Vulnerable Me

Today I'm very tired and alone.

I had to ask my father for money. Again.

I feel as though God is taking a battering ram to my failures and flaws.

I don't think I listened to my accountability friends this morning- I just wanted to solve, solve, solve.

I've stared at final reports, lesson plans, and session notes for so long (revising, rewriting, revising, rewriting). That I'm just exhausted.

I don't know what I'm doing... I have an interview in NYC next week, but I'm so disillusioned with my major that I almost don't want to fly out.

I just feel very raw, alone, and bruised right now. I know it's a feeling and "this too shall pass." But for the time being I just want to crawl back under my blankets and cry...

Whimsical Happiness...

This is not my traditional genre, but I'm in love with this song. Yes, there are several lines which are **ahem** well, you know, but I'm innocent enough to find it transparently endearing- please, no body explain any connotations I might have missed. Thank you. :)

I love the eukelele and the way I can can stumble my way through the lyrics and feel like Ingrid, random chorus, and I are happy, beachy friends who don't really want to get rich.

Favorite line: "And we will put the lonesome on the shelf."

"I NEED..." And I don't love.

All right ladies, whip out those lists. You know you have them. Some of you may keep a mental list, others of you may be completely and totally OCD and have developed spread sheets (I fall into the latter category). You have a list of "what you want in a man." Oh, you can title it however you choose: "dating standards," "intent of matrimony," "ideal characteristics," etc. Call it what you may, your list boils down to what YOU find important in a man and a relationship.

Let's see... I remember my list from Jr. High. I have one from high school. And there's the most recent one from the college years. In Jr. High he needed to have nice penmanship and "not be tone-deaf." There's the high school list which included such essentials as "able to change a diaper" and "willing to grill." (These requirements stemmed from occasional lapses into disliking children and a still-crippling fear of propane.) In college, "ball room dancing" was added to the list along with "willing to balance the checkbook," (because I never wanted to know how much money I was spending).

Yes, I jest, but even when I (during a fit of maturity) removed those more "optional" items from my list, there was one common denominator of almost every stipulation that was left. I needed the man to fulfill these roles in order to be right. I needed comfort. I needed affirmation. I needed to be shielded from all my fears. I needed to be cool. I needed to be thought intelligent. I needed, I needed, I needed...

The funny thing is, God gave me three things to look for in a man: leader, lover, learner. Everything else is icing on the cake. I know this- the head knowledge is there, but the foot-work is lacking, and I shamefacedly admit that even though I could tritely rattle off the right answers, I didn't live them.

But while the leader-lover-learner information is nice, acknowledging it is not the root of my issue. My sin problem goes much deeper. The truth of the matter is I was looking to man to fulfill a role that only God can. I was expecting man to be my everything. This is true not just for relationships in the technical sense of the word (i.e. dating), but also relationships with my parents, friends, coworkers, etc. I needed those people to react a certain way.

When people reacted the way that I needed them too, I was happy- I felt warm, contented, satisfied. (In romantic relationships, this would be the ooey-gooey feeling similarly elicited by chick-flicks.) When they didn't I would become disgruntled, terrified, depressed, and moody. But their inability to be everything that I expect them to be was not necessarily a failing on their part, but on mine. I don't love the people around me. I need them.

I equate my need to love.

Peter said of my God: "His divine power has given us everything we need for life and godliness through our knowledge of him who called us by his own glory and goodness." (II Peter 1:3)

EVERYTHING I NEED. Everything.

Why should I even desire to augment the bounty of God with my requirements of a man? Why would I place that burden, the burden of supplying "everything I need" on a man? Who could bear that weight without falling? Why am I searching for that fulfillment? It's already been supplied! What an amazing, wonderful revelation! My prayer is now that it becomes more and more applied in my life- may I learn to be satisfied in Christ, and to actually love those God has placed around me... So much growing to do!

I do but seek faintheartedly

"If there be so certain and glorious a rest for the saints, why is there no more industrious seeking after it? One would think, if a man did once hear of such unspeakable glory to be obtained, and believed what he heard to be true, he should be transported with the vehemence of his desire after it, and should almost forget to eat and drink and should care for nothing else, and speak of and inquire after nothing else, but how to get this treasure. And yet people who hear of it daily and profess to believe it as a fundamental article of faith, do as little mind it, or labour for it as if they had never heard of any such thing or did not believe one word they hear." (Richard Baxter)



"The faint, far-off results of those energies which God's creative rapture implanted in matter when He made the worlds are what we now call physical pleasures,; and even this filtered, the are too much for our present management. What would it be to taste at the fountainhead that stream of which even these lower reaches prove so intoxicating? Yet that, I believe, is what lies before us. The whole man is to drink joy from the fountain of joy." (C. S. Lewis)



"Christianity proposes not to extinguish our natural desires. It promises to bring the desires under just control and direct them to their true object." (William Wilberforce)

Does the overwhelming shock of your weakness and failure ever knock the wind out of you?

Today mine did...

Messes of Spaghetti Feelings

In novels, authors patly say, "And she was gripped by sadness." Or "He had a moment of intense despair." We readers sigh, and feel that we empathize. But we can't. Not really. Because emotions don't work in such clean, tidy ways. At least mine don't...

When I'm sad, I don't feel merely sad- I may also have feelings of loneliness, wistfulness, disappointment, and fear intertwined with the dominant feeling of "sadness." Perhaps I'm ashamed (or afraid) to be lonely, wistful, disappointed or fearful, and as a result turn to the nebulous "sad" to fill the necessity of describing my emotions. Maybe I don't want to identify those other emotions, and "sad" is so easily used. Rarely, if ever, does one emotion dominate and over-ride my thoughts to the exclusion of all others. The different feelings intertwine, tangle up, and wrap together, forming one complete, (often irrational) me.

Today, once again, I want it to be cleaner. When I'm happy- I want to be just happy; not happy and scared and giddy, and hesitant. When I'm sad- I want to be just sad; not lonely and fearful. When I love- I want it to be just love; not fear, and infatuation, and timidity. Can't it just be one? Do they all have to be there? What is it like to be confident? What is it like to be angry? What is it like to love, hate, rejoice, and mourn?

How could anyone ever expect to live by their emotions? As soon as they rush in- a complicated, tangled mess, they are just as likely to rush out, another tangled mess taking their place. Very rarely do I wish I had no emotions. But today I do... It would be simpler...

Voice Warm-Ups and Contentment

In between the sentences of this post, I sustain a long "ah"; careful to control my vocal folds, resonance, and tension in my neck and shoulders. As prescribed by my speech therapist (yes, I know it's my degree, but doctors need other doctors- the same is true for therapists), I complete my vocal warm-up focusing on relaxation and pure tones. My mind goes completely blank while I'm humming and sliding up and down scales, as the comparison between my vocal exercises and what I've been learning from God slowly shifts into focus.

I'm a royal case of a stress ball. My shoulder are tight, my mind whirs constantly, and I freak out each time I check my e-mail and get a different message from another supervisor asking for additional paperwork. But when I sit down (like a devoted Buddhist monk) and gently hum my way through my voice exercises, all the tension, the stress, and pressure gently floats away. The only thing I focus on is the resonance in my throat, and its smooth, upward glide out of my mouth.

The same thing happens when I sit down with my Father. All I focus on is His face, the gentle (sometimes persistent) resonance of His Word, and before I know it- the tension has faded from my shoulders, the mind gently untangles the knots that it has twisted itself into, and my day shifts from a whirling kaleidoscope to a quiet panoramic landscape.

How graciously loving is my God to allow for peace in the midst of chaos...

Sometimes a tangible, hold-able, cry-on-the-shoulder fortress seems necessary...

