In honor of Lydia- here are my 25 odds ‘n’ ends!
It was kind of hard to narrow down the list…
1. My mom has a nickname for me (complete with a song and a special rocking hug). She uses it whenever I really, really need my “mommy,” (not just my “mom”).
2. I have a hidden love of musicals and black and white movies. Really classic ones. Think: “Seven Brides for Seven Brothers,” “The Music Man,” “Sound of Music,” “Mary Poppins,” "Casablanca," all the Fred Astaire, Ginger Rogers movies, Cary Grant, Audrey Hepburn, etc. (And I sing along with them…)
3. I like puppets. Most especially finger puppets, but not the weird creepy ones with huge mouths. Yuck.
4. I lose my keys (and phone) every morning. Literally, every morning. And I run around my condo yelling, “Where are my keys! Where are my keys!”
5. I made my first excel spreadsheet when I was seven (to keep track of my “schedule.”)
6. I love black and white photography, and really vividly colored photography. Bi-polar preferences! ☺
7. I like to color.
8. Planning therapy activities is so much fun! I actually LOVE doing it.
9. I have a friend (perhaps my “best” who I never see any more!) whose name is “Bunny.” And mine is “Wormy.” Clearly she got the better end of THAT deal.
10. I used to have a collection of paper dolls. My mom threw them away when I was 19 because I was “too old and hadn’t played with them in forever.” I cried. She was right.
11. My dad and I have “dates.” We’ve had them since I was six. I’m a daddy’s girl through and through. He can do no wrong in my eyes.
12. I like pickles. And banana peppers. And sometimes, when I have a sodium low, I like to take sips of their juices. It’s amazing.
13. I like crooners: Frank Sinatra, Bing Crosby, etc. Michael Buble is all right, but he’s kind of a copy cat.
14. I like writing with Sharpies.
15. I miss my roommate from last year- she’s amazing. My “Chin.”
16. Speaking of my old roommage, we used to do our nails and watch “The Real Housewives of Orange County” every Thursday night. Amazing.
17. I color-code all my planners.
18. I like plum. But not purple.
19. I want to paint a wall midnight blue.
20. When I have kids, they’re going to have a wall in their playroom painted with chalkboard paint. And we can write their schedules and goals on it! ;)
21. I met my “beau” in sixth grade. And clearly something good happened between now and then. (We all know what we were like in sixth grade…)
22. And I’m crazy about my amazing man. (That’s not really something “new” to those who know me…) He’s incredible.
23. I love crazy high heels. Literally- CRAZY. I like animal prints, stiletto heels, gold, silver, etc. I just don’t like ones with fake jewels on them. Person preference.
24. My greatest fear is that someone I love is going to die. I have very vivid nightmares, and since I was 9 I’ve waved goodbye to my parents and family members, blowing kisses as they pull out of the driveway, so they know, no matter what happens, that I love them and am praying that they come back.
25. I want a little tiny dog (think Yorkshire Terrier) and a big huge dog (mastiff). They belong in my remodeled, historical home with wood floors and my husband’s amazing library with built-in book shelves and massive fireplace. But they’ll probably have to stay mainly in my granite counter-topped kitchen (with the two ovens). (Shoot, we could have a whole post on my future home…)
Friday, January 30, 2009
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
On days like these...
On days like these, when I'm exhausted. When I'm starting to feel sick again. When I didn't have time to read my Bible in the morning because I hit the snooze. When I don't understand a single thing that my professors or supervisors say. When I have a paper, homework, and case review to complete after getting home from work at 9. When I don't know how I'm going to get up and do all I need to tomorrow.
When that happens...
The song "How Great is Our God" plays on the radio. I get 8 texts in the morning to keep me smiling. My notes are printed off quickly in the computer lab. I get to talk to my boyfriend on my drive back across town. My mom leaves me a message telling me that she loves me.
And that's when I know...
The LORD your God is with you, he is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you, he will quiet you with his love, he will rejoice over you with singing.(Zephaniah 3:17)
When that happens...
The song "How Great is Our God" plays on the radio. I get 8 texts in the morning to keep me smiling. My notes are printed off quickly in the computer lab. I get to talk to my boyfriend on my drive back across town. My mom leaves me a message telling me that she loves me.
