Paranoia and Flashing Nascar Shoes

**sigh**

What on earth is wrong with me!?!

Today, while perusing the flow of my Facebook news feed (yes, I was doing so instead of studying), I came across yet another friend from my high school years who had taken the plunge into matrimony, and now she's a mom!

Oh. My. Flipping. Word.

She hasn't been the first of my acquaintances to add the term "mommy" to their resumes. Baby pictures are springing up all over my "home page." And now I'm getting wedding AND baby shower invitations. I had steeled myself to deal with the weddings (and I really enjoy them!). I've gotten pretty good at that. (You don't attend eight weddings in one summer and NOT get good at that.) But BABIES!?! I'M NOT READY FOR BABIES!

If I'm not ready, my peers shouldn't be ready! Right?

I'm still floundering with the idea of what it means to be a wife, but children? I haven't even THOUGHT of children. And now I see others tackling the monumental task of parenting, when I haven't even had the guts to address the "I do forever" aspect of a family.

I spent the morning screening little four and five year olds for speech and language problems (they all passed), and as one little boy sat in front of me, smacking his feet on the floor so I could see how his "flashy Nascar shoes" lit up, while he explained to me that shoes were bought at a shoe store-- I wanted to be a mommy.

I want to teach colors, and marvel at little hands and feet. I want to debate with my husband on whether the baby has my eyes or his. I want to make massive amounts of peanut butter sandwiches, and buy silly band-aids, and pack snacks for the soccer team. I want to paint a wall with chalkboard paint and teach them how to sing "Father Abraham."

But there's so much MORE! The baby will be an immortal soul. It's a baby who will one day grow up and make decisions, and choose whether or not he/she will follow Christ and bring Him glory. The adorable baby will be a sinner who needs to be instructed in the way he/she should go.

I think my view of parenting is the same as my view of marriage. The day-to-day aspect, I think I'd be able to handle. Sure, there will be tough times, but for the most part I think I would enjoy it. However, when I dwell on the enormity of the task, and the seriousness of the commitment, I blanche in terror at my inadequacy to fulfill those roles.

And that's where my problem lies- in expecting my own strength to be the foundation of my "success." What pride on my part! God knew that I wouldn't be able to do it on my own, so He sent His Son. Only when I'm fully relying on His power and the grace administered through the gospel, can I live the role that He designed me for.

Now, how to take that head knowledge and apply it to the fact that I still get abjectly paranoid at the thought of MY being a wife and mother...

Recognizing that 1) I am too busy to adequately maintain this blog, and 2) that women have crazy ideals, and 3) men like football

And because this just makes me laugh... :)

Let's just say that a breakfast of scrambled eggs with sharp cheddar cheese and organic cilantro salsa make the Indiana Veteran's Home less daunting.

Together Happiness

Tonight, as Julie and I were walking into Target holding hands, she stopped and looked up at me,

"Cookie! We're together!"

My little heart became very happy, and I replied,

"Yes, we are together. I like it, don't you?"

She smiled and sighed contentedly, "Yes."

Define: seek (sēk) v. sought (sôt), seek·ing, seeks: To try to locate or discover; search for, To endeavor to obtain or reach

This morning, I spent some time on Psalm 105:4, and the following struck me...

If it is my job to seek God, and if the riches that follow such a quest are as great as they are, why is it that I so constantly get pulled away and distracted? The competing activities and thoughts all come down to one thing:

I do not know my God.

Could I but see a glimpse of the power and overwhelming beauty of my Savior and God, no doubt all else would be wiped from my mind, and I could not even entertain viewing another as more important than the Almighty.

A life that is lived seeking the glory of my God is accomplished by knowing that same God. That knowledge erases all other thoughts and distractions. How simple is the recipe for Christian growth! How gracious of God to make it so! Only through knowing him, having an increasing knowledge of his love, grace, mercy, justice, sacrifice... (etc.) can I expect life-transforming change as I become the creature he created me to be for his glory.

What a delightful quest! How pleasant the painful task of change becomes when I realize that I am not in the foreground. My God is.

Lord, allow me to follow Psalm 105:4 today...

"Look to the Lord and his strength; seek his face always."
(Ps. 105:4)

Vacationing in Motherhood

My parents are out of town (celebrating 28 years together), and I've been staying at their house, playing "mom." Tonight Julie, my three year old sister, walked up to me cradling a bottle of baby shampoo.

"Cookie, 'dis is Baby Sutton." I look down, distracted from the fifteenth checking of my e-mail in the past twenty minutes.

