What girl WOULDN'T want to be a Disney Princess?

Note to self: NORMAL people like to crunch ice in the SUMMER. Clearly, I am not normal...

Pine needles, golden flickers, fuzzy warmth...

Stretching out her legs was impossible. The flannel pj's with their footies were too small. Mom was always worried about cold feet. What, she wondered, would happen if her feet got cold? She wiggled underneath the sleeping bag. Bax had taken the couch. She had argued the point that she was a girl, and thus should have the couch, but such arguments rarely worked with her younger brother.

One strand of lights on the Christmas tree had a missing bulb, and the top third of the tree blinked erratically as a result. The golden light flickered like fire on the fireplace doors. She twitched again. And again. She scrunched her eyes closed and then flicked them open again. Nope. Stockings were still empty. Of course. Dad wasn't that fast.

She wiggled closer to the tree. Why did they call it "sleeping under the tree"? They weren't really under it. They were next to it. It would be more fun to lay under it, looking up through the branches, but Mom had protested when she had tried to squeeze under. She wiggled her nose. The yeasty smell of cinnamon rolls came from the kitchen. Christmas should come more than once a year.

She sat bolt upright at the first dong of the clock. Bother. Only 3 a.m. It was going to be many more hours before anyone else got up. 5 a.m. was probably a good time. People on farms got up at that time every morning. And people on farms didn't even have presents waiting, at least not most days. Another twitch. What time was it now?

3:02. She exhaled noisily. Maybe Bax would hear and wake up to share in her agony.

Nope. Not a move.

She lay back down. Turned to her other side and tried to fall asleep. The end of her sleeping bag crackled on wrapping paper, and she wiggled away from the tree. Christmas Eve was the longest night...

Ticking clock, cinnamon, Christmas 1992...

Tonight, as always, Julie-Bop had commandeered my jewelry, in particular, my silver necklace. She was playing with it, abusing it, pulling at it, when all of a sudden the clasp broke and the necklace fell off. Scooping it up, she threw it into my lap and then turned away, eyes innocently cast upward in a "how on earth did that happen?" face.

"Julie." I said soberly. "What happened?"

"Oops."

"Yes, it is an 'oops.' What happened to my necklace?"

"B'oken."

"Yes, it's broken. The poor necklace."

At this point a look of great remorse and pity comes over her face. She leans over the broken necklace and pets it saying "awww."

Yes, some children mourn the death of a pet. My little sis mourns the death of jewelry.

What on earth would we do with out our Bops?

We'd probably have a lot less fun...

And if there were no us, parenting would probably be easier for Dad and Mom...



Such good examples.

6 a.m. lesson

God, in all of his wisdom, power and love (yes, His love must be somewhere in this) is letting me fail.

Every vestige of competence that I ever thought I had, or laid claim to, is slowly, painfully, but steadily being stripped away. The things that I gloried in, the levels of competence that I achieved, the security I had amassed- it's all being removed, one layer of complacent pride at a time.

The day I thought I was an amazing student- God obliterated hopes of an A with a solid D. When I wrestled for approbation in my clinical competence, I was verbally derided as having failed. I thought my joy and happiness were unquenchable- until I went through the longest period of depression I have ever known. Turning in papers that I had written (and I love writing, I can do writing) only to have them given back with a C average. And it goes on.

And after I'm sobbing, after I'm angry, after I climb out of the hopeless abyss of failure (again), I wipe the tears from my eyes, pick up whatever I just threw across the room, straighten whatever I just crumpled in my arms, and remember... "not that we are competent in ourselves to claim anything for ourselves, but our competence comes from God." And as I turn, devoid of one more crutch, one more layer of complacency and pride, I hear, "Who has measured the waters in the hollow of his hand, or with the breadth of his hand marked off the heavens? Who has held the dust of the earth in a basket, or weighed the mountains on the scales and the hills in a balance?" And my anger at a great God sobers me.

Yet despite that greatness..."He tends his flock like a shepherd: He gathers the lambs in his arms and carries them close to his heart." Even though the end goal of this life is not my happiness, not my joy, not my glory, not my success. The end goal of this life is "not [that we] preach ourselves, but Jesus Christ as Lord." And that "We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body. For we who are alive are always being given over to death for Jesus' sake, so that his life may be revealed in our mortal body."


But that's very hard to remember at 6 a.m. when you see your grade...

Starbuck's Greatness

Today, while waiting in line for my Wild Sweet Orange herbal tea, I happened to glance around me.

In front of me were five Asian men.

Behind me were three more.

Just me and a bunch of Asian guys in line for expensive beverages.

I now know who Starbuck's is marketing to- culturally dependent girls, and rich Asians.

Foolish wishing...

There are days when discontent creeps in, like a skulking fog, begging me to want more, to cry over spilled milk, to pout like a spoiled child over my current position. And on those days, in the thick, gray dampness, time seems to stand still. It's not (as it has been before) an obliterating depression, and it's not a sensation of acute misery. It is, instead, a steady, persistent wish for another time in my life. A time that has not yet happened.

And the blatant frivolity and thanklessness of my desires accosts me. Here I am, granted but one life with which to serve, one life with which to glorify my Father, and I, instead of pursuing with passion the time in which I live, look forward (and occasionally backward) to another point in time.