And that's when I know...
The LORD your God is with you, he is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you, he will quiet you with his love, he will rejoice over you with singing.(Zephaniah 3:17)
Monday, January 26, 2009
Multiple Me
Often I doodle in my notes. Bored-Me likes doodling. And then OCD-Me kicks in and gets all mad at Bored-Me for making the notes look messy. Then Rebel-Me derides OCD-Me for being perfectionistic. Clearly, I need to cut down on my personalities.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Pride Goeth....
As a speech pathology graduate student, I am required to complete a variety of clinical rotations in order to fulfill the requirements of my program. These are some of my favorite "classes."
This semester I was placed at Clarian Arnett (yes! The brand new hospital!) where I do feeding, swallowing, and NICU assessments. I've never had any classes in these subjects and was one of four 1st years students placed in this location. (It's kind of like expecting a baby to grocery shop- I am so clueless I don't even know what I'm clueless about.)
Any way, my first day was Tuesday. It went well. I wore a lab coat. I carried a clip board. Some patient likened us speech therapy students to Dr. House's entourage. (In a hospital, if you wear a white coat- you're a doctor. I can deal with that.)
I answered questions correctly. I wore heals for 5 hours without pain. I looked like I knew what was going on. I looked good.
Promptly at 12:50, full of confidence, poise and certainty, I exited the elevator to return to my car. Trying to look brisk and professional, while at the same time cute (and flattering myself that I succeeded in my goal) I started briskly up the curving staircase in the main atrium. There are probably a hundred plus people eating their lunch. A hundred plus people to see my demise.
Halfway up the stairway, my heel slid one direction, my ankle went the opposite. Trying to stabilize myself, I flailed my arms, lab coat waving. It did no good. My knee gave out, my clip board came clattering the the ground, and I fell into a partial crawl position. (Envision caveman posture.) Scrambling, trying to right myself, my foot fell down a step and the other one shot out to the right. (Envision splayed, human kite.) Grappling for my clip board and self-respect, I bashed my knee, grabbed the clipboard, slipped a couple more steps.
Then stood up.
Calmly brushed myself off, and proceeded up the rest of the stairs, convinced that all one hundred plus people sitting below had witnessed my rather loud, hilarious, and humiliating scramble for control on the stairs.
Next time I'm suffering from an inflated ego, I'm not going to climb stairs.
This bruise on my knee is very purple...
This semester I was placed at Clarian Arnett (yes! The brand new hospital!) where I do feeding, swallowing, and NICU assessments. I've never had any classes in these subjects and was one of four 1st years students placed in this location. (It's kind of like expecting a baby to grocery shop- I am so clueless I don't even know what I'm clueless about.)
Any way, my first day was Tuesday. It went well. I wore a lab coat. I carried a clip board. Some patient likened us speech therapy students to Dr. House's entourage. (In a hospital, if you wear a white coat- you're a doctor. I can deal with that.)
I answered questions correctly. I wore heals for 5 hours without pain. I looked like I knew what was going on. I looked good.
Promptly at 12:50, full of confidence, poise and certainty, I exited the elevator to return to my car. Trying to look brisk and professional, while at the same time cute (and flattering myself that I succeeded in my goal) I started briskly up the curving staircase in the main atrium. There are probably a hundred plus people eating their lunch. A hundred plus people to see my demise.
Halfway up the stairway, my heel slid one direction, my ankle went the opposite. Trying to stabilize myself, I flailed my arms, lab coat waving. It did no good. My knee gave out, my clip board came clattering the the ground, and I fell into a partial crawl position. (Envision caveman posture.) Scrambling, trying to right myself, my foot fell down a step and the other one shot out to the right. (Envision splayed, human kite.) Grappling for my clip board and self-respect, I bashed my knee, grabbed the clipboard, slipped a couple more steps.
Then stood up.
Calmly brushed myself off, and proceeded up the rest of the stairs, convinced that all one hundred plus people sitting below had witnessed my rather loud, hilarious, and humiliating scramble for control on the stairs.
Next time I'm suffering from an inflated ego, I'm not going to climb stairs.
This bruise on my knee is very purple...
