Shadowland

"Broken wing,
Forgotten dream,
Shattered thing that a man's hands can't ever mend
Shadowland and desert sand
A [woman] searches for a love that will never die..."
--Josh Garrels

Heartache penetrates to the depths of my soul. Within me churns a raging sea of confusion and loss. This hopelessness is not necessarily a result of any direct violation against me. It is a weariness with the world that has taken root in my soul and festered to full-grown despondency. Everyday, in the oddest ways, it hits me between the eyes: this world is broken beyond repair.

This morning I read the confession of a U.S. soldier who brandished sexuality against a young Iraqi girl as a weapon of unparralleled destruction. Rape, torture, trafficking, molestation... I believe in many ways these are the most heinous crimes of our day`(if not all of history). They rob individuals of their personhood while all of society suffers as a result of their commission.

It is crimes like these and other "lesser" offenses (i.e. sex in the media) that make me wonder if love and sexuality can belong in the same sentence anymore. I hope to God they do, but my limited experience and previously mentioned world-weariness cause me to doubt. I believe the original design of sex was to express love, commitment, and unique intimacy within the marriage bed; however, that design has long been hijacked and maligned into a tool of power, control, and violence in which one party dominates another from the inside.

Nothing seems quite so sinister as that which was intended for one's good being used to reap destruction. Tis the nature of modern sexuality. Where is redemption? Now that's a concept worth pondering.

"Our brave new world..."

I taught my Grandpa how to Google this morning. The world will never be the same.

Yay for civic duty

I’ve been of voting age for four years now. It’s an age I longed to attain for, well, eighteen years. I can’t say I’m very politically savvy, but I’ve always wanted to contribute to the democratic process. I remember campaigning for President H.W. Bush in his race against Bill Clinton when I was in second grade on my school bus. We even held a mock election on my bus and Bush won by a landslide. However, the way of Bus 44 was not the way of America. I remember waking up the morning after the election to my mother scrubbing toilets. I asked her who won and was so saddened by her response I remember that solemn moment to this day. Democracy is fickle, but at least it’s fair.

Back to civic responsibility. Although I’ve been “of age” for the past several years, I’ve never actually voted. I was never a conscientious objector to the Ballot Battle. In fact, I completed the absentee ballot in 2004, but it never quite felt legit. I’d never physically huddled in a portable voting booth to make my selections for who should serve in office. Never… until now!

This moment of triumph took me back to the place I first began politicking, Highland Elementary School. After failing twice to locate the correct table at which to sign into my precinct, I made my way to the back of the gym where I had once won a cake that tasted like Styrofoam at the Spring Fling. I signed in and took my place in line behind a rather tall gentleman. He turned around and told me, “Thanks for being here!” I thought it an odd statement, but soon understood his meaning when he followed up with, “I hope more young people come out to vote.”

Young people. Yes, I look like I’m in high school but thank God I’m not. I made my selections via touch screen and was on my way, proud of my contribution to the democracy. My vote may not count for much, but voting like a grown up sure beats grade school bus antics.

Thriller!!!

So I was just listening to "The Tri-State's Only True Alternative 89.1 the BASH," a radio station that specializes in favorites from bands like Foo Fighters, Disturbed, and Korn, and they just played Michael Jackson's "Thriller"! Memories of Airband 2005 came flooding back as I remembered with pride the killer show Third Floor English brought to Rediger. Yeah, that was awesome.

Oh, and let's hear it for WORLD SERIES CHAMPIONS the St. Louis Cardinals!!! Sweet justice, that's all I have to say. Wish I were in Louie with Cliff right now.

The most ridiculous item of the week: No crying in baseball

Cliff once referred to me as a “five-year-old” Cardinals fan, which in many ways is quite accurate. I first began following baseball in Game 7 of the National League Championship Series 2004, Cardinals vs. Astros. Prior to that I’d sat out a couple of games at Wrigley Field and Camden Yards, more for the culture than enlightened participation. Even my modicum of softball experience failed to educate me beyond the basics of the game, since I was in third grade at the time and the only thing I remember about my short stint as a catcher for the “True Blues” was that my coach had a TV in the back of his van (which in 1993 was pretty freakin’ sweet).