But I will sing of your strength,
in the morning I will sing of your love;
for you are my fortress,
my refuge in times of trouble.

O my Strength, I sing praise to you;
you, O God, are my fortress, my loving God.


(Psalm 59:16,17)

I HATE MY GRADUATE SCHOOL PROGRAM.

Having Fallen, He Will Help Me

I have been busy this summer. But it's been a grumpy, disgruntled busy. I'm tired of the paperwork, I'm tired of my responsibilities, and I just want to be done. So I scooted, in a sub-par way through this summer.

And lately I've been convicted... I don't believe that I've been using this busyness as I should have been. I want to look back over my summer and say, "I worked as hard as I could." but I can't say that. I let things slide, I didn't make certain deadlines and responsibilities priorities in my life. Oh, it wasn't anything serious enough to affect my grades, mind you, but it did cause some extra headaches for a few people, and slightly less than ideal final products.

So I'm working very hard these last three weeks, hoping to finish well. I never want to end another semester saying, "Well, I could have worked harder..."

I messed up, but I have a wonderfully loving God who will help me turn my attitude and work ethic around.

Now, off to conquer that "to do" list, before any of the items are due!

I cannot tell a lie.

(Well, actually, I can, but I'm choosing to be like dear little Georgie Washington, and own up to my error.)

Every Sunday afternoon and evening, I feel a creeping dread that slowly grows as the sun dips lower in the sky and the comfortable grogginess of my afternoon nap wears off. It's the creeping dread of Monday. I have been doing a pretty good job managing the graduate school dread which terrorized my life during the fall semester. However, I don't think that this management has come about by a change in the circumstances of graduate school, rather, I believe that it has come from change in my attitude which God was so gracious as to alter.

He has allowed me to see the bigger picture of what I'm working towards. He has altered my view of correction, and made me more amenable to constant scrutiny and criticism. The work load is becoming more typical, and fortunately God made us adaptable beings.

But that doesn't mean that every Sunday evening (and to a smaller degree, each evening of the week until Friday) that I'm not gripped by a dull dread of tomorrow. I don't like it. Sometimes I even hate it. It's a hard thing to hate your profession, your life, and what you're training to do.

But there are several things on which I meditate when it seems as though Monday may be the blackest day ever made:

1. I am pursuing a profession that is not about me- it is about serving other people. There is incredible gratification in a "helping profession."

2. God has not given me more than I can handle, and His work in me is being perfected during this time in my life.

3. I have rarely found anything hard or difficult. It is good for me to develop perseverance as I continue in this program.

4. This week will end. And each week that ends brings me closer to that day when I can sign my name, "Courtney Blake, M.S., CCC-SLP" and collect a paycheck like an adult.

Some days, that's all that gets me through...

:)

So Very Old (yet so very young...)

My date of entrance to this world (i.e. my birthday) is drawing near with great rapidity. Each year it seems to creep up on me just a little more quickly. When I was four, an hour was incredibly long, and a year- unfathomable. At fourteen, an hour trotted by fairly quickly, while a year ambled around leisurely. But now that I'm reaching twenty-four, an hour is a cramped, overly-short period of time, and the year spins around so quickly I get dizzy. (No wonder the elderly have vertigo... I will too if time keeps speeding up at this rate.)

But as this birthday draws near, I am struck by two opposing thoughts.

I am old.

I pay bills, and I walk around turning off lights that were left on in the bathrooms. While shaving my legs in the shower, I occasionally miss the little part behind my ankle because I don't want to use the time (aka- hot water) that it would take to check the ankles thoroughly. I go to the beach and am content to sit in the sun and doze an entire day. My idea of an exciting Saturday is getting the oil changed in my car (such a good feeling!). When buying an outfit, I wonder how well it will wash, and after an intense workout, I hurt, hurt, hurt the next couple of days.

But I am also so very young.

I still am completely incapable of grasping innuendos, and jokes still have to be explained to me. I didn't know that you have to call to set up your utilities BEFORE you move in (yay, for living without water for 3 days!). I cry in Disney movies, and I still have a little stuffed dog from my daddy sitting on my bed (I love "Ferguson.") My idea of a bad day is when my socks don't match and my hair won't stay straight (or curl- whichever...).

I look at people around me who have done so much at my age- written books, gotten married, had babies, started TV shows, travelled the world, become gourmet cooks, and back-packed across Europe. And I think, "Gee, I'm lucky if I do a load of laundry and make myself a dinner of Mac 'n' Cheese after a day of staring at people's esophaguses."

I guess what I'm saying is- I'm a slow grower. Right now I'm more twelve than twenty-four. Other people can go and do those great things, make those massive commitments, polish those wonderful skills, but I'm not there yet. I'm impressed by such people. I'm awed by them. Often I want to be them. But I'm not ready for that.

I take a little step back and get excited...

There's so much to do! I'm going to live in a big city, travel to Asia, bungee-jump, and do book-signings in cities across the U.S. of A. There will come a day when paying bills will be easier, and when the cable company will be awed by my poise and firmness while dealing with them. Perhaps someday I'll make that really big commitment ("marriage"), and have a bunch of mini-me's running around. But right now, I'm very, truly happy.

So I guess what I'm saying is...

I'm perfectly okay with feeling half my age. Because that means when I'm fifty-

I'll party like I'm twenty-five!

BRING IT ON!
(That's the young me speaking...)

Epiphany of the morning: I crave things that are bad for me.

Case and point-

I've been recently diagnosed with vocal nodules.

I'm not supposed to drink caffeine.

I'm on my way to The Den to buy a MASSIVE coke.

Whoo-hoo!!!

So my guilty pleasure is listening to poppy, dance techno music while I'm running... Amazing how this one makes me run faster...

Amazing Love

I find that the more I develop my relationship with my heavenly Father, the more I am painfully aware of my own short-comings. Although my view of his love may expand, my view of my own depravity also grows. There are days when I want to quietly, shame-facedly place my hand in His, and whisper, "Why me? Why do you love me?"

The more I understand His love, the more incredibly my life appears. The details which He orchestrated for the purpose of bringing Himself glory, He was able at the same time to work for my good. Such a fact is too wonderful and big for my finite thoughts. I love this quote from Jerry Bridge's book (you should read it) "Trusting God: Even When Life Hurts":

"We mistakenly look for tokens of God's love in happiness. We should instead look for them in His faithful and persistent work to conform us to Christ. God in His infinite wisdom and perfect love will never over-discipline us; He will never allow any adversity in our lives that is not ultimately for our good.... Our doubts do not destroy God's love, nor does our faith create it."

I Have Emotional Special Needs

I think that my emotions are "challenged."

You know how most people experience some sort of devastating occurrence (loss of a job, a break-up, bad grade, horrible date, family crisis)? They grieve, mourn, get angry, cry, and slowly, as time moves on, their wounds heal and their life returns to normal.

I am incapable of of reacting like a normal individual. Instead, when something happens, I give a little sigh (maybe shed a slight tear), and then I'm back to "fully functioning" without any additional trauma.

However... a little ways down the road, I completely lose it.

At the point in time when most people would finally be "healed" (or at least less affected) I become a blubbering mess who likes to curl up on her couch, sob, and watch movies while drinking masses of chai tea.

My emotions are a little "slow" if you know what I mean. I think they need special ed.

**sigh**

Fostering a New Addiction and Conquering Old Memories of (Hilarious, but Mortifying) Failure

I absolutely, totally, without exception hate running.

I'm not talking the constant bustle which currently fills my life, nor am I discussing the way my to-do list keeps getting longer and longer.