Today is beautiful. Today is glorious. Today is the day "that the Lord has made" (despite the cliche that children's songs have made that statement). And today I am thankful... thankful for a couch and a shoulder, thankful for a hug from my mother, thankful for a hot breakfast, thankful for rest, thankful...

And by being thankful, I have become oh-so very content...

That being said, Emily Dickinson and I are pretty much on the same page... **grin**

IF you were coming in the fall,
I ’d brush the summer by
With half a smile and half a spurn,
As housewives do a fly.

If I could see you in a year,
I ’d wind the months in balls,
And put them each in separate drawers,
Until their time befalls.

If only centuries delayed,
I ’d count them on my hand,
Subtracting till my fingers dropped
Into Van Diemen’s land.

If certain, when this life was out,
That yours and mine should be,
I ’d toss it yonder like a rind,
And taste eternity.

But now, all ignorant of the length
Of time’s uncertain wing,
It goads me, like the goblin bee,
That will not state its sting.

My Rainy Day Song...

Because on rainy days, I want rain boots, a fire in the fireplace, and sappy music...

Long Version/Short Version

Short story or long story? Which one? I'll give you the long first... It's more fun to write.

I'm a felon.

The state of Indiana said so, and as we all know, the state is never wrong. (Ha!) Okay, so the state is wrong a lot. In one of their errors they suspended my license for driving without insurance. I know! It would be a horrible, terrible, almost unpardonable offense- if it were true. My dear father has made sure that I'm very well insured for quite a while. So, the state messed up.

Thursday morning, before class, Alex and I headed to Indy to correct this problem. (Thanks for driving this reprobate, Bax!) We arrived at the BMV (which, by the way, is in  a totally jank part of town.). I would like to know what on earth the state is doing will all those reinstatement fees that it's collecting from innocent drivers. I can tell you what they're not doing. They're most definitely not fumigating their deteriorating BMVs. They're also not fixing the sidewalks outside of said establishments. I stood in a puddle, in a line, with my dear brother, outside the BMV waiting for it to open. As the line lengthened behind me, the grizzled man in front of me turned around,

"Watch'er doin' here?" he queried.

"Oh, just waiting for them to open." says I. (Like it isn't obvious, and like I'm going to tell him my real reason...)

"Ain't we *%^& all?" (he had a great vocabulary which I only feel comfortable depicting in symbols.) They !@**# messed up my license and took it away." Sympathy flooded my face.

"Ahh. Wow. That's rough."

"Yah! I mean, come on! I was arrested, but it wasn't that big a deal. Just me @#$% second offense. @#$%* D.W.I!" Anything resembling sympathy vanished from my face. A DWI?!?! TWO DWIs?!? Are you kidding me? In Europe they take away your license after one offense. Due to this, the Europeans have developed two different tactics to handle this problem- the English just take "cabbies" everywhere. The Germans learned to stomach their liquor better- through careful training, the German builds up an immunity to alcohol. A German has to drink a LOT of beer to be drunk.

I have no sympathy for people who endanger others with their driving. (I listened to this guy talk to a BMV lady, he's got a pretty rough road ahead of him. That's going to be a hard road to remediate. I hope he does...)

Anyways... after a lot of hassle, the BMV lady, looking over the insurance paperwork asked,

"Honey, which one of these cars is yours?" (She was black, and had the greatest dialect EVER.)

"The Nissan Versa."

She throws her head back, pushes her chair away, and raising her hands in surprise says,

"Shoot, Giiiirrrrl! You drivin' a 2007? And you's in college?"

The other ladies around her turn (the other customers were left unattended for the remainder of this conversation...).

"Yeah," I admit, "I'm the oldest, and--"

"Awww! Ladies! She a daddy's-girl!" (They all make clucking sounds of understanding) "That do it every time! You sho' got him!"

"Yah, giiirrrl!"

"Lucky, shuga!"

"I wish my daddy does that!"

After they all finished chiming in, I shrugged,  embarrassed, "Yeah, he kind of spoils me..."

"I should say he do! Well, there you go, honey. You all done. You legal!"

So, the short story? I went to the BMV and I'm a legal driver.

Woot.

Apparently Catholic/Protestant conflict didn't end in the years following the Great Reformation...

A sudden epiphany

I have been whining quite frequently.

To be honest, I've justified my whining by an intense conviction that I was really, truly suffering, and that life is really, truly hard. Although I'm not particularly fond of where I am, I have been blessed (a fact I've been overlooking). In order to realign my priorities, my focus, and revive my comatose thankfulness, I've added the list you see in the margin of my blog. The goal is to add to it once a day, even on the horrible, terrible, no good, very bad days.

I have been blessed.

A fact I often ignore.

Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body you were called to peace.

And be thankful.

Colossians 3:15

So... story.

When I was a senior in high school I developed a crush on this guy. And, like most senior girl in high school, I thought it would be just wonderful if this guy would take me to the prom. But, like most guys, he was completely oblivious to this desire, and ended up taking someone else, and I was left all home-alone and corsage-less.

Well my dear reader, it is four years later. And I'm dating that boy.