So basically, I’ve been a true fan for three years. At this point I understand many of the finer aspects of the game. I know when it’s prudent to use the “suicide squeeze.” I recognize the threat of an opposing pitcher’s low ERA. I even know the difference between the National League and the American League. And yet, some things continue to baffle me. Case in point: Kenny Rogers and the brown smudge controversy of Sunday’s Game 2 of the World Series.

On that holiest of days, the Tiger pitcher sported a considerable brown stain at the base of his left thumb throughout the top of the first inning. MLB rules clearly state that any pitcher in possession of a foreign substance must be immediately ejected from the game and suspended for the next 10. While it is obvious that Rogers was in possession of such a substance for at least the first inning of the game, the rule is invalidated by Cardinal manager Tony La Russa’s failure to seek a more thorough investigation.

Here is what I don’t understand: why is that La Russa’s responsibility? If the umpires knew of the substance (which they reportedly did since they told Rogers to wash his hands), why aren’t they equally as obligated to take care of the situation? Why must it fall on the opposing team to raise a stink in order to make the game fair? In my mind, this is similar to requiring victims of abuse or rape to rat out their assailant before the justice system will do its job. I know that’s an extreme analogy and baseball is “just a game,” but it makes me sick to think that Major League Baseball condones such conduct.

From Loompaland to the World Series (I hope)

I just gotta get this out there... Scott Spiezio looks uncannily like an Oompa-Loompa. Get that boy some orange face paint and Wonka'd be all over that. Seriously.

"C's get degrees"

“Intelligent fools
PhD's in illusion
Masters of mass confusion
Bachelors in past illusion”
--Lauryn Hill, “Freedom Time”

This weekend while visiting Cliff in Columbia, I was afflicted by a cold. As I stood in line at the local Wal-Mart to purchase green tea and chicken soup, I overheard the following conversation between two coeds in front of me:

Girl 1: My parents are really pissed off at me because my phone bill was so bad.
Girl 2: What did they say?
1: They were all, “Why do you have to text so much?” And I’m like, “I thought we had unlimited,” and they were all, “Well, now we do.”
2: Huh.
1: Yeah. They were like, “Why don’t you just call the person?”
2: *Scoffing* It’s not like you can always talk to people.
1: I know. It’s like, what am I supposed to do while I’m in class?

There is something hopelessly wrong with “higher education” in America. I’d say the majority of American college students have little to no appreciation for learning. Universities originated in ancient monastic settlements like Ireland’s Clonmacnoise where scholars devoted their very lives to the preservation of knowledge. Those men paid dearly for the opportunity to learn, and in turn saved civilization from the Dark Ages. The students of today seem more interested in draining their parents’ bank accounts for an education they refuse to ingest, imbibing instead in all manner of frivolities.

With college tuition ever on the rise, it’s a wonder some people choose to invest in that which they don’t take seriously. It’s not like my own college years were characterized by excessive diligence, but while I was enrolled I understood that the reason I was there was primarily to learn. I wonder at the circus academia has become as I pine for a time when degrees actually meant something.

"Lifeboat Theory: How to Kill Your Neighbor"

“Because the world owes me nothing
We owe each other the world.”

Those words, originally penned by Ani DiFranco, propelled me via Josh Garrels’ soulful rendition as I traversed I-64/I-70 to Columbia, MO this weekend. I’d been feeling troubled by the realization that the “real world” more closely resembles middle school hierarchy than I'd previously thought.

Donald Miller speaks of "Lifeboat Theory" in Searching for God Knows What. It’s the idea that in life, as in middle school, we are constantly evaluating our worth as compared to those around us. In essence, if five of my coworkers and I are in a lifeboat with the capacity for only five people, am I valuable (i.e. attractive, hard-working, athletic, intelligent, etc.) enough to avoid being pitched overboard? Miller suggests that this is the way all post-Fall humans live their lives. We feel this pressure to prove our worth each and everyday because something is missing in our lives that insures that worth. Read the book; it’s basically amazing.

Anyway, as I pondered the reality of Lifeboat Theory in my own life, I realized how easy it is to denigrate others for the sake of proving my own validity. I think how foolish this is, because ultimately only people, only relationships, matter. Here I am, thinking I’m preserving my very existence when in reality I’m torching it.

Last night, Cliff and I viewed a wonderful chunk of cinema called Luther. In one of the most powerful scenes, Martin Luther extols his congregation to love one another in his absence as he faces excommunication from the church. Not long after he’s gone, the people turn on one another, fueling their wrath with twisted interpretations of Luther’s own writings. Watching it all unfold, I wanted to scream at those people for how wrong they were, but in the end I realize I do exactly the same thing.