I am speaking of tie-your-adidas-shoes-on-wear-a-sports-bra-pump-your-legs-furiously-sweat-profusely-blister-inducing running. Yuck. Ever since I was a little kid, I've hated running. While most children would engage in games of tag, capture the flag, and active hide-and-seek, I would curl up in my favorite corner of the couch and read. I was six the first time I read a book through in one sitting (ahh, four hours with "The Boxcar Children"), but the most memorable part of that accomplishment was my worried mother peeking her head around the door and saying,

"Honey, put the book down and go outside. Run around!"

I didn't want to run around. I would pretend to out-run bad guys, I would run to find my favorite book in the library, I would invent crazy stories about running away from home (and then enact them), but I never found any pleasure in running as an athletic, adrenaline-enducing activity that most of my counter-parts appeared to enjoy.

While my mother was trying to stop my reading by peeking around corners and enforcing the "lights out" rule, my father decided to take a more direct approach.

He signed me up for a race. But refusing to sign me up and then watch me fail, he devised a training schedule and did his best to make sure that I followed it. (I didn't.) The night before the big race, he rented "Chariots of Fire" (we never rented movies), and used it to elicit a fire of competitive eagerness.

Unfortunately, all the "eagerness" in the world doesn't make up for a lack of training. I took off that day at the starting line. (When I say "took off" I mean that 83% of the other runners were out of sight before I had "run" for 3 minutes.) Panting feverishly I wondered to myself why anyone would do this as the remaining runners behind started passing me one by one. I was so uncomfortable! Why did people insist on doing this?

As I rounded the final bend, the people on the side-lines began to applaud. I grinned. It was just like "Chariots of Fire"! Seeing the finish line in the distance, I pulled out all the stops. The applause got louder. And louder. I was amazing. I wondered if I was going to win something. Had I unwittingly beaten all my competitors? I looked over my shoulder to see who I was beating, to soak in the devastation that those cocky boys in front of me were now feeling as I collected first prize.

But there was no herd of disappointed males. There was only one, lone, competitor behind me, and she was the reason the crowd was clapping.

And she could barely stay upright. One leg turned this way, the other that. She hobbled feebly, held up by her father. One glance showed me:

I was barely out-running a girl with cerebral palsy.

Ever since that day I have abstained from races, I have avoided running, and I have not missed it in the least. But lately lack of time, and increased conviction have led me to realize that:

a) I really, really, really need to have some daily form of physical exercise.
b) Running is the fastest way to squeeze that into my schedule.

So I'm hoping to develop a need, a desire, an addiction to running that I never had, not even in childhood.

Here's hoping that the next race I run I can push someone with cerebral palsy in a wheelchair instead of being passed by them...

In Need of Grace (and a work ethic...)

Lord,

I don't want to get up.

I have put off and back-burnered aspects of my life too long, and now I have to face the music.

I don't want to write reports. I don't want to clean. I don't want to re-write another slew of mid-semester evaluations.

I just want to stop. I want to stop trying. Stop working. Stop pressing. I want to just bask in the sun and smile contentedly at your goodness. (When I'm reincarnated (yes, I know that won't happen...)- can I come back as a cat?)

Lord, let the joy and peace I feel now suffuse itself into the need for a frantic work pace and unbending dedication to my work and my current "job" in this life.

Because I am not going to want to spontaneously wash those dishes on my own...

Amen.

Yucky Monday

I am a bad person.

I've stalled so long on writing my reports, that now I'm sitting in front of my computer with eight that need to be completed before the end of today.

**sigh**

And I still haven't organized my class notebooks, done my self-evaluation, or completed my CSCF paperwork. It might be a rather long day...

P.S. No one, I repeat NO ONE, in a real honest-to-God hospital writes two-page, single-spaced reports each time they see a patient. But we do in grad school!

Quote of the Week:

**upon Sir William Henry Harrison not accepting our "offering" of sorbet at his war memorial**

BUNNY: He didn't take them. I guess he wasn't hungry...

WORMY: He has to watch his weight. Being dead burns like NO calories.

Be careful what you wish for...

Tonight I had the wonderful delight of hanging with some of the "Cardigans." I had just bemoaned to Bunny, prior to this meeting, that I never saw or talked to persons of the opposite gender, and that I missed it. "It would be nice," I said, "to meet some guys."

This is a story of how God listens, and displays His sense of humor...

Bunny, Aims and I were sipping yummy Starbucks, talking about everything and nothing, when a rather battered, unbuttoned man approached me at our al fresco seating.

"Hey, thar. What's yer name?" he said, holding out his grimy hand to shake mine- his partially buttoned shirt flapping in the wind to reveal a portly, hairy tummy.

I leaned back (ever so slightly) and said politely (hoping to make it sound genuine- since it is a smidge true-so as not to hurt his feelings), "I am so sorry, but I'm a little bit of a germ-ophobe, if you don't mind." And I tucked my hands securely around my iced beverage.

"Oh, I know I stink a bit. I live on the streets, you know, but I just need someone to take me in, you know. Let me have a shower."

"Ummhmm." (I attempted detached politeness. After all, the poor man is homeless.)

"You know... You could take me home. I need a shower. I need a shower bad. And then we could have sex. There's always sex. We could do that, you know, and more- if you wanted."

This time my recoil was not at all subtle, "No." (I stated this very emphatically while Aims slowly pulled her mace out of her purse) "There are several places downtown where you can get a shower, if you would like."

He was persistent, "No, no, no. That won't do. I want to go to your place. I mean, we don't have to have sex. You know... if you don't want to but- you nev---"

I interrupted,

"Sir, I am not taking you home. Good night."

"You are a... " And he ambled away muttering inappropriate comments about my "bad manners" under his breath. (Comments that he proceeded to continue loudly muttering from almost a block away for the next forty-five minutes.)

He wasn't gone for two seconds, before a handsome D.J. exited Panera, and approached our table. "Hello, ladies! Hey, I have too many cookies- would you like to take several? I won't be able to eat them all."

Bunny chose a chocolate walnut. I was in too much shock from my sex solicitation to show a marked preference between chocolate walnut and chocolate chip. While they debated the values of each, I smiled in a rather glazed way.

Chocolate man turned away when another man approached the table: short, studious, with glasses and a very traditional polo.

"Excuse me, ladies, I couldn't help but notice that that other gentleman was giving you some trouble... Are you okay? Do you need anything?"

We assured him that we were fine.

"There are some other guys inside here, and I thought about telling them what was going on, but I decided to come out first and check. I guess if anything happened, I wanted all the glory..." I think I laughed so hard I snorted. He grinned amiably back,


"Well, I see he's still here- just down the sidewalk. I'll sit over here and read for a while- don't mind me, but if you need anything- please let me know." And he returned to his book of anime.

At the end of our sipping, he walked us to our cars.

I met men tonight: a homeless sex solicitor, a chocolate offering record-spinner, and a gentlemanly nerd who reads anime.

Now tell me that God doesn't have a sense of humor...

"Play first. You can make up the rules later. Quench you curiosities."

From now on, I'm going to receive my wisdom and daily mantra from my water bottle...

Adventures in a Walmart Parking Lot

Today, while frantically typing a last minute assignment, I had what can only be referred to as a "brain flash." You know those times when you've written out everything that you need to do? And then you set about doing them... you're reaching the end, when **BAM** you remember a HUGE thing that you almost forgot? Perhaps I'm the only one who does that...

Any way, I had a "brain flash" when I remembered that today was my day to bring snacks to class. (Yes, we have snacks in class. It helps ease the tedious boredom of 3 hours of Educational Law.) I quickly finalized my papers, packed up my books, and hit the road. Fortunately the West Lafayette Walmart is less than 10 minutes away.

