him." (James 1:5)
Lord, tonight I lack wisdom. But you create flawless words, give me some of those... Because tonight Lord, I really need them.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Truth
I think there are days when following Philippians 4:8 is just a wee bit harder than it is on other days. Of all the attributes we are to imbue our thoughts with (true, noble, right, pure, lovely, admirable, excellent, praiseworthy), I believe the one I struggle with the most is "true."
For example, from the time when I was a young child up until I left home, I would stand at the window, waving goodbye to my parents, convinced that they were never going to come home and that this would be the last time I would be able to tell them that I loved them. Clearly, they're still here, and I wasted many hours, fearfully believing something untrue.
Or there were the times when I didn't play hide-and-seek because I was convinced that as soon as I made myself vulnerable at any angle, then I would be attacked by the monster who had just taken up residence under our coffee table. (He only lived there during hid-and-seek.)
Of course, as I got older some of my fears seemed to become a little more tangible. (Although I still remember hiding from the Hound of the Baskervilles in eighth grade...) Fear of not graduating, fear of not getting a job, fear of failure, fear of never getting married, fear of getting married...
Rather than choosing to build my beliefs and my actions around things that were true, I spent my time hypothesizing an entire slew of possible errors, failures, and mishaps.
Today, the old army of fear is at it again. Amazing how I can face the same enemy in such an assortment of ways. My untrue thoughts today are focused on something I never thought I would fear. But here I am...
"Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.... And the God of peace will be with you." [a]
Merely stating, "oops, that's an untrue thought!" is not enough. I must actively search for truth to replace my lies.
But I am like an olive tree
flourishing in the house of God;
I trust in God's unfailing love
for ever and ever.
I will praise you forever for what you have done;
in your name I will hope, for your name is good.
I will praise you in the presence of your saints. [b]
I will trust.
I will praise.
I will hope.
"Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love. This is how God showed his love among us: He sent his one and only Son into the world that we might live through him." [d]
This is the truth.
************
[a] Philippians 4:8, 9b
[b] Psalm 52:8,9
[c] I John 4:8,9
For example, from the time when I was a young child up until I left home, I would stand at the window, waving goodbye to my parents, convinced that they were never going to come home and that this would be the last time I would be able to tell them that I loved them. Clearly, they're still here, and I wasted many hours, fearfully believing something untrue.
Or there were the times when I didn't play hide-and-seek because I was convinced that as soon as I made myself vulnerable at any angle, then I would be attacked by the monster who had just taken up residence under our coffee table. (He only lived there during hid-and-seek.)
Of course, as I got older some of my fears seemed to become a little more tangible. (Although I still remember hiding from the Hound of the Baskervilles in eighth grade...) Fear of not graduating, fear of not getting a job, fear of failure, fear of never getting married, fear of getting married...
Rather than choosing to build my beliefs and my actions around things that were true, I spent my time hypothesizing an entire slew of possible errors, failures, and mishaps.
Today, the old army of fear is at it again. Amazing how I can face the same enemy in such an assortment of ways. My untrue thoughts today are focused on something I never thought I would fear. But here I am...
"Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.... And the God of peace will be with you." [a]
Merely stating, "oops, that's an untrue thought!" is not enough. I must actively search for truth to replace my lies.
But I am like an olive tree
flourishing in the house of God;
I trust in God's unfailing love
for ever and ever.
I will praise you forever for what you have done;
in your name I will hope, for your name is good.
I will praise you in the presence of your saints. [b]
I will trust.
I will praise.
I will hope.
"Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love. This is how God showed his love among us: He sent his one and only Son into the world that we might live through him." [d]
This is the truth.
************
[a] Philippians 4:8, 9b
[b] Psalm 52:8,9
[c] I John 4:8,9
Thursday, August 20, 2009
My poor little brain is all tied up in knots and decision making... :)
“When you are a Bear of Very Little Brain, and you Think of Things, you find sometimes that a Thing which seemed very Thingish inside you is quite different when it gets out into the open and has other people looking at it.” (A.A. Milne, "Winnie The Pooh")
“When you are a Bear of Very Little Brain, and you Think of Things, you find sometimes that a Thing which seemed very Thingish inside you is quite different when it gets out into the open and has other people looking at it.” (A.A. Milne, "Winnie The Pooh")
**The Manhattan Chronicles**
The man sitting across from me in the terminal is talking. Loudly. About a crisis. I’m like emotional tofu- I absorb the emotions of those around me, and his stress is slowly seeping into my psyche. I just put my iPod in my ears. Maybe it will leave… of course, the sequence of events that I just went through were stressful, so I didn’t need much more to make me want to snap.
This morning was lovely. I was drowsy, but I ambled my way down 6th Avenue to find Magnolia Bakery, my new favorite New York spot. Apparently it’s famous, I just happened to stumble across the name in my browsing for “Things to see in Manhattan.” But this little pocket of heaven on 6th and 49th would be enough to make even the grumpiest person smile on a summer morning. The interior looks as though it has not been touched since 1950, the décor is tiny tiles and dainty pastels- asif it were your grandmother’s kitchen freshly scrubbed with Clorox, for the entire place is spotlessly clean. I ordered a decidedly fat-filled mocha latte and a mini chocolate swirl cheesecake. They packaged both in clean white cardboard, and my dear little cheesecake was in a delightfully marked, dainty box. I fell in love.
Cradling my coffee in one hand and my newly purchased box of heaven in the other, I trotted back down 6th to Bryant Park where I wrote, prayed and nibbled. I believe I’m a Bryant Park junky. It’s so petite, so movie-esque and feels safer than Central Park. I believe, that should I live conveniently located in the city, it would become a tradition.
After my leisurely morning, I was in need of a nap. I have been sleeping about 3 to 5 hours a night, walking and running all day. I knew that with my flight schedule tonight I would need to drive until the wee hours of the morning in order to make it home. So I took a nap. I love napping. I wish I could nap every day…
When I woke up, I ventured out once again. I hate doing “touristy” things. I like to blend in and look like a native. But I’ve never been to the top of Empire State Building, and considering that I’ve been to NYC repeatedly, this is really inexcusable. Besides, I heard the view is incredible. I love incredible views. To make my venture to the top a little less touristy, I decided first to find a delectable frozen yogurt spot called “Pinkberry.” Let’s just say, smuggling creamy pomegranate frozen yogurt to the top of the highest building in New York, and eating it while looking at historic landmarks is amazing. Which is good because being herded like cattle on and off elevators, being surrounded by foreign men who have no concept of personal space, and being subject to grossly over-priced tickets is hardly enjoyable. The experience was good because a) the structural feat of this building is phenomenal, b) all the limestone is from Indiana (represent! Whoo!), and c) I can now say that I’ve done it.
I then packed up, said goodbye to my delightful friend Elisha who was good enough to house me, and sallied forth. I navigated the subways and the bus successfully. I was the only white female on the bus. The looks I got were enough to make anyone anxiously chuckle. I didn’t believe that segregation still existed until I visited those parts of NYC. I got lost at the terminal, which is quite large and kept running, trying to find my ticket counter almost missed my flight, but it was delayed, and then again, and then again. And am now currently waiting in the terminal with a random bunch of disgruntled business men. Once again, I appear to be the only white female…
I’m definitely going to need to acquire some caffeine in Chicago..
**After hours of delays, lost luggage, dashing through airports, and a debate with a Mormon on the final flight, I finally landed in Indianapolis around 1:10 a.m. It's now 3:10 a.m., and yes, I just got home. Exhausted... my Manhattan adventure is officially over.**
The man sitting across from me in the terminal is talking. Loudly. About a crisis. I’m like emotional tofu- I absorb the emotions of those around me, and his stress is slowly seeping into my psyche. I just put my iPod in my ears. Maybe it will leave… of course, the sequence of events that I just went through were stressful, so I didn’t need much more to make me want to snap.
This morning was lovely. I was drowsy, but I ambled my way down 6th Avenue to find Magnolia Bakery, my new favorite New York spot. Apparently it’s famous, I just happened to stumble across the name in my browsing for “Things to see in Manhattan.” But this little pocket of heaven on 6th and 49th would be enough to make even the grumpiest person smile on a summer morning. The interior looks as though it has not been touched since 1950, the décor is tiny tiles and dainty pastels- asif it were your grandmother’s kitchen freshly scrubbed with Clorox, for the entire place is spotlessly clean. I ordered a decidedly fat-filled mocha latte and a mini chocolate swirl cheesecake. They packaged both in clean white cardboard, and my dear little cheesecake was in a delightfully marked, dainty box. I fell in love.
