twisting cotton
sugar glaze
wet kisses
biting scratches
soft brushes
snow...
Friday, February 5, 2010
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Old MacDonald... had a pig!
So, on the way home from church on Wednesday, Julie-Bop and my mom got to talking. They had been learning the different names for baby animals and their mothers. Julie wiggles in her car-seat and says,
"I'm a baby pig! I'm a piglet!"
My mother smiles. "Yes! Yes you are, good job, Baby Piglet."
Julie's not done,
"And if I'm a piglet, that means you're a SOW! Oink, oink!"
My mother learned that there are some animal/parent combos that maybe you shouldn't teach your children...
"I'm a baby pig! I'm a piglet!"
My mother smiles. "Yes! Yes you are, good job, Baby Piglet."
Julie's not done,
"And if I'm a piglet, that means you're a SOW! Oink, oink!"
My mother learned that there are some animal/parent combos that maybe you shouldn't teach your children...
Saturday, January 30, 2010
January 2010, in review
Instead of the much-mocked, yet sadly typical status of New Year's resolutions, come the 2nd week of the year, I've decided to give my goals a fighting chance this year. To do so I established four "biggie" goals, and then outlined on a spread sheet the smaller steps (month by month) that it will take for me to reach those goals by the end of 2010. I am beyond tired at my constant, "Well, maybe someday..." attitude towards personal growth. No. No someday. Only today.
In order to create my own accountability (and necessary guilt-trigger), I've decided to post the status of my resolutions month by month.
1. Demonstrate an increase in humility and a decrease in selfishness in my relationships with God and others.
January's Goal: Call two people (anyone!) every week to check on how they're doing. (I know it sounds crazy, but I generally hate the phone and cringe at the thought of calling... but yet I still want to know how people are doing!) Meet with people, at least once a week to check up/maintain friendships. (Once again, a little lame, but school and my selfish "recharge" time often steals these delightful, truly enjoyable moments from my weeks.)
Success Rate: I completed both aspects of this goal with 100% accuracy, not missing a single phone call/meeting.
Changes/modification for February: I had the same goal in February, but I think I'm going to up the ante since I had such a high success rate (and enjoyed the phone calls/meetings so very much!).
2. Achieve a lifestyle that demonstrates good stewardship of my body.
January's Goal: Drink 100 oz. of water each day. Exercise two times/week.
Success Rate: abysmal. I completed 100 oz. goal maybe 5 times max. I only exercised 2x/week for the past two weeks. Shocking 50% accuracy for exercise. Horrible. No reason for this.
Changes/modifications for February: Drinking 100 oz. is completely impractical for most days, and I'm glad it's not February's goal. I'm now going to try to hit the gym 3x/week (failure is not an option!), and instead of a water goal, I want to eat 5-7 servings of fresh fruits and vegetables every day. Because of this, I think a food journal will be important. I want to keep one daily. I already have an amazing moleskin notebook...
3. Achieve with excellence the next steps in my career path.
January's Goal: Update/post resume. Complete all clinic paperwork before it was due.
Success Rate: I posted my resume. I've since received a horrible amount of annoying people calling, and calling, and calling offering me weird, under-paying Monster.com jobs. But hey, I did what I was supposed to, right? I also completed my paperwork before its deadlines. Challenging, but not impossible, and definitely more rewarding than working against the clock. 100% success all round. Whoo-hoo! (Anyone surprised that this priority is doing just fine in the goals? Yeah, I didn't think so...)
Changes/modifications for February: NONE!
4. Go to EUROPE!
January's Goal: This is (clearly) a fun goal! This month I was supposed to work 20-30 hours/week and update my passport.
Success Rate: I worked as much as I could, but I kept falling slightly short of 20 hours/week. Something about full-time student and 20 hours of clinic kept messing with my goal. I also didn't update my passport, but that was more of a money thing than anything else... It's been bumped back to February.
Changes/modifications for February: I probably won't book plane tickets (as originally planned) in February. It's too early to know if this is feasible. But the working goal still stands. I'll just squeeze in hours wherever I can!
Additional Goal (this category is for things that I want to do, but don't think they require an entire year's-worth of work)...
January's Goal: Post on the blog 3x/week.
Success Rate: Look back through, dear reader! I achieved this goal! It was a delightfully fun project as well. I think this habit will stick. I have such fun sharing my ups, downs and daily anecdotes with you all. I hope you have a wonderful time reading.
Changes/modifications for February: This goal changes every month, which is part of its charm. February's goal is to clean at least 4x/week. I started this goal just this past week. It may be a little tricky, but I love the pristine living situation!
Well, it wasn't a brilliant month, but not too shabby either. All in all, I believe it's been a passable January. Onto to February! May that distinctly gloomy month provide shining success goal-wise.
In order to create my own accountability (and necessary guilt-trigger), I've decided to post the status of my resolutions month by month.
1. Demonstrate an increase in humility and a decrease in selfishness in my relationships with God and others.
January's Goal: Call two people (anyone!) every week to check on how they're doing. (I know it sounds crazy, but I generally hate the phone and cringe at the thought of calling... but yet I still want to know how people are doing!) Meet with people, at least once a week to check up/maintain friendships. (Once again, a little lame, but school and my selfish "recharge" time often steals these delightful, truly enjoyable moments from my weeks.)
Success Rate: I completed both aspects of this goal with 100% accuracy, not missing a single phone call/meeting.
Changes/modification for February: I had the same goal in February, but I think I'm going to up the ante since I had such a high success rate (and enjoyed the phone calls/meetings so very much!).
2. Achieve a lifestyle that demonstrates good stewardship of my body.
January's Goal: Drink 100 oz. of water each day. Exercise two times/week.
Success Rate: abysmal. I completed 100 oz. goal maybe 5 times max. I only exercised 2x/week for the past two weeks. Shocking 50% accuracy for exercise. Horrible. No reason for this.
Changes/modifications for February: Drinking 100 oz. is completely impractical for most days, and I'm glad it's not February's goal. I'm now going to try to hit the gym 3x/week (failure is not an option!), and instead of a water goal, I want to eat 5-7 servings of fresh fruits and vegetables every day. Because of this, I think a food journal will be important. I want to keep one daily. I already have an amazing moleskin notebook...
3. Achieve with excellence the next steps in my career path.
January's Goal: Update/post resume. Complete all clinic paperwork before it was due.
Success Rate: I posted my resume. I've since received a horrible amount of annoying people calling, and calling, and calling offering me weird, under-paying Monster.com jobs. But hey, I did what I was supposed to, right? I also completed my paperwork before its deadlines. Challenging, but not impossible, and definitely more rewarding than working against the clock. 100% success all round. Whoo-hoo! (Anyone surprised that this priority is doing just fine in the goals? Yeah, I didn't think so...)
Changes/modifications for February: NONE!
4. Go to EUROPE!
January's Goal: This is (clearly) a fun goal! This month I was supposed to work 20-30 hours/week and update my passport.
Success Rate: I worked as much as I could, but I kept falling slightly short of 20 hours/week. Something about full-time student and 20 hours of clinic kept messing with my goal. I also didn't update my passport, but that was more of a money thing than anything else... It's been bumped back to February.
Changes/modifications for February: I probably won't book plane tickets (as originally planned) in February. It's too early to know if this is feasible. But the working goal still stands. I'll just squeeze in hours wherever I can!
Additional Goal (this category is for things that I want to do, but don't think they require an entire year's-worth of work)...
January's Goal: Post on the blog 3x/week.
Success Rate: Look back through, dear reader! I achieved this goal! It was a delightfully fun project as well. I think this habit will stick. I have such fun sharing my ups, downs and daily anecdotes with you all. I hope you have a wonderful time reading.
Changes/modifications for February: This goal changes every month, which is part of its charm. February's goal is to clean at least 4x/week. I started this goal just this past week. It may be a little tricky, but I love the pristine living situation!
Well, it wasn't a brilliant month, but not too shabby either. All in all, I believe it's been a passable January. Onto to February! May that distinctly gloomy month provide shining success goal-wise.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
I love, love, LOVE the sun!
“Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air…”
(Ralph Waldo Emerson)
Monday, January 25, 2010
A dream is a wish your heart makes...
Please don't gag at the corny title.
Thanks.
Okay, so last night I had an incredibly vivid dream. Usually exhaustion prevents my remembering any dreams, but recently I've caught up on my sleep debt, and dreams like this last one are real enough to make me cry.
My parents burst upon us with the news that they were, in fact going to adopt another baby. A little boy. From Vietnam. (At this point in time, Julie pouted, "I don't wants a boy. I wants a girl!") At a family dinner they showed us his picture, his cute spiky hair going all over the place, stating his name was "Caden."
