Happy Birthday, Jesus

Since the twins were born, we started making a birthday cake for Jesus on Christmas. According to my grandmother, it's a German tradition. Having little to no background in German Christmas traditions, I'll have to take her word on that. The cake was red with a single white candle in the middle. The red represented Jesus' sacrifice while the candle represented his "light of the world" status. My cousin Sam said the cake should have been white because Jesus didn't die until Easter, but I wasn't about to argue theology with a 6-year-old.

"Christmas" is now over. It's funny how fast it ends. I was barely awake this morning before breakfast was eaten and the presents were unwrapped. Somehow I'm not sad about that. Christmas doesn't hold much magic to me anymore.

But there is something I've been anticipating for the last few weeks: a trip to Florida with the Fieldhouses. In a few minutes, I'll be delivered from Eville. I'll meet up with Kimbra and the fam somewhere near Louisville and continue on to Naples for a week of relaxation. So excited.

Of course, there's much more to look forward to after Florida. January 14, for example. That's where the magic is for me right now.

This is my island in the sun

It's over 50 degrees outside. On this day last year I was wading through waist-deep snow. What a difference a year can make...

So, I'm thinking of throwing on my bikini and laying out in my backyard so I can get a base tan for FLORIDA!!! I leave Christmas Day. Talk about a holiday miracle. But there's no time for sun right now. My dad will be here in an hour to wisk my brother and I off to Mt. Vernon for Christmas with he and the steps. That and I have a mortal fear of hypothermia.

Le ho ma

I smell like I just came out of a Chinese restaurant, which is quite odd because I didn't. Mystery.

"Leave the world behind me..."

“Free, I don't wanna be stuck in the city
With the cars and people downtown,
Waiting in a line,
Wishing I was far away
Where no one knows my name or my address,
It's a place I've never been
When it gets too familiar I'll be gone.

--“Airstream” by Fastball

What is it about Eville that repels me? Sometimes I enjoy the familiarity of it all, but after a few hours I’m ready to get back on the road. Perhaps it’s because my heart isn’t here. Who knows?

Right now, I’m ready to move out. Granted, I don’t live here in the first place, but I guess all I’m saying is I’m ready to officially start my life elsewhere. I’m standing on the edge, I’m ready to take the plunge, but time hasn’t caught up with me yet. I feel like it should be Dec. 25, or better yet, Jan. 14. It’s not, though. I must be patient and stop living in the future.

Those days will come and go eventually. Am I squandering my time in the present? Even if I am not entirely content with where I am, I should heed Incubus’ Warning to not “ever let life pass [me] by.” This may be the last time I’m in Evansville for more than a weekend. What shall I do with this time?

The freedom of space

“At that moment there was very little I knew of myself or of the world—I had but one sentence on my mind—always the same: ‘I called to the Lord from my narrow prison and He answered me in the freedom of space.’

“How long I knelt there and repeated this sentence memory can no longer recall. But I know that on that day, in that hour, my new life started. Step for step I progressed, until I again became a human being.”

--Viktor Frankl
Man’s Search for Meaning

When one is in the midst of captivity (whether real or imagined, self-imposed or other-imposed) hope seems but a dream that dissipates too quickly with the coming of the dawn. Very little in the way of encouragement penetrates the confining walls; it’s only when escape has been successful that one can truly see the light.

It took several days for Viktor Frankl to accept the reality of his freedom after his release from internment in the concentration camps. His above mantra did not originate on the grounds of experience but rather, when repeated, it created a reality unto itself. He stepped out in blind faith with no evidence that his prayers would be answered. Perhaps there is some truth behind the adage, “God helps those who help themselves.”

This past semester, God answered my prayers “in the freedom of space.” It’s amazing how a little shift in geography can liberate a heart wrapped in barbed wire. Granted, my relocation involved much more than spatial change, but fresh scenery certainly helped.

I can honestly say this has been the best semester of my life thus far. It wasn’t always easy, but it was fulfilling beyond all I could ever hope. Looking back on past journal entries the other day, I came across several impassioned pleas to God for a change in situation. Surveying the past several months, I now see that every last one of my requests was not only answered but blessed beyond anything I could ever have imagined. It’s almost impossible to believe that this summer I’d considered dropping out of college. Two roads diverged, eh?