"Ohhh... that's Baby Sutton?" She nods, bouncing the baby on her non-existent hip.

"And Cookie, Baby Sutton not happy now. She need Cheerios."

"Will Cheerios make Baby Sutton happy?"

"Yes. She need 'em. She grumpy." (Hmmm... there are days when I could do with a handful of Cheerios...)

I obligingly got the cereal down from the pantry, and we both picked out a "baby" bowl that was suitable for Baby Sutton.

"Now, Mommy Julie," I said, "you need to be careful, and help Baby Sutton eat her Cheerios. Sometimes babies choke if they don't have help." Her eyes opened wide, and she nodded seriously.

"I be careful. Promise, Cookie."

For the remainder of that hour, Baby Sutton and Julie went everywhere together. Julie told her "be kind, have a happy heart, Baby!" and rocked her, introduced her to the various family members, and sang creative, yodeling lullabies that only she and Baby Sutton could understand.

As I watched her ministrations to a bottle of shampoo, treating it as tenderly as she would have any baby, I remembered something I heard one of the sponsors of the college class say this morning,

"I have the best job in the world- I'm a wife and mom."

Tonight, cuddling Julie on my lap, making yummy yogurt smoothies, and playing "pretend" with a shampoo bottle, I couldn't help but think: no matter what the world may tell me about "building my career" and "not letting your talents be 'wasted' at home," and no matter where others may tell me my worth lies (money, fame, etc.)- I think I could ask for no better job than to listen to yodeling lullabies and teaching colors one Crayola crayon at a time. Thank you, Julie and "Baby Sutton", for reminding me of that.

:)

Wordless, in need of Wisdom

Written words are my delight. If I am unable to verbalize something, or incapable of communicating what I truly mean, I sit down, and begin to write. I write when I'm happy, sad, nostalgic, contrite. I write when I learn, when I want to learn, and when I don't even know that I need to learn. I write to make people laugh. I write to make people think. I write for the joy of stringing together words such as "glinting gossamer" and "merciful justice," creating new ideas and new pictures, and new thoughts.

However, although it does not happen often, sometimes I am completely unable to write. I have no words, only emotions, and typing over and over again does nothing to coherently convey what I'm attempting to tell.

That's what's happening tonight.

I don't have the words, I don't have the wisdom, and I don't have the knowledge. I can't put a series of vocabulary words together to make sense of what I'm attempting to convey. But "every word of God is flawless." (Proverbs 30:5) and "If any of you lacks wisdom, he should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to him." (James 1:5)

Lord, tonight I lack wisdom. But you create flawless words, give me some of those... Because tonight Lord, I really need them.

Truth

I think there are days when following Philippians 4:8 is just a wee bit harder than it is on other days. Of all the attributes we are to imbue our thoughts with (true, noble, right, pure, lovely, admirable, excellent, praiseworthy), I believe the one I struggle with the most is "true."

For example, from the time when I was a young child up until I left home, I would stand at the window, waving goodbye to my parents, convinced that they were never going to come home and that this would be the last time I would be able to tell them that I loved them. Clearly, they're still here, and I wasted many hours, fearfully believing something untrue.

Or there were the times when I didn't play hide-and-seek because I was convinced that as soon as I made myself vulnerable at any angle, then I would be attacked by the monster who had just taken up residence under our coffee table. (He only lived there during hid-and-seek.)

Of course, as I got older some of my fears seemed to become a little more tangible. (Although I still remember hiding from the Hound of the Baskervilles in eighth grade...) Fear of not graduating, fear of not getting a job, fear of failure, fear of never getting married, fear of getting married...

Rather than choosing to build my beliefs and my actions around things that were true, I spent my time hypothesizing an entire slew of possible errors, failures, and mishaps.

Today, the old army of fear is at it again. Amazing how I can face the same enemy in such an assortment of ways. My untrue thoughts today are focused on something I never thought I would fear. But here I am...

"Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.... And the God of peace will be with you." [a]

Merely stating, "oops, that's an untrue thought!" is not enough. I must actively search for truth to replace my lies.

But I am like an olive tree
flourishing in the house of God;
I trust in God's unfailing love
for ever and ever.

I will praise you forever for what you have done;
in your name I will hope, for your name is good.
I will praise you in the presence of your saints. [b]

I will trust.
I will praise.
I will hope.

"Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love. This is how God showed his love among us: He sent his one and only Son into the world that we might live through him." [d]

This is the truth.