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Home for the Holidays
This morning I was awakened by Julie singing "blue, pink, white, green" as she twirled in circles in her bed- turning the colors that she sees as she spins into a morning cantata.
Downstairs there was a loud thud, a yelp, and Trevor screeching, "Tell Alex to get off me! Mom! ALEX! Nooooo!!"
"Erika, did you ask to use my green scarf?"
"No, but did you ask to wear my purple sweater?"
Water gurgles through the pipes in my bedroom wall, and someone in the shower yelps and yells, "Don't flush the toilet! I'm freezing!"
The presents are opened, the cookies are done, and our Christmas bonding has just begun...
Downstairs there was a loud thud, a yelp, and Trevor screeching, "Tell Alex to get off me! Mom! ALEX! Nooooo!!"
"Erika, did you ask to use my green scarf?"
"No, but did you ask to wear my purple sweater?"
Water gurgles through the pipes in my bedroom wall, and someone in the shower yelps and yells, "Don't flush the toilet! I'm freezing!"
The presents are opened, the cookies are done, and our Christmas bonding has just begun...
Friday, December 26, 2008
Merry Christmas
Dusk is a time that often goes unnoticed. Wednesday was no exception for me. Reading in the back seat, driving from one family to another, I had no reason to look up, out the window, other than the fact that the words on the page became increasingly dim. Though the fading light seemed only a subtle reminder of the passing time, my casual observation turned to wonder as I watched the sun sink in a bevy of golds, orange, and purple, deepening until the sky stood in velvety softness overhead, punctured by the hard glitter of December stars. And as I saw the canvas of the heavens change before my eyes, and as the subtle alterations smoothed day and night together, I could not help but gasp in awe at the powerful gentleness of my God. The care with which such a gorgeous transformation was brought about could not be performed by man were there a hundred men devoted for a hundred years to that one slip of the sun into night. And Jehovah had not even to say a word...
That God. That Creator. He came here. For nine months he grew as any baby grows within its mother. He was born. He was hungry as any baby is hungry. He walked. He fell. He learned. He laughed. He cried. As any baby. Just any baby.
But He was the God who commands the heavens.
And He did not stay a baby.
God is good.
Therefore the Lord himself shall give you a sign; Behold, a virgin shall conceive, and bear a son, and shall call his name Immanuel. (Isa. 7:14)
Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men. (Luke 2:14)
Therefore being justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ. (Rom. 5:1)
Merry Christmas...
That God. That Creator. He came here. For nine months he grew as any baby grows within its mother. He was born. He was hungry as any baby is hungry. He walked. He fell. He learned. He laughed. He cried. As any baby. Just any baby.
But He was the God who commands the heavens.
And He did not stay a baby.
God is good.
Therefore the Lord himself shall give you a sign; Behold, a virgin shall conceive, and bear a son, and shall call his name Immanuel. (Isa. 7:14)
Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men. (Luke 2:14)
Therefore being justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ. (Rom. 5:1)
Merry Christmas...
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Smitten in Finals
So, I'm in the library. (Yay, open 24 hours!) And I'm trying to be good, really I am. I'm going over the sentence production disorders again and trying to remember why I care that aphasic patients usually fail in the closed-class vocabulary recall, while at the same time showing varying degrees and forms of agrammatism, but it's really hard to focus with these people next to me.
They're sitting just in my peripheral vision. It's hard to ignore them...
The guy is clearly an engineer- he has a massive structures' book sitting open and useless in front of him. I haven't seen him look at his open binder of notes or this book once in the entire 3 hours he's been here, regardless of the fact that he supposedly has a final tomorrow.
The reason for this neglect is sitting right across the table from him.
She's obviously a liberal-artsy type. She has no books with her, except for a big one of colored art prints. She's talked about her studio classes and "horribly picky art-history prof" several times (ear-buds do not block out all conversation). She has failed to open her book (but let's face it, she probably doesn't need to...). (Side note: she talks about Harry Potter shamelessly. Are the children who were raised on this epic already coming to college? They're babies! What are they doing out of Jr. High? Shoot. She WAS in Jr. High when those books were released, actually, probably grade school. I feel old...)
Instead of studying, they're wrapped in deep conversation concerning high school hilarity, Christmas traditions, and the injustice of various professors. (Like either one really cares about the other's academic interests...)