Because of work restrictions, Dad was unable to go with Mom to get him, but my cute, perky mother (pictured in my dream with her fabulous new hair cut) was only mildly daunted. Anything was worth it for her baby boy.
In my dream we stood there. Waiting. At the airport. And there, down the concourse, just like when I had first met my dear little "Bops," I saw them coming. I was laughing and crying, cuddling the newest addition to our family. Caden was looking at all of us with wide, sober eyes (as anyone would do upon first meeting our loud, boisterous family). His skin was soft. His eyes were dark. And in the corners of his expressions lurked an impishness just waiting for love to blossom.
And then I woke up.
But I remembered, all over again, the tears, the joy, the almost painful feeling of love that comes from letting a new little one into your family. Nothing can compare to the love that I feel for my darling little Julie Bop. Our family was empty before she came.
Maybe someday I'll adopt "Caden."
My heart misses him already...
Thanks.
Okay, so last night I had an incredibly vivid dream. Usually exhaustion prevents my remembering any dreams, but recently I've caught up on my sleep debt, and dreams like this last one are real enough to make me cry.
My parents burst upon us with the news that they were, in fact going to adopt another baby. A little boy. From Vietnam. (At this point in time, Julie pouted, "I don't wants a boy. I wants a girl!") At a family dinner they showed us his picture, his cute spiky hair going all over the place, stating his name was "Caden."
Because of work restrictions, Dad was unable to go with Mom to get him, but my cute, perky mother (pictured in my dream with her fabulous new hair cut) was only mildly daunted. Anything was worth it for her baby boy.
In my dream we stood there. Waiting. At the airport. And there, down the concourse, just like when I had first met my dear little "Bops," I saw them coming. I was laughing and crying, cuddling the newest addition to our family. Caden was looking at all of us with wide, sober eyes (as anyone would do upon first meeting our loud, boisterous family). His skin was soft. His eyes were dark. And in the corners of his expressions lurked an impishness just waiting for love to blossom.
And then I woke up.
But I remembered, all over again, the tears, the joy, the almost painful feeling of love that comes from letting a new little one into your family. Nothing can compare to the love that I feel for my darling little Julie Bop. Our family was empty before she came.
Maybe someday I'll adopt "Caden."
My heart misses him already...
Meditation for Monday
For the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God. For it is written:
"I will destroy the wisdom of the wise;
the intelligence of the intelligent I will frustrate."
Where is the wise man? Where is the scholar? Where is the philosopher of this age? Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world?
Brothers, think of what you were when you were called. Not many of you were wise by human standards; not many were influential; not many were of noble birth. But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong. He chose the lowly things of this world and the despised things—and the things that are not—to nullify the things that are, so that no one may boast before him. It is because of him that you are in Christ Jesus, who has become for us wisdom from God—that is, our righteousness, holiness and redemption. Therefore, as it is written: "Let him who boasts boast in the Lord.
(I Corinthians 1:18-20, 26-31)
**follow-up post to come...
"I will destroy the wisdom of the wise;
the intelligence of the intelligent I will frustrate."
Where is the wise man? Where is the scholar? Where is the philosopher of this age? Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world?
Brothers, think of what you were when you were called. Not many of you were wise by human standards; not many were influential; not many were of noble birth. But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong. He chose the lowly things of this world and the despised things—and the things that are not—to nullify the things that are, so that no one may boast before him. It is because of him that you are in Christ Jesus, who has become for us wisdom from God—that is, our righteousness, holiness and redemption. Therefore, as it is written: "Let him who boasts boast in the Lord.
(I Corinthians 1:18-20, 26-31)
**follow-up post to come...
Saturday, January 23, 2010
BLAH.
Today I just want to pout. Be discontent. Disgruntled. I think I'm at a constant low-grade angry. Nothing violent enough to inflict bodily harm on the people around me, but definitely enough to make smiling less enjoyable. Usually such moods are quickly evaporated, returning only at rare intervals. However, such an outlook has hovered in the corners of my life (occasionally taking center stage) for longer than usual.
I'm blaming this recent episode of grumpiness on the complete lack of sun. I am sun-dependent. I'm sure there's a verse somewhere that says "Rejoice in the Lord always, (except when you live in the midwest and don't see the sun for 53 consecutive days...)."
Perhaps I should just publish a list of topics to be avoided until the sun re-appears. Here we go: the price of gas, bills, my current shopping hiatus, boyfriends, your love of fish/vacations/country music. Please also don't mention: spring break, promotions, raises, or how great it is to be out of school. Avoid politics, make-up brands, and controversial doctrine. The following are also off limits: any brewing love interests, your projected tax refund, how cute your new puppy is, how it's strange I'm still single, why good chocolate is so hard to find, and how your pet goldfish died.
I just can't handle it right now.
Thanks.
Address concerns to me once again.... after the sun comes back.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Dear Ice,
I wanted to use this opportunity to express my appreciation for the thin, dangerous layer of frosting you laid down over Lafayette this morning. While it made a morning gym trip more treacherous than is typically expected, I am willing to forgive that fault because of the delightful two-hour delay which all public schools felt the necessity to utilize (despite the relative safety of the roads).
While working parents of school-age children scramble for alternative care, and children watch too much "Spongebob Squarepants," I get to avoid clinic and revel in my latest book/Bible study while sipping hot, black chai tea. I appreciate your willingness to expand my morning leisure time from the designated 15 minutes to a more desirable 45.
My soon-to-be finished laundry also appreciates the extra attention, and sends its best regards.
Love-love,
C
I wanted to use this opportunity to express my appreciation for the thin, dangerous layer of frosting you laid down over Lafayette this morning. While it made a morning gym trip more treacherous than is typically expected, I am willing to forgive that fault because of the delightful two-hour delay which all public schools felt the necessity to utilize (despite the relative safety of the roads).
While working parents of school-age children scramble for alternative care, and children watch too much "Spongebob Squarepants," I get to avoid clinic and revel in my latest book/Bible study while sipping hot, black chai tea. I appreciate your willingness to expand my morning leisure time from the designated 15 minutes to a more desirable 45.
My soon-to-be finished laundry also appreciates the extra attention, and sends its best regards.
Love-love,
C
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Do you ever have clear, crystalized moments when you suddenly realize how others see you?
And that their view may be more accurate than your own?
Monday, January 18, 2010
I'm tired of talking about relationships... but I'll talk about them one last time.
I am completely done the obsession the college age bracket has regarding relationships and dating. I know all the justifications, "Well, I'm at that time in my life." and "This is very important to me right now." etc., etc. But I hope that I never become one of those individuals who confines my topics of interest solely to the items that are "very important to me right now." Eighty-year olds are at the time in their lives when hip replacements are "very important," but let's be honest, it's not attractive when a twenty-year old only talk about boys, or when an eighty-year old only talks about hip replacements. Such a narrow breadth of interest confines you to a narrow point of view, which leads to a narrow life, narrow joy, narrow personality, narrow growth.
God forbid I become that stunted, hip-replacement eighty year old...
This Sunday I was handed a very well-researched packet of information regarding dating. I'm not even going to go into the titles: "Counsel for the Concerned Single" (am I supposed to be concerned!?!), and "The Case for Early Marriage" (which I didn't finish because I'm pretty, gosh-darn sure it would have told me that I needed to be married four years ago), etc.
The people who wrote and compiled this information are wise, intelligent, loving individuals. I am so thankful for the interest they are taking in shaping this aspect of individuals' lives, but as I thumbed through yet another compilation of "dating advice" (to add to my already rich library of authors kissing all sorts of stuff goodbye), I became frustrated.
Why is this such a point of interest? Look at the Bible. How many verses deal with dating. (Yeah, that's right, count them.) Now look at the percentage of Christian literature that deals with dating. (Hmm, interesting, right?) Now look at how many verses deal with, well, I don't know, say-- gluttony. What percentage of Christian literature looks at that aspect of Christian life? (Yeah, interesting, right?)*
Why are we Christians, in a culture ridden with so many other issues of importance (abortion, gluttony, divisiveness, hatred, etc., etc.) concerned with dating? As far as I can tell, God doesn't really seem to care how you find your spouse, provided that you're both growing and godly.** Hmm...
Perhaps instead of fixating on how to get married, we should instead fixate on, oh gosh, I don't know: growing to be more like Christ, abolishing sinful habits, developing fruits of the Spirit, practicing transparent fellowship with other believers, bringing glory to God through the beauty of the Gospel instead of trying to hash-out minute details of: when you can see a person of the opposite sex (not at night, God forbid!), who else should be there, how long you have to "get to know someone as a friend" before you can ask her out on an "intentional meeting to define our relationship," etc.