Cradling my coffee in one hand and my newly purchased box of heaven in the other, I trotted back down 6th to Bryant Park where I wrote, prayed and nibbled. I believe I’m a Bryant Park junky. It’s so petite, so movie-esque and feels safer than Central Park. I believe, that should I live conveniently located in the city, it would become a tradition.
After my leisurely morning, I was in need of a nap. I have been sleeping about 3 to 5 hours a night, walking and running all day. I knew that with my flight schedule tonight I would need to drive until the wee hours of the morning in order to make it home. So I took a nap. I love napping. I wish I could nap every day…
When I woke up, I ventured out once again. I hate doing “touristy” things. I like to blend in and look like a native. But I’ve never been to the top of Empire State Building, and considering that I’ve been to NYC repeatedly, this is really inexcusable. Besides, I heard the view is incredible. I love incredible views. To make my venture to the top a little less touristy, I decided first to find a delectable frozen yogurt spot called “Pinkberry.” Let’s just say, smuggling creamy pomegranate frozen yogurt to the top of the highest building in New York, and eating it while looking at historic landmarks is amazing. Which is good because being herded like cattle on and off elevators, being surrounded by foreign men who have no concept of personal space, and being subject to grossly over-priced tickets is hardly enjoyable. The experience was good because a) the structural feat of this building is phenomenal, b) all the limestone is from Indiana (represent! Whoo!), and c) I can now say that I’ve done it.
I then packed up, said goodbye to my delightful friend Elisha who was good enough to house me, and sallied forth. I navigated the subways and the bus successfully. I was the only white female on the bus. The looks I got were enough to make anyone anxiously chuckle. I didn’t believe that segregation still existed until I visited those parts of NYC. I got lost at the terminal, which is quite large and kept running, trying to find my ticket counter almost missed my flight, but it was delayed, and then again, and then again. And am now currently waiting in the terminal with a random bunch of disgruntled business men. Once again, I appear to be the only white female…
I’m definitely going to need to acquire some caffeine in Chicago..
**After hours of delays, lost luggage, dashing through airports, and a debate with a Mormon on the final flight, I finally landed in Indianapolis around 1:10 a.m. It's now 3:10 a.m., and yes, I just got home. Exhausted... my Manhattan adventure is officially over.**
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
“You know that you are in love when the hardest thing to do is say good-bye"
**The Manhattan Chronicles**
Well, my dear reader, my Manhattan time has come to a close. As I write this, my bags sit beside me (still open, much squashing will be needed to close them), and I sip one more sip of Manhattan water while trying to find the best way to say goodbye to a city who never even knew I was here. While at the airport I shall no doubt hash out my last day's adventures, views personal space, and Pinkberry yogurt, but for now, a vague settling of the feelings inside of me must occur.
Over the past three days I have experienced fear, exhilaration, confidence, paranoia, doubt, joy, sadness, contentment, pleasure, loneliness, hesitation, and desire. It would be wonderful if this trip had solidified my purpose and cemented my future, but I feel that the exact opposite has taken place. Something about this place terrifies me, but in my terror, I find myself peeking through my fingers (as one does in a scary movie) hesitantly wanting to see what's about to happen.
I love this city. And I love the corn fields of Indiana- I'm going home!
I've grown a little in NYC, and regardless of what the future brings, I shall always hold a fondness in my heart for the Big Apple of the East.
Goodbye, my love, Manhattan.
Well, my dear reader, my Manhattan time has come to a close. As I write this, my bags sit beside me (still open, much squashing will be needed to close them), and I sip one more sip of Manhattan water while trying to find the best way to say goodbye to a city who never even knew I was here. While at the airport I shall no doubt hash out my last day's adventures, views personal space, and Pinkberry yogurt, but for now, a vague settling of the feelings inside of me must occur.
Over the past three days I have experienced fear, exhilaration, confidence, paranoia, doubt, joy, sadness, contentment, pleasure, loneliness, hesitation, and desire. It would be wonderful if this trip had solidified my purpose and cemented my future, but I feel that the exact opposite has taken place. Something about this place terrifies me, but in my terror, I find myself peeking through my fingers (as one does in a scary movie) hesitantly wanting to see what's about to happen.
I love this city. And I love the corn fields of Indiana- I'm going home!
I've grown a little in NYC, and regardless of what the future brings, I shall always hold a fondness in my heart for the Big Apple of the East.
Goodbye, my love, Manhattan.
**The Manhattan Chronicles**
Well, my fair reader, you were neglected shamefully last night. I had every intention of arriving at the apartment in dusky twilight, filled to the brim with creative and witty anecdotes, and, while I did arrive around dusk, I was hardly filled with witty narratives. I was exhausted. I had walked over one hundred blocks- actually spent the entire day walking- and I was not ready to sit down and expound. I was ready to crawl into bed.
However, sleeping in Manhattan always seems like a sacrilege, so I decided to rest a little before going back out. Alas, a violent thunderstorm allayed my plans. Umbrella-less and scared of wandering damp streets alone, I curled up with several movies and spent a blissful night wrapped in fictional characters' problems.
But yesterday was delightful.
I went to Bryant Park, Rockefeller Center, Saks, St. Patrick's Cathedral, browsed homes on Park Avenue, shopped on Fifth Avenue, and found the most amazing hummus and organic mint green iced tea.
I began my day quite confidently- I was standing at a street corner, when a little lady with a child pulling her arm out of her sockets, asked me in a harried way which direction Fifth Avenue was. I gave her incredibly lovely directions and earned a "thank you" and a confidence that I was becoming a New Yorker. (I know, I know, Fifth is easy to find when you're standing on Sixth, but please give me some credit.)
Bryant Park, where I nibbled on fresh fruit and iced coffee, trying in vain to keep the heat at bay, was filled with people reading at little tables under the trees. Across the lawn was an outdoor yoga class. If I hadn't been attired in a skirt, I might have joined them in their downward-facing dogs. I mentally noted that law enforcement officers in NYC seem particularly attractive, but then remembered that I'm scared a lot in NYC, and this could be the reason for their attraction...
At Saks,
I met my new best friend "Javier." He was delightful. And incredibly flamboyant. We talked make-up and he gave me a make-over while we chatted it up about graduate school and different skin tones. He's going back to school in the fall- to be a teacher. Just to have a little Saks' bag hanging from my wrist, I bought some concealer and bid Javier "adieu".
The rest of the day was browsing, amazing hummus lunch in Central Park (complete with the world's best mint tea).
I decided that since I had never been to mass- I should go at St. Patrick's. The beautiful cathedral was awe-inspiring. But mass was not. More thoughts on that to follow. But as I sat there, flipping through the hymnal, I realized I didn't know any of the songs in there. Wracking my mind for a song they might sing that I would know, a sudden thought popped into my head, "I wonderful if the have 'A Mighty Fortress Is Our God...'" Then realization of what I had just thought made me stifle a snort of laughter.
Of COURSE they wouldn't have "A Mighty Fortress"! Martin Luther and the Catholic church HATED each other! Why would they be singing a song penned by one of their old arch-rivals? I resisted another urge to chuckle. What on earth was I thinking?
As I wandered the burgs of the socially elite, glancing in store windows and trying on impossibly expensive shoes, I was trying to stifle an overwhelming sense of loneliness. I don't have much recreational alone time. Granted, during school I'm alone a lot because that is my mode of studying, but when I do fun, random, Fifth Avenue type of activities, I'm usually surrounded by a bevy of family with a sprinkling of friends.
Every now and then the reality of what I would be doing, should I choose to come to NYC hits me at a different angle. I would be so lonely out here. If I'm plagued with loneliness in West Lafayette, (which I have been as of late) with my family and friends near-by, then how much more so would I be plagued in a mammoth city, all alone? I know, I know I would eventually make friends, but there would be quite a long while when those friendships would be just planted and new, timid shallow things. And that's always a hard time...
All well. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, won't we? I won't know if I got the externship until the first week of September. I'll let my worries take a snooze until then. Who knows, they may not even need to be awakened...
Okay, last day in the city! Going to visit a famous bakery and try to see the top of the world from the Empire State Building. Then I've been told I need to try some delicious frozen yogurt called "Pinkberry." Hello, Wednesday in Manhattan!
Well, my fair reader, you were neglected shamefully last night. I had every intention of arriving at the apartment in dusky twilight, filled to the brim with creative and witty anecdotes, and, while I did arrive around dusk, I was hardly filled with witty narratives. I was exhausted. I had walked over one hundred blocks- actually spent the entire day walking- and I was not ready to sit down and expound. I was ready to crawl into bed.