As I plow fruitlessly though another pile of notes, I want to lean over and say,
"Honey, let him study or else you're not going to want to date him and his unemployable GPA."
And please stop talking so that the elusive bullet points of agrammatism will solidify in my recalcitrant memory...
They're sitting just in my peripheral vision. It's hard to ignore them...
The guy is clearly an engineer- he has a massive structures' book sitting open and useless in front of him. I haven't seen him look at his open binder of notes or this book once in the entire 3 hours he's been here, regardless of the fact that he supposedly has a final tomorrow.
The reason for this neglect is sitting right across the table from him.
She's obviously a liberal-artsy type. She has no books with her, except for a big one of colored art prints. She's talked about her studio classes and "horribly picky art-history prof" several times (ear-buds do not block out all conversation). She has failed to open her book (but let's face it, she probably doesn't need to...). (Side note: she talks about Harry Potter shamelessly. Are the children who were raised on this epic already coming to college? They're babies! What are they doing out of Jr. High? Shoot. She WAS in Jr. High when those books were released, actually, probably grade school. I feel old...)
Instead of studying, they're wrapped in deep conversation concerning high school hilarity, Christmas traditions, and the injustice of various professors. (Like either one really cares about the other's academic interests...)
As I plow fruitlessly though another pile of notes, I want to lean over and say,
"Honey, let him study or else you're not going to want to date him and his unemployable GPA."
And please stop talking so that the elusive bullet points of agrammatism will solidify in my recalcitrant memory...
Monday, December 15, 2008
Because...
Because he liked me when I had big bangs and a Goodwill wardrobe.
Because when I get angry, he tries not to laugh.
Because he wears the sweater and sports coat he knows that I like.
Because he cut his hair the way I like.
Because when people tell him that he's "whipped"- he shrugs and smiles.
Because he snorts when he laughs, just like me.
Because when I whine or complain, he gently points it out.
Because he can argue the difference between "justified" and "merited," but doesn't.
Because he'll fight with me about the little things (like a game of "pididdle"), but not about the big things.
Because he teaches in Wednesday Night kids of Faith and gets up at 7 a.m. to serve at church.
Because he loves logic, yet lets me be illogical.
Because he knows that he's a depraved sinner. And that I am too. And he still likes me.
Because he serves me HUGE bowls of Mackinac fudge ice cream.
And because after ten years of liking me, he's now my boyfriend. And he doesn't regret it, despite all the opportunities I give him to do so.
(Please pardon my infatuation...)
:)
Because when I get angry, he tries not to laugh.
Because he wears the sweater and sports coat he knows that I like.
Because he cut his hair the way I like.
Because when people tell him that he's "whipped"- he shrugs and smiles.
Because he snorts when he laughs, just like me.
Because when I whine or complain, he gently points it out.
Because he can argue the difference between "justified" and "merited," but doesn't.
Because he'll fight with me about the little things (like a game of "pididdle"), but not about the big things.
Because he teaches in Wednesday Night kids of Faith and gets up at 7 a.m. to serve at church.
Because he loves logic, yet lets me be illogical.
Because he knows that he's a depraved sinner. And that I am too. And he still likes me.
Because he serves me HUGE bowls of Mackinac fudge ice cream.
And because after ten years of liking me, he's now my boyfriend. And he doesn't regret it, despite all the opportunities I give him to do so.
(Please pardon my infatuation...)
:)
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Mini-Rant (which will be much larger the day grades come out)
So.
Purdue changed their grading scale.
While previously, 90-100% was an A (and anything in that range qualified you for a 4.0), they have revised it, making their system more sensitive. NOW only a 97% and above will qualify you for a 4.0. It is entirely possible, given the new grading schema, to graduate with straight A's and have a 3.7 show up on your transcript.
Forgive me if I sound like a whiney over-achiever, but speaking as someone who relies on the "90% is an A!" rule, I am very, very sad.
What brought this on?
Calculating my grade in one of my higher classes. I don't have an A+.
And I'm ticked.
And robbed of ever achieving a 4.0 in graduate school. (Because, seriously, who gets a 97% or greater in EVERY class? Or rather- who enjoys their existence while getting a 97% in every class?)