I'm happy. And for Halloween we went as...

Prom Queen and King! What else?

I finally got my corsage... 

Lucid Panic Attack

So.

Last night I had my first panic attack.

A panic attack is defined by Webster's as: a sudden feeling of acute and disabling anxiety. 

I think more descriptive persons (no offense, my dear Webster) have given more details. Common symptoms are an inability to control breathing, crying, posture, etc.

Well, yesterday evening, I got a call from my parents. Apparently my license has been suspended because I was in an accident without insurance (remember that fateful July crash? Yah...). Let me be very clear about something- I do not drive without insurance. No. Not at all. I am fully covered, even beyond the state minimum. But somehow, the state still doesn't know that...

Because of my infraction, my license was suspended and I owed the state $150 to reinstate it.

Enter panic.

I don't have $150 dollars, I barely have $15.  And SUSPENDED!?!?! What!?!?

I started to cry. (Typical girl reaction.) And then I started to cry harder. And then the breath started coming in and out at an incredibly rapid rate. Then it stopped coming in and just kept going out. I collapsed on the floor, sobbing and hyperventilating uncontrollably.

But the strange thing was that my mind was very calm (after the initial panic). I'm sitting there, barely able to breathe, and the following thoughts are going through a very lucid, controlled mind:

"Am I having a panic attack? Huh. I can't breathe, that's a sign... I shouldn't be panicking. That's not biblical. I need to get this under-control. Mom's NANC certified. What would Mom say? I wonder what I can do to make this stop. What do people do in the movies? Brown paper bags. Wait... I don't have a brown paper bag. This is ridiculous. I should be able to stop. What are my patterns of sinful thinking that are perpetuating this? What am I saying? I haven't been thinking about anything more than brown paper bags. Oh! Breathe through my nose! That would be a good idea!"

Thus ended my incredibly odd "panic attack."

I wonder how many people invoke the name "NANC" (National Association of Neuthetic Counselors) while hyperventilating...

Beloved Boppy-Ju!

Julie informed everyone at the lunch table on Sunday that she was going to marry Leah (Miller). We looked at her. Surprised.

She also said that Josh (Streitmatter) was an alternate choice.

Little Bops is a definitely ray of hilarity in our family.

She loves feeling eyelashes (and calls them by their full name). She even knows what mascara is for.

She requests that we take her picture when she's doing any and all activities and then poses accordingly.

She'll put on a fake "yes, I'm interested" face when she listens to you. She even has an accompanying "Hmmm." Which shows that she could care less, but she's being polite. (Rather like the First Lady at an oil summit.)

She can count on her fingers from one to five.

When asked what animal makes what sound ("What sound does a kitty make?")- she'll grin at you, do a half-wink, and then give you a completely wrong answer. She thinks this is hilarious.

She has to be convinced that an item is "cool" before she'll wear it. (Yes, you literally have to tell her how amazing it is, and how incredible she looks in it.)

She's our Boppy.

And I love her- lots and lots!

**kisses**

Rant

I'm done.

I don't want to do this any more.

I hate grad school.

I'm tired.

God is the only way I can possibly survive 2 more years of this.

Help...

Paul- he's my home-boy!

About a year and a half ago, I was hospitalized due to some stomach complications. As many of you know, I have an autoimmune disease in which the immune system in my stomach decided to go hyper-active and destroy my stomach lining. (See! Even in my disorders I'm an over-achiever!)

After the hospitalization and a serious round of some nasty steroids, everything appeared to be fine.

However, the medicine that is currently being used to "control" my over-achieving immune system is not working as it should. This results in two negative outcomes. One- I get sick at the drop of a hat (or at the hint of a cough) because the medicine is an immune system suppressant. For that reason I've been sick since school started. Two- my ulcerative colitis is completely uncontrolled and I'm severely anemic.

This, combined with the stress, work, and hours of graduate school are making me very **ahem** unwell. (I hate admitting that!)

I have a doctor's appointment on Tuesday. Would you please pray?

Pray that miraculously, I would get suddenly, and instantaneously better. "You have not, because you ask not."

And pray that the reason why I have this autoimmune disease would become crystal clear- that I would use this "opportunity" to its fullest. I don't know why God has decided this would be a good thing for me, but I do know:

"To keep me from becoming conceited... there was given me a thorn in my flesh... to torment me. Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ's sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong." (II Corinthians 12:7-10)

**I like to think that Paul's thorn in his flesh was in his stomach, just like me... Paul and I- we're autoimmune disease home-boys. Fo' sho'.**

Only in my major...

After saying "Good morning," and exchanging a few pleasantries, the girl behind me asks:

"Courtney, is your cold gone?" I smile, nod, and say, "Yes, almost, but not quite. Thanks for asking." She replies,

"Well, I thought that might be the case. Your fundamental frequency is still lower than normal."



Other people would just say that my voice sounded like a smoker's...

I need counseling. And a life.

What on earth is happening to me!?!

You would think that an "A" would be an acceptable grade.

But NO. It's NOT.

I need to graduate SOON.

I'm off to lead a review session for a class in which I know perhaps as much as the students. If we're lucky.

Hence I shall cling to the wisdom of my dear friend Socrates, who stated:

"I know that I am intelligent, because I know that I know nothing.”