However, sleeping in Manhattan always seems like a sacrilege, so I decided to rest a little before going back out. Alas, a violent thunderstorm allayed my plans. Umbrella-less and scared of wandering damp streets alone, I curled up with several movies and spent a blissful night wrapped in fictional characters' problems.
But yesterday was delightful.
I went to Bryant Park, Rockefeller Center, Saks, St. Patrick's Cathedral, browsed homes on Park Avenue, shopped on Fifth Avenue, and found the most amazing hummus and organic mint green iced tea.
I began my day quite confidently- I was standing at a street corner, when a little lady with a child pulling her arm out of her sockets, asked me in a harried way which direction Fifth Avenue was. I gave her incredibly lovely directions and earned a "thank you" and a confidence that I was becoming a New Yorker. (I know, I know, Fifth is easy to find when you're standing on Sixth, but please give me some credit.)
Bryant Park, where I nibbled on fresh fruit and iced coffee, trying in vain to keep the heat at bay, was filled with people reading at little tables under the trees. Across the lawn was an outdoor yoga class. If I hadn't been attired in a skirt, I might have joined them in their downward-facing dogs. I mentally noted that law enforcement officers in NYC seem particularly attractive, but then remembered that I'm scared a lot in NYC, and this could be the reason for their attraction...
At Saks,
I met my new best friend "Javier." He was delightful. And incredibly flamboyant. We talked make-up and he gave me a make-over while we chatted it up about graduate school and different skin tones. He's going back to school in the fall- to be a teacher. Just to have a little Saks' bag hanging from my wrist, I bought some concealer and bid Javier "adieu".The rest of the day was browsing, amazing hummus lunch in Central Park (complete with the world's best mint tea).
I decided that since I had never been to mass- I should go at St. Patrick's. The beautiful cathedral was awe-inspiring. But mass was not. More thoughts on that to follow. But as I sat there, flipping through the hymnal, I realized I didn't know any of the songs in there. Wracking my mind for a song they might sing that I would know, a sudden thought popped into my head, "I wonderful if the have 'A Mighty Fortress Is Our God...'" Then realization of what I had just thought made me stifle a snort of laughter.
Of COURSE they wouldn't have "A Mighty Fortress"! Martin Luther and the Catholic church HATED each other! Why would they be singing a song penned by one of their old arch-rivals? I resisted another urge to chuckle. What on earth was I thinking?
As I wandered the burgs of the socially elite, glancing in store windows and trying on impossibly expensive shoes, I was trying to stifle an overwhelming sense of loneliness. I don't have much recreational alone time. Granted, during school I'm alone a lot because that is my mode of studying, but when I do fun, random, Fifth Avenue type of activities, I'm usually surrounded by a bevy of family with a sprinkling of friends.
Every now and then the reality of what I would be doing, should I choose to come to NYC hits me at a different angle. I would be so lonely out here. If I'm plagued with loneliness in West Lafayette, (which I have been as of late) with my family and friends near-by, then how much more so would I be plagued in a mammoth city, all alone? I know, I know I would eventually make friends, but there would be quite a long while when those friendships would be just planted and new, timid shallow things. And that's always a hard time...
All well. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, won't we? I won't know if I got the externship until the first week of September. I'll let my worries take a snooze until then. Who knows, they may not even need to be awakened...
Okay, last day in the city! Going to visit a famous bakery and try to see the top of the world from the Empire State Building. Then I've been told I need to try some delicious frozen yogurt called "Pinkberry." Hello, Wednesday in Manhattan!
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Apple Update!
Can't escape my need to communicate everything in written form.
This post is being penned in the Apple store on a Mac that apparently loves German. Currently it's telling me that every word in this sentence is misspelled. All well, gotta love free WiFi.
I was bummed I left my yoga pants in W. Laf, because I definitely could have joined in an outdoor yoga class at Bryant Park this morning...
Okay, now to Central Park and the Met, then I think, on my way back for dinner, I'm going to stop at St. Patrick's Cathedral for mass. I've never been to mass, and I think it's about time I went. Don't worry, I'm a fundamental evangelical to the very core of my soul.
It's so hot my make-up from Saks is melting!
P.S. I'm buying this MacBook Pro as soon as my current favorite, "Bob" dies. Don't tell Bob.
This post is being penned in the Apple store on a Mac that apparently loves German. Currently it's telling me that every word in this sentence is misspelled. All well, gotta love free WiFi.
I was bummed I left my yoga pants in W. Laf, because I definitely could have joined in an outdoor yoga class at Bryant Park this morning...
Okay, now to Central Park and the Met, then I think, on my way back for dinner, I'm going to stop at St. Patrick's Cathedral for mass. I've never been to mass, and I think it's about time I went. Don't worry, I'm a fundamental evangelical to the very core of my soul.
It's so hot my make-up from Saks is melting!
P.S. I'm buying this MacBook Pro as soon as my current favorite, "Bob" dies. Don't tell Bob.
If I'm less chatty, don't take it personally...
**The Manhattan Chronicles**
Hello, all!
I am heading out for a brilliant day on the town. I will probably walk until I fall down from exhaustion.
I jotted down little notes in my "little black book" so I know exactly what's on the to-do list today! Unfortunately, I'm not like my gifted siblings, so I shall not return to you this evening with a crop of pictures perfectly capturing my day. But I do have my faithful pen and my tiny little book- so I'm sure you shall not escape the day's random observations.
Happy Tuesday!
I should probably buy a map...
Hello, all!
I am heading out for a brilliant day on the town. I will probably walk until I fall down from exhaustion.
I jotted down little notes in my "little black book" so I know exactly what's on the to-do list today! Unfortunately, I'm not like my gifted siblings, so I shall not return to you this evening with a crop of pictures perfectly capturing my day. But I do have my faithful pen and my tiny little book- so I'm sure you shall not escape the day's random observations.
Happy Tuesday!
I should probably buy a map...
Monday, August 17, 2009
The Haven of Renewed Purpose
**The Manhattan Chronicles**
After my interview and casual browsing around town which followed my interview- I spent the majority of my afternoon here
in the New York Public Library.
I think I could move to New York just for this building. It makes me happy...
I ate dinner at a little cafe/diner with bright orange tiles on its walls and a grumpy man behind its counter. I'm staying with one of my brother's college friends these two nights, which is wonderful, but due to an error with my phone, we spent two hours not communicating.
And I people watched. Observations from people watching:
Wedges and gladiator sandals are incredibly popular footwear.
When you put this many people together, you see more attractive men per minute than you do anywhere else.
There are quite a few New Yorkers who have none of their city's acclaimed fashion sense.
Dresses are in- in- IN! So cute.
No one looks very happy...
I was feeling rather demoralized after a hot, sticky afternoon- lonely in the big city and wondering if I was a crazy fool to leave the comfort (and cheapness) of the Midwest to forge my own little path in the big C of NY. But then I arrived here:
a tiny sanctuary, and I remembered why I wanted to move to Manhattan. Yes, it's big and bustling, and scary, and I'm horrible at trying new things all alone, but there are so many people here who are so sad, and hurting so much- I saw some of them at the rehab facility today, and even more as I mused at a coffee house window. And although all the glitz and glamour can be at once overwhelming and enticing- it's not everything there is. There are little cubbies of peace, like this one, into which I can retreat. Little pockets of comfort which can be home, and into which I can welcome other tired, demoralized people.
I like the city again- I think I shall venture out to procure some flip-flops, mace, and a "thank you" for my hostesses...
After my interview and casual browsing around town which followed my interview- I spent the majority of my afternoon here
in the New York Public Library.
I think I could move to New York just for this building. It makes me happy...
I ate dinner at a little cafe/diner with bright orange tiles on its walls and a grumpy man behind its counter. I'm staying with one of my brother's college friends these two nights, which is wonderful, but due to an error with my phone, we spent two hours not communicating.
And I people watched. Observations from people watching:
Wedges and gladiator sandals are incredibly popular footwear.
When you put this many people together, you see more attractive men per minute than you do anywhere else.
There are quite a few New Yorkers who have none of their city's acclaimed fashion sense.
Dresses are in- in- IN! So cute.
No one looks very happy...
I was feeling rather demoralized after a hot, sticky afternoon- lonely in the big city and wondering if I was a crazy fool to leave the comfort (and cheapness) of the Midwest to forge my own little path in the big C of NY. But then I arrived here:
a tiny sanctuary, and I remembered why I wanted to move to Manhattan. Yes, it's big and bustling, and scary, and I'm horrible at trying new things all alone, but there are so many people here who are so sad, and hurting so much- I saw some of them at the rehab facility today, and even more as I mused at a coffee house window. And although all the glitz and glamour can be at once overwhelming and enticing- it's not everything there is. There are little cubbies of peace, like this one, into which I can retreat. Little pockets of comfort which can be home, and into which I can welcome other tired, demoralized people.