************
[a] Philippians 4:8, 9b
[b] Psalm 52:8,9
[c] I John 4:8,9

My poor little brain is all tied up in knots and decision making... :)

“When you are a Bear of Very Little Brain, and you Think of Things, you find sometimes that a Thing which seemed very Thingish inside you is quite different when it gets out into the open and has other people looking at it.” (A.A. Milne, "Winnie The Pooh")

**The Manhattan Chronicles**

The man sitting across from me in the terminal is talking. Loudly. About a crisis. I’m like emotional tofu- I absorb the emotions of those around me, and his stress is slowly seeping into my psyche. I just put my iPod in my ears. Maybe it will leave… of course, the sequence of events that I just went through were stressful, so I didn’t need much more to make me want to snap.

This morning was lovely. I was drowsy, but I ambled my way down 6th Avenue to find Magnolia Bakery, my new favorite New York spot. Apparently it’s famous, I just happened to stumble across the name in my browsing for “Things to see in Manhattan.” But this little pocket of heaven on 6th and 49th would be enough to make even the grumpiest person smile on a summer morning. The interior looks as though it has not been touched since 1950, the décor is tiny tiles and dainty pastels- asif it were your grandmother’s kitchen freshly scrubbed with Clorox, for the entire place is spotlessly clean. I ordered a decidedly fat-filled mocha latte and a mini chocolate swirl cheesecake. They packaged both in clean white cardboard, and my dear little cheesecake was in a delightfully marked, dainty box. I fell in love.

Cradling my coffee in one hand and my newly purchased box of heaven in the other, I trotted back down 6th to Bryant Park where I wrote, prayed and nibbled. I believe I’m a Bryant Park junky. It’s so petite, so movie-esque and feels safer than Central Park. I believe, that should I live conveniently located in the city, it would become a tradition.

After my leisurely morning, I was in need of a nap. I have been sleeping about 3 to 5 hours a night, walking and running all day. I knew that with my flight schedule tonight I would need to drive until the wee hours of the morning in order to make it home. So I took a nap. I love napping. I wish I could nap every day…

When I woke up, I ventured out once again. I hate doing “touristy” things. I like to blend in and look like a native. But I’ve never been to the top of Empire State Building, and considering that I’ve been to NYC repeatedly, this is really inexcusable. Besides, I heard the view is incredible. I love incredible views. To make my venture to the top a little less touristy, I decided first to find a delectable frozen yogurt spot called “Pinkberry.” Let’s just say, smuggling creamy pomegranate frozen yogurt to the top of the highest building in New York, and eating it while looking at historic landmarks is amazing. Which is good because being herded like cattle on and off elevators, being surrounded by foreign men who have no concept of personal space, and being subject to grossly over-priced tickets is hardly enjoyable. The experience was good because a) the structural feat of this building is phenomenal, b) all the limestone is from Indiana (represent! Whoo!), and c) I can now say that I’ve done it.

I then packed up, said goodbye to my delightful friend Elisha who was good enough to house me, and sallied forth. I navigated the subways and the bus successfully. I was the only white female on the bus. The looks I got were enough to make anyone anxiously chuckle. I didn’t believe that segregation still existed until I visited those parts of NYC. I got lost at the terminal, which is quite large and kept running, trying to find my ticket counter almost missed my flight, but it was delayed, and then again, and then again. And am now currently waiting in the terminal with a random bunch of disgruntled business men. Once again, I appear to be the only white female…

I’m definitely going to need to acquire some caffeine in Chicago..

**After hours of delays, lost luggage, dashing through airports, and a debate with a Mormon on the final flight, I finally landed in Indianapolis around 1:10 a.m. It's now 3:10 a.m., and yes, I just got home. Exhausted... my Manhattan adventure is officially over.**

“You know that you are in love when the hardest thing to do is say good-bye"

**The Manhattan Chronicles**

Well, my dear reader, my Manhattan time has come to a close. As I write this, my bags sit beside me (still open, much squashing will be needed to close them), and I sip one more sip of Manhattan water while trying to find the best way to say goodbye to a city who never even knew I was here. While at the airport I shall no doubt hash out my last day's adventures, views personal space, and Pinkberry yogurt, but for now, a vague settling of the feelings inside of me must occur.

Over the past three days I have experienced fear, exhilaration, confidence, paranoia, doubt, joy, sadness, contentment, pleasure, loneliness, hesitation, and desire. It would be wonderful if this trip had solidified my purpose and cemented my future, but I feel that the exact opposite has taken place. Something about this place terrifies me, but in my terror, I find myself peeking through my fingers (as one does in a scary movie) hesitantly wanting to see what's about to happen.