I'm over it! It's ridiculous! For crying out loud-- Grow to become more like Christ! Stop trying to find that perfect, pin-point of contrived "holiness" which the latest dating book tells you will help you find your Prince Charming (or Lady Fair). Good grief!
Maybe I should write a book: "Date And Get Over It, You Christians." Actually, that's a good idea...
Here's my dating book:
Don't sin.
Get married.
The End.
Pithy. It'll be a best seller because it has the words "Date" and "Christians" in the title.
I'm done. My relationship-related blog rants are over. (For the time being.) I'm just so completely exhausted with the entire topic. It's starting to nauseate me from its sheer insipidity.
Tomorrow I'll discuss something less horrifying, like pandemics or athlete's feet...
*A cursory overview by this author found more than 15 Bible references to indulgence/gluttony and none regarding dating...
** In the Bible there are accounts of people who married reformed prostitutes, persons they had never seen before, people who cheated on them, etc.
God forbid I become that stunted, hip-replacement eighty year old...
This Sunday I was handed a very well-researched packet of information regarding dating. I'm not even going to go into the titles: "Counsel for the Concerned Single" (am I supposed to be concerned!?!), and "The Case for Early Marriage" (which I didn't finish because I'm pretty, gosh-darn sure it would have told me that I needed to be married four years ago), etc.
The people who wrote and compiled this information are wise, intelligent, loving individuals. I am so thankful for the interest they are taking in shaping this aspect of individuals' lives, but as I thumbed through yet another compilation of "dating advice" (to add to my already rich library of authors kissing all sorts of stuff goodbye), I became frustrated.
Why is this such a point of interest? Look at the Bible. How many verses deal with dating. (Yeah, that's right, count them.) Now look at the percentage of Christian literature that deals with dating. (Hmm, interesting, right?) Now look at how many verses deal with, well, I don't know, say-- gluttony. What percentage of Christian literature looks at that aspect of Christian life? (Yeah, interesting, right?)*
Why are we Christians, in a culture ridden with so many other issues of importance (abortion, gluttony, divisiveness, hatred, etc., etc.) concerned with dating? As far as I can tell, God doesn't really seem to care how you find your spouse, provided that you're both growing and godly.** Hmm...
Perhaps instead of fixating on how to get married, we should instead fixate on, oh gosh, I don't know: growing to be more like Christ, abolishing sinful habits, developing fruits of the Spirit, practicing transparent fellowship with other believers, bringing glory to God through the beauty of the Gospel instead of trying to hash-out minute details of: when you can see a person of the opposite sex (not at night, God forbid!), who else should be there, how long you have to "get to know someone as a friend" before you can ask her out on an "intentional meeting to define our relationship," etc.
I'm over it! It's ridiculous! For crying out loud-- Grow to become more like Christ! Stop trying to find that perfect, pin-point of contrived "holiness" which the latest dating book tells you will help you find your Prince Charming (or Lady Fair). Good grief!
Maybe I should write a book: "Date And Get Over It, You Christians." Actually, that's a good idea...
Here's my dating book:
Don't sin.
Get married.
The End.
Pithy. It'll be a best seller because it has the words "Date" and "Christians" in the title.
I'm done. My relationship-related blog rants are over. (For the time being.) I'm just so completely exhausted with the entire topic. It's starting to nauseate me from its sheer insipidity.
Tomorrow I'll discuss something less horrifying, like pandemics or athlete's feet...
*A cursory overview by this author found more than 15 Bible references to indulgence/gluttony and none regarding dating...
** In the Bible there are accounts of people who married reformed prostitutes, persons they had never seen before, people who cheated on them, etc.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Saturday, January 16, 2010
This is me incoherent and in love with nineteenth century vocabulary...
I'm just tired.
Tired of the same academic hoops I've been jumping through for the past six years. Tired of weekends that consist of studying and really, really long Sundays at church functions. Tired of everyone else leaving town, and me still being here. Tired of bills, dishes, but still feeling like I'm in seventh grade. Tired of well-meaning people telling me I need to get married, and then other well-meaning people telling me that I'll never get married. Tired of being sick half of the week.
Tired of having nothing legitimate at all to be tired of.
Tired of my own selfish griping in the midst of comforts, and family, and love.
Allow a moment to decry the deterioration of the English language: The word "tired" does absolutely nothing to help you grasp the emotion that I am (for whatever reason) attempting to convey. We have, in our cheap education, literacy-starved culture, completely killed vocabulary. As a result, I have to grapple with phrase after phrase, trying to convey with only the word "tired" what I'm really, truly feeling.
But there's a better word.
And I'm going to use it, despite the fact that the use of such words usually allow me to be labeled as a "nerd," "geek," "bookworm," loser," and/or "pandering over-achiever." I don't care. If the word was in more common circulation, it would have allowed for a simple, one-lined blog post such as:
I'm suffering from ennui*.
And I think the cure is to go shopping.
*en·nui (ŏn-wē', ŏn'wē)
–noun
a feeling of utter weariness and discontent resulting from satiety or lack of interest; boredom.
Tired of the same academic hoops I've been jumping through for the past six years. Tired of weekends that consist of studying and really, really long Sundays at church functions. Tired of everyone else leaving town, and me still being here. Tired of bills, dishes, but still feeling like I'm in seventh grade. Tired of well-meaning people telling me I need to get married, and then other well-meaning people telling me that I'll never get married. Tired of being sick half of the week.
Tired of having nothing legitimate at all to be tired of.
Tired of my own selfish griping in the midst of comforts, and family, and love.
Allow a moment to decry the deterioration of the English language: The word "tired" does absolutely nothing to help you grasp the emotion that I am (for whatever reason) attempting to convey. We have, in our cheap education, literacy-starved culture, completely killed vocabulary. As a result, I have to grapple with phrase after phrase, trying to convey with only the word "tired" what I'm really, truly feeling.
But there's a better word.
And I'm going to use it, despite the fact that the use of such words usually allow me to be labeled as a "nerd," "geek," "bookworm," loser," and/or "pandering over-achiever." I don't care. If the word was in more common circulation, it would have allowed for a simple, one-lined blog post such as:
I'm suffering from ennui*.
And I think the cure is to go shopping.
*en·nui (ŏn-wē', ŏn'wē)
–noun
a feeling of utter weariness and discontent resulting from satiety or lack of interest; boredom.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Necessary Grappling with Inadequacy... Goals for 2010
I've been rather hesitant to post my 2010 goals to this blog, and although I believe such an exercise would induce an abstract version of accountability which might be good for me, my pride keeps rearing up. Goals, perforce, display inadequacy to the world. I don't like that.
But one of my goals is an increase in Christ-likeness through cultivating humility (which is a very difficult attribute to cultivate if you've ever tried...). So here are some of my goals for 2010:
1. Read a total of 4, non-fiction, Christian life and growth books.
I hate reading non-fiction, and I'm appalled that this is the case. However, most authors bore me halfway through their books as they start to repeat themselves over and over. Suggestions for excellent books in this genre appreciated.
2. Try at least one extreme sport and run a race.
I loathe, yet admire athleticism. 2010 is my year to become slightly more "athletic."
3. Find a job. In a major metropolis. Preferably NYC.
I graduate in August. It's time for real life to begin, and if it must start, I'd prefer that it start somewhere where I can shop for Burberry and visit art galleries on the weekends.
4. Go to Europe!
I've dreamed about it for the past 6 years. I tried to go after my senior year of college, but obstacles arose, and I didn't go. But that's not going to happen in 2010! I want so very, very badly to back-pack across that history laden continent for several weeks. It sounds amazing.
Goal #4 is probably the goal that will encourage most of the other goals to keep going. So if random pictures of Ireland, France, or Germany appear on this blog, just know that it's a rough day, and I'm existing on the hope of travel alone.
But one of my goals is an increase in Christ-likeness through cultivating humility (which is a very difficult attribute to cultivate if you've ever tried...). So here are some of my goals for 2010:
1. Read a total of 4, non-fiction, Christian life and growth books.
I hate reading non-fiction, and I'm appalled that this is the case. However, most authors bore me halfway through their books as they start to repeat themselves over and over. Suggestions for excellent books in this genre appreciated.
2. Try at least one extreme sport and run a race.
I loathe, yet admire athleticism. 2010 is my year to become slightly more "athletic."
3. Find a job. In a major metropolis. Preferably NYC.
I graduate in August. It's time for real life to begin, and if it must start, I'd prefer that it start somewhere where I can shop for Burberry and visit art galleries on the weekends.