So there, students!

Scotch tape those facts to my brain, baby!

I feel like everything I've learned in the past 48 hours could just tumble out of my brain and be lost forever.

And I think I'm okay with that, provided it doesn't happen before (or during) the 2:30-3:20 time slot.

When you start asking for espresso shots in your already very black coffee, you need to evaluate your career decision-making paradigm.

I'll be honest.

Today I hate grad school.

Hate it so much that I would love to do many other, seemingly less-desirable things instead of become a speech pathologist:

Semi-driver, toll booth worker, french fry maker, bathroom cleaner, clown, manicurist, sweat-sock tester, brussel-sprout grower, migrant cranberry-picker, fishing-bait gatherer, salesman, chemical-vat cleaner...

You get the idea.

Quote of the week(end)

Someday... Hmmm...

Parasitic Compliment

Purdue believes in orienting their new graduate students. That's why we have to go through a 40 hour week of "show diversity!" and "show diversity!" and "show diversity!" presented in 17 different work-shops.

The very last day of orientation (Friday), we were all crowded into Loeb Playhouse, and I looked around.

I was, for the first time in my life, noticeably a minority. My graduate program is (has and will always be) composed of upper-middle class, white females. I would venture to guess the average demographic of the rest of the room's individuals (excepting the twenty-two females mentioned above) was a split between asian and mid-eastern males. My IQ was probably half of the average.

We got a spiel from the mayor about how great it was to live in West Lafayette. (Note: if the mayor has to give a spiel to convince you how great it is.... doesn't that make you suspicious?) Then the dean of graduate admissions stood up and told us how amazing we all were and how lucky Purdue was to have us, etc., etc. It was almost like high school graduation...

And then came the chair of the graduate admissions council.

"You, now, students, are contributing to the fount of knowledge. You will increase the breadth of mankind's understanding. You will give back to the system that you, for so long abused. No longer are you undergraduate parasites sucking on the body of knowledge."

I sat there in stunned silence. My new friend (also white, female, upper-middle class- we minorities have to stick together) was stunned as well. We gazed at the speaker in shock. We glanced and each other with a "Did I hear that right?" look. Did the man forget that 87% of the room had been said "parasites" a few short weeks before? At the end of the speech, the MC said,

"Thank you, Dr. --------. Dr. ----- is a professor in our entomology department."

Then it made sense.

If he is an entomologist, I'm sure he finds parasites fascinating...

Two months and counting...

A friend is a person with whom I may be sincere. Before him I may think aloud. 

(Ralph Waldo Emerson)

While grading...

Question: what are the three most common phonetic features?

Student's answer: stops, fricatives, and laxatives. 

While discussing C.S. Lewis' "Mere Christianity" at 7 a.m.

Meg: Do you think that Jesus won games when he was growing up? He's God. He knew what was going to happen...

Laura: I bet he won Monopoly.

Meg: Probably won everything.

Laura: I never win at Monopoly. Stupid Monopoly.

Emily: I don't think that they had Monopoly...

Meg: Did he let other people win?

Courtney: He could have cheated really easily. I always cheated at Monopoly.

Meg: And then there's the question of his belly-button. Was it an innie, or an outie?

Emily: Did he even have a belly button?

Laura: Of course he had a belly button, he was born. Duh.

Kelli: Can you imagine having other children after having the perfect one?

Laura: Now there's a complex for you- 'Why can't you be perfect like your big brother, Jesus!'

**Back to the perfection of Christ...**

Why I study, why I don't sleep, why I'm living for life after graduation...

I expect to pass through life but once. If therefore, there be any kindness I can show, or any good thing I can do to any fellow being, let me do it now, and not defer or neglect it, as I shall not pass this way again. 

(William Penn)

Feelings...

It is my belief, as an (amateur) writer, that feelings cannot be portrayed in words: happy, sad, angry, etc. Their very nature prohibits such descriptors. Feelings are complex mental pictures complete with sensory input from all five senses that we create and associate with a variety of stimuli. One doesn't feel "happy" in the two-dimensional sense of the word- one has a certain sensation that one associates with happiness, a location, a color, a smell, a scene- real or imagined. Sometimes this sensation is clearly apparent, other times it is buried, and all that one can grasp is that saying "happy" isn't sufficient.

But sometimes one has to try to write it. So pardon my feeble efforts...

And I did a little dance in front of my computer...

Now, as you all know, I'm a graduate student. I'm currently into my fifth year of "higher-level" education. During the past nine months, however, I've been attempting something that I've never attempted in my life (nor had any desire to attempt)-

Financial independence. 

I have the most generous parents. (No, seriously. They are. I'd put them up against any other parent out there.) Thanks to them, while I DID work during my undergrad, it was only to cover sundry expenses like books, school supplies, and the occasional shopping binge that I could hardly refrain from. (It's hard! Especially when there's a shoe sale...) But after graduating in December, I decided to try something new. I decided to try to **drumroll please...**

SUPPORT MYSELF.

I know. It's a bit shocking. But my parents only signed up for four years of higher education. They didn't bank on a daughter who wanted more letters after (and maybe before) her name. (Doesn't Dr. Courtney, Ph.D. sound fun!?!) So I decided to try, as hard as I could, to take care of all my expenses.