I pull into the parking lot. Blissfully wrapped in a cocoon of testing requirements, snack possibilities, and 10th Avenue North blaring on the radio when I see, out of my peripheral vision, a fifty-ish year-old man, pushing a shopping cart with a child in it. Being responsible (yes I am- mark it down!) I slowed my speed when all of a sudden-

**WHOOSH!**

The man shoves the cart, complete with child, out into my path. I slam on the brakes. My heart skips a beat.

But that man's heart- it didn't even give a wee bit of palpitation. The cart continued to roll in traffic. And he just stood there. Watching the little girl narrowly miss moving cars. Two women stand watching the whole scene. Clearly their with the man, and obviously they're just as unfazed as he is- well, except that one woman yells huskily,

"Watcha doin'? You shovin' your granddaughter into the middle of the road? Why?"

He doesn't move. He doesn't respond.

"Well- why dontcha go get 'er?"

At this prompt, the man ambles out in front of me. Commandeers the errant cart (complete with the miraculously uninjured granddaughter), and returns to the two women.

It takes a while for me to let my foot off the brake. My mouth was slightly agape and I speed-dialed my mother to tell her how I almost hit another person.

Completing my errand seemed tame in comparison.

Somehow the excitement of buying popsicles had waned...

Today I forgot my "first five minutes"...

It's amazing how unbelievably unfocused, worried, and undirected I can become when I fail to acknowledge who the Ruler of my life is. A wonderful mentor once told me, "Courtney, just use the first five minutes- just the first five!- of your day to acknowledge your God, to realign your focus, to direct your day. Don't do anything else until you do this."

It's amazing what those five minutes can accomplish...

I took a bunch of pictures which I can't post due to the fact that the groom shouldn't see the dress until the day of, but I can say:

The lady at the bridal store couldn't stop laughing at me and Bunny. It was a happy evening...

What My Bookshelf Says

I, as a general rule, am a people pleaser.

I want everyone around me to be happy- even if that means something as large as compromising what I believe or something as small as changing my menu order. I believe that one of the only reasons I'm "on the right track" and "such a good girl" right now is because I have been surrounded by so many people who want me to be good. And since that makes them happy- I want to be good. I don't think my goodness can be attributed to any strength of character on my part. Unfortunately.

But lately, there has been a new dimension of my people-pleasing. It's a rather unfamiliar coloring of a very familiar action. I believe that the words "bitterness" and "angst" would be appropriate. Sure, I'll make you happy, but you should know that this isn't what I want to do, and I will get hard and bitter underneath a surface of smiling brightness. It's not a conscious thought- but it's the product of years of people-pleasing based in improper motives.

So, this summer I'm on a quest- a quest to "find myself." Don't gasp and clutch your chest (or moan at the cliche cheesiness of) my blatantly humanistic philosophy. Allow me to explain myself.

For years I've been what people want me to be. (I am quite sure that my parents will be the first to attest that I did not perform this impossible task flawlessly.) In the act of conforming to others, I failed to pursue what I was created for- to bring honor and glory to God as a unique being. This summer I am trying to rediscover that goal which I've buried under layers of "duty" and bitterness. I'm working on actively making decisions for one reason- the glory of God.

It's rather a big issue- tackling piles of acquired thoughts, actions, and mis-placed angst. (And I must confess that I admire aspects in other people that make me want to follow and please them- but being like them is not my ultimate goal...)

I'm starting small. Tonight I went to the library. Literature is highly subjective- different persons in my life have different preferences. Consequently I've read philosophy, the Pulitzers, cognitive neuroscience, and my Dickens. But tonight I left the library with a stack of books that were chosen by me.

I like massive biographies on political figures, early 20th century British writers, and a smattering of the 1930's witty, emerging female authors.

That's what's on my bookshelf this week...

Past Love, Promised Riches

My summer (actually all of 2009) has not been falling into place as I thought it should, and as I wanted it to.

Although God has been gracious enough to show me (in a small way) how He is using these unsettling events (loans, externship hunting, lack of funding, mind-numbing classes, overwhelming clinic) to help me grow, to mold me. I still spend some mornings, like this one, with my stomach in a bundle of knots as I try desperately to continue to breathe and focus on the blessings in my life.

God has provided in the past. And, as I was reminded this past Sunday- God not only gives us our past in order that we may write a biography some day, but also so that we can glean courage from the ways in which God has displayed his greatness and love to us personally.

He has always been there. He is wise. He is loving. He holds all the riches. And I need not worry...


And my God will meet all your needs according to his glorious riches in Christ Jesus.


Oh, the depth of the riches of the wisdom and knowledge of God!

I was really ticked at Meijer because they stole my bag of Fuji apples. They didn't put them in my cart! I was...errrrgh! Livid.

And then I realized my apples were hiding in my trunk between rhythm instruments, beach towels and piles of stickers and construction paper...

New Favorite Song... :)

I Cor. 7:1-9

I got a little upset today. Upset because of the prevalent Christian idea (in my circle) that the only thing I should be looking for (and the only thing necessary for) a successful relationship is that the two people have a relationship with Christ and be growing. To a certain extent, that's true. I agree with Paul, "But if they cannot control themselves, they should marry, for it is better to marry than to burn with passion." But this is not something that (at this time) I struggle with. I'm happy. I'm single. And I plan on remaining so until Jesus (or the right guy) comes. I love my life, I love the gift of singleness that God has given me.

What is so incredibly hard to believe about that?

Pffft. I hate it when I get grumpy and rant...

"You're not the exception. You're the rule." (He's Just Not That Into You- my favorite line...)

Although I would not recommend that anyone go out and purchase this movie, I will say that throughout (inbetween the painful relationship faux pas) little bits of pithy wisdom were spouted, and although the roots of great drama weren't there to support the little fluffs of profundity, it made for a very casually insightful evening of movie viewing...



"Girls are taught a lot of stuff growing up. If a guy punches you he likes you. Never try to trim your own bangs and someday you will meet a wonderful guy and get your very own happy ending. Every movie we see, Every story we're told implores us to wait for it, the third act twist, the unexpected declaration of love, the exception to the rule. But sometimes we're so focused on finding our happy ending we don't learn how to read the signs. How to tell from the ones who want us and the ones who don't, the ones who will stay and the ones who will leave. And maybe a happy ending doesn't include a guy, maybe... it's you, on your own, picking up the pieces and starting over, freeing yourself up for something better in the future. Maybe the happy ending is... just... moving on. Or maybe the happy ending is this, knowing after all the unreturned phone calls, broken-hearts, through the blunders and misread signals, through all the pain and embarrassment you never gave up hope."

Epiphany of the week: My new favorite characteristic is MOXIE!

People with moxie....


Jung Lee- fabulous wedding designer. Knows exactly what she wants.


The fabulous Kelly Ripa...


Ooh-la-la, don't we all know it!

But of course not everyone with moxie is famous (just yet)... Several people who's very lack in inhibition inspires me directly-


The fearless, oh-so-delightfully bubbly Kate- someday I will accessorize and socialize as fearlessly as she...


And of course, my very uninhibited bro- hey, if it's in the family (aka "genetic"), maybe I'll develop moxie someday...
************
mox·ie (mŏk'sē)
n. Slang
1. The ability to face difficulty with spirit and courage.
2. Aggressive energy; initiative
3. Skill; know-how.

Synonyms: fearlessness, gameness, heart, intrepidity

When I question God...

Recently, I have been struggling with the concept of God's sovereignty. My trust is thin, and my tolerance of difficulties even thinner. I would announce convincingly that I believe in, trust in, and rely on my heavenly Father. I would claim that I believe God is sovereign and in control.

But I would not live that way.

I blamed others for choices I made, for the miserableness of my life, for a failure to achieve all I wanted. While saying that I trusted God to be in control- gently guiding my life so as to shape me into His image, I refused to live that way.