4. Go to Europe!
I've dreamed about it for the past 6 years. I tried to go after my senior year of college, but obstacles arose, and I didn't go. But that's not going to happen in 2010! I want so very, very badly to back-pack across that history laden continent for several weeks. It sounds amazing.
Goal #4 is probably the goal that will encourage most of the other goals to keep going. So if random pictures of Ireland, France, or Germany appear on this blog, just know that it's a rough day, and I'm existing on the hope of travel alone.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
It's Thursday morning! Time to determine what percentile your expressive and receptive language occupies...
This semester i have the delightful task of a clinic placement at a certain (unnamed) elementary school in the area.
(Mild rant inserted before actual inspiration for this post): I have no desire to ever work in the schools. I did it for a semester after my undergraduate work, and have spent many additional hours in elementary schools while in graduate school. I cringe every time I walk in and see the gross inefficiency of time management that must needs come from trying to constantly corral 30 children. My very schedule oriented, to-do list focused person cannot fathom how it could possibly be adequate to turn a herd of children loose on a library for 27 minutes and call it "literacy". Elementary education friends, feel free to correct me. I'm sure there is much I don't know. But my skin still crawls whenever I see what I perceive as a flagrant abuse of educational time. (Note the emphasis on "perceive")
No hate mail due to that above paragraph, please.
This morning I was testing a young lady regarding her vocabulary, receptive and expressive language. She was hilarious.
One of the tests consisted of a picture. I would provide a cue and then the child would complete the sentence or story. Most pictures only require one-word, or at most one sentence answers. My dear little testee was too involved in the story to provide the expected short answer. For example:
(picture of John breaking a lamp and then of John talking to his mother)
Me: John was playing and broke his mother's yellow lamp. What is John saying to his mother?
Girl: Mmmm! He shouldna done dat! He say, "I sorry mom. I sorry." And she say, "John, you be bad! You's broke my fadorite lamp. I gonna give you a whippin'." And den John get a whippin, and it not be good. He shouldna done dat...
And so it continued.
There was nothing in the answer key to appropriately score her answers.
I completed an hour of testing without laughing. I deserve an award...
(Mild rant inserted before actual inspiration for this post): I have no desire to ever work in the schools. I did it for a semester after my undergraduate work, and have spent many additional hours in elementary schools while in graduate school. I cringe every time I walk in and see the gross inefficiency of time management that must needs come from trying to constantly corral 30 children. My very schedule oriented, to-do list focused person cannot fathom how it could possibly be adequate to turn a herd of children loose on a library for 27 minutes and call it "literacy". Elementary education friends, feel free to correct me. I'm sure there is much I don't know. But my skin still crawls whenever I see what I perceive as a flagrant abuse of educational time. (Note the emphasis on "perceive")
No hate mail due to that above paragraph, please.
This morning I was testing a young lady regarding her vocabulary, receptive and expressive language. She was hilarious.
One of the tests consisted of a picture. I would provide a cue and then the child would complete the sentence or story. Most pictures only require one-word, or at most one sentence answers. My dear little testee was too involved in the story to provide the expected short answer. For example:
(picture of John breaking a lamp and then of John talking to his mother)
Me: John was playing and broke his mother's yellow lamp. What is John saying to his mother?
Girl: Mmmm! He shouldna done dat! He say, "I sorry mom. I sorry." And she say, "John, you be bad! You's broke my fadorite lamp. I gonna give you a whippin'." And den John get a whippin, and it not be good. He shouldna done dat...
And so it continued.
There was nothing in the answer key to appropriately score her answers.
I completed an hour of testing without laughing. I deserve an award...
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Over 1.5 million new titles are published every year...
Perhaps somewhere in that vast compilation, there might be room for a humble missive from yours truly...
Hope springs eternal.
Hope springs eternal.
Monday, January 11, 2010
Forgive this short post, but I just finished writing 33 pages of essays for comprehensive exams and my word quota for the day is completely depleted.
This depletion could be due to the fact that I procrastinated atrociously on these exams. The majority of these 33 pages were written within the past 72 hours. Oops...
Saturday, January 9, 2010
I'd Like a Magnifying Glass, Please
I have a new, and shockingly awful hobby, that I am determined to annhilate in this new year. I didn't list it among my New Year's resolutions because I didn't recognize its prevalence in my life until just several days ago. Since recognizing it, I've attempted to justify, ignore, and cater to it. Nothing will suffice. It needs to leave and I'm appalled that it's become so fixed in my thinking.
I always compare myself with others.
And not in the traditionally proud way of, "Well, you can tell my hair is better than hers" and "Aren't we glad that I don't struggle with that..." But in a more insidious, creeping way.
Instead, I look at everyone around me, and I see how amazing they are, how they are giants in areas where I am still a baby, how they are beautiful, talented, smart, gifted... and I'm not.
In my defense, I'm surrounded by some pretty incredible family members, friends, fellow students, etc., etc. They have amazing abilities, some that I have absolutely no hope of ever accomplishing.
But what I'm doing is still a variation on the more commonly known attribute of "pride."
No, I don't have low self-esteem, no I don't need affirmation. The fact isn't that I don't consider myself enough, it's rather that, just like the traditional proud man, I do look at myself too much, I just choose to do so from a different angle. The majority of my focus is still me.
And that's pride-- thinking that I am entitled to think of myself to this degree.
I'm not entirely sure how I'm going to address this. I know that the focus needs to be removed from myself and others and transferred to a Higher Power. And that I'm going to need to learn how to stop my thoughts at, "Wow, she's amazing at ________________." Without continuing on to "and I'm not... **sigh**"
We'll see how this goes...
When they measure themselves by themselves and compare themselves with themselves, they are not wise. We, however, will not boast beyond proper limits, but will confine our boasting to the field God has assigned to us, a field that reaches even to you. (II Cor. 10:12,13)
Friday, January 8, 2010
All I can do is play with children...
Hello, dear reader,
There are times when I feel sorry for the readers of my blog. There's no valuable information, I rarely provide scintillating antidotes, and my posts are usually irregular and random compilations of my pet peeves, emotions-off-the-cuff, frustrations galore. My mother calls it "emotional journaling." Which is nice of her. The word "journaling" gives it some amount of redemption.
Today I made Julie-Bop some hot chocolate. I turned the whole activity into a therapeutic teaching moment. It was beautiful. Then my mom comes out of nowhere with a can of whipped cream, and my beautiful hot chocolate tutorial (emphasizing the words "in" and "stir") ceased to be a teaching moment as my little sister jumped around the kitchen screaming in glee.
Oh, and Julie has taken to calling us all by boy names. Today, as I handed her the hot chocolate, she said, "I'm Bob, and you're George, okay?"
Today my name is "George." Yesterday I was "Franklin."
However, that's not why I'm writing. (The brief paragraphs above were my attempt to deviate from my traditional "emotional journaling" as I provide something redemptive to the future generations.)
Last night, lounging on the couch after a not-so-strenuous day of trying to decide if I was avoiding, or working hard on my comprehensive exams, I picked up the magazine "Voice of the Martyrs."* For anyone not remotely aware of this organization, please visit the website posted below. VOM is an organization near and very dear to my heart. Last night, after a lazy day, grumping about how boring and awful my life is, I picked up this magazine. Bad idea. If there is anything, perfectly designed to make you feel small and petty about your daily complaints, it's the suffering of people in third-world countries around the globe.
An 86 year old Pakistani man, beaten, repeatedly, for 3 days. He refused to alter or renounce his faith. After being rescued, he clutched his Bible, tears of joy streaming down his face. He cannot read.
A mother, in Somalia, watching as her 11 and 12 year old sons were beheaded "for the sins of their father." Musa, the father, led a house church.
What about India? A land of progress... There is a growing conclave of women, raising children alone, because their husbands (pastors) were brutally murdered. Their homes burned. No where to go. And yet one such woman said, "I am giving pardon to them. One day let them come to Christ. That is my hope."
And I sit on my couch, whining because I have massive papers to write. It sounds more ridiculous now, doesn't it? Yeah, that's what I thought too...
Halfway through the magazine, I got up. I walked into the living room, and sat down at the piano. In the dim light I played, "Oh the deep, deep love of Jesus." There are moments when I just don't understand. I don't know why the world is the way it is. I don't know why God hasn't descended in righteous anger. I remembered the words in Revelations: "I saw under the altar the souls of those who had been slain because of the word of God and the testimony they had maintained. They called out in a loud voice, "How long, Sovereign Lord, holy and true, until you judge the inhabitants of the earth and avenge our blood?" Then each of them was given a white robe, and they were told to wait a little longer, until the number of their fellow servants and brothers who were to be killed as they had been was completed." And I just don't understand.