I love this city. And I love the corn fields of Indiana- I'm going home!

I've grown a little in NYC, and regardless of what the future brings, I shall always hold a fondness in my heart for the Big Apple of the East.

Goodbye, my love, Manhattan.

**The Manhattan Chronicles**

Well, my fair reader, you were neglected shamefully last night. I had every intention of arriving at the apartment in dusky twilight, filled to the brim with creative and witty anecdotes, and, while I did arrive around dusk, I was hardly filled with witty narratives. I was exhausted. I had walked over one hundred blocks- actually spent the entire day walking- and I was not ready to sit down and expound. I was ready to crawl into bed.

However, sleeping in Manhattan always seems like a sacrilege, so I decided to rest a little before going back out. Alas, a violent thunderstorm allayed my plans. Umbrella-less and scared of wandering damp streets alone, I curled up with several movies and spent a blissful night wrapped in fictional characters' problems.

But yesterday was delightful.

I went to Bryant Park, Rockefeller Center, Saks, St. Patrick's Cathedral, browsed homes on Park Avenue, shopped on Fifth Avenue, and found the most amazing hummus and organic mint green iced tea.

I began my day quite confidently- I was standing at a street corner, when a little lady with a child pulling her arm out of her sockets, asked me in a harried way which direction Fifth Avenue was. I gave her incredibly lovely directions and earned a "thank you" and a confidence that I was becoming a New Yorker. (I know, I know, Fifth is easy to find when you're standing on Sixth, but please give me some credit.)

Bryant Park, where I nibbled on fresh fruit and iced coffee, trying in vain to keep the heat at bay, was filled with people reading at little tables under the trees. Across the lawn was an outdoor yoga class. If I hadn't been attired in a skirt, I might have joined them in their downward-facing dogs. I mentally noted that law enforcement officers in NYC seem particularly attractive, but then remembered that I'm scared a lot in NYC, and this could be the reason for their attraction...

At Saks, I met my new best friend "Javier." He was delightful. And incredibly flamboyant. We talked make-up and he gave me a make-over while we chatted it up about graduate school and different skin tones. He's going back to school in the fall- to be a teacher. Just to have a little Saks' bag hanging from my wrist, I bought some concealer and bid Javier "adieu".

The rest of the day was browsing, amazing hummus lunch in Central Park (complete with the world's best mint tea).


I decided that since I had never been to mass- I should go at St. Patrick's. The beautiful cathedral was awe-inspiring. But mass was not. More thoughts on that to follow. But as I sat there, flipping through the hymnal, I realized I didn't know any of the songs in there. Wracking my mind for a song they might sing that I would know, a sudden thought popped into my head, "I wonderful if the have 'A Mighty Fortress Is Our God...'" Then realization of what I had just thought made me stifle a snort of laughter.

Of COURSE they wouldn't have "A Mighty Fortress"! Martin Luther and the Catholic church HATED each other! Why would they be singing a song penned by one of their old arch-rivals? I resisted another urge to chuckle. What on earth was I thinking?

As I wandered the burgs of the socially elite, glancing in store windows and trying on impossibly expensive shoes, I was trying to stifle an overwhelming sense of loneliness. I don't have much recreational alone time. Granted, during school I'm alone a lot because that is my mode of studying, but when I do fun, random, Fifth Avenue type of activities, I'm usually surrounded by a bevy of family with a sprinkling of friends.

Every now and then the reality of what I would be doing, should I choose to come to NYC hits me at a different angle. I would be so lonely out here. If I'm plagued with loneliness in West Lafayette, (which I have been as of late) with my family and friends near-by, then how much more so would I be plagued in a mammoth city, all alone? I know, I know I would eventually make friends, but there would be quite a long while when those friendships would be just planted and new, timid shallow things. And that's always a hard time...

All well. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, won't we? I won't know if I got the externship until the first week of September. I'll let my worries take a snooze until then. Who knows, they may not even need to be awakened...

Okay, last day in the city! Going to visit a famous bakery and try to see the top of the world from the Empire State Building. Then I've been told I need to try some delicious frozen yogurt called "Pinkberry." Hello, Wednesday in Manhattan!

Apple Update!

Can't escape my need to communicate everything in written form.

This post is being penned in the Apple store on a Mac that apparently loves German. Currently it's telling me that every word in this sentence is misspelled. All well, gotta love free WiFi.

I was bummed I left my yoga pants in W. Laf, because I definitely could have joined in an outdoor yoga class at Bryant Park this morning...