I like the city again- I think I shall venture out to procure some flip-flops, mace, and a "thank you" for my hostesses...
Interview and beyond.
**The Manhattan Chronicles**
Okay, so probably the best interview I've ever had! I don't think that's any credit to myself. It would actually take VERY little to surpass my horrible interview track record. Yuck. I stink at interviews.
But today I just "played a part." My character was focused, while still sweet, qualified, and perky. It made for a lovely interview. The real me should never go on interviews. The me who can act should always go.The head of pediatrics and the head of adult rehabilitation were both there. It was just over forty-five minutes long, and throughout the interview these ladies mentioned their love of Purdue and my "astounding credentials" probably about ten times. Amazing. (Even more amazing when you realize that my credentials aren't really that astounding...) Now all I can do is pray that I get this placement- apparently they've had more than their share of qualified applicants and it's going to be a tough call. Yikes. Pray-pray-pray!
In other news: NYC is blistering (yes, I can literally see the sidewalks bubbling) in sweltering humidity. I have probably sweat close to a gallon of water since my arrival. Yuck.
Ah... yes, my arrival.
After I landed I went to the bus terminal.
I missed the first bus because I was too shy to get on it (yes, I know I'm twenty-four years old). I missed the second bus because I didn't know that the bus driver only accepted change. Then I caught the third bus and spent the entire ride staring at a VERY attractive, yet slightly creepy man trying to decide if he was gay or an incredibly uninhibited metro. He caught me staring at him about twelve times over the course of a twenty minute bus ride, but I have a wonderful, Midwestern shamelessness, and I just kept on staring.
I got off the bus at the wrong stop and couldn't find my subway. (Remember, I'm in a suit, pulling luggage, and it's ninety degrees outside). I had gotten off in a rather seedy part of Harlem. Honest to God, I was the only white person for about five blocks. It was awesome, but I didn't get a chance to bust out my gansta-speak. So I'll have to go back there, fo' shizzle.
Lost, and in the middle of Harlem (at least I knew I was in Harlem!), I hailed a suspicious looking taxi (he had no formal taxi markings other than his license in the front windshield). Hopping in I glibly reeled off the address of Rusk Rehab, and then pretended, yes pretended, to talk on the phone the whole time so that he'd think I was a grown-up (in my world grown-ups are busy and always making phone calls). I was so paranoid of being carted off to some deep, dark alley and losing my darling little Coach wallet. Poor driver. He was just doing his job, and my over-active imagination turned him into a felon...
Now I'm sitting in the New York Public Library on Fifth Avenue. I'm finally regaining a stable core temperature (although my hair, even after 30 minutes, is still saturated with perspiration). In about an hour and a half I'll venture out for food and hydration before hiking to my resting place for the night- I'll probably be a horrible house guest for Elisha- I've been up since 3 and all I want to do is crawl into bed...
Okay, so probably the best interview I've ever had! I don't think that's any credit to myself. It would actually take VERY little to surpass my horrible interview track record. Yuck. I stink at interviews.
But today I just "played a part." My character was focused, while still sweet, qualified, and perky. It made for a lovely interview. The real me should never go on interviews. The me who can act should always go.The head of pediatrics and the head of adult rehabilitation were both there. It was just over forty-five minutes long, and throughout the interview these ladies mentioned their love of Purdue and my "astounding credentials" probably about ten times. Amazing. (Even more amazing when you realize that my credentials aren't really that astounding...) Now all I can do is pray that I get this placement- apparently they've had more than their share of qualified applicants and it's going to be a tough call. Yikes. Pray-pray-pray!
In other news: NYC is blistering (yes, I can literally see the sidewalks bubbling) in sweltering humidity. I have probably sweat close to a gallon of water since my arrival. Yuck.
Ah... yes, my arrival.
After I landed I went to the bus terminal.
I missed the first bus because I was too shy to get on it (yes, I know I'm twenty-four years old). I missed the second bus because I didn't know that the bus driver only accepted change. Then I caught the third bus and spent the entire ride staring at a VERY attractive, yet slightly creepy man trying to decide if he was gay or an incredibly uninhibited metro. He caught me staring at him about twelve times over the course of a twenty minute bus ride, but I have a wonderful, Midwestern shamelessness, and I just kept on staring.
I got off the bus at the wrong stop and couldn't find my subway. (Remember, I'm in a suit, pulling luggage, and it's ninety degrees outside). I had gotten off in a rather seedy part of Harlem. Honest to God, I was the only white person for about five blocks. It was awesome, but I didn't get a chance to bust out my gansta-speak. So I'll have to go back there, fo' shizzle.
Lost, and in the middle of Harlem (at least I knew I was in Harlem!), I hailed a suspicious looking taxi (he had no formal taxi markings other than his license in the front windshield). Hopping in I glibly reeled off the address of Rusk Rehab, and then pretended, yes pretended, to talk on the phone the whole time so that he'd think I was a grown-up (in my world grown-ups are busy and always making phone calls). I was so paranoid of being carted off to some deep, dark alley and losing my darling little Coach wallet. Poor driver. He was just doing his job, and my over-active imagination turned him into a felon...
Now I'm sitting in the New York Public Library on Fifth Avenue. I'm finally regaining a stable core temperature (although my hair, even after 30 minutes, is still saturated with perspiration). In about an hour and a half I'll venture out for food and hydration before hiking to my resting place for the night- I'll probably be a horrible house guest for Elisha- I've been up since 3 and all I want to do is crawl into bed...
Photographic documentation of a bored college student on a tiny airplane...
Professional me, glibly drinking mediocre airline coffee as I jet-set across the country.
Totally goofy me imbibing too much caffeine on an empty stomach.
This is the way I felt all morning- CRAZY!!!
:)
Spread Your Wings and FLY!
**I will do my best to keep you, my wonderful reader, updated on my goings-on in Manhattan. I will actually write rather frequently given my solitary status and the wealth of adorable coffee shops to sit and ruminate in…**
As I write, the sun is seen only occasionally as we dip in and out of clouds. During take off, just as the sun was rising, it was like flying through golden gossamer. (ahhh… waxing eloquent.) All the lakes, dwindling to puddles, were screaming sunrise orange in my eyes. I want the color in a can- but unfortunately not even Behr can package that radiance.
“He makes the clouds his chariot and rides on the wings of the wind.” In Indiana we often see beauty, but not so often grandeur, and rising through mountainous clouds, my breath was stolen by the thought of how BIG my God is. “He covers the sky with clouds.”
In other (more frivolous) news: going to the airport now resembles checking into a concentration camp. Denuded of my shoes, jacket, purse, necklace, watch, and carryon, trudging slowly through the line, in the grumpy silence that non-morning people inflict, I couldn’t help but grimace. What idiot first decided that smuggling weapons in stilettos and jewelry would be a good idea?
Oh, and apparently my Mac Book, “Bob,” looks like a terrorist threat.
As I write, the sun is seen only occasionally as we dip in and out of clouds. During take off, just as the sun was rising, it was like flying through golden gossamer. (ahhh… waxing eloquent.) All the lakes, dwindling to puddles, were screaming sunrise orange in my eyes. I want the color in a can- but unfortunately not even Behr can package that radiance.
“He makes the clouds his chariot and rides on the wings of the wind.” In Indiana we often see beauty, but not so often grandeur, and rising through mountainous clouds, my breath was stolen by the thought of how BIG my God is. “He covers the sky with clouds.”
In other (more frivolous) news: going to the airport now resembles checking into a concentration camp. Denuded of my shoes, jacket, purse, necklace, watch, and carryon, trudging slowly through the line, in the grumpy silence that non-morning people inflict, I couldn’t help but grimace. What idiot first decided that smuggling weapons in stilettos and jewelry would be a good idea?
Oh, and apparently my Mac Book, “Bob,” looks like a terrorist threat.
Friday, August 14, 2009
Adventure for one, please
Crack-o-dawn early on Monday morning, I shall be flying to my delightful "dream city." The reason for this expensive, incredibly terrifying journey is the interview of my dreams. Allow me to explain...
In my graduate speech/language pathology program at Purdue University, that delightful institution puts us through the paces for exactly four and a half semesters. Midway through that fifth semester, we are cast into the world to sink or swim. I am completing eight weeks of an "externship" at a school (probably in Zionsville) and another 8-12 weeks at a hospital or medical setting.