I think my father can attest to the (often lack of) "successfulness" of my adventure. There were months when I spent only $30 on groceries and was so sick of peanut butter and white bread after that I haven't eaten it since. (I went home almost every Sunday for lunch and leftovers...) Then there was that time when I thought I was in the black and bought throw pillows. Only to realize that I hadn't paid the electric. (Had to call Dad for that one...) There was the computer, which I desperately needed, but could only have bought on an installment plan (once again, Dad to the rescue), and so it continues.

But, during that time I also- started a savings account, paid for my $1,000 insurance deductible on my car, set up my own health insurance, and paid for everything else (food, clothes, utilities- except those mentioned above...) all on my own. (I know! I'm so grown-upish.)

And it was a little tight at times.

But today, while balancing check-book and paying bills, I came across a startling discovery. PURDUE IS PAYING ME. Don't look at me like I'm dumb. I knew that they would. They said they would when I got my teaching assistantship. But although I crunched the numbers many times, I still came up with a rather small monthly pittance.

But I did my math wrong!!! (This will probably be the only time I'm excited about that.)

I have enough now to pay the bills, and put (a little) money in my savings account without bothering the parents! Whoo-hoo! It's not much, but it's more than I've lived on for the past 9 months, so I'm grateful. 

And yes, as soon as I realized what had happened, I did a dance in front of my computer screen.

God is amazing! 

(Have I said that before?)

Compliments of a teacher friend... :)

Teacher: One of these days I'm going to have an overhead projector that likes me...

Student: Or a guy...

Teacher: Go do your reading.

"Those people..."

Per the advice of a very wise friend and mentor, I have been reading the book of Jeremiah. The reason for such a perusal should be evident- I'm a people-pleaser. And no where else in the Bible (at least in such condensed, brutal form) does one find more reason to despise the very humanity that one will (paradoxically) so promptly worship. I am the greatest of sinners in this regard. While mocking the depraved man, I will, the very next moment be held sway by his judgment, subject to the very opinion I so openly ridicule.

But while reading the following:

"Only acknowledge your guilt- you have rebelled against the Lord your God, you have scattered your favors to foreign gods, under every spreading tree, and have not obeyed me," declares the Lord.

I was struck by a horrible, gracious epiphany.

While labeling "others" as errant humanity, I had neglected to place myself in that same category. I viewed myself as outside the problem- let's look at other people. Let's look at God. What does that tell me? In my thinking I was above and outside of the categories of analysis that I had created.

But I am that humanity.

I am that depravity.

I am the faithless Israel.

And it does no good to lump others into the "shouldn't fear or please due to inherent wickedness" without also including myself. For, until I have a grasp, or at the very least, a taste, of my own depravity, I will see no need to turn to God to fulfill my desire for approbation and pleasure. Until I realize that I, in and of myself, am, along with the rest of humanity, completely depraved and faithless, I will see no need of the purity, faithfulness, and goodness of God. I will, though perhaps rid of the tyrant of pleasing others, unconsciously, seek to find my reward in the pleasing of myself, rather than in the pleasure of God.

Which was when I read:

"Return, faithless people," declares the Lord, "For I am your husband. I will choose you- one from a town and two from a clan- and bring you to Zion... I myself said, 'How gladly would I treat you like sons and give you a desirable land, the most beautiful inheritance of any nation.'"

How gracious of a God who is so often forgotten- that he would choose, and subsequently endow the chosen with blessings. Is there any other worth pleasing?

(Text: Jeremiah 3)

I just really wish school was over...

And when I'm done, I'll probably wish I could go back.

Irony.

Par-Tie!

In our first, collaborative Cardigan party, we threw a bash for Tank and Bunny. They both are celebrating their "golden birthdays" this week. Tank is turning 22 on the 22nd, and Bunny is turning 23 on the 23rd. Everyone at the party had to wear a tie- and we danced and drank (ginger ale! Promise!) the night away.

The Cardigan Mafia will have to strike again.... maybe on my birthday?

;)

Facts about (almost) Speech Pathologists

A speech-language pathology student is:

An (almost) professional individual who identifies, assesses, and provides treatment for individuals with speech, language, and swallowing problems, in addition to getting limited amounts of sleep, drinking copious amounts of coffee (which is bad for the vocal folds they claim to protect), and developing a wardrobe which must be at once professional enough to satisfy "business dress" and comfy enough to allow crouching and crawling in. (There is no such wardrobe.)

What do speech-language pathology students do?

Treat speech, language, and swallowing disorders in individuals of all ages, from infants to the elderly. Struggle to find time to grocery shop- until all that remains in the cupboards is JiffyMix and peanut butter. Evaluate and diagnose speech, language, and swallowing disorders. And wonder when daily reading will not consist of 200 pages regarding phonological development.

Where will speech pathology students work?

This is work. After this I'm not working again EVER.

In a few, scant days, my roommate from my sophomore year of college, will be getting married to a very wonderful Curly Haired boy. Congrats, my Lady! While it must be admitted that the bride-to-be and I were (and are) quite different, it must also be admitted that her approach to wedding planning has been quite refreshing.