Okay, now to Central Park and the Met, then I think, on my way back for dinner, I'm going to stop at St. Patrick's Cathedral for mass. I've never been to mass, and I think it's about time I went. Don't worry, I'm a fundamental evangelical to the very core of my soul.

It's so hot my make-up from Saks is melting!

P.S. I'm buying this MacBook Pro as soon as my current favorite, "Bob" dies. Don't tell Bob.

If I'm less chatty, don't take it personally...

**The Manhattan Chronicles**

Hello, all!

I am heading out for a brilliant day on the town. I will probably walk until I fall down from exhaustion.

I jotted down little notes in my "little black book" so I know exactly what's on the to-do list today! Unfortunately, I'm not like my gifted siblings, so I shall not return to you this evening with a crop of pictures perfectly capturing my day. But I do have my faithful pen and my tiny little book- so I'm sure you shall not escape the day's random observations.

Happy Tuesday!

I should probably buy a map...

The Haven of Renewed Purpose

**The Manhattan Chronicles**

After my interview and casual browsing around town which followed my interview- I spent the majority of my afternoon here



in the New York Public Library.

I think I could move to New York just for this building. It makes me happy...

I ate dinner at a little cafe/diner with bright orange tiles on its walls and a grumpy man behind its counter. I'm staying with one of my brother's college friends these two nights, which is wonderful, but due to an error with my phone, we spent two hours not communicating.

And I people watched. Observations from people watching:

Wedges and gladiator sandals are incredibly popular footwear.

When you put this many people together, you see more attractive men per minute than you do anywhere else.

There are quite a few New Yorkers who have none of their city's acclaimed fashion sense.

Dresses are in- in- IN! So cute.

No one looks very happy...

I was feeling rather demoralized after a hot, sticky afternoon- lonely in the big city and wondering if I was a crazy fool to leave the comfort (and cheapness) of the Midwest to forge my own little path in the big C of NY. But then I arrived here:



a tiny sanctuary, and I remembered why I wanted to move to Manhattan. Yes, it's big and bustling, and scary, and I'm horrible at trying new things all alone, but there are so many people here who are so sad, and hurting so much- I saw some of them at the rehab facility today, and even more as I mused at a coffee house window. And although all the glitz and glamour can be at once overwhelming and enticing- it's not everything there is. There are little cubbies of peace, like this one, into which I can retreat. Little pockets of comfort which can be home, and into which I can welcome other tired, demoralized people.

I like the city again- I think I shall venture out to procure some flip-flops, mace, and a "thank you" for my hostesses...

Interview and beyond.

**The Manhattan Chronicles**

Okay, so probably the best interview I've ever had! I don't think that's any credit to myself. It would actually take VERY little to surpass my horrible interview track record. Yuck. I stink at interviews.

But today I just "played a part." My character was focused, while still sweet, qualified, and perky. It made for a lovely interview. The real me should never go on interviews. The me who can act should always go.The head of pediatrics and the head of adult rehabilitation were both there. It was just over forty-five minutes long, and throughout the interview these ladies mentioned their love of Purdue and my "astounding credentials" probably about ten times. Amazing. (Even more amazing when you realize that my credentials aren't really that astounding...) Now all I can do is pray that I get this placement- apparently they've had more than their share of qualified applicants and it's going to be a tough call. Yikes. Pray-pray-pray!

In other news: NYC is blistering (yes, I can literally see the sidewalks bubbling) in sweltering humidity. I have probably sweat close to a gallon of water since my arrival. Yuck.

Ah... yes, my arrival.

After I landed I went to the bus terminal.

I missed the first bus because I was too shy to get on it (yes, I know I'm twenty-four years old). I missed the second bus because I didn't know that the bus driver only accepted change. Then I caught the third bus and spent the entire ride staring at a VERY attractive, yet slightly creepy man trying to decide if he was gay or an incredibly uninhibited metro. He caught me staring at him about twelve times over the course of a twenty minute bus ride, but I have a wonderful, Midwestern shamelessness, and I just kept on staring.

I got off the bus at the wrong stop and couldn't find my subway. (Remember, I'm in a suit, pulling luggage, and it's ninety degrees outside). I had gotten off in a rather seedy part of Harlem. Honest to God, I was the only white person for about five blocks. It was awesome, but I didn't get a chance to bust out my gansta-speak. So I'll have to go back there, fo' shizzle.