So much sadness...
Stupid sensitive scale.
Purdue changed their grading scale.
While previously, 90-100% was an A (and anything in that range qualified you for a 4.0), they have revised it, making their system more sensitive. NOW only a 97% and above will qualify you for a 4.0. It is entirely possible, given the new grading schema, to graduate with straight A's and have a 3.7 show up on your transcript.
Forgive me if I sound like a whiney over-achiever, but speaking as someone who relies on the "90% is an A!" rule, I am very, very sad.
What brought this on?
Calculating my grade in one of my higher classes. I don't have an A+.
And I'm ticked.
And robbed of ever achieving a 4.0 in graduate school. (Because, seriously, who gets a 97% or greater in EVERY class? Or rather- who enjoys their existence while getting a 97% in every class?)
So much sadness...
Stupid sensitive scale.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Do you ever develop nebulous cravings? You're hungry, and you want a specific food item to satiate that hunger. But you can't put your finger on what that item may be? Mentally you run through all your favorite foods: "nachos... nope. chocolate... nope. chili... nope. double cheeseburger... nope. greek salad... nope." Hoping that while you're perusing your mental list, you'll stumble over that one thing which would satisfy your unnamed craving. (Okay, so maybe no one else does this and I just have issues. Surprise, surprise.)
In short, I've been having that "nebulous craving" in my writing. There is something- something that I need to say, need to write, need to express, that I'm unable to pin-point and transcribe. It's like an itch in the middle of your back- you just can't reach it.
Today, thanks to an honest friend, I discovered what it is I am to write. Humor me.
During this past semester, as readers may know, I have experienced what can only be described as a "trial by fire." (a.k.a. "graduate school") During this period, I allowed my self-sufficiency to dictate my chances of success and my daily pursuit of that success. Consequently, God in all his love and justice, allowed me to stumble, and fall with such frequency that (looking back) I appeared to be down more than I was up.
I've always thought of myself as an incredibly cheerful, bubbly person. That is probably because I've always had an easy, sunny life. It is very easy to be happy and content when there is nothing wrong in your existence. Oh sure, there were little bumps and trials, but nothing dark and eclipsing. Until this semester...
Everything was shot down- academics, health, success, money, control, men's approbation. Blips in one or two of these areas had come before. But never all at once. And this semester, for the first time, I experienced what could only be described as depression. I was crippled in a black cloud of failure, and I didn't want to move. Every day, I cried or burst into fits of anger at my helplessness. I lost my appetite, lost my desire to excel, lost my desire to work, lost my desire to do laundry and clean (poor roomie!).
But God taught me his sufficiency.
And although I raged at Him ("Why are you teaching me this lesson!?! It's stupid! I'm never going to learn it perfectly- not in my entire life. So why are you even trying? You're cruel!") He continued to teach.
And now, as I'm standing at another moment of indecision and uncertainty. (Nothing in my life is very certain as of yet... I have no idea where I will be in 14 months, or what I'll do within those 14 months.) I see, in a small, glimmer of a way, why He was so persistent. I may never perfectly learn the lesson of the sufficiency of my God. I may never lean with total and complete confidence on His plan and His will.
But I will lean a little more.
And with a little more leaning, comes a little more peace. And with a little more peace, comes a little more trust. And with a little more trust, comes a little more leaning. So that in future times of uncertainty (oh wait, that's what life is...), I will trust my Father.
Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything. (James 1:2,3)
In short, I've been having that "nebulous craving" in my writing. There is something- something that I need to say, need to write, need to express, that I'm unable to pin-point and transcribe. It's like an itch in the middle of your back- you just can't reach it.
Today, thanks to an honest friend, I discovered what it is I am to write. Humor me.
During this past semester, as readers may know, I have experienced what can only be described as a "trial by fire." (a.k.a. "graduate school") During this period, I allowed my self-sufficiency to dictate my chances of success and my daily pursuit of that success. Consequently, God in all his love and justice, allowed me to stumble, and fall with such frequency that (looking back) I appeared to be down more than I was up.
I've always thought of myself as an incredibly cheerful, bubbly person. That is probably because I've always had an easy, sunny life. It is very easy to be happy and content when there is nothing wrong in your existence. Oh sure, there were little bumps and trials, but nothing dark and eclipsing. Until this semester...