I feel like I’m constantly playing defense, like I’m ever under siege from an enemy threat. In reality, that’s just the human condition. I will never feel entirely secure here on this earth, but maybe security is not the point. I’ve always known I wanted to live for adventure, but it’s easy to lose sight of ambition when reality knocks at the door.

Whatever the consequence, I want out of this lifeboat. I know the world is not going to endow me with worth. The only viable Source for what I seek is God Himself.

"Only beauty helps"

"Simone Weil was absolutely right-- beauty and affliction are the only two things that can pierce our hearts. Because this is so true, we must have a measure of beauty in our lives proportionate to our affliction. No, more. Much more." --John Eldredge, The Journey of Desire

Fall has arrived in Evansville and I am glad for it. The changing of the leaves combined with much earlier, much more exquisite sunsets reminds me that life in the midwest is not devoid of beauty. I anticipate many more breathtaking sights this weekend as my journey takes me through the rolling hills of east central Missouri. My eyes will feast and I will remember deep in my soul that God is good.

"I make a vow, right here and now"

Cages or wings
Which do you prefer?
Ask the birds.
Fear or love, baby,
Don’t say the answer
Actions speak louder than words.

--tick, tick, BOOM! by Jonathan Larson

One of the hardest lessons I’m learning right now is that everything in life must be pursued. Nothing comes easily, it’s all a fight. I guess I somehow assumed that upon graduating from college opportunities would throw themselves at me. I was hopelessly wrong.

Although I’ve never seen the show, I’ve come to realize from its soundtrack that my life has begun to resemble tick, tick, BOOM!, a musical written by the late, great Jonathan Larson about a man on the brink of age 30 who is experiencing what John Mayer so eloquently referred to as a “quarter-life crisis.” I first made this connection a little over a year ago. It’s odd how little has changed.

Still, I’m happy to report that in the past week I realized that one of the songs I relate to is “Why” in which Johnny explains how he came to understand his calling.

When I was nine,
Michael and I
Entered a talent show down at the Y

Nine A.M. went to rehearse by some stairs
Mike couldn't sing
But I said, "No one cares"

We sang "Yellow Bird" and "Let's Go Fly A Kite"
Over and over and over
Till we got it right

When we emerged from the YMCA
Three o'clock sun had made the grass hay

I thought,
Hey, what a way to spend a day
Hey, what a way to spend a day
I make a vow, right here and now
I'm gonna spend my time this way

Johnny goes on to tell of several such epiphanies throughout his 29 years. As I thought on this, I realized I had a similar moment of realization last May as I wrote my senior paper during my spring break. In the mornings, I’d work out or relax, then I’d head over to the library for a few hours of work. In seven days, I’d completed a 35-page rhetorical analysis of John Colapinto’s coverage of the David Reimer saga. I remember reading and typing and researching and typing, all the while thinking, “Hey, what a way to spend the day!”

So for the first time I’m admitting to myself that I want to spend my time that way. I want to write. I don’t exactly know what I want to write, but I want to research and I want to read and I want to write! I admire writers like John Colapinto who create narrative masterpiece while also presenting relevant scientific findings. I also respect writers like John Eldredge who incorporate narrative truth from film, poetry, literature, and art into introspective nonfiction.

Just like Jon (and John and John), I’m making a vow to chase this desire. I’m still clueless how, but at least I have somewhat of a goal for which to toil.

I’m gonna spend my time this way.

Even cats need omega-3s

Why do cats like fish so much? Do fish taste like mice?

It's not a child, it's a choice?

I recently caught an old episode of Gilmore Girls in which Rory is in her second year at Yale. Every bit the little “feminist,” she resides in her own room plastered with posters decrying the “War on Choice.” I thought this an interesting/contradictory motif for this series to propel, considering the focal point of said series is a relationship between a mother and daughter that is abnormally intimate due their proximity in ages. It makes me wonder how differently the series would have turned out if Loralei had opted for abortion when she was single, sixteen and inconveniently pregnant with Rory. Personally, I don’t believe in the legitimacy of choices that snuff out the existence of innocent human beings, whether those innocents are workers in the World Trade Center or “products of conception” with beating hearts inside their mother’s wombs. I guess it’s sweet that Rory is defending her mother’s right to choose whether she lived or