No fuss.

No girly frills.

And an emphasis on the action of what she's doing, not the means through which it is taking place. A focus on the future together, not the first few hours wedded bliss- seating charts and bird seed. Thanks, roomie.

And don't worry, if it rains you have several options:

Do the bedraggled, artsy bride- very avaunt-garde. Quite stunning. You're one of the few people I know who could do this quite amazingly.

Or make sure you have a photographer that can make dampness look like a party.

And then, of course, I'll bring some rain boot just in case the other two fall through.

Congrats, Lady! Multiple and continuous blessings on you both.

An Idol of The Mouth

I have been totally and completely, unavoidably overwhelmed by the commencement of graduate school.

(Part of it could be the total lack practice in the studying area since December... Studying is like a sport- you have to practice to stay competitive.)

But my completely overwhelming week took a sudden and drastic turn for the better.

I was meeting with the "Cardigans" when I became aware that...

**drum roll, please**

STARBUCKS PUMPKIN SPICE LATTE IS BACK.

I know. I was in shock too.

My one of my favoritist beverages is back on the market- just in time for my favorite cool, crisp, leaf falling, sweater wearing, scarf-shopping season.

Hallelujah, Jehovah-Jireh. The Lord does provide.

**Lovin' livin' with the bro, even though I miss my room-age. Things are so different living with a boy!
(I know, I know- "duh!")**

Me: What does one wear to a wedding when one's date is wearing a mint green suit, and the the bride is anti-flowy, silky chiffon frou-frou?

Girl roomie: Hmm... well all you really own is flowy...

Me: I know! But I want to branch out and blend in. Besides it's outside and all dresses I own only look good with heels.

Girl roomie: You're right. Your three inch black stilettos.

Me: Exactly.

Girl roomie: That's a toughie. Maybe you should look around a bit. See what's out there?

Me: Ooooh! Good idea- shopping?

Girl roomie: I'm free Thursday and Friday morning. We can get Starbucks.

Me: Let's go Friday. Gosh, I hope I figure something out. If not... well, you know-

Girl roomie: Right- it's all about the bride anyway.

Me: That's what I was thinking. Now... what do you think about...

(conversation continues for 20 minutes.)

*********

Me: What does one wear to a wedding when one's date is wearing a mint green suit, and the bride is anti-flowy, silky chiffon frou-frou?

Al: A simply cotton dress with basic sandals. Put something in your hair and just don't care.

Me: Wow. You're good. And fast.

Al: Besides, everyone will be looking at your date anyway... Have you ordered the pizza?

Me: You're amazing.

Feeling guilty about the goodness...

I've made some mistakes. This is true.

But how totally, completely, unbelievable is it that after I've made those mistakes, after I've gone running back to God, He doesn't wait a while (so I can prove my merit) to lavish goodness on me. He just showers it. In abundance. Without any requirements on my side.

I, treadmill mentality of grace firmly in hand, think, "Wow. This isn't good. I haven't done anything. God's being good to me, after I had ignored him for so long. Shouldn't I have a period of mourning? A period of suffering? Why on earth is He being so very kind to me?"

And I feel guilty because everything is so inexpressibly good. I feel that I shouldn't be this happy. That I shouldn't be this content. That everything shouldn't be so wonderful.

But I am happy. Things are good. GOD is good.

How amazing. And sobering...

It is impossible for those who have once been enlightened, who have tasted the heavenly gift, who have shared in the Holy Spirit, who have tasted the goodness of the word of God and the powers of the coming age, if they fall away, to be brought back to repentance, because to their loss they are crucifying the Son of God all over again and subjecting him to public disgrace.

(Hebrews 6:4-6)

I think I wasn't informed...

So.

I'm starting graduate school today. Yup.

I'm cool. I'm calm. I'm collected.

**I just lied...

I still don't have a finalized class schedule, I just sent out an e-mail that should have been sent out at least 24 hours ago, I've never even met the professor that I'm T.A.ing for, and apparently somewhere along the way someone forgot to tell me that I needed to have 25 hours of clinical observation recorded.

**trusting God. trusting God.

And, one more thing- in addition to not telling me my schedule, my professor, etc.- NO ONE TOLD ME THERE WAS A PHYSICAL REQUIREMENT TO THIS MAJOR!!!

There is.

You should see my classmates. They're all drop-dead gorgeous.

I think I'm going to flunk graduate school...

Would you like fries with that?

You're wishing you were a Blake, aren't you?

It's a Blake family tradition... and although it may lay dormant through a large percentage of the year, it usually erupts like an out-of-control rash when we have birthdays and/or Christmas.

We like to wear hats.

"Aww! How fun, and cute!"

Nope. Not really.

Because not only do we like to wear hats, we prefer to wear hats of our own creation. Hats that no one else would ever think to wear. And hats that should never be hats in the first place...

Dad started it. For as long as I can remember he's worn packaging, wrapping, even the present itself. And clearly he never learned the "don't put bags on your head" rule...

I'm a follower. What can I say? Besides, it was pink. (You can also see I'm quite excited about my knife set. Who wouldn't be?)

Erika likes to create hats with a more rackish feel to them. Way to experiment with wrapping paper, sis.