Everything was shot down- academics, health, success, money, control, men's approbation. Blips in one or two of these areas had come before. But never all at once. And this semester, for the first time, I experienced what could only be described as depression. I was crippled in a black cloud of failure, and I didn't want to move. Every day, I cried or burst into fits of anger at my helplessness. I lost my appetite, lost my desire to excel, lost my desire to work, lost my desire to do laundry and clean (poor roomie!).
But God taught me his sufficiency.
And although I raged at Him ("Why are you teaching me this lesson!?! It's stupid! I'm never going to learn it perfectly- not in my entire life. So why are you even trying? You're cruel!") He continued to teach.
And now, as I'm standing at another moment of indecision and uncertainty. (Nothing in my life is very certain as of yet... I have no idea where I will be in 14 months, or what I'll do within those 14 months.) I see, in a small, glimmer of a way, why He was so persistent. I may never perfectly learn the lesson of the sufficiency of my God. I may never lean with total and complete confidence on His plan and His will.
But I will lean a little more.
And with a little more leaning, comes a little more peace. And with a little more peace, comes a little more trust. And with a little more trust, comes a little more leaning. So that in future times of uncertainty (oh wait, that's what life is...), I will trust my Father.
Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything. (James 1:2,3)
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Monday, December 1, 2008
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Pine needles, golden flickers, fuzzy warmth...
Stretching out her legs was impossible. The flannel pj's with their footies were too small. Mom was always worried about cold feet. What, she wondered, would happen if her feet got cold? She wiggled underneath the sleeping bag. Bax had taken the couch. She had argued the point that she was a girl, and thus should have the couch, but such arguments rarely worked with her younger brother.
One strand of lights on the Christmas tree had a missing bulb, and the top third of the tree blinked erratically as a result. The golden light flickered like fire on the fireplace doors. She twitched again. And again. She scrunched her eyes closed and then flicked them open again. Nope. Stockings were still empty. Of course. Dad wasn't that fast.
She wiggled closer to the tree. Why did they call it "sleeping under the tree"? They weren't really under it. They were next to it. It would be more fun to lay under it, looking up through the branches, but Mom had protested when she had tried to squeeze under. She wiggled her nose. The yeasty smell of cinnamon rolls came from the kitchen. Christmas should come more than once a year.
She sat bolt upright at the first dong of the clock. Bother. Only 3 a.m. It was going to be many more hours before anyone else got up. 5 a.m. was probably a good time. People on farms got up at that time every morning. And people on farms didn't even have presents waiting, at least not most days. Another twitch. What time was it now?
3:02. She exhaled noisily. Maybe Bax would hear and wake up to share in her agony.
Nope. Not a move.
She lay back down. Turned to her other side and tried to fall asleep. The end of her sleeping bag crackled on wrapping paper, and she wiggled away from the tree. Christmas Eve was the longest night...
Ticking clock, cinnamon, Christmas 1992...
Stretching out her legs was impossible. The flannel pj's with their footies were too small. Mom was always worried about cold feet. What, she wondered, would happen if her feet got cold? She wiggled underneath the sleeping bag. Bax had taken the couch. She had argued the point that she was a girl, and thus should have the couch, but such arguments rarely worked with her younger brother.
One strand of lights on the Christmas tree had a missing bulb, and the top third of the tree blinked erratically as a result. The golden light flickered like fire on the fireplace doors. She twitched again. And again. She scrunched her eyes closed and then flicked them open again. Nope. Stockings were still empty. Of course. Dad wasn't that fast.
She wiggled closer to the tree. Why did they call it "sleeping under the tree"? They weren't really under it. They were next to it. It would be more fun to lay under it, looking up through the branches, but Mom had protested when she had tried to squeeze under. She wiggled her nose. The yeasty smell of cinnamon rolls came from the kitchen. Christmas should come more than once a year.
She sat bolt upright at the first dong of the clock. Bother. Only 3 a.m. It was going to be many more hours before anyone else got up. 5 a.m. was probably a good time. People on farms got up at that time every morning. And people on farms didn't even have presents waiting, at least not most days. Another twitch. What time was it now?