Two friends of mine have recently taken it to the next step- they don't believe in God, or are reticent to give Him any amount of power. Either He doesn't exist, or He is a paltry, weak god.

At first crushed at this knowledge of their belief, I failed to see that when I question God, I do the same thing. He isn't in control- he's weak. He doesn't care- He is without compassion. My lack of trust, although not leading me to renounce my faith, causes me to doubt my God- to limit Him. I am ashamed.

"O Sovereign LORD, you are God! Your words are trustworthy..." (II Samuel 7:28)

Friends are friends when you can argue over Harrison Ford's good looks, discuss politics, bemoan veggie-eating habits, and laugh at '90s shoulder pads

I am one lucky lady to have such magnificent friends!


Thanks for movie night, ladies!

The Summer of...

There are periods of my life in which I believe that there is little I can do, and even less that I can do well. Instead of "girding up my loins" and getting dirty and sweaty to correct my flaws and failures (or at the very least, shrug them off, laugh, and try again) I crumple into a heap and moan, "Woe is me! I am a waste of space!" And then I proceed to eat a carton of ice cream while watching two hours of "FRIENDS" on TBS. My subsequent apathy and pity cause me to shy away from people, convinced that I am the scum of the earth. My confidence is shot, my cheerfulness is obliterated, I feebly stay upright (but just because it's hard to eat ice cream lying down...)

After emerging from one of these aforementioned slumps, I had an epiphany. It wasn't a very brilliant one, but that may be attributed to the fact that ice cream goes to my head.

I decided to become confident. Not cocky. Not proud. But content in the fact that God and "His power has given us everything we need for life and godliness." By acknowledging this- I attack my view that I am all that I need to succeed. And that I have everything that I need to live successfully. I don't. And I can't. And when I think that I can and subsequently fail, I plunge into an ice cream eating stupor.

So, no longer! I'm going to attack three flaws that are undermining my ability to please God with my gifts and abilities. (Keep in mind these are over-arching goals- my strategic planning father taught me to under gird these with small, measurable steps, and I have.)

1. I will become a better steward of my time.
2. I will become a better steward of my body. (No more ice cream eating binges...)
3. I will become a better steward of gifts, abilities, and opportunities.

This is the summer. The summer of confidence!

I'm throwing out my ice cream...

Red velvet cake adventures and a subsequent decision

Today, Julie and I embarked on an adventure.

We made a red velvet cake.

Trevor's birthday is tomorrow, and to celebrate the inauguration of his 19th birthday, Julie and I made a red velvet cake from scratch. Red velvet is Trevor's favorite, so red velvet the cake must be.

Have you ever made a cake (from scratch) with a three year old? How about a cake that requires two full bottles of red food coloring? How about a cake, from scratch, with red food coloring, and a final addition of puffy baking soda and vinegar- perfectly calculated to explode in an inquisitive three year-old's face?

We ended our cake adventure (debacle, explosion, catastrophe, your choice) singing to "Hillbilly Rockstar" while dancing around the kitchen in our aprons.

It was a total and complete blast. And it made me decide something...

I want to be a mom. And, just in case that doesn't work out, I've created a back-up plan:

I'M GOING TO OPEN A PRE-SCHOOL!

It will be awesome.

Oh... it's so true...

"...and the Lord takes away."

This morning God showed His infinite, unattainable wisdom and love once again. And, once again, I cannot fathom His purpose, His plan, while I'm struggling to find his love.

'Tis so sweet to trust in Jesus,
Just to take him at his word,
Just to rest upon His promise,
Just to know- thus sayeth the Lord
Jesus, Jesus, How I trust thee,
How I've proved thee o'r and o'r,
Jesus, Jesus, precious Jesus,
Oh for grace to trust thee more.


I don't understand why a God who gave His only Son, would take life from those persons He came to save.

Last night, a fire took the lives of Leah, Harrison, and Sophie, leaving only their father and husband alive.

Harrison was a 2nd grader in my choir and Sunday school class, and although it's not right to have favorites- I succumbed and he was one of mine. I don't understand. I cannot fathom this. My little Harrison, who was growing up into such a godly little man... gone. I don't understand... I will miss him. I DO miss him. His perky smile, his ready answer, his preppy little comb-over and glowing face. I will never see him again... on this earth. But although I'll never see Harrison grow to adulthood, I will see him again someday. And although it hurts, and I don't understand, and I just want him and his mother and sister back, I just keep telling myself, "God is bigger. He is in control." And I know that some day...

He will swallow up death forever.
The Sovereign LORD will wipe away the tears
from all faces...
(Isaiah 25:8)

But it's so hard right now...

Lessons Learned While Job Hunting...

When your schooling (i.e. time on campus) takes up as much time as a full time job- it severely limits your options.

Every secretary's name is "Nancy."

Newspapers don't want female sport's writers.

Electric bills always come at the most inopportune times...

The LORD gave and the LORD has taken away; may the name of the LORD be praised. (Job 1:21)

Yesterday, on my way back from family vacation, I learned that my funding for this summer and next year has been taken away.

Today, while cleaning and doing laundry I had an epiphany...

I have a lot of clothes.

No Good Thing

I said to the LORD, "You are my Lord;
apart from you I have no good thing."

I am not good at school.

I am not good at writing.

I am not good at being a sister, daughter, or friend.

I am not skilled in anyway.

I do not own any of my gifts or abilities.

I do not lay claim to successes, awards, or accomplishments.

Anything I have is not me- it's God.




You are not your own; you were bought at a price. Therefore honor God with your body.

This is me....FREAKING OUT!

I am terrified of new situations. Completely, utterly, undeniably terrified.

Now, new situations that I can CONTROL are a different matter. For example- I like trying new foods, I love going to new places on vacation, I'm a fan of trying the latest fashion trend.

I hate new situations that require a total shake-up: a complete re-ordering of every aspect of my life, coupled with new authority figures, new requirements, and the need for proactive thought and actions.

And that's what I have to do.

I'm currently searching for externships to fulfill my speech pathology graduate school requirements. Purdue does not arrange these for you- you are required to pursue and nail down these 12 week stints into medical or rehabilitation facilities. Almost everyone in my major has decided on a placement. I just started looking.

I have to find a place to live, someone to supervise me, a place that will take me. It's like a new job, without the pay or long-term stability.

I am freaking out.

I just got off the phone with Johns Hopkins in Baltimore and the Rehab Institute of Chicago. I still have to call N.Y.U. Med Center, Mayo Clinic, Cincinnati Children's Hospital, and the Children's Hospital of Cleveland. I have to find the person who's in charge of the speech pathologists (hard to do, believe it or not), request an interview, send a resume, interview, follow-up, and then find housing, accommodations, and send in contract finalization before August.

I'm not an incredible student, I'm a horrible interviewee (which doesn't spell great success), and I don't know anyone at any of the places where I want to wind up.

I AM FREAKING OUT!!!

And, shoot, I have an exam in an hour...

What if...?

I sit here, studying a subject I have little or no interest in (aural rehabilitation), and as I try to cram another fact about self-assessments and the hearing handicap index into my brain, I am very tempted to day dream. What if I hadn't chosen to become a speech pathologist? What if I had gone a different route? What would I be right now, if I hadn't bailed from a major that I decided on at the the young age of 18?

I'd like to be a writer for a fashion magazine- maybe eventually moving up the ranks to write for something like the New Yorker. I wouldn't want to do current events or anything like that- but I'd like to review restaurants, workouts, and make pithy statements about relationships...


Or I could be a party planner. I like that. All the details, all the people, all the artistic creativity. Of course, the hours stink, and I'd probably end up working other people's weddings and parties instead of ever planning my own. (Oh wait, I already do that...)