Originally Julie just copied my original design, but she's smart. **refraining from Asian generalization... refraining from Asian generalization...**

So she created her own hat. What can I say? She's brilliant and unafraid of new things. Bravo, Bops, bravo!

Yeah... so some families do crafts, canoeing, board games and normalcy. My family? We do hats with a strong dose of crazy.

Eating now... Humble Pie.

I will be quite horribly, bluntly honest:

I am a proud person.

You're probably rolling your eyes going, "Well, yeah!" but for me this is a startling revelation. (Well, not entirely, but the grossness of my pride, its very largeness is unbelievable!)

I don't like to be wrong. I don't like to make mistakes. I don't like to have to justify myself and my decisions to others. I hate, hate, HATE it.

I would like for everyone to just blindly accept that I'm amazing, that I make amazing decisions, that what I do is amazing, and that all-round amazingness just exudes from my persona (kinda like a bad cologne).

But this is not the case. And I'm finding that the pride coupled with my intense desire to please people can make my life incredibly miserable at times. So I have a new mantra:

"Am I pleasing God? Am I pleasing God? Lord, help me see, give me wisdom. Am I pleasing you?"

Based on the answer to that question, I then move forward in one direction or another. If I am pleasing God, it doesn't matter what else is going on. It doesn't matter what others think- as much as I may love and desire to please them. And it doesn't matter one, stinkin' iota if I'm not giving off "amazingness cologne." (Who wants to be compared to bad cologne anyway?)

So I'm just going to have to swallow my pride. Admit that I have a tendency to be a total, well, ahem... donkey. And get busy changing and growing in Christ-likeness. I really wish I wasn't quite so flawed... **sigh**

Plastic Fruit and a Perfect God

**I'm quite happy. Quite content...**

God is the perfect God. How gracious of Him to extend to us not only mercy, but also grace. To not only withhold the terrors and troubles, but also to shower the love in tangible, touchable, real ways. How gracious of Him to not be just, and just alone, but also love. Either one without the other would be a thing of terror, we would not want a just God without love, nor a loving God without justice, but the entirety of both, expressed in one being- this is how great our God is.

Jeremiah, chapter one, states that Israel was "worshipping what their hands have made." Derisive criticism and laughter at such blatant stupidity is often how we greet this centuries-old idolatry. Until we remember the things that we ourselves have created and subsequently worshipped- money, possessions, careers, families, relationships... the list continues. We ourselves have made gods with our hands. And we worship them, almost without knowing, subconsciously. They worm into the fiber of our lives, insidiously affecting the way we think, talk, and live. We worship "what our hands have made."

And we've never dreamed, created, or made a god who could be both eternally just and eternally loving. We worship things that are weaker than we are. Of what value is that? It's as though we are a child is content with the "lunch" he or she has made- with plastic fruits on little play plates, while over in the kitchen sits a delicious feast (with goldfish crackers!) created by a parent. No child would argue that their lunch is more fulfilling. No child would argue that their lunch would make them feel full while tasting superior to the parent's offering. No, the simple value found in those plastic replicas is that they, the child, made that meal in and of themselves. Such it is with our false worship of our "gods" and the ignoring, or minimizing of The God. The God perfect in justice and love. The God who can alone fulfill and bring true joy. The God who is so vested in us that before He "formed you in the womb" he knew you. Yet, despite such knowledge, we continue, content "in worshipping what our hands have made."

How very, very sad for us, and our plastic fruit.

Ah... Friendship...

The Lord Restores Joy...

You turned my wailing into dancing;

you removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy,

that my heart may sing to you and not be silent.

O LORD my God, I will give you thanks forever.

(Psalm 30:11-12)

**unashamedly, unabashedly happy**

Living Vicariously... through my Bunny

I have a sneaking suspicion that in another life I was an elementary school teacher. However, an uncanny affinity for language, anatomy, and hospitals led me more to the speech pathology field. But, that's not to say that I haven't, at sundry moments along the way, wished that I was a El. Ed. major. Last night I got the chance to live vicariously through Bunny, who will be a 6th grade teacher at FCS this fall. Bunny needed help with her bulletin boards, and one of my many suppressed El. Ed. tendencies is in my passion for bulletin boards...


This would be the bulletin board crew. (Ammy, Bunny, Worms) We're kinda like Charlie's Angels, only with construction paper and staples...

Look at the nice little touch! "Ammy" is holding in place the swing that I so thoughtfully placed on our magnificent tree. Bulletin Boards 101: Details make a bulletin board- mark it down. Bulletin Boards 202: Sacrifice all for the board. I stapled my hand for that branch it's hanging on.

This would be the finished product! The clothes pins up the side are students names- this will serve as a kind of job chart. The motto is "Branching Out In The Right Direction" (I know- it's totally cheesy! I came up with it!) and all the grass, leaves, and tree trunk are 3D. So much fun! (Aside from the two stapled fingers, Bunny wailing "It looks nasty" when the first paper was put up, and nearly nailing my chin on the frame when I fell off my chair three times.)

Before we miraculously intervened. I hope someone thought this was beautiful...


Thank you, Jesus for friends who have fun jobs I can mooch off of.