3:02. She exhaled noisily. Maybe Bax would hear and wake up to share in her agony.
Nope. Not a move.
She lay back down. Turned to her other side and tried to fall asleep. The end of her sleeping bag crackled on wrapping paper, and she wiggled away from the tree. Christmas Eve was the longest night...
Ticking clock, cinnamon, Christmas 1992...
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Tonight, as always, Julie-Bop had commandeered my jewelry, in particular, my silver necklace. She was playing with it, abusing it, pulling at it, when all of a sudden the clasp broke and the necklace fell off. Scooping it up, she threw it into my lap and then turned away, eyes innocently cast upward in a "how on earth did that happen?" face.
"Julie." I said soberly. "What happened?"
"Oops."
"Yes, it is an 'oops.' What happened to my necklace?"
"B'oken."
"Yes, it's broken. The poor necklace."
At this point a look of great remorse and pity comes over her face. She leans over the broken necklace and pets it saying "awww."
Yes, some children mourn the death of a pet. My little sis mourns the death of jewelry.
What on earth would we do with out our Bops?
We'd probably have a lot less fun...
And if there were no us, parenting would probably be easier for Dad and Mom...
Such good examples.
"Julie." I said soberly. "What happened?"
"Oops."
"Yes, it is an 'oops.' What happened to my necklace?"
"B'oken."
"Yes, it's broken. The poor necklace."
At this point a look of great remorse and pity comes over her face. She leans over the broken necklace and pets it saying "awww."
Yes, some children mourn the death of a pet. My little sis mourns the death of jewelry.
What on earth would we do with out our Bops?
We'd probably have a lot less fun...
And if there were no us, parenting would probably be easier for Dad and Mom...
Such good examples.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
6 a.m. lesson
God, in all of his wisdom, power and love (yes, His love must be somewhere in this) is letting me fail.
Every vestige of competence that I ever thought I had, or laid claim to, is slowly, painfully, but steadily being stripped away. The things that I gloried in, the levels of competence that I achieved, the security I had amassed- it's all being removed, one layer of complacent pride at a time.
The day I thought I was an amazing student- God obliterated hopes of an A with a solid D. When I wrestled for approbation in my clinical competence, I was verbally derided as having failed. I thought my joy and happiness were unquenchable- until I went through the longest period of depression I have ever known. Turning in papers that I had written (and I love writing, I can do writing) only to have them given back with a C average. And it goes on.
And after I'm sobbing, after I'm angry, after I climb out of the hopeless abyss of failure (again), I wipe the tears from my eyes, pick up whatever I just threw across the room, straighten whatever I just crumpled in my arms, and remember... "not that we are competent in ourselves to claim anything for ourselves, but our competence comes from God." And as I turn, devoid of one more crutch, one more layer of complacency and pride, I hear, "Who has measured the waters in the hollow of his hand, or with the breadth of his hand marked off the heavens? Who has held the dust of the earth in a basket, or weighed the mountains on the scales and the hills in a balance?" And my anger at a great God sobers me.
Yet despite that greatness..."He tends his flock like a shepherd: He gathers the lambs in his arms and carries them close to his heart." Even though the end goal of this life is not my happiness, not my joy, not my glory, not my success. The end goal of this life is "not [that we] preach ourselves, but Jesus Christ as Lord." And that "We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body. For we who are alive are always being given over to death for Jesus' sake, so that his life may be revealed in our mortal body."
But that's very hard to remember at 6 a.m. when you see your grade...
Every vestige of competence that I ever thought I had, or laid claim to, is slowly, painfully, but steadily being stripped away. The things that I gloried in, the levels of competence that I achieved, the security I had amassed- it's all being removed, one layer of complacent pride at a time.
The day I thought I was an amazing student- God obliterated hopes of an A with a solid D. When I wrestled for approbation in my clinical competence, I was verbally derided as having failed. I thought my joy and happiness were unquenchable- until I went through the longest period of depression I have ever known. Turning in papers that I had written (and I love writing, I can do writing) only to have them given back with a C average. And it goes on.