But it makes my griping about papers, my desire for an amazing job, nice car, cute shoes, etc., etc. look less desirable, more paltry.
I am surrounded by people with amazing gifts. Amazing talents. People who can do great things to alter the current way of the world. And I have a degree in speech pathology... (Forgive the over-simplification of our job, fellow SLPs) but how many starving children are actually concerned that they can't say "r"?
I can't take amazing pictures, raise money, or use valuable political connections to alter the status of entire nations. But I do love children.
So I will finish these exams. I will get my degree-- while I dream of finding a way to spend at least six months of my life with tiny children in Africa.
Because even if it's not big and important-- this is what matters.
*http://www.persecution.com/
There are times when I feel sorry for the readers of my blog. There's no valuable information, I rarely provide scintillating antidotes, and my posts are usually irregular and random compilations of my pet peeves, emotions-off-the-cuff, frustrations galore. My mother calls it "emotional journaling." Which is nice of her. The word "journaling" gives it some amount of redemption.
Today I made Julie-Bop some hot chocolate. I turned the whole activity into a therapeutic teaching moment. It was beautiful. Then my mom comes out of nowhere with a can of whipped cream, and my beautiful hot chocolate tutorial (emphasizing the words "in" and "stir") ceased to be a teaching moment as my little sister jumped around the kitchen screaming in glee.
Oh, and Julie has taken to calling us all by boy names. Today, as I handed her the hot chocolate, she said, "I'm Bob, and you're George, okay?"
Today my name is "George." Yesterday I was "Franklin."
However, that's not why I'm writing. (The brief paragraphs above were my attempt to deviate from my traditional "emotional journaling" as I provide something redemptive to the future generations.)
Last night, lounging on the couch after a not-so-strenuous day of trying to decide if I was avoiding, or working hard on my comprehensive exams, I picked up the magazine "Voice of the Martyrs."* For anyone not remotely aware of this organization, please visit the website posted below. VOM is an organization near and very dear to my heart. Last night, after a lazy day, grumping about how boring and awful my life is, I picked up this magazine. Bad idea. If there is anything, perfectly designed to make you feel small and petty about your daily complaints, it's the suffering of people in third-world countries around the globe.
An 86 year old Pakistani man, beaten, repeatedly, for 3 days. He refused to alter or renounce his faith. After being rescued, he clutched his Bible, tears of joy streaming down his face. He cannot read.
A mother, in Somalia, watching as her 11 and 12 year old sons were beheaded "for the sins of their father." Musa, the father, led a house church.
What about India? A land of progress... There is a growing conclave of women, raising children alone, because their husbands (pastors) were brutally murdered. Their homes burned. No where to go. And yet one such woman said, "I am giving pardon to them. One day let them come to Christ. That is my hope."
And I sit on my couch, whining because I have massive papers to write. It sounds more ridiculous now, doesn't it? Yeah, that's what I thought too...
Halfway through the magazine, I got up. I walked into the living room, and sat down at the piano. In the dim light I played, "Oh the deep, deep love of Jesus." There are moments when I just don't understand. I don't know why the world is the way it is. I don't know why God hasn't descended in righteous anger. I remembered the words in Revelations: "I saw under the altar the souls of those who had been slain because of the word of God and the testimony they had maintained. They called out in a loud voice, "How long, Sovereign Lord, holy and true, until you judge the inhabitants of the earth and avenge our blood?" Then each of them was given a white robe, and they were told to wait a little longer, until the number of their fellow servants and brothers who were to be killed as they had been was completed." And I just don't understand.
But it makes my griping about papers, my desire for an amazing job, nice car, cute shoes, etc., etc. look less desirable, more paltry.
I am surrounded by people with amazing gifts. Amazing talents. People who can do great things to alter the current way of the world. And I have a degree in speech pathology... (Forgive the over-simplification of our job, fellow SLPs) but how many starving children are actually concerned that they can't say "r"?
I can't take amazing pictures, raise money, or use valuable political connections to alter the status of entire nations. But I do love children.
So I will finish these exams. I will get my degree-- while I dream of finding a way to spend at least six months of my life with tiny children in Africa.
Because even if it's not big and important-- this is what matters.
*http://www.persecution.com/
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Not-so-fearless Snow Adventure
Erika and I were going to have a study date-day. I had a whole itinerary mapped out (does that surprise anyone?). We were going to camp out the meter-allotted time at Einstein's, imbibing amounts of free-refill coffee that will never be known to the non-coffee-drinking world. Following our designated parking time, we would trek across the street, beg the library parking guard to not tow us at the end of two hours (who spends just two hours in a library?), and hunker down to some serious studying.
Except I got stuck in the driveway.
Mock me if you will, fearless Michigan/Canada/Wisconsin/God-forsaken-northern-corner-of-the-world driver, but getting out of one's drive way is sometimes the most fearful leg of an across-town trip.
Especially when you're not paying attention and you just back right off the driveway without realizing it...
Just think of the copious amounts of coffee money we are saving.
Except I got stuck in the driveway.
Mock me if you will, fearless Michigan/Canada/Wisconsin/God-forsaken-northern-corner-of-the-world driver, but getting out of one's drive way is sometimes the most fearful leg of an across-town trip.
Especially when you're not paying attention and you just back right off the driveway without realizing it...
Just think of the copious amounts of coffee money we are saving.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
When I Woke Up as Me
I realized the other day, mid "I-wonder-what-I'll-be-when-I-grow-up" thought, that I was, in fact, grown up.
I am me.
I am the grad student, with chronic health problems, and a tendency to drink too much coffee. I'm the girl who loves voraciously reading historical biographies, early classical literature, and Pulitzer Prize winners. I don't like doing dishes. I love ironing my sheets. I continue to try to develop an affinity for non-fiction, exercise, and steamed broccoli. I read every plaque in a museum, and I get goose-bumpy "walking in the foot-steps of ________." (You fill in the blank) at different historical locations. I have read every Jane Austen book several times. I have the Chronicles of Narnia memorized. I don't like Keira Knightley, Keanu Reeves, and Natalie Portman- I don't think any of them can act. I practice arguing in the car because I've never quite been able to carry it off effectively. I think I can dance (but I really can't).
I love chocolate indiscriminately. I prefer Beethoven to Mozart, but I love yowling to soundtracks best of all. Part of me is a snob, but the other part of me loves fun too much to maintain any snobbishness. I would rather swear than use crude humor. I love college football, and watch Purdue for college basketball-- occasionally. I would trade lives with a short list of people (even though I have it incredibly good). My dream car is a BMW Z3. (No, I do not want a Z4, I like the Z3 best.) I've dated three guys, for a total of 5 dating relationships. I thought I would date only one once when I was 18. Part of me wants to be artsy, and the other part gets really bored with anything remotely tedious and time-consuming. I don't have hobbies (aside from reading and writing). I love espresso. I get up early in the morning to study-- I don't stay up late.
I admire people who start their own businesses and have phenomenal work ethics. I love my family, Indiana, my church, and Purdue. But I need to leave someday or else I will stunt my own growth. Some days I'll spend an hour getting ready. The next day, I'll just wash my face and leave. I am not consistent. At anything. Ever. I worship school, success, and a brilliant career. Half of me loves that, half of me hates that. I have no rhythm. I rarely drink hot chocolate. I look at architectural magazines for fun. I love InStyle. I rarely feel like I've worked at maximal capacity. I want to write a book. And be on a talk show. Maybe even have my own.
But this is who I am now.
When did this happen?
And why does 24 (which sounded so old, 4 years ago), sound so very young right now...
I am me.
I am the grad student, with chronic health problems, and a tendency to drink too much coffee. I'm the girl who loves voraciously reading historical biographies, early classical literature, and Pulitzer Prize winners. I don't like doing dishes. I love ironing my sheets. I continue to try to develop an affinity for non-fiction, exercise, and steamed broccoli. I read every plaque in a museum, and I get goose-bumpy "walking in the foot-steps of ________." (You fill in the blank) at different historical locations. I have read every Jane Austen book several times. I have the Chronicles of Narnia memorized. I don't like Keira Knightley, Keanu Reeves, and Natalie Portman- I don't think any of them can act. I practice arguing in the car because I've never quite been able to carry it off effectively. I think I can dance (but I really can't).
I love chocolate indiscriminately. I prefer Beethoven to Mozart, but I love yowling to soundtracks best of all. Part of me is a snob, but the other part of me loves fun too much to maintain any snobbishness. I would rather swear than use crude humor. I love college football, and watch Purdue for college basketball-- occasionally. I would trade lives with a short list of people (even though I have it incredibly good). My dream car is a BMW Z3. (No, I do not want a Z4, I like the Z3 best.) I've dated three guys, for a total of 5 dating relationships. I thought I would date only one once when I was 18. Part of me wants to be artsy, and the other part gets really bored with anything remotely tedious and time-consuming. I don't have hobbies (aside from reading and writing). I love espresso. I get up early in the morning to study-- I don't stay up late.