Our educational placement is determined for us. I have no control over where I am placed, but the medical placement is another story. We are required to find our own medical placements. Most of my colleagues have already done so. But most of my colleagues aren't gluttons for punishment, as I appear to be.
The creme de la creme of medical placements is located in Manhattan. Rusk Institute of Rehabilitation Medicine is one of the nation's most pretigious rehabilitation facilities. My application for an interview was more work than my application for graduate school.
But I got an interview.
Monday, at one p.m.
My parents, perfect paragons of generosity, have bought me a suit, and a plane ticket (I provided my own support-top pantyhose and stunning accessories), and sent me into the wilds of Manhattan to see if the prior five years of effort have all been for naught. I have no back-up plan.
I AM SCARED OUT OF MY MIND.
I'm not used to forging my own trail, going out on my own. I always order the same thing at restaurants. I call my Bunny five times to make sure the shade of red I chose for a nail polish is okay. I text my mom seven times when picking out a necklace to wear with my new top. Every vacation I take- I take with family members. You know how girls always go in groups to the restroom? I invented that. I need constant affirmation, companionship, and validation. I can do new things- when surrounded by a comfortable bubble, but I am so incredibly afraid of doing new things by myself. I am not a good trail-blazer.
And on Monday, I have to do that.
Prayers appreciated.
Okay. **deep breath** Here it goes.
In my graduate speech/language pathology program at Purdue University, that delightful institution puts us through the paces for exactly four and a half semesters. Midway through that fifth semester, we are cast into the world to sink or swim. I am completing eight weeks of an "externship" at a school (probably in Zionsville) and another 8-12 weeks at a hospital or medical setting.
Our educational placement is determined for us. I have no control over where I am placed, but the medical placement is another story. We are required to find our own medical placements. Most of my colleagues have already done so. But most of my colleagues aren't gluttons for punishment, as I appear to be.
The creme de la creme of medical placements is located in Manhattan. Rusk Institute of Rehabilitation Medicine is one of the nation's most pretigious rehabilitation facilities. My application for an interview was more work than my application for graduate school.
But I got an interview.
Monday, at one p.m.
My parents, perfect paragons of generosity, have bought me a suit, and a plane ticket (I provided my own support-top pantyhose and stunning accessories), and sent me into the wilds of Manhattan to see if the prior five years of effort have all been for naught. I have no back-up plan.
I AM SCARED OUT OF MY MIND.
I'm not used to forging my own trail, going out on my own. I always order the same thing at restaurants. I call my Bunny five times to make sure the shade of red I chose for a nail polish is okay. I text my mom seven times when picking out a necklace to wear with my new top. Every vacation I take- I take with family members. You know how girls always go in groups to the restroom? I invented that. I need constant affirmation, companionship, and validation. I can do new things- when surrounded by a comfortable bubble, but I am so incredibly afraid of doing new things by myself. I am not a good trail-blazer.
And on Monday, I have to do that.
Prayers appreciated.
Okay. **deep breath** Here it goes.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Friday, July 31, 2009
This morning my coffee is so strong it could kick you in the teeth. And that's good.
Because if it weren't, I might kick you in the teeth.
*love-love!*
*love-love!*
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Vulnerable Me
Today I'm very tired and alone.
I had to ask my father for money. Again.
I feel as though God is taking a battering ram to my failures and flaws.
I don't think I listened to my accountability friends this morning- I just wanted to solve, solve, solve.
I've stared at final reports, lesson plans, and session notes for so long (revising, rewriting, revising, rewriting). That I'm just exhausted.
I don't know what I'm doing... I have an interview in NYC next week, but I'm so disillusioned with my major that I almost don't want to fly out.
I just feel very raw, alone, and bruised right now. I know it's a feeling and "this too shall pass." But for the time being I just want to crawl back under my blankets and cry...
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Whimsical Happiness...
This is not my traditional genre, but I'm in love with this song. Yes, there are several lines which are **ahem** well, you know, but I'm innocent enough to find it transparently endearing- please, no body explain any connotations I might have missed. Thank you. :)
I love the eukelele and the way I can can stumble my way through the lyrics and feel like Ingrid, random chorus, and I are happy, beachy friends who don't really want to get rich.
Favorite line: "And we will put the lonesome on the shelf."
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
"I NEED..." And I don't love.
All right ladies, whip out those lists. You know you have them. Some of you may keep a mental list, others of you may be completely and totally OCD and have developed spread sheets (I fall into the latter category). You have a list of "what you want in a man." Oh, you can title it however you choose: "dating standards," "intent of matrimony," "ideal characteristics," etc. Call it what you may, your list boils down to what YOU find important in a man and a relationship.
Let's see... I remember my list from Jr. High. I have one from high school. And there's the most recent one from the college years. In Jr. High he needed to have nice penmanship and "not be tone-deaf." There's the high school list which included such essentials as "able to change a diaper" and "willing to grill." (These requirements stemmed from occasional lapses into disliking children and a still-crippling fear of propane.) In college, "ball room dancing" was added to the list along with "willing to balance the checkbook," (because I never wanted to know how much money I was spending).
Yes, I jest, but even when I (during a fit of maturity) removed those more "optional" items from my list, there was one common denominator of almost every stipulation that was left. I needed the man to fulfill these roles in order to be right. I needed comfort. I needed affirmation. I needed to be shielded from all my fears. I needed to be cool. I needed to be thought intelligent. I needed, I needed, I needed...
The funny thing is, God gave me three things to look for in a man: leader, lover, learner. Everything else is icing on the cake. I know this- the head knowledge is there, but the foot-work is lacking, and I shamefacedly admit that even though I could tritely rattle off the right answers, I didn't live them.
But while the leader-lover-learner information is nice, acknowledging it is not the root of my issue. My sin problem goes much deeper. The truth of the matter is I was looking to man to fulfill a role that only God can. I was expecting man to be my everything. This is true not just for relationships in the technical sense of the word (i.e. dating), but also relationships with my parents, friends, coworkers, etc. I needed those people to react a certain way.
When people reacted the way that I needed them too, I was happy- I felt warm, contented, satisfied. (In romantic relationships, this would be the ooey-gooey feeling similarly elicited by chick-flicks.) When they didn't I would become disgruntled, terrified, depressed, and moody. But their inability to be everything that I expect them to be was not necessarily a failing on their part, but on mine. I don't love the people around me. I need them.
I equate my need to love.
Peter said of my God: "His divine power has given us everything we need for life and godliness through our knowledge of him who called us by his own glory and goodness." (II Peter 1:3)
EVERYTHING I NEED. Everything.
Why should I even desire to augment the bounty of God with my requirements of a man? Why would I place that burden, the burden of supplying "everything I need" on a man? Who could bear that weight without falling? Why am I searching for that fulfillment? It's already been supplied! What an amazing, wonderful revelation! My prayer is now that it becomes more and more applied in my life- may I learn to be satisfied in Christ, and to actually love those God has placed around me... So much growing to do!
Let's see... I remember my list from Jr. High. I have one from high school. And there's the most recent one from the college years. In Jr. High he needed to have nice penmanship and "not be tone-deaf." There's the high school list which included such essentials as "able to change a diaper" and "willing to grill." (These requirements stemmed from occasional lapses into disliking children and a still-crippling fear of propane.) In college, "ball room dancing" was added to the list along with "willing to balance the checkbook," (because I never wanted to know how much money I was spending).
Yes, I jest, but even when I (during a fit of maturity) removed those more "optional" items from my list, there was one common denominator of almost every stipulation that was left. I needed the man to fulfill these roles in order to be right. I needed comfort. I needed affirmation. I needed to be shielded from all my fears. I needed to be cool. I needed to be thought intelligent. I needed, I needed, I needed...
The funny thing is, God gave me three things to look for in a man: leader, lover, learner. Everything else is icing on the cake. I know this- the head knowledge is there, but the foot-work is lacking, and I shamefacedly admit that even though I could tritely rattle off the right answers, I didn't live them.
But while the leader-lover-learner information is nice, acknowledging it is not the root of my issue. My sin problem goes much deeper. The truth of the matter is I was looking to man to fulfill a role that only God can. I was expecting man to be my everything. This is true not just for relationships in the technical sense of the word (i.e. dating), but also relationships with my parents, friends, coworkers, etc. I needed those people to react a certain way.
When people reacted the way that I needed them too, I was happy- I felt warm, contented, satisfied. (In romantic relationships, this would be the ooey-gooey feeling similarly elicited by chick-flicks.) When they didn't I would become disgruntled, terrified, depressed, and moody. But their inability to be everything that I expect them to be was not necessarily a failing on their part, but on mine. I don't love the people around me. I need them.