And after I'm sobbing, after I'm angry, after I climb out of the hopeless abyss of failure (again), I wipe the tears from my eyes, pick up whatever I just threw across the room, straighten whatever I just crumpled in my arms, and remember... "not that we are competent in ourselves to claim anything for ourselves, but our competence comes from God." And as I turn, devoid of one more crutch, one more layer of complacency and pride, I hear, "Who has measured the waters in the hollow of his hand, or with the breadth of his hand marked off the heavens? Who has held the dust of the earth in a basket, or weighed the mountains on the scales and the hills in a balance?" And my anger at a great God sobers me.
Yet despite that greatness..."He tends his flock like a shepherd: He gathers the lambs in his arms and carries them close to his heart." Even though the end goal of this life is not my happiness, not my joy, not my glory, not my success. The end goal of this life is "not [that we] preach ourselves, but Jesus Christ as Lord." And that "We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body. For we who are alive are always being given over to death for Jesus' sake, so that his life may be revealed in our mortal body."
But that's very hard to remember at 6 a.m. when you see your grade...
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Starbuck's Greatness
Today, while waiting in line for my Wild Sweet Orange herbal tea, I happened to glance around me.
In front of me were five Asian men.
Behind me were three more.
Just me and a bunch of Asian guys in line for expensive beverages.
I now know who Starbuck's is marketing to- culturally dependent girls, and rich Asians.
In front of me were five Asian men.
Behind me were three more.
Just me and a bunch of Asian guys in line for expensive beverages.
I now know who Starbuck's is marketing to- culturally dependent girls, and rich Asians.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Foolish wishing...
There are days when discontent creeps in, like a skulking fog, begging me to want more, to cry over spilled milk, to pout like a spoiled child over my current position. And on those days, in the thick, gray dampness, time seems to stand still. It's not (as it has been before) an obliterating depression, and it's not a sensation of acute misery. It is, instead, a steady, persistent wish for another time in my life. A time that has not yet happened.
And the blatant frivolity and thanklessness of my desires accosts me. Here I am, granted but one life with which to serve, one life with which to glorify my Father, and I, instead of pursuing with passion the time in which I live, look forward (and occasionally backward) to another point in time.
Today is beautiful. Today is glorious. Today is the day "that the Lord has made" (despite the cliche that children's songs have made that statement). And today I am thankful... thankful for a couch and a shoulder, thankful for a hug from my mother, thankful for a hot breakfast, thankful for rest, thankful...
And by being thankful, I have become oh-so very content...
That being said, Emily Dickinson and I are pretty much on the same page... **grin**
IF you were coming in the fall,
I ’d brush the summer by
With half a smile and half a spurn,
As housewives do a fly.
If I could see you in a year,
I ’d wind the months in balls,
And put them each in separate drawers,
Until their time befalls.
If only centuries delayed,
I ’d count them on my hand,
Subtracting till my fingers dropped
Into Van Diemen’s land.
If certain, when this life was out,
That yours and mine should be,
I ’d toss it yonder like a rind,
And taste eternity.
But now, all ignorant of the length
Of time’s uncertain wing,
It goads me, like the goblin bee,
That will not state its sting.
And the blatant frivolity and thanklessness of my desires accosts me. Here I am, granted but one life with which to serve, one life with which to glorify my Father, and I, instead of pursuing with passion the time in which I live, look forward (and occasionally backward) to another point in time.
Today is beautiful. Today is glorious. Today is the day "that the Lord has made" (despite the cliche that children's songs have made that statement). And today I am thankful... thankful for a couch and a shoulder, thankful for a hug from my mother, thankful for a hot breakfast, thankful for rest, thankful...
And by being thankful, I have become oh-so very content...
That being said, Emily Dickinson and I are pretty much on the same page... **grin**
IF you were coming in the fall,
I ’d brush the summer by
With half a smile and half a spurn,
As housewives do a fly.
If I could see you in a year,
I ’d wind the months in balls,
And put them each in separate drawers,
Until their time befalls.
If only centuries delayed,
I ’d count them on my hand,
Subtracting till my fingers dropped
Into Van Diemen’s land.
If certain, when this life was out,
That yours and mine should be,
I ’d toss it yonder like a rind,
And taste eternity.
But now, all ignorant of the length
Of time’s uncertain wing,
It goads me, like the goblin bee,
That will not state its sting.
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