I admire people who start their own businesses and have phenomenal work ethics. I love my family, Indiana, my church, and Purdue. But I need to leave someday or else I will stunt my own growth. Some days I'll spend an hour getting ready. The next day, I'll just wash my face and leave. I am not consistent. At anything. Ever. I worship school, success, and a brilliant career. Half of me loves that, half of me hates that. I have no rhythm. I rarely drink hot chocolate. I look at architectural magazines for fun. I love InStyle. I rarely feel like I've worked at maximal capacity. I want to write a book. And be on a talk show. Maybe even have my own.
But this is who I am now.
When did this happen?
And why does 24 (which sounded so old, 4 years ago), sound so very young right now...
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Vicarious Dancing... Oh, Fred and Ginger...
I am disgruntled. With myself.
For whatever reason, I feel restless in my current status, and my current out-look, and my current life. All of which is completely ridiculous, because my status is great (never felt better), and my life is phenomenal (check them off: great school, great family, good job, nice car, nice house, etc., etc.). But instead, I want to curl up in bed and ignore all of this great niceness, and watch Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, while eating ridiculous amounts of incredibly bad food.
And I want to do this for an entire day.
And not move.
That sounds nice.
Who wouldn't want to do that?
Monday, January 4, 2010
My bridal wound...
I've waited, hoping that my anger and furor would subside as the hours ticked by. But it hasn't. It still stings. And I have found that most things lose their sting when a violent bath of cold words is poured over them, so allow me to vent, dear reader.
I was in a wedding this weekend.
It was wonderful.
Beautiful.
Picturesque.
Delightful.
Except for one portion of the ceremony.
We were all standing there, listening to the traditional "charge to the couple." The Christmas lights shimmered appropriately. My bouquet smelled amazing, and my bridesmaid's dress fit. (Hallelujah.) I stood there, smiling with joy, until I heard the officiant:
"We are delighted these two are joined today. Because they are married they will now fully live their lives. Without marriage, their lives would be empty and unfulfilled."
I felt like I had been slapped. The sting of those words made my eyes well up with tears. Hopefully people watching thought, "How sweet, the bridesmaid is touched by the ceremony..."
But I was thinking, "My life isn't worth living? I haven't truly lived? My life is empty and unfulfilled? What about all those years of school so I can help others? What about the children who I've spent delightful afternoons with? What about those little old men at the Veterans Home who only smile when they came to speech therapy? That's my empty and unfulfilled life? You're telling me that I will never truly live? That my purpose to bring glory to God is empty unless there's a man by my side?" Then I got angry. "Would anyone notice if he showed up missing, because right now I could throttle him in a dark corner and not care about the ramifications."
But my anger was brief (it's exhausting to stay angry!), and now it just hurts occasionally, when it gets hit at just the right spot.
It upsets me that things like this can cause that reaction. I don't like that raw, sensitive area. I wish I could cover it up and never reveal the slightest hint of it. Better yet, I wish it would heal, go away, develop into a tiny scar to chuckle at with fellow war buddies someday.
And maybe it will. God is good. God is enough. Contrary to whatever any officiant may tell me, I can live out my purpose alone or paired. To God be the glory.
I wonder if that pastor had ever read I Corinthians 7...
I was in a wedding this weekend.
It was wonderful.
Beautiful.
Picturesque.
Delightful.
Except for one portion of the ceremony.
We were all standing there, listening to the traditional "charge to the couple." The Christmas lights shimmered appropriately. My bouquet smelled amazing, and my bridesmaid's dress fit. (Hallelujah.) I stood there, smiling with joy, until I heard the officiant:
"We are delighted these two are joined today. Because they are married they will now fully live their lives. Without marriage, their lives would be empty and unfulfilled."
I felt like I had been slapped. The sting of those words made my eyes well up with tears. Hopefully people watching thought, "How sweet, the bridesmaid is touched by the ceremony..."
But I was thinking, "My life isn't worth living? I haven't truly lived? My life is empty and unfulfilled? What about all those years of school so I can help others? What about the children who I've spent delightful afternoons with? What about those little old men at the Veterans Home who only smile when they came to speech therapy? That's my empty and unfulfilled life? You're telling me that I will never truly live? That my purpose to bring glory to God is empty unless there's a man by my side?" Then I got angry. "Would anyone notice if he showed up missing, because right now I could throttle him in a dark corner and not care about the ramifications."
But my anger was brief (it's exhausting to stay angry!), and now it just hurts occasionally, when it gets hit at just the right spot.
It upsets me that things like this can cause that reaction. I don't like that raw, sensitive area. I wish I could cover it up and never reveal the slightest hint of it. Better yet, I wish it would heal, go away, develop into a tiny scar to chuckle at with fellow war buddies someday.
And maybe it will. God is good. God is enough. Contrary to whatever any officiant may tell me, I can live out my purpose alone or paired. To God be the glory.
I wonder if that pastor had ever read I Corinthians 7...
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Snowflakes. Sunrise... Sanctity, Splendor
Barely, just barely the bravely yellow sun peaks through the trees lining the horizon. Dainty ice crystals, as yet unmarred by anything more pressing than 11 degree temperatures, try to sparkle as the shy light hits them. The sun turns the snow faintly pink.
It is a beautiful day.
A cup of coffee, close enough to my forearm is all I need in order to wax eloquent on this day of days.
Today my friend Jen is marrying her best friend, Jeremy, in a ceremony at the Conservatory in the Indianapolis Zoo. Last night, at the rehearsal, as the lights flickered on in the huge glass room, we all oohed and aah-ed the beauty and made appropriate comments as such to the bride and her mother. Dinner was served at Harry&Izzy's down town, and as people sliced through their filet mignot (or chicken, or salmon-- who goes to a steak place and orders fish?) comfortably full after lobster bisque in a golden, soothing atmosphere, they ooh-ed and aah-ed abouot the incredible food, the ambiance, etc. etc.
I love events like this. If you know me at all, you know that one of my biggest problems is struggling with the lack of such events. Not because I don't love the more casual family dinners that I usually gather around (although my parents make amazing displays of love multiple times in a year through classy dinners and down-town experiences), but because I genuinely revel in, and am most relaxed when other people would probably be least comfortable. I love ambiance, and balanced menu, people talking in appropriately social voices, without coarse jesting, inappropriate comments, and bad manners. I know, it sounds horribly snobby, and I don't want anyone to think that I am turning up my nose at many wonderful, casual evenings. This is just something I love. So I ooh-ed and aah-ed with the best of them.
But the moment in which I wanted to ooh and aah most profusely, and the moment for which I wished I had saved all my oohs and aahs, didn't come in the ambiance that I so admire, or the glitz or glam that I enjoy. It came during yet another car ride with my "roomie," our last one together as single buddies.
In this ride, somehow we happened upon the subject of marriage. (Maybe it had something to do with her getting married in the morning...) And as we talked, I became so delightedly happy and peaceful, for I saw (again) that here were two people who recognized the sanctity of marriage. The joy and giddiness, as with any engaged-almost-married couple, is still there, but underneath it is a foundation that promises a delightful, God-honoring future. They both recognize that the wedding, despite all the glitz, decoration, dress and tux, isn't really about them. It's about displaying the sanctity of a relationship that God created second only to our relationship with Him. And as my dear "Roomie" discussed this, mourning the loss of purity and honor in our world, and delighting in the opportunity presented to her and Jeremy, I delighted with them.
Blessings, "Roomie"!
May the beautiful sunrise, at the dawn of your wedding, be a promise of the beauty your marriage will portray to the world.
Friday, January 1, 2010
2010!!! (and 2009)
Happy New Year!
I'm currently sitting at one of my best friend's kitchen table typing away on her laptop. (My poor little laptop, "Bob" was unable to make the trip with me due to a shortage of luggage room.)
In exactly 15 minutes we will be leaving for her rehearsal dinner, and tomorrow I'll watch yet another friend embark on the adventurous voyage of matrimony. This past month has been a month of weddings, as has been my summer, so one can only conclude that 2009 (and early 2010) is a popular time to tie the knot.
Other happenings of 2009...
I developed even more of an affinity for cooking shows, Paula Dean is on every time I cook.
I landscaped my own flower beds for the first time in my life. Not ALL the flowers died.
Yet another 365 days of being a grad student has passed. Only 218 more to go!
My little sister, Julie-Bop discovered what princesses are, and loves to act out climactic scenes from "Enchanted."