Question:

I've been considering getting (don't keel over) a nose ring. Not a literal hoop- but one of these dainty sparkles:

Thoughts...?

:)

Do you remember?

**dedicated to those who have been friends for such a long time that they remember...**

Do you remember when Aaron Prelock was the hippopatomus in the church play and wore a glittery mask?

Do you remember serving cake in 13 weddings between 2004 and 2008? And do you remember the infamous wedding of 2007 when the punch ran wild?

Do you remember getting lost 17 times your first week on Purdue's campus?

Do you remember water balloon fights in the desert of Peru?

Do you remember the turtle costume? My dress was bright yellow...

Do you remember rain and soggy sleeping bags every Alpha and Omega?

Do you remember when I always used to say "doy!" at the end of every sentence?

Do you remember when Starbucks was a new thing... and that one conversation-outside-cold-awkwardness- funny man?

Do you remember when we wanted eight boys? Now we only want 5...

Do you remember fireworks every fourth... and that one time after watching Spiderman?

Do you remember the picnics in ATM drive-thrus, graveyards, parking lots, movie theatres?

Do you remember how I turned down the clarinet player while hiking?

Do you remember why?

Do you remember ice skating... especially winter break freshman year?

Do you remember when we were still barely friends?

Do you remember when my blog posts were original and entertaining?

I wonder what I shall remember about the next ten years...

College Stupidity, #1 Memory Lane, West Lafayette

I'm a safe, sane, tame individual. This much is true.

I (as a general rule) obey all traffic laws. I pay my bills. I don't buy the expensive, fun shoes, because others are more practical. I rarely invest in any form of fun jewelry. I go to bed on time. I don't drink coffee more than three times a week. I eat fast food about once a week max. I go to church. I don't swear (unless under great duress). I don't do extreme sports. And I usually confine my reading to the classics.

All that to say, I'm a "safe" person.

But I have pockets of craziness...

The other night, I'm driving. I drive a stick-shift, and as much fun as that is, I often get bored- even with the radio on. I can't imagine what people with automatics do... But I digress.

I was driving down 52 for probably the three thousandth and eighty-first time in my entire life, and I started wondering what I could do to make this trip a little more eventful. Bunny is in the car with me, and we've just picked up Taco Bell. I turn to her,

"Pass me my burrito." Bunny the responsibly responds, "You're driving. Stick shift." I grin,

"I know. Pass it."

She complies, and I'm now eating a burrito and driving. My phone rings. Without setting my burrito down, still driving, I reach over and answer the phone, at the same time, I hear the radio (turned way down low) start to play my and Bunny's theme song. So, on the phone, eating a burrito, driving and stick shift, I reach over and turn up the volume- whoo-hoo!!!
Then (phone, burrito, volume, stick shift) I turn to Bunny and say, "Take a picture!"
That's when this was taken...

Today I drove off with a coffee cup on top of my car, and I thought, "Courtney, how irresponsible and careless!"

Then I remembered. Ah... how much can change in two years...

Bear Wisdom

Well, Courtney, it comes in handy- matureness does.

I don't care what you think... and I say that in love.

I'm sick, tired, totally and completely over, and never going back to the way I was before.

I must be honest. You all know me. (I'm assuming this... if not, "Hi! Nice to meet you!") I am a horrible, shameless people-pleaser. If you've read any of my past blogs, you know that this is true. You know that this is my pitfall, and you know that it's what I've been wrestling with for the past month. (And what I should have been wrestling with for the past 10 years...) But here's the deal...

I'm done with:

Waking up in turmoil because of possible problems or angry, bitter confrontations.
Watching every movement of a person's face for disapproval while I'm talking.
Trying to organize and control others' reactions to me.
Doing things that I hate simply because I want to be loved.
Making myself physically ill because of arguments and disagreements.

And I'm ready to:

Passionately serve God with every breath in my body.
Love others self-lessly, but AFTER I love my heavenly Father.
Hand over my controlling tendencies and realize that how I want people to respond may not be how God wants people to respond.
Realize that as long as I act according to what my Father desires, I don't need to worry about others' reactions.
Rest entirely in Him as the only one to give me true peace.
Make Him the center, the focal-point, the drive, the over-seer, of everything I do, think, say, or aim for.

I know, these are **duh!** statements, but they are ones that I have grossly and horribly neglected to the detriment of my service to God, and my growth in Christ-likeness.

Only by aligning my focus entirely with Christ, only by making pleasing him my one desire, only by stripping away all the scaffolding of human approbation and support that I have built so ceaselessly around my life and my way of thinking- only then can I truly love others. The problem is, I re-ordered the first and second commandments: I put loving people before loving God. Consumed with other's and making them happy, I ignored my God, and failed to please him. Now I realize, only when loving God comes first, can I truly love other people.

So I will pray for wisdom, I will find my truth in His Word, I will seek godly council, I will wrestle with the Holy Spirit, I will develop a finely-honed, tender conscience, so that I may be sure that my decisions and life are first and fore-most pleasing to God and (if necessary) to God alone. After that, I need not care how others respond.

And then I think I can biblically say,

"I don't care what you think!"

And say it in love.

I love my Starbucks... :)