I equate my need to love.
Peter said of my God: "His divine power has given us everything we need for life and godliness through our knowledge of him who called us by his own glory and goodness." (II Peter 1:3)
EVERYTHING I NEED. Everything.
Why should I even desire to augment the bounty of God with my requirements of a man? Why would I place that burden, the burden of supplying "everything I need" on a man? Who could bear that weight without falling? Why am I searching for that fulfillment? It's already been supplied! What an amazing, wonderful revelation! My prayer is now that it becomes more and more applied in my life- may I learn to be satisfied in Christ, and to actually love those God has placed around me... So much growing to do!
Monday, July 27, 2009
I do but seek faintheartedly
"If there be so certain and glorious a rest for the saints, why is there no more industrious seeking after it? One would think, if a man did once hear of such unspeakable glory to be obtained, and believed what he heard to be true, he should be transported with the vehemence of his desire after it, and should almost forget to eat and drink and should care for nothing else, and speak of and inquire after nothing else, but how to get this treasure. And yet people who hear of it daily and profess to believe it as a fundamental article of faith, do as little mind it, or labour for it as if they had never heard of any such thing or did not believe one word they hear." (Richard Baxter)
"The faint, far-off results of those energies which God's creative rapture implanted in matter when He made the worlds are what we now call physical pleasures,; and even this filtered, the are too much for our present management. What would it be to taste at the fountainhead that stream of which even these lower reaches prove so intoxicating? Yet that, I believe, is what lies before us. The whole man is to drink joy from the fountain of joy." (C. S. Lewis)
"Christianity proposes not to extinguish our natural desires. It promises to bring the desires under just control and direct them to their true object." (William Wilberforce)
"The faint, far-off results of those energies which God's creative rapture implanted in matter when He made the worlds are what we now call physical pleasures,; and even this filtered, the are too much for our present management. What would it be to taste at the fountainhead that stream of which even these lower reaches prove so intoxicating? Yet that, I believe, is what lies before us. The whole man is to drink joy from the fountain of joy." (C. S. Lewis)
"Christianity proposes not to extinguish our natural desires. It promises to bring the desires under just control and direct them to their true object." (William Wilberforce)
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Messes of Spaghetti Feelings
In novels, authors patly say, "And she was gripped by sadness." Or "He had a moment of intense despair." We readers sigh, and feel that we empathize. But we can't. Not really. Because emotions don't work in such clean, tidy ways. At least mine don't...
When I'm sad, I don't feel merely sad- I may also have feelings of loneliness, wistfulness, disappointment, and fear intertwined with the dominant feeling of "sadness." Perhaps I'm ashamed (or afraid) to be lonely, wistful, disappointed or fearful, and as a result turn to the nebulous "sad" to fill the necessity of describing my emotions. Maybe I don't want to identify those other emotions, and "sad" is so easily used. Rarely, if ever, does one emotion dominate and over-ride my thoughts to the exclusion of all others. The different feelings intertwine, tangle up, and wrap together, forming one complete, (often irrational) me.
Today, once again, I want it to be cleaner. When I'm happy- I want to be just happy; not happy and scared and giddy, and hesitant. When I'm sad- I want to be just sad; not lonely and fearful. When I love- I want it to be just love; not fear, and infatuation, and timidity. Can't it just be one? Do they all have to be there? What is it like to be confident? What is it like to be angry? What is it like to love, hate, rejoice, and mourn?
How could anyone ever expect to live by their emotions? As soon as they rush in- a complicated, tangled mess, they are just as likely to rush out, another tangled mess taking their place. Very rarely do I wish I had no emotions. But today I do... It would be simpler...
When I'm sad, I don't feel merely sad- I may also have feelings of loneliness, wistfulness, disappointment, and fear intertwined with the dominant feeling of "sadness." Perhaps I'm ashamed (or afraid) to be lonely, wistful, disappointed or fearful, and as a result turn to the nebulous "sad" to fill the necessity of describing my emotions. Maybe I don't want to identify those other emotions, and "sad" is so easily used. Rarely, if ever, does one emotion dominate and over-ride my thoughts to the exclusion of all others. The different feelings intertwine, tangle up, and wrap together, forming one complete, (often irrational) me.
Today, once again, I want it to be cleaner. When I'm happy- I want to be just happy; not happy and scared and giddy, and hesitant. When I'm sad- I want to be just sad; not lonely and fearful. When I love- I want it to be just love; not fear, and infatuation, and timidity. Can't it just be one? Do they all have to be there? What is it like to be confident? What is it like to be angry? What is it like to love, hate, rejoice, and mourn?
How could anyone ever expect to live by their emotions? As soon as they rush in- a complicated, tangled mess, they are just as likely to rush out, another tangled mess taking their place. Very rarely do I wish I had no emotions. But today I do... It would be simpler...
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Voice Warm-Ups and Contentment
In between the sentences of this post, I sustain a long "ah"; careful to control my vocal folds, resonance, and tension in my neck and shoulders. As prescribed by my speech therapist (yes, I know it's my degree, but doctors need other doctors- the same is true for therapists), I complete my vocal warm-up focusing on relaxation and pure tones. My mind goes completely blank while I'm humming and sliding up and down scales, as the comparison between my vocal exercises and what I've been learning from God slowly shifts into focus.
I'm a royal case of a stress ball. My shoulder are tight, my mind whirs constantly, and I freak out each time I check my e-mail and get a different message from another supervisor asking for additional paperwork. But when I sit down (like a devoted Buddhist monk) and gently hum my way through my voice exercises, all the tension, the stress, and pressure gently floats away. The only thing I focus on is the resonance in my throat, and its smooth, upward glide out of my mouth.
The same thing happens when I sit down with my Father. All I focus on is His face, the gentle (sometimes persistent) resonance of His Word, and before I know it- the tension has faded from my shoulders, the mind gently untangles the knots that it has twisted itself into, and my day shifts from a whirling kaleidoscope to a quiet panoramic landscape.
How graciously loving is my God to allow for peace in the midst of chaos...
I'm a royal case of a stress ball. My shoulder are tight, my mind whirs constantly, and I freak out each time I check my e-mail and get a different message from another supervisor asking for additional paperwork. But when I sit down (like a devoted Buddhist monk) and gently hum my way through my voice exercises, all the tension, the stress, and pressure gently floats away. The only thing I focus on is the resonance in my throat, and its smooth, upward glide out of my mouth.
The same thing happens when I sit down with my Father. All I focus on is His face, the gentle (sometimes persistent) resonance of His Word, and before I know it- the tension has faded from my shoulders, the mind gently untangles the knots that it has twisted itself into, and my day shifts from a whirling kaleidoscope to a quiet panoramic landscape.
How graciously loving is my God to allow for peace in the midst of chaos...
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Sometimes a tangible, hold-able, cry-on-the-shoulder fortress seems necessary...
But I will sing of your strength,
in the morning I will sing of your love;
for you are my fortress,
my refuge in times of trouble.
O my Strength, I sing praise to you;
you, O God, are my fortress, my loving God.
(Psalm 59:16,17)
in the morning I will sing of your love;
for you are my fortress,
my refuge in times of trouble.
O my Strength, I sing praise to you;
you, O God, are my fortress, my loving God.
(Psalm 59:16,17)
Monday, July 20, 2009
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Having Fallen, He Will Help Me
I have been busy this summer. But it's been a grumpy, disgruntled busy. I'm tired of the paperwork, I'm tired of my responsibilities, and I just want to be done. So I scooted, in a sub-par way through this summer.
And lately I've been convicted... I don't believe that I've been using this busyness as I should have been. I want to look back over my summer and say, "I worked as hard as I could." but I can't say that. I let things slide, I didn't make certain deadlines and responsibilities priorities in my life. Oh, it wasn't anything serious enough to affect my grades, mind you, but it did cause some extra headaches for a few people, and slightly less than ideal final products.
So I'm working very hard these last three weeks, hoping to finish well. I never want to end another semester saying, "Well, I could have worked harder..."
I messed up, but I have a wonderfully loving God who will help me turn my attitude and work ethic around.
Now, off to conquer that "to do" list, before any of the items are due!
And lately I've been convicted... I don't believe that I've been using this busyness as I should have been. I want to look back over my summer and say, "I worked as hard as I could." but I can't say that. I let things slide, I didn't make certain deadlines and responsibilities priorities in my life. Oh, it wasn't anything serious enough to affect my grades, mind you, but it did cause some extra headaches for a few people, and slightly less than ideal final products.