My darling friend, Bunny said "I do" to Mr. Ginger-Bunny (yes, he hates that name), and I did not cry during the wedding.
I went to NYC. Twice.
Vacationed with the fam, partied with friends. Led accountability groups, got up at 3 a.m. to study, discovered that I love working with elderly persons, and that I loathe doing dishes. Developed the perfect manicure technique, learned how to read non-fiction books, and didn't learn how to love running.
Last night, I watched "Pride and Prejudice" curled up in the corner of the couch, and cheered the new year (gently, between Mr. Darcy's wooing) with two couples (one married, and one almost).
Tomorrow, I get to watch a wonderful wedding between two delightful, beautiful people.
I'll try not to weep copious amounts of tears into my bridesmaid's bouquet, but 2009 was lovely and 2010 is off to a great start!
Happy 2010!!!
I'm currently sitting at one of my best friend's kitchen table typing away on her laptop. (My poor little laptop, "Bob" was unable to make the trip with me due to a shortage of luggage room.)
In exactly 15 minutes we will be leaving for her rehearsal dinner, and tomorrow I'll watch yet another friend embark on the adventurous voyage of matrimony. This past month has been a month of weddings, as has been my summer, so one can only conclude that 2009 (and early 2010) is a popular time to tie the knot.
Other happenings of 2009...
I developed even more of an affinity for cooking shows, Paula Dean is on every time I cook.
I landscaped my own flower beds for the first time in my life. Not ALL the flowers died.
Yet another 365 days of being a grad student has passed. Only 218 more to go!
My little sister, Julie-Bop discovered what princesses are, and loves to act out climactic scenes from "Enchanted."
My darling friend, Bunny said "I do" to Mr. Ginger-Bunny (yes, he hates that name), and I did not cry during the wedding.
I went to NYC. Twice.
Vacationed with the fam, partied with friends. Led accountability groups, got up at 3 a.m. to study, discovered that I love working with elderly persons, and that I loathe doing dishes. Developed the perfect manicure technique, learned how to read non-fiction books, and didn't learn how to love running.
Last night, I watched "Pride and Prejudice" curled up in the corner of the couch, and cheered the new year (gently, between Mr. Darcy's wooing) with two couples (one married, and one almost).
Tomorrow, I get to watch a wonderful wedding between two delightful, beautiful people.
I'll try not to weep copious amounts of tears into my bridesmaid's bouquet, but 2009 was lovely and 2010 is off to a great start!
Happy 2010!!!
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Maybe I should always write about relationships...
It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife. (Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice)*
So here's a question posed by my inimitable grandfather:
"Why do persons in the bigger cities get married later in life?" Conversely, "Why do people in Middle America get married in their early twenties?"
(As a side note, my dear grandfather is a fan of the early-twenties bracket and both he and Grandma are starting to view me as an anomaly.)
Trevs and I hashed this out, both with different theories...
Trevs' thoughts tend more to the "Larger Dating Pool Hypothesis," in which he argues that people in the larger metropolises can date more people. Because there are more people, there are more social circles. The expanded social circles give you the option of moving from one relationship to another without the awkwardness and social ostracism that so often follows a break-up in more rural America.
For example, here, if I date someone (and I have), there is a certain dating pool of acquaintances that becomes "polluted" when the relationship ends. People consciously, (or unconsciously) take sides. All future relationships are measured against the previous ones, and everyone knows everyone else and talks about everyone else. It may be a sad side-effect, true. Although it's not always negative; it's close to inevitable. And there's no where else to go. The number of single, evangelical, growing, desirable persons are usually confined to a fairly limited group. (There are only a certain number of single, evangelical, growing, desirable persons in every 10,000 of any populace.)
Go to a bigger city- more 10,000s of people, hence more single, evangelical, growing, desirable persons. More people to date, so you date longer before running out of options. This is Trevor's hypothesis.
My theory is completely different: As a general rule (GENERAL!) young twenty-somethings in a city moved there because they are extremely career driven. You do what you need to do to climb whatever ladder you're on, and you do it when you have the most energy and drive. Family can wait. It is socially acceptable to focus on your career, so they do. In middle-America, it's more puzzling when you're crazily-career driven. Many of our social outlets revolve around family, not career. So, you don't get married until later because that's completely acceptable and expected because you're "establishing" yourself.
I think I need to move to a city. I'm tired of my growing anomaly-ness.
*I love how Jane Austen will never cease to be relevant...
So here's a question posed by my inimitable grandfather:
"Why do persons in the bigger cities get married later in life?" Conversely, "Why do people in Middle America get married in their early twenties?"
(As a side note, my dear grandfather is a fan of the early-twenties bracket and both he and Grandma are starting to view me as an anomaly.)
Trevs and I hashed this out, both with different theories...
Trevs' thoughts tend more to the "Larger Dating Pool Hypothesis," in which he argues that people in the larger metropolises can date more people. Because there are more people, there are more social circles. The expanded social circles give you the option of moving from one relationship to another without the awkwardness and social ostracism that so often follows a break-up in more rural America.
For example, here, if I date someone (and I have), there is a certain dating pool of acquaintances that becomes "polluted" when the relationship ends. People consciously, (or unconsciously) take sides. All future relationships are measured against the previous ones, and everyone knows everyone else and talks about everyone else. It may be a sad side-effect, true. Although it's not always negative; it's close to inevitable. And there's no where else to go. The number of single, evangelical, growing, desirable persons are usually confined to a fairly limited group. (There are only a certain number of single, evangelical, growing, desirable persons in every 10,000 of any populace.)
Go to a bigger city- more 10,000s of people, hence more single, evangelical, growing, desirable persons. More people to date, so you date longer before running out of options. This is Trevor's hypothesis.
My theory is completely different: As a general rule (GENERAL!) young twenty-somethings in a city moved there because they are extremely career driven. You do what you need to do to climb whatever ladder you're on, and you do it when you have the most energy and drive. Family can wait. It is socially acceptable to focus on your career, so they do. In middle-America, it's more puzzling when you're crazily-career driven. Many of our social outlets revolve around family, not career. So, you don't get married until later because that's completely acceptable and expected because you're "establishing" yourself.
I think I need to move to a city. I'm tired of my growing anomaly-ness.
*I love how Jane Austen will never cease to be relevant...
Monday, December 28, 2009
In honor of the fun I'm NOT going to have*
Snow! Finally!
However, I'm a grown-up now, and so it's off to work I go!
Let the glee pictured below infuse my cold, boring cubicle...
*please do not mistake this post for a lack of appreciation for my wonderfully flexible, bill-paying job.
However, I'm a grown-up now, and so it's off to work I go!
Let the glee pictured below infuse my cold, boring cubicle...
*please do not mistake this post for a lack of appreciation for my wonderfully flexible, bill-paying job.
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Day-After Happenings
It's the day after Christmas, and part of me loves this day more than Christmas (although the other part of me argues that one can never top the sparkle and cozy delight of any Christmas morning). The family is "puttering" about... there's really no other word for it.
My father is planning all of 2010 on a spread sheet, while sipping Columbian coffee. This morning we all discovered that he plans his romantic gestures month by month. We hooted and hollered and told mom.
She already knew.
Bops has been pushing her new stroller and baby doll (a boy named "Madelyn") around all morning. There's nothing like waking up to the sound of plastic wheels on ceramic tile...
The boys spent a good hour watching pointless boy humor on YouTube. If some male wants to enlighten me as to the fascination this particular activity holds, please feel free to do so.
My mom looked at 487 pictures on my facebook profile. I sat next to her and taught her how to facebook stalk. I might regret this at some point in time in the future.
And Erika... well, I haven't seen her yet today. My guess is that her frowsy head is buried deep beneath her comforter, as she continues to blissfully snooze.
Christmas vacation is delightful.
My father is planning all of 2010 on a spread sheet, while sipping Columbian coffee. This morning we all discovered that he plans his romantic gestures month by month. We hooted and hollered and told mom.
She already knew.
Bops has been pushing her new stroller and baby doll (a boy named "Madelyn") around all morning. There's nothing like waking up to the sound of plastic wheels on ceramic tile...
The boys spent a good hour watching pointless boy humor on YouTube. If some male wants to enlighten me as to the fascination this particular activity holds, please feel free to do so.
My mom looked at 487 pictures on my facebook profile. I sat next to her and taught her how to facebook stalk. I might regret this at some point in time in the future.
And Erika... well, I haven't seen her yet today. My guess is that her frowsy head is buried deep beneath her comforter, as she continues to blissfully snooze.
Christmas vacation is delightful.
Friday, December 25, 2009
"I need to get dressed..."