I thought about med school. I thought about it a lot. If it weren't for the cadavers...


Or a business exec. My Junior year of college I almost changed my major- or at least applied to MBA programs instead of SLP programs. I would love to own my own company- or work for one of those insanely competitive Fortune 500 company that would require 80 hours of work a week and jetting all over the world. Ahhh.... that sounds amazing....



And, hey, as long as we're shooting for dream jobs- I'd love to be a TV host. Like Good Morning America, or the Today Show. I can be perky in the a.m.!


I am so totally procrastinating...

Ouch! My wisdom teeth are coming in and I can't eat (my jaw won't open, it's swollen) I now understand the appeal of this. I want mine refrigerated...

And yes, normal people get their wisdom teeth much earlier (for instance, when they still are on their parents' marvelous dental plan). I'm a late bloomer. Without a dental plan.



ouch.

Red pen grading my prayers...

In my graduate program, we're required (every week) to write these reports (or write-ups) for each of our various clinical placements. I have, for quite some time, labored under the delusion that I am tolerable writer. In fact, when questioned, I would probably say that writing is the most effortless part of academia.

However, my literary pride took quite a beating this semester. Every report has been revised, marked up, torn to shreds, while my report writing has been generally labelled "incompetent." It's quite demoralizing to spend 4 1/2 intense hours on three pages of written material only to have your supervisor bleed red pen all over it. (The worst is when they say, "Well, I guess you tried. I'll finish it.")

In these reports, wording is EVERYTHING. There are some supervisors who don't like it when you start sentences with clauses. There are others who get upset if you DON'T start sentences with clauses. Some don't like the use of the conjunction "but." Others have decided that their pet peeve is the phrase "due to." Often the red is whipped out on sentences that aren't wrong- they just aren't ordered the way the supervisor would have. I get jumpy around vocabulary and spend twenty minutes on the sentence "Mrs. B. is a 61 year old woman presenting with dysphagia." (Now, do I say "presenting with", "diagnosed with", "having", or just "with"?)

The other day, praying while walking across campus, I started doing the same thing. I was "clinic editing" my prayers to God- trying to cover any loop-holes, use the vocabulary that I thought he wanted to hear, trying to avoid any errors that could get my prayer "red-penned" and misinterpreted.

That is not my God! He knows the thoughts and intentions of my heart. He hears the prayers that are wordless cries for help, panicked screams for deliverance, bubbling silent joy. He doesn't need me to only use "delight" instead of "joy," "happiness," or "exhuberance"! He knows the thoughts that feeble language is trying to put forth. And it is so gracious of him to attend to my needs and desires even when my words fail.

For the eyes of the Lord are on the righteous
and his ears are attentive to their prayer. (I Peter 3:12)

I think it may say something about the excitement level of my life if the ideal Friday night consists of cleaning my room scrubbing the kitchen floor.

Those standards aren't changing, sister.

I was told this week that I set the bar too high for men.

I was told that I secretly want a man like my father and that a man of that caliber is (almost) impossible to find.

I was told that if I didn't change my expectations, I was going to wind up old and alone.



Well, if that's the case- Here's to old aloneness!

**grin**

I don't have a green thumb- I have a nasty brown thumb which squashes all living botany, but here's hoping...

Today I planted close to 40 starts (to add to the 10 I did last week) in hopes my rather stark suburbian nest would blossom into this.




In the past I've failed to keep even the grass in my yard alive. I'll keep you posted on the success (or failure) of my transplanted English garden!

Speech Pathology Compliment **helps me keep going!**

This woman, Lorraine Ramig, has developed one of the THE most comprehensive therapy programs for people with Parkinson's Disease called the "Lee Silverman Voice Treatment." It has been so incredibly successful that neurologists, physical therapists, and other researchers are spending their careers finding ways to extend her amazing therapy to other venues of deficit (motor problems, children with cerebral palsy, etc.).

She is dynamite. She came and spoke to our class- she was poised, articulate, and incredibly dynamic. She did an incredible job showing us not only research but also therapy. Her focus was on the people she was helping- not just the research. This balanced focus was amazingly refreshing. In our field, speech therapists divide into two camps- research or therapy. If you enjoy both, you are forced to choose one or the other. But she created her own category.

Tonight Lorraine Ramig is being honored as Purdue University College of Liberal Art's Distinguished Alumni of 2009.

And today, in class, after she spoke to us, one of my classmates turned around and said,

"Is it just me guys, or the minute she started speaking did you think, "Oh-my-word- that's Courtney."?"

THEY THOUGHT I WAS LIKE DR. RAMIG! What a compliment.

Hmm, I wonder what my therapy program will be... ;)

Today is Thursday. This is what I'm thinking...

Today I'm really tired. You know? The nitty, behind-the-eyes fatigue that makes sleep impossible and alertness elusive?

I don't feel this way very often. I can sleep just about anywhere, anytime, any amount. I was actually born sleeping. The doctors had to wake me up. No joke. Ask my mom. There was no crying at my delivery. (At least by me...)

But, no, right now I'm very much awake and very much exhausted.

I'm supposed to be studying for an adult language exam. It's tomorrow. But I also had an exam today, and it is a very commonly known "Courtney Fact" that if there are two exams, back to back, the second one always suffers. So the detailed facts of dementia, right hemisphere strokes, and traumatic brain injuries are currently unappealing. (A fact I will regret tomorrow around 1:30.)

Did you know that people with right hemisphere strokes ignore the entire left side of everything? Seriously. The visual input is coming in. There's nothing wrong with the optic nerve- they just don't pay attention AT ALL to the left side of the world. For example- ladies will only put makeup on the right side of their face, they'll only eat the food on the right side of the plate. They'll only read words on the right side of the page. Everything on the left is non-existent. That would be very helpful if you married annoying person. Just try for a right hemisphere stroke, and then ask your honey to stand to the left of you. Always.

Of course, there are probably other ways to deal with that problem short of getting a stroke... like counseling, a romantic weekend to rekindle the "flame" (whatever that is...), or just never marrying that very annoying person to begin with. There's an idea for you! However, I've noticed very few people take that advice. They just go ahead and get married and THEN they find out the person is annoying. Very short-sighted if you ask me...

People with traumatic brain injuries often lose their "screen." You know what I'm talking about- that filter that keeps you from saying things that you shouldn't? That little invisible body guard that wrestles back some of your thoughts and keeps them from being expressed? (And yes, I know my body guard is puny. Please- he's sensitive about that.) Well, people with TBI (traumatic brain injuries) don't have that little monitor.

I think that Dr. House probably had a TBI.

Then there's dementia. My favorite are the later stages. Most of these people are just happy. Happy, happy, happy. They can't remember a thing. They have no productive language. But they show little or no frustration at this. They are (in all senses of the phrase) "blissfully ignorant."

Perhaps I have dementia...



I should probably start studying.

Epiphany: I am officially lame. I live out my dream of being an engineer by having a "favorite" computer lab in the Civil Engineering building.

You HAVE to watch this. I don't say that about many things, but this must be watched. Look at the faces of the audience, the judges, the M.C.s before she sings. Then look at them after.

Stunning.

Stunning.

Stunning.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9lp0IWv8QZY



I want to be her...

Linen Closet Moments

When I was little and had an "achy heart," I would sneak away, very quietly up the stairs. If I was really, truly good at sneaking, I could ease open our creaky linen closet door, and slip in under the lowest shelf, shutting the door behind me. Even when I was little, I could only fit if I pulled my knees up under my chin and scrunched into the back corner. One sliver of light would leak through, but aside from that, darkness would reign. I could take deep breaths of the fabric softener scent that filled the air. Or I could cry. I usually cried.