Lost, and in the middle of Harlem (at least I knew I was in Harlem!), I hailed a suspicious looking taxi (he had no formal taxi markings other than his license in the front windshield). Hopping in I glibly reeled off the address of Rusk Rehab, and then pretended, yes pretended, to talk on the phone the whole time so that he'd think I was a grown-up (in my world grown-ups are busy and always making phone calls). I was so paranoid of being carted off to some deep, dark alley and losing my darling little Coach wallet. Poor driver. He was just doing his job, and my over-active imagination turned him into a felon...

Now I'm sitting in the New York Public Library on Fifth Avenue. I'm finally regaining a stable core temperature (although my hair, even after 30 minutes, is still saturated with perspiration). In about an hour and a half I'll venture out for food and hydration before hiking to my resting place for the night- I'll probably be a horrible house guest for Elisha- I've been up since 3 and all I want to do is crawl into bed...

Photographic documentation of a bored college student on a tiny airplane...

Professional me, glibly drinking mediocre airline coffee as I jet-set across the country.




Totally goofy me imbibing too much caffeine on an empty stomach.



This is the way I felt all morning- CRAZY!!!

:)

Spread Your Wings and FLY!

**I will do my best to keep you, my wonderful reader, updated on my goings-on in Manhattan. I will actually write rather frequently given my solitary status and the wealth of adorable coffee shops to sit and ruminate in…**

As I write, the sun is seen only occasionally as we dip in and out of clouds. During take off, just as the sun was rising, it was like flying through golden gossamer. (ahhh… waxing eloquent.) All the lakes, dwindling to puddles, were screaming sunrise orange in my eyes. I want the color in a can- but unfortunately not even Behr can package that radiance.

“He makes the clouds his chariot and rides on the wings of the wind.” In Indiana we often see beauty, but not so often grandeur, and rising through mountainous clouds, my breath was stolen by the thought of how BIG my God is. “He covers the sky with clouds.”

In other (more frivolous) news: going to the airport now resembles checking into a concentration camp. Denuded of my shoes, jacket, purse, necklace, watch, and carryon, trudging slowly through the line, in the grumpy silence that non-morning people inflict, I couldn’t help but grimace. What idiot first decided that smuggling weapons in stilettos and jewelry would be a good idea?

Oh, and apparently my Mac Book, “Bob,” looks like a terrorist threat.

Adventure for one, please

Crack-o-dawn early on Monday morning, I shall be flying to my delightful "dream city." The reason for this expensive, incredibly terrifying journey is the interview of my dreams. Allow me to explain...

In my graduate speech/language pathology program at Purdue University, that delightful institution puts us through the paces for exactly four and a half semesters. Midway through that fifth semester, we are cast into the world to sink or swim. I am completing eight weeks of an "externship" at a school (probably in Zionsville) and another 8-12 weeks at a hospital or medical setting.

Our educational placement is determined for us. I have no control over where I am placed, but the medical placement is another story. We are required to find our own medical placements. Most of my colleagues have already done so. But most of my colleagues aren't gluttons for punishment, as I appear to be.

The creme de la creme of medical placements is located in Manhattan. Rusk Institute of Rehabilitation Medicine is one of the nation's most pretigious rehabilitation facilities. My application for an interview was more work than my application for graduate school.

But I got an interview.

Monday, at one p.m.

My parents, perfect paragons of generosity, have bought me a suit, and a plane ticket (I provided my own support-top pantyhose and stunning accessories), and sent me into the wilds of Manhattan to see if the prior five years of effort have all been for naught. I have no back-up plan.

I AM SCARED OUT OF MY MIND.

I'm not used to forging my own trail, going out on my own. I always order the same thing at restaurants. I call my Bunny five times to make sure the shade of red I chose for a nail polish is okay. I text my mom seven times when picking out a necklace to wear with my new top. Every vacation I take- I take with family members. You know how girls always go in groups to the restroom? I invented that. I need constant affirmation, companionship, and validation. I can do new things- when surrounded by a comfortable bubble, but I am so incredibly afraid of doing new things by myself. I am not a good trail-blazer.

And on Monday, I have to do that.

Prayers appreciated.

Okay. **deep breath** Here it goes.

NOW I have an interview in NYC: August 17th at 1 p.m. **fingers crossed!**

Today I ate so much watermelon that my fingers turned raisin-y.

I spent eleven hours on campus writing and attending final meetings.





Oh, and I just finished my first year of graduate school.



WHOO-HOO!!!!

This morning my coffee is so strong it could kick you in the teeth. And that's good.

Because if it weren't, I might kick you in the teeth.


*love-love!*

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.