We were all so excited about Christmas with Boppy this year. She's four, and just old enough to experience the joy of opening presents (giving presents was a little more tricky... She still doesn't get that...)
Alex bought her this amazing baby doll. It's a little boy whose lips are formed into a grumpy pucker, and whose outfit is completed by a little stuffed lion and a hat with ears.
She squealed with delight when she opened him, but as soon as he was out of his package, she ran from him, hiding behind everything in attempts to avoid holding her new baby.
Over and over she kept saying, "I need to get dressed. I don't want the baby. I need to get dressed."
I got her a stroller. We opened it next in an attempt to alleviate her odd fear of the baby. (Maybe if she wouldn't hold him, she'd push him around.)
Once again she squealed in glee, and then ran. "I need to get dressed. I don't want it. No. I need to get dressed."
We were all puzzled.
However, after she was dressed, she began to cuddle the baby and take him for walks around and around and around our circular floor-plan.
Apparently she thought she couldn't be a good mom until she was properly attired.
I wonder if she'll be the same way when she has real children...
Alex bought her this amazing baby doll. It's a little boy whose lips are formed into a grumpy pucker, and whose outfit is completed by a little stuffed lion and a hat with ears.
She squealed with delight when she opened him, but as soon as he was out of his package, she ran from him, hiding behind everything in attempts to avoid holding her new baby.
Over and over she kept saying, "I need to get dressed. I don't want the baby. I need to get dressed."
I got her a stroller. We opened it next in an attempt to alleviate her odd fear of the baby. (Maybe if she wouldn't hold him, she'd push him around.)
Once again she squealed in glee, and then ran. "I need to get dressed. I don't want it. No. I need to get dressed."
We were all puzzled.
However, after she was dressed, she began to cuddle the baby and take him for walks around and around and around our circular floor-plan.
Apparently she thought she couldn't be a good mom until she was properly attired.
I wonder if she'll be the same way when she has real children...
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Maybe I'm just tired...
Why am I discouraged?
Why is my heart so sad?
I will put my hope in God!
I will praise him again—
my Savior and my God!
Psalm 43:5
Why is my heart so sad?
I will put my hope in God!
I will praise him again—
my Savior and my God!
Psalm 43:5
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Baptists Psychics (in regards to me, alone under the mistletoe)
Merry Christmas, deck the halls, thank you for the fudge, yada-yada-yada.
I have an irascible query.
(Well, not really, but I'm trying to get out of the habit of hemorraghing anger onto the pages of my blog. So, instead, I was in a funk last night, I'm over it tonight, but I still think it needs to be said. Tonight I'm saying it with firm, yet gracious patience. Last night I would have said it with vehement rhetoric. So instead...)
I just have a inquisitive question.
Why, in the name of all that is good and holy, do people pat me on the arm and tell me:
"Don't worry, there is wonderful guy out there for you..."
First, I'm not worried. Please don't assume I'm worried.
And second... how on EARTH do they know that?!? Seriously, is there some weird, Baptist, psychic ability that allows people to see that somewhere, out there in the distant (or not so distant) future, there is a "wonderful guy" for lil' ol' me? Because if they can tell me that, with all honest sincerity, then I need to ask them some tough questions... like:
"So, am I really going to finish grad school?"
"What are the side-effects going to be of my purchasing those insanely high heels?"
"Should I go vegan?"
Because if they can see, with that degree of clarity into the future-- baby, we've got to use that gift! Why does anyone think that it would be a good idea to assure me that there is, in fact, someone waiting for me in my future?
There might not be.
And whenever I respond with, "Aww, thank you, but if there isn't- isn't God still good?" I get expressions of taken-aback confusion.
Yes, I would love a time in the future when I read the Christmas story to wondering little faces, before snuggling with my honey in front of a fire after (finally!) decorating the tree. I would love to instigate new traditions and carry out old ones. And the cute, artsy side of me, that only peaks out when I'm well-rested and over-achieving, imagines all sorts of new family goodies and Christmas cards.
But that may never be me. And if that's the case, then that is the way in which I can bring God the most glory! And I know it is there because it also brings me the most good. Not good in the way of eating-spinach-good, but rather in the way of sheer-unadulterated-joy-good.
So, no, I won't worry, wonderful people-who-care-about-me-and-sincerely-believe-they-are saying-something-encouraging. Because even if your psychic powers fail, and there really, truly isn't a "wonderful man out there" for me, I think life is still going to be pretty stinkin' awesome.
Merry Christmas Eve of the Christmas Eve's Eve!
I have an irascible query.
(Well, not really, but I'm trying to get out of the habit of hemorraghing anger onto the pages of my blog. So, instead, I was in a funk last night, I'm over it tonight, but I still think it needs to be said. Tonight I'm saying it with firm, yet gracious patience. Last night I would have said it with vehement rhetoric. So instead...)
I just have a inquisitive question.
Why, in the name of all that is good and holy, do people pat me on the arm and tell me:
"Don't worry, there is wonderful guy out there for you..."
First, I'm not worried. Please don't assume I'm worried.
And second... how on EARTH do they know that?!? Seriously, is there some weird, Baptist, psychic ability that allows people to see that somewhere, out there in the distant (or not so distant) future, there is a "wonderful guy" for lil' ol' me? Because if they can tell me that, with all honest sincerity, then I need to ask them some tough questions... like:
"So, am I really going to finish grad school?"
"What are the side-effects going to be of my purchasing those insanely high heels?"
"Should I go vegan?"
Because if they can see, with that degree of clarity into the future-- baby, we've got to use that gift! Why does anyone think that it would be a good idea to assure me that there is, in fact, someone waiting for me in my future?
There might not be.
And whenever I respond with, "Aww, thank you, but if there isn't- isn't God still good?" I get expressions of taken-aback confusion.
Yes, I would love a time in the future when I read the Christmas story to wondering little faces, before snuggling with my honey in front of a fire after (finally!) decorating the tree. I would love to instigate new traditions and carry out old ones. And the cute, artsy side of me, that only peaks out when I'm well-rested and over-achieving, imagines all sorts of new family goodies and Christmas cards.
But that may never be me. And if that's the case, then that is the way in which I can bring God the most glory! And I know it is there because it also brings me the most good. Not good in the way of eating-spinach-good, but rather in the way of sheer-unadulterated-joy-good.
So, no, I won't worry, wonderful people-who-care-about-me-and-sincerely-believe-they-are saying-something-encouraging. Because even if your psychic powers fail, and there really, truly isn't a "wonderful man out there" for me, I think life is still going to be pretty stinkin' awesome.
Merry Christmas Eve of the Christmas Eve's Eve!
Friday, December 18, 2009
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Merry Christmas to you too!
So, as one more hoop to jump through in Purdue's hoop-filled graduate speech pathology program, this winter break we have to complete "comps."
"Comps" are "comprehensive exams" which have to be passed in order to graduate. (By "exams" I mean multiple 5-10 page long answers to a clinical questions posed by an expert in that field.) Should you fail to pass, there are all sorts of horrible terms that are hinted at, like "remediation." And you'll wind up doing even more work, hoping to prove to the professor that you actually know your stuff.
Now, we all groan over "comps," and apparently they're not that much fun for the faculty either.
Yesterday, in the grad room, one of the professors divulged that he tries to make his question as hard as possible so that no one will pick it and he won't have to grade any tediously boring papers. It just so happens, he's not the only one. Apparently many of the faculty compete to see who can submit the hardest question so that the students will pick someone else's question. (We are required to answer 5 questions total.)
So, in the end, what we as students wind up with is a massive exam packet, full of tedious, long, intense questions, all of which require research paper level work to answer...
THAT'S what I get to do over Christmas break.
Delightful.
Thank you, Purdue.
"Comps" are "comprehensive exams" which have to be passed in order to graduate. (By "exams" I mean multiple 5-10 page long answers to a clinical questions posed by an expert in that field.) Should you fail to pass, there are all sorts of horrible terms that are hinted at, like "remediation." And you'll wind up doing even more work, hoping to prove to the professor that you actually know your stuff.
Now, we all groan over "comps," and apparently they're not that much fun for the faculty either.
Yesterday, in the grad room, one of the professors divulged that he tries to make his question as hard as possible so that no one will pick it and he won't have to grade any tediously boring papers. It just so happens, he's not the only one. Apparently many of the faculty compete to see who can submit the hardest question so that the students will pick someone else's question. (We are required to answer 5 questions total.)
So, in the end, what we as students wind up with is a massive exam packet, full of tedious, long, intense questions, all of which require research paper level work to answer...
THAT'S what I get to do over Christmas break.
Delightful.
Thank you, Purdue.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
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?
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?
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."
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