I'm twenty-three years old, but even now, there are "achy heart" moments. Moments when the skin around my eyes tightens to hold back tears. Moments when my hands start shaking and I have trouble breathing. Moments when my heart aches and my vision constricts to the narrow focus of me- my world, my problems.

In those moments I still want that dark, back corner. Blackness with only a sliver of light. I want to curl up and cry with my head on my knees. Cry until I can cry no longer.

But I've found that life doesn't always provide those linen closets when you need them. Sometimes you have to keep walking in the glaring daylight when you want the darkness. You have to lift your chin when you want to bury it in your knees. You have to smile when you want to cuddle with the towels. Sometimes you even have to laugh.

Easter Sunday has always been a dawn of incredible joy for me. Since I was small, my dearest mother has striven to impress upon me the wonderful hallelujah that is the morning of our Christ's resurrection. All the way to church, we would sing "Here the bells ringing, they're singing that we can be born again!" Family would pour in from all corners (complete with ham and stuffed candy eggs), laughing and shouting. Easter was a day of glorious triumph! Of rejoicing! Of joy!

But this Easter Sunday, I stood- raw and quivering, hoping that a smile and a nod would convince others (and myself) that I truly was rejoicing- I only wanted my linen closet. But God, in His gracious, unfathomable wisdom, did not ordain that it be a linen closet Sunday. Linen closets are not always where you see the power of God.

"My God's enough" was a phrase that would not have been murmured in the linen closet. But that day it was repeated silently in my thoughts.

Please don't misconstrue what I'm saying. Tying these feelings- the craving for my fabric softener scented haven, and being unarguably close to the brink of tears for the majority of Easter Sunday- to any particular recent incident in my life would be an erroneous assumption. (Though doubtless, some will assume regardless of this disclaimer.) There are just days when life has whipped through all the armor and nipped at the flesh underneath. And while it is tempting to retreat to a physical refuge, I was forced, on this brilliant Easter to retreat to a stronger, better Refuge.

My God's enough.

And He died, so I could approach Him without reserve on those scary, "achy heart" days.

Which is wonderful, because sometimes the only linen closet to be found is too small to squeeze into.

I hear leaves drinking rain;
I hear rich leaves on top
Giving the poor beneath
Drop after drop;
'Tis a sweet noise to hear
These green leaves drinking near.

And when the Sun comes out,
After this Rain shall stop,
A wondrous Light will fill
Each dark, round drop;
I hope the Sun shines bright;
'Twill be a lovely sight.


("The Rain," William Henry Davies)

Yes, I work with children, and No, I am not just going to post videos from here on out... Just couldn't help it today... :)

If you could...

Please pray for me this week. I have several large tests, papers, and reports that need to be done in addition to my normal weekly madness. I have a peak amount of stress that I perform under, however, if that peak is reached and the crossed, I have a tendency to shut down and not even try.

Please pray that I diligently handle the challenges and responsibilities that God has placed in my life this week, and that my sin nature wouldn't get in the way of practicing good stewardship with my time and opportunities.

Thank you.

It's as though the music is playing in the next room...

I was just asked if I didn't think grad school was less frantic (and easier) than undergrad.


I snorted unbecomingly through my nose.


And then apologized for my obvious derision.

Male Leadership

It's on mornings like this

It's on mornings like this- all fresh and clean. (Yes, I did shower this morning....) that I'm rejoicing without constraint at the goodness of my God.

I have a wonderful rest of the week- enough down time to satisfy anyone.

It's sunny.

And I ran out of creamer so I "had" to put whipped cream in my coffee instead.

Any advice?

As many of you know, I've battled ulcerative colitis for almost 4 years now. After a whole slew of antibiotics, several hospital visits, and nasty steroids, I'm trying something new. (I know, it took me a while- I'm a little slow on the uptake.)

I'm cutting out all preservatives and trying an all-natural diet.

However, I'm a college student, and (being very poor) am looking for some tips on how to do this economically.

Any words of wisdom?

Flaming Conservative

I'm a "Republican". Yes. I just said that. Before I continue on this rant, I feel obliged to make several qualifying statements about myself and it.

DISCLAIMERS

Myself: I'm am more of a conservative than a Republican. I feel that term more aptly describes my political/social view.(I don't like a lot of things that "my party" does. But I like the other side even less, so...) I believe in the right of life for both the unborn and elderly. I don't think the government should over-see more aspects of our lives- I think it should back off. I think public education, while it can often be good, is flawed in many areas. I hate socialized healthcare with a passion. I'm against taxing the rich a greater percentage than the poor. I am a Puritan work-ethic, out-spoken, Supreme-Court-is-full-of-it, conservative American. Our country is going through a hard time. But I believe that this should be an incentive for the kind and the compassionate to engage with and serve the world, not a cry for more governmental involvement through massive incurring of debt. (There. Now you know where I stand. Feel free to disagree as much as you want. Or not. Whatev.)

My Rant: I respect those in governmental authority. I believe our president is a brave man to tackle the mess we're in. However, when he and congress stop listening to the people they represent- I get angry. So, while I applaud President Obama for his eager determination to help the U.S. of A., I cannot help but express frustration at the "We can do it better. Let the brains in Washington figure it out" mentality that many in power seem to have (that goes for both sides of the aisle).

MY PHOTO RANT:

For Fun!!! And because I always play when I'm tagged... (in response to my Lady Forest)

Just choose one picture, one poem, one song, one quote, one article of clothing, one location and one Disney Princess. Whether it is on your mind or your favorite...

PICTURE



POEM

I'm nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there 's a pair of us -- don't tell!
They 'd banish us, you know.

How dreary to be somebody!
How public, like a frog
To tell your name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!

(Emily Dickinson)

SONG



QUOTE

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again; because there is not effort without error and shortcomings; but who does actually strive to do the deed; who knows the great enthusiasm, the great devotion, who spends himself in a worthy cause, who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement and who at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly. So that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat.”

(Theodore Roosevelt)

ARTICLE OF CLOTHING



LOCATION



PRINCESS

EVERY NOW AND THEN I WONDER IF I JUST GOT INTO PURDUE BECAUSE THEY MESSED UP MY GRADUATE APPLICATION AND WERE AFRAID I WAS GOING TO SUE...

Challenges

I'm in a rut.

It's true.

I don't really like to say it. In fact, I even wrote the first part of this blog post, trying to sound profound, and wise. About being in a rut. Yes. I did.

But the simple fact is this- ruts stink. And I'm in one. And no amount of vocabulary or philosophizing is going to change the fact that I'm in a deep, well-trodden, crushingly-boring rut. While I was in New York, I realized a flaw in my self, one that, until that moment, I'd always ignored, or claimed not to have.

It happened on Sunday. We were sitting in Trevor's church, the music was resounding off the walls, and I suddenly began to cry. Panic, fear, and complete paranoia gripped me so tightly that I could hardly breathe. I am afraid.

I'm afraid of new things.
I'm afraid of the unknown.
I'm afraid to try, because,
I'm afraid to fail.

I live my life within the walls of a carefully concocted, well-thought-out plan. And although I add fun addendum onto that plan (learn to make sushi, go on a road trip, sky-dive), I never do them. I'm to terrifyingly scared.

And that Sunday night in New York, I was crying because I wanted to move to the city. But I was scared of that big of a change. I was terrified and in love with New York at the same time. And then I started thinking about everything else I haven't done, either because I was scared, or lazy, or terrified of something new.

Run a mini-marathon.
Learn how to rock climb.
Actually thrive, not just survive in grad school.
Try to make that French chocolate cake.
Build my personal library.
Driven to California.

I could go on.