So I'm working very hard these last three weeks, hoping to finish well. I never want to end another semester saying, "Well, I could have worked harder..."
I messed up, but I have a wonderfully loving God who will help me turn my attitude and work ethic around.
Now, off to conquer that "to do" list, before any of the items are due!
I cannot tell a lie.
(Well, actually, I can, but I'm choosing to be like dear little Georgie Washington, and own up to my error.)
Every Sunday afternoon and evening, I feel a creeping dread that slowly grows as the sun dips lower in the sky and the comfortable grogginess of my afternoon nap wears off. It's the creeping dread of Monday. I have been doing a pretty good job managing the graduate school dread which terrorized my life during the fall semester. However, I don't think that this management has come about by a change in the circumstances of graduate school, rather, I believe that it has come from change in my attitude which God was so gracious as to alter.
He has allowed me to see the bigger picture of what I'm working towards. He has altered my view of correction, and made me more amenable to constant scrutiny and criticism. The work load is becoming more typical, and fortunately God made us adaptable beings.
But that doesn't mean that every Sunday evening (and to a smaller degree, each evening of the week until Friday) that I'm not gripped by a dull dread of tomorrow. I don't like it. Sometimes I even hate it. It's a hard thing to hate your profession, your life, and what you're training to do.
But there are several things on which I meditate when it seems as though Monday may be the blackest day ever made:
1. I am pursuing a profession that is not about me- it is about serving other people. There is incredible gratification in a "helping profession."
2. God has not given me more than I can handle, and His work in me is being perfected during this time in my life.
3. I have rarely found anything hard or difficult. It is good for me to develop perseverance as I continue in this program.
4. This week will end. And each week that ends brings me closer to that day when I can sign my name, "Courtney Blake, M.S., CCC-SLP" and collect a paycheck like an adult.
Some days, that's all that gets me through...
:)
(Well, actually, I can, but I'm choosing to be like dear little Georgie Washington, and own up to my error.)
Every Sunday afternoon and evening, I feel a creeping dread that slowly grows as the sun dips lower in the sky and the comfortable grogginess of my afternoon nap wears off. It's the creeping dread of Monday. I have been doing a pretty good job managing the graduate school dread which terrorized my life during the fall semester. However, I don't think that this management has come about by a change in the circumstances of graduate school, rather, I believe that it has come from change in my attitude which God was so gracious as to alter.
He has allowed me to see the bigger picture of what I'm working towards. He has altered my view of correction, and made me more amenable to constant scrutiny and criticism. The work load is becoming more typical, and fortunately God made us adaptable beings.
But that doesn't mean that every Sunday evening (and to a smaller degree, each evening of the week until Friday) that I'm not gripped by a dull dread of tomorrow. I don't like it. Sometimes I even hate it. It's a hard thing to hate your profession, your life, and what you're training to do.
But there are several things on which I meditate when it seems as though Monday may be the blackest day ever made:
1. I am pursuing a profession that is not about me- it is about serving other people. There is incredible gratification in a "helping profession."
2. God has not given me more than I can handle, and His work in me is being perfected during this time in my life.
3. I have rarely found anything hard or difficult. It is good for me to develop perseverance as I continue in this program.
4. This week will end. And each week that ends brings me closer to that day when I can sign my name, "Courtney Blake, M.S., CCC-SLP" and collect a paycheck like an adult.
Some days, that's all that gets me through...
:)
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
So Very Old (yet so very young...)
My date of entrance to this world (i.e. my birthday) is drawing near with great rapidity. Each year it seems to creep up on me just a little more quickly. When I was four, an hour was incredibly long, and a year- unfathomable. At fourteen, an hour trotted by fairly quickly, while a year ambled around leisurely. But now that I'm reaching twenty-four, an hour is a cramped, overly-short period of time, and the year spins around so quickly I get dizzy. (No wonder the elderly have vertigo... I will too if time keeps speeding up at this rate.)
But as this birthday draws near, I am struck by two opposing thoughts.
I am old.
I pay bills, and I walk around turning off lights that were left on in the bathrooms. While shaving my legs in the shower, I occasionally miss the little part behind my ankle because I don't want to use the time (aka- hot water) that it would take to check the ankles thoroughly. I go to the beach and am content to sit in the sun and doze an entire day. My idea of an exciting Saturday is getting the oil changed in my car (such a good feeling!). When buying an outfit, I wonder how well it will wash, and after an intense workout, I hurt, hurt, hurt the next couple of days.
But I am also so very young.
I still am completely incapable of grasping innuendos, and jokes still have to be explained to me. I didn't know that you have to call to set up your utilities BEFORE you move in (yay, for living without water for 3 days!). I cry in Disney movies, and I still have a little stuffed dog from my daddy sitting on my bed (I love "Ferguson.") My idea of a bad day is when my socks don't match and my hair won't stay straight (or curl- whichever...).
I look at people around me who have done so much at my age- written books, gotten married, had babies, started TV shows, travelled the world, become gourmet cooks, and back-packed across Europe. And I think, "Gee, I'm lucky if I do a load of laundry and make myself a dinner of Mac 'n' Cheese after a day of staring at people's esophaguses."
I guess what I'm saying is- I'm a slow grower. Right now I'm more twelve than twenty-four. Other people can go and do those great things, make those massive commitments, polish those wonderful skills, but I'm not there yet. I'm impressed by such people. I'm awed by them. Often I want to be them. But I'm not ready for that.
I take a little step back and get excited...
There's so much to do! I'm going to live in a big city, travel to Asia, bungee-jump, and do book-signings in cities across the U.S. of A. There will come a day when paying bills will be easier, and when the cable company will be awed by my poise and firmness while dealing with them. Perhaps someday I'll make that really big commitment ("marriage"), and have a bunch of mini-me's running around. But right now, I'm very, truly happy.
So I guess what I'm saying is...
I'm perfectly okay with feeling half my age. Because that means when I'm fifty-
I'll party like I'm twenty-five!
BRING IT ON!
(That's the young me speaking...)
But as this birthday draws near, I am struck by two opposing thoughts.
I am old.
I pay bills, and I walk around turning off lights that were left on in the bathrooms. While shaving my legs in the shower, I occasionally miss the little part behind my ankle because I don't want to use the time (aka- hot water) that it would take to check the ankles thoroughly. I go to the beach and am content to sit in the sun and doze an entire day. My idea of an exciting Saturday is getting the oil changed in my car (such a good feeling!). When buying an outfit, I wonder how well it will wash, and after an intense workout, I hurt, hurt, hurt the next couple of days.
But I am also so very young.
I still am completely incapable of grasping innuendos, and jokes still have to be explained to me. I didn't know that you have to call to set up your utilities BEFORE you move in (yay, for living without water for 3 days!). I cry in Disney movies, and I still have a little stuffed dog from my daddy sitting on my bed (I love "Ferguson.") My idea of a bad day is when my socks don't match and my hair won't stay straight (or curl- whichever...).
I look at people around me who have done so much at my age- written books, gotten married, had babies, started TV shows, travelled the world, become gourmet cooks, and back-packed across Europe. And I think, "Gee, I'm lucky if I do a load of laundry and make myself a dinner of Mac 'n' Cheese after a day of staring at people's esophaguses."
I guess what I'm saying is- I'm a slow grower. Right now I'm more twelve than twenty-four. Other people can go and do those great things, make those massive commitments, polish those wonderful skills, but I'm not there yet. I'm impressed by such people. I'm awed by them. Often I want to be them. But I'm not ready for that.
I take a little step back and get excited...
There's so much to do! I'm going to live in a big city, travel to Asia, bungee-jump, and do book-signings in cities across the U.S. of A. There will come a day when paying bills will be easier, and when the cable company will be awed by my poise and firmness while dealing with them. Perhaps someday I'll make that really big commitment ("marriage"), and have a bunch of mini-me's running around. But right now, I'm very, truly happy.
So I guess what I'm saying is...
I'm perfectly okay with feeling half my age. Because that means when I'm fifty-
I'll party like I'm twenty-five!
BRING IT ON!
(That's the young me speaking...)
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Epiphany of the morning: I crave things that are bad for me.
Case and point-
I've been recently diagnosed with vocal nodules.
I'm not supposed to drink caffeine.
I'm on my way to The Den to buy a MASSIVE coke.
Whoo-hoo!!!
I've been recently diagnosed with vocal nodules.
I'm not supposed to drink caffeine.
I'm on my way to The Den to buy a MASSIVE coke.
Whoo-hoo!!!