I like the way Ollie Hubbard interpreted the Robert Frost poem “The Road Not Taken.” Instead of a joyous affirmation of nonconformist principles, Ollie said it was a verse marked by regret, given the title’s emphasis on the path the poet rejected. Fortunately, I can see that the road I took was indeed the right choice. I’m so thankful.

In coming back to Taylor, I stumbled blindly toward an unknown fate. I did not know what awaited me in Upland. I’d pretty much abandoned all of my friends, my jobs, my major, my positions… everything that had once made me Megan Elder at Taylor University. Although I feared the year ahead, I no longer had a reason to stay in Evansville. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I honestly I didn’t want one.

This semester, I discovered the Truth of community in several amazing friends. I became aware of deeply hidden dreams and desires within my heart. I came alive to a world of possibility and change through the gentle prompting of my professors. I encountered authentic relationships at a level of reality I never knew existed. I took chances, I risked, I loved, I lived. I was not even conscious of such a life this summer. I could barely hope that there was such a thing.

“I called to the Lord from my narrow prison and He answered me in the freedom of space.”

The broken heart can be healed. The ensnared lark can find its voice. The prisoner can run free through open meadows.

The best things happen when we least expect them.

Battened down to fair the wind

"After all these implements and text designed by intellects
So vexed to find evidently there's just so much that hides.
And though the saints of us divine in ancient feeding lines
Their sentiment is just as hard to pluck from the vine."
--from "Saint Simon" by The Shins

I've barely touched a book the last few days and finals are upon me. Actually, I'm in the midst of them. I'll jump through my hoops and emerge from this week unscathed, I'm sure, but in the end how much knowledge will I retain? There's still so much yet to be discovered, so much I don't know.

One thing I do know: Yakima, Washington is a heck of a long way from Upland, Indiana.

“Book lovers never go to bed alone”

When it comes to literary promiscuity, I’d say I get around. I tend to flit from book to book, sometimes enjoying several at once. Some of these books demand my committed devotion while others could better be described as “one-night stands.” As Catherine might say in Under the Tuscan Sun, “He’s not bad; he’s not good either.”

And then there are some books that you experience once and they alter your soul, but as time goes by you forget about them and move on with life. Perhaps months or years later, your old flame re-enters your life and you wonder how you could ever see the world rightly without its light.

This past weekend I finished Man’s Search for Meaning by Viktor Frankl. I’d characterize this book as an “old flame” kind of book, although our last encounter was mere months ago. At the time, it spoke to the depths of my soul but I didn’t let it change me. I guess I just wasn’t ready. Now I am.

From personal experience, Frankl recounts the power of the human soul to find meaning in all situations, even in the abject suffering of a Nazi concentration camp. If I ever do become a counselor, I plan to incorporate aspects of existential therapy, specifically Frankl’s logotherapy, into my practice. The presupposition of man’s innate significance and capability fascinates me. The world could justifiably be described as absurd, but what really matters is what one chooses to do about his unique situation.

When Frankl speaks of meaning, he says it will “differ from man to man, from moment to moment. Thus it is impossible to define the meaning of life.” On this point, I think many Christians (including myself?) might take issue. Any creature’s meaning in life is to bring ultimate glory to God, therefore it can be defined. Yet this goal seems a little too abstract, and so I think Frankl has a point. Individual, transitory meaning can and must be ascribed in order to propel us in the adventure of life. Frankl writes, “Being human always points, and is directed, to something, or someone, other than oneself—be it a meaning to fulfill or another human being to encounter” (133). It’s why we strive for connection amid perceived isolation. It’s why we long for adventure beyond the drudgery of routine. It’s why we fight for goodness, Truth and beauty in a world that’s “gone to hell.” In these smaller meanings, we can discover the ultimate meaning if only in momentary glimpses.

Frankl concludes his book with a challenge to the reader, “for the world is in a bad state, but everything will become worse unless each one of us does his best. So let us be alert—alert in a twofold sense: Since Auschwitz we know what man is capable of. And since Hiroshima we know what is at stake” (179). At this, I rolled over in almost orgasmic enlightenment. Is this not what we live for? To be worthy of our sufferings for humanity hangs in the balance? Certainly we believe we are no one in particular, but maybe there is something great going on behind the façade of triviality. Perhaps the importance of our experiences on this earth is to find meaning in them, encounter others through them, and in this way gaze upon the divine.