But I'm not going to. I'm stopping here. I'm tired of being a second-rate. I'm tired of not trying. I'm tired of playing it safe. So... here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to give myself a challenge each month. (See side-bar for this month's) It may be small. And, to people watching, it may seem rather unrelated to my new goal of "living it up," but I need to do something. God has given me one life to live. I need to be a good steward of this life.

I'm cultivating the good fear... "The fear of the LORD leads to life: Then one rests content, untouched by trouble." (Prov. 19:23)

Here it goes.

The adventures on Fifth Avenue and the Whole Foods market...

Yay for Fifth Avenue!

The ladies spent all of today shopping up and down Fifth Avenue. Erika found this AMAZING Kenneth Cole coat (royal blue) and we all convinced her to buy it. It was originally $300, and she got it for $65. AMAZING!

My feet are killing me. We walk for hours and hours each day.

Tonight all the couples went out for dinner. Erika and I aren't in couples, but we are a couple (of girls), so we decided to have our own hoopla. We walked (of course!) to the Whole Foods market which is in Union Square (about 20 blocks south of where we're staying) to buy ingredients to make a "healthy" (in every sense of the word) dinner.

The place was incredible! It sells only organic, all-natural, "whole" foods. The entire basement was full of mounds of the most gorgeous, colorful fruit I have ever seen, and their cheese selection... ooh-lala! If you love cheese- this is the place to go. Now, the fish bar(since there were no preservatives, of course) smelled a little... well, you know. They had their own sushi bar, and grill, inside the market where you could request made-to-order sushi, meats, etc. All fresh. All organic. Erika and I were in heaven.

The line was just as incredible as the store. There were about 30 registers- all open, but the line snaked all around store, multiple people deep. I've heard that New Yorkers aren't the most patient people. That's a lie. They will stand very docilely for their organic, all-natural produce, dairy and meat.

Erika and I thoroughly enjoyed our (organic) grapefruit, (organic) strawberry, (all-natural) banana smoothie with (organic) sharp cheddar cheese and (all-natural)granola.

We agreed. We could totally be New Yorkers.

The adventures at the MET (in high heels!)

After a leisurely morning (the boys made us a delicious pancake breakfast), we all sallied forth (me in insanely high, incredibly stupid heels).

We walked about 45 blocks to the MET.


Gorgeous museum. Probably one of my favorites of all time. After wearing heels for an insane distance, me feet were killing me. Kate was smarter- she wore flats, but they were still new, and gave her a blister. We crashed on every bench we could find. You can admire naked marble statues very nicely from a bench...

The adventures on the other side of the Jersey tracks...

A word of advice... You probably should follow your Google Map directions when you're in the "bad part" of Jersey. (Is there a good part of Jersey?)

Let it suffice to say: Alex was frustrated, the other girls were a little scared, and I thought it was flipping hilarious (hey, if I'm gonna go- being shot down in Jersey's pretty dramatic...)

This was the scenery:



Note the sign (and lack of windows) on the building. Don't be bad in Jersey. (I took this INSIDE the car. No worries.)

Next to the lovely correctional facility was Jerseys's waste water treatment plant. The sign outside read: "Sewage sludge receiving area." Jersey is good at creative wording.

But once we finally got to the train station- we were happy! The sibs were reunited. (There may have been some screaming and hugging in the parking lot.)

Woot! We're in NYC!

The adventures of early morning last minutes

I can't find my socks.

My iPod won't charge.

My clothes are still in the dryer.

Why are we out of milk?

Need to do my nails before we leave...

Why on earth am I up so early?

The Adventures of a late-night packer

So, the adventures are about to begin.

Tomorrow, at 5 a.m., crack-of-dawn-early, me, Shilly, Bax, Erest, and TrevsKate are leaving to visit Trevrika in New York City. SPRING BREAK! (I know, five a.m. is crazy, right? Bax, the insane military man planned our itinerary. Clearly he has issues.)

I will do my best to keep you all up to date with the variety of adventures we encounter along the way.

Tonight, the adventures begin with.... packing.

For those of you who have never attempted to pack a modestly sized bag, you know the challenges: cramming all the high-heels in, making sure the shampoo doesn't burp all over everything, deciding between the variety of straighteners and curling irons at your disposal.

And then, we're going to NEW YORK! I can't just pack my standard break clothes (elastic waisted pants with a variety of sweatshirts). I want to look cute. So there's the whole outfit planning thing. I have trouble picking out an outfit for one day, let alone five. Plus, I don't like things that wrinkle. And, something that I think is cute today, may not be cute the day I have to wear it. (It's a weird mood thing I have.)

Any way, it's 9:53, my first load of laundry isn't even in the dryer yet, I have several sweaters tossed in my bag (just to see what they look like there, not because I've actually decided to take them), and my sweatshirts are currently having a face-off because they all want to go, but I only have room for one.

I think it's going to be a late night...

New favorite song...

My mom sent me a picture text this morning. As soon as I saw it I dove out of bed, scrambled into my most comfy sweatshirt and dashed down the stairs.

I was at my parents' house in fifteen minutes, plate in hand, smile on my face, and "Fresh waffle, please!" on my lips. (Dad makes the best homemade waffles. Mmmm...)

Half-way through my light, fluffy, golden brown waffle (complete with homemade blueberry syrup). My mom says,

"I'm so glad you showed up!" (OF COURSE I showed up. Dad was making waffles. I saw it in the text.) "Didn't you think my text this morning was HILARIOUS!?!" I looked at her puzzled. She points to Julie's hair. Poor Bops used too much hairspray last night and her hair looked like a Hurricane Katrina pathway. I pulled out my phone,

"Ooooh! THAT'S what this picture was of!"

"What did you think it was?"

I turned the phone towards her and pointed. There, in the upper left corner of my screen, the only area not obscured by Julie's hair, she saw...

My father making waffles.

I am a speech-language pathologist (almost...)

I found this while searching Google images under the title of "speech therapy." (Don't ask me why- it was a combination of stress- too much to do- and laziness- not wanting to do anything.)

I would like to correct a few common mis-conceptions:

We do not wear scrubs. We wear cute clothes. I like to wear scarves a lot. And I wore heels for 12 hours yesterday. One cannot wear heels and scrubs.

I have never made a child do tongue exercises with a tongue depressor. It is a grossly unfounded and controversial therapy technique that has no long-term benefits. We play games. And the kid has little or no idea that they're actually doing speech therapy.

I'm sure I never make ridiculous faces when modeling to my client. (Hahahaha! Riiiight...)

We don't have fun red tables. They're brown. The red ones may be too much sensory info for some of our poor little clients.

I sit in the little chairs too...

Actually, think of speech therapy more like this:

Gender Profiling

I drive stick shift.

It's true.

Nowadays I'm very adroit at shifting, steering, and eating an assortment of burritos while talking on the phone. However, when I first got my adorable little "midget hearse" of a car, I was not so smooth, nor so confident.

One night, late, on my way to my parents, I got a phone call. Reluctant to drive and talk at the same time, I pulled off the road into a small parking lot. It was pitch black, probably after 11, and I was wrapping up the conversation when I saw lights pulling in the parking lot and parking in front of me.

Police lights.

I hung up quickly.

A big, scary, authoritative voice bellowed, "Please step out of your vehicle!" (I have a terrible paranoia of police officers and I started shaking.) I was taught to obey. I opened my door and stepped out.

The police officer's entire demeanor changed. "Oh, hello. Sorry, miss. Just checking."

What a nice man! Stopping to make sure I was okay. "Oh, I'm good, thanks."

"No, no, that... Err... Actually, this is a preschool parking lot and the houses across the street noticed a potential pedophile in the parking lot. But clearly..." he hesitates. "Um, well, never mind..."

Clearly, if you're a blond female with a perky ponytail and GAP jeans, you're not likely to be profiled as a sexual predator.

Good to know.