Monday, July 13, 2009
Amazing Love
I find that the more I develop my relationship with my heavenly Father, the more I am painfully aware of my own short-comings. Although my view of his love may expand, my view of my own depravity also grows. There are days when I want to quietly, shame-facedly place my hand in His, and whisper, "Why me? Why do you love me?"
The more I understand His love, the more incredibly my life appears. The details which He orchestrated for the purpose of bringing Himself glory, He was able at the same time to work for my good. Such a fact is too wonderful and big for my finite thoughts. I love this quote from Jerry Bridge's book (you should read it) "Trusting God: Even When Life Hurts":
"We mistakenly look for tokens of God's love in happiness. We should instead look for them in His faithful and persistent work to conform us to Christ. God in His infinite wisdom and perfect love will never over-discipline us; He will never allow any adversity in our lives that is not ultimately for our good.... Our doubts do not destroy God's love, nor does our faith create it."
The more I understand His love, the more incredibly my life appears. The details which He orchestrated for the purpose of bringing Himself glory, He was able at the same time to work for my good. Such a fact is too wonderful and big for my finite thoughts. I love this quote from Jerry Bridge's book (you should read it) "Trusting God: Even When Life Hurts":
"We mistakenly look for tokens of God's love in happiness. We should instead look for them in His faithful and persistent work to conform us to Christ. God in His infinite wisdom and perfect love will never over-discipline us; He will never allow any adversity in our lives that is not ultimately for our good.... Our doubts do not destroy God's love, nor does our faith create it."
Sunday, July 12, 2009
I Have Emotional Special Needs
I think that my emotions are "challenged."
You know how most people experience some sort of devastating occurrence (loss of a job, a break-up, bad grade, horrible date, family crisis)? They grieve, mourn, get angry, cry, and slowly, as time moves on, their wounds heal and their life returns to normal.
I am incapable of of reacting like a normal individual. Instead, when something happens, I give a little sigh (maybe shed a slight tear), and then I'm back to "fully functioning" without any additional trauma.
However... a little ways down the road, I completely lose it.
At the point in time when most people would finally be "healed" (or at least less affected) I become a blubbering mess who likes to curl up on her couch, sob, and watch movies while drinking masses of chai tea.
My emotions are a little "slow" if you know what I mean. I think they need special ed.
**sigh**
You know how most people experience some sort of devastating occurrence (loss of a job, a break-up, bad grade, horrible date, family crisis)? They grieve, mourn, get angry, cry, and slowly, as time moves on, their wounds heal and their life returns to normal.
I am incapable of of reacting like a normal individual. Instead, when something happens, I give a little sigh (maybe shed a slight tear), and then I'm back to "fully functioning" without any additional trauma.
However... a little ways down the road, I completely lose it.
At the point in time when most people would finally be "healed" (or at least less affected) I become a blubbering mess who likes to curl up on her couch, sob, and watch movies while drinking masses of chai tea.
My emotions are a little "slow" if you know what I mean. I think they need special ed.
**sigh**
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Fostering a New Addiction and Conquering Old Memories of (Hilarious, but Mortifying) Failure
I absolutely, totally, without exception hate running.
I'm not talking the constant bustle which currently fills my life, nor am I discussing the way my to-do list keeps getting longer and longer.
I am speaking of tie-your-adidas-shoes-on-wear-a-sports-bra-pump-your-legs-furiously-sweat-profusely-blister-inducing running. Yuck. Ever since I was a little kid, I've hated running. While most children would engage in games of tag, capture the flag, and active hide-and-seek, I would curl up in my favorite corner of the couch and read. I was six the first time I read a book through in one sitting (ahh, four hours with "The Boxcar Children"), but the most memorable part of that accomplishment was my worried mother peeking her head around the door and saying,
"Honey, put the book down and go outside. Run around!"
I didn't want to run around. I would pretend to out-run bad guys, I would run to find my favorite book in the library, I would invent crazy stories about running away from home (and then enact them), but I never found any pleasure in running as an athletic, adrenaline-enducing activity that most of my counter-parts appeared to enjoy.
While my mother was trying to stop my reading by peeking around corners and enforcing the "lights out" rule, my father decided to take a more direct approach.
He signed me up for a race. But refusing to sign me up and then watch me fail, he devised a training schedule and did his best to make sure that I followed it. (I didn't.) The night before the big race, he rented "Chariots of Fire" (we never rented movies), and used it to elicit a fire of competitive eagerness.
Unfortunately, all the "eagerness" in the world doesn't make up for a lack of training. I took off that day at the starting line. (When I say "took off" I mean that 83% of the other runners were out of sight before I had "run" for 3 minutes.) Panting feverishly I wondered to myself why anyone would do this as the remaining runners behind started passing me one by one. I was so uncomfortable! Why did people insist on doing this?
As I rounded the final bend, the people on the side-lines began to applaud. I grinned. It was just like "Chariots of Fire"! Seeing the finish line in the distance, I pulled out all the stops. The applause got louder. And louder. I was amazing. I wondered if I was going to win something. Had I unwittingly beaten all my competitors? I looked over my shoulder to see who I was beating, to soak in the devastation that those cocky boys in front of me were now feeling as I collected first prize.
But there was no herd of disappointed males. There was only one, lone, competitor behind me, and she was the reason the crowd was clapping.
And she could barely stay upright. One leg turned this way, the other that. She hobbled feebly, held up by her father. One glance showed me:
I was barely out-running a girl with cerebral palsy.
Ever since that day I have abstained from races, I have avoided running, and I have not missed it in the least. But lately lack of time, and increased conviction have led me to realize that:
a) I really, really, really need to have some daily form of physical exercise.
b) Running is the fastest way to squeeze that into my schedule.
So I'm hoping to develop a need, a desire, an addiction to running that I never had, not even in childhood.
Here's hoping that the next race I run I can push someone with cerebral palsy in a wheelchair instead of being passed by them...
I'm not talking the constant bustle which currently fills my life, nor am I discussing the way my to-do list keeps getting longer and longer.
I am speaking of tie-your-adidas-shoes-on-wear-a-sports-bra-pump-your-legs-furiously-sweat-profusely-blister-inducing running. Yuck. Ever since I was a little kid, I've hated running. While most children would engage in games of tag, capture the flag, and active hide-and-seek, I would curl up in my favorite corner of the couch and read. I was six the first time I read a book through in one sitting (ahh, four hours with "The Boxcar Children"), but the most memorable part of that accomplishment was my worried mother peeking her head around the door and saying,
"Honey, put the book down and go outside. Run around!"
I didn't want to run around. I would pretend to out-run bad guys, I would run to find my favorite book in the library, I would invent crazy stories about running away from home (and then enact them), but I never found any pleasure in running as an athletic, adrenaline-enducing activity that most of my counter-parts appeared to enjoy.
While my mother was trying to stop my reading by peeking around corners and enforcing the "lights out" rule, my father decided to take a more direct approach.
He signed me up for a race. But refusing to sign me up and then watch me fail, he devised a training schedule and did his best to make sure that I followed it. (I didn't.) The night before the big race, he rented "Chariots of Fire" (we never rented movies), and used it to elicit a fire of competitive eagerness.
Unfortunately, all the "eagerness" in the world doesn't make up for a lack of training. I took off that day at the starting line. (When I say "took off" I mean that 83% of the other runners were out of sight before I had "run" for 3 minutes.) Panting feverishly I wondered to myself why anyone would do this as the remaining runners behind started passing me one by one. I was so uncomfortable! Why did people insist on doing this?
As I rounded the final bend, the people on the side-lines began to applaud. I grinned. It was just like "Chariots of Fire"! Seeing the finish line in the distance, I pulled out all the stops. The applause got louder. And louder. I was amazing. I wondered if I was going to win something. Had I unwittingly beaten all my competitors? I looked over my shoulder to see who I was beating, to soak in the devastation that those cocky boys in front of me were now feeling as I collected first prize.
But there was no herd of disappointed males. There was only one, lone, competitor behind me, and she was the reason the crowd was clapping.
And she could barely stay upright. One leg turned this way, the other that. She hobbled feebly, held up by her father. One glance showed me:
I was barely out-running a girl with cerebral palsy.
Ever since that day I have abstained from races, I have avoided running, and I have not missed it in the least. But lately lack of time, and increased conviction have led me to realize that:
a) I really, really, really need to have some daily form of physical exercise.
b) Running is the fastest way to squeeze that into my schedule.
So I'm hoping to develop a need, a desire, an addiction to running that I never had, not even in childhood.
Here's hoping that the next race I run I can push someone with cerebral palsy in a wheelchair instead of being passed by them...
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