G-Bread Bliss

Heather gave me homemade gingerbread biscotti today for Christmas. I think I'm in love. I also had a gingerbread cookie from the Grille. It's like a party for my mouth. I guess I'd never realized how much I LOVE gingerbread until this year. It's so perfect with coffee. Wow, is it perfect!

I'm not high on the gingerbread lattes at Starbucks. They're not bad, but they're not great either. I suppose I'm just into gingerbread FOOD.

Heather got her recipe from AllRecipes.com. That place rocks my face off. I wish I'd known about it in Ireland! There's even an option to convert recipe measurements to the metric system. Could have saved me a lot of brain cells... oh well. I've added a link to my sidebar for easy access. Mmmm...

Hey mister, she's my sister!

kt hesse has my heart. Seriously, she's amazing.



"I should tell you, I should tell you I have always loved you. You can see it in my eyes." --Rent

"Love is as strong as death"

I saw the truth as it is set into song by so many poets, proclaimed as the final wisdom by so many thinkers. The truth—that love is the ultimate and the highest goal to which man can aspire. Then I grasped the meaning of the greatest secret that human poetry and human thought and belief have to impart: The salvation of man is through love and in love. I understood how a man who has nothing left in this world still may know bliss, be it only for a brief moment, in the contemplation of his beloved. In a position of utter desolation, when man cannot express himself in positive action, when his only achievement may consist in enduring his sufferings in the right way—an honorable way—in such a position man can, through the loving contemplation of the image he carries of his beloved, achieve fulfillment. For the first time in my life I was able to understand the meaning of the words, “The angels are lost in perpetual contemplation of an infinite glory.” (Frankl, 57)

A love beyond borders, beyond presence, beyond time, beyond death: that’s the kind of love Viktor Frankl advocates in Man’s Search for Meaning, his autobiographical doctrine of “logotherapy.” Logotherapy, also called the Third Viennese School of Psychotherapy, is an existential therapy based on the premise that “the striving to find meaning in one’s life is the primary motivational force in man” (121). Frankl developed this model of therapy in his early Viennese practice but personally put it to the ultimate test during his internment in such infamous Nazi concentration camps as Auschwitz and Dachau.

The above excerpt speaks of the power of Frankl's love for his wife to sustain him through sufferings. He later writes, “Love goes very far beyond the physical person of the beloved. It finds its deepest meaning in his spiritual being, his inner self. Whether or not he is actually present, whether or not he is still alive at all, ceases somehow to be of importance” (58). At the time of this realization, he didn’t know his wife had been gassed upon admittance to the camp. Even if he had known, Frankl confidently states that his enjoyment of her memory would not have been compromised. The power of his love would still compel him to endure.

Such love absolutely blows my mind. It moves me to thirst for more in life, to make people my priority, to hope. One of my favorite scenes in one of my favorite movies, Under the Tuscan Sun, revolves around this point. Aphrodite smites Francis Mayes over and over again, yet she recognizes the reality of the young love of Pawel and Chiara and fights for it. Chiara’s father protests the match, denying the existence of true love and citing Francis’ personal experience as an example of its nonexistence. Francis bravely responds, “No. I looked for it and I didn’t find it. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.” Personal experience can be a cruel discourager, but we cannot lose hope in the essential Truth of love in its every sense: a man for his wife, a friend for a friend, a father for a son, a God for his people.

You break me open

TU has a lot of balls putting that Nativity scene back up this year after last year’s antics. I like that. It shows they aren’t afraid of us. It looks pretty nice, too. Mary got her man back, which is good. She’s still missing the hand, tho. Maybe she can ask Santa for a prosthetic limb for Christmas.

Actually, Cat is writing an amazing opinion piece about the Nativity scene that will run in the Echo tomorrow morning. If you go to TU, you should read it. If you don’t go to TU, you should come and visit and read it and then teach me to snowboard. ;)

I just rediscovered Jars of Clay today. OMG… AMAZING. How did I lose track of these guys?

Below is a photograph of our Penny War earnings. Ever wonder what almost $200 in pennies looks like? Well, wonder no more. That buys a LOT of diapers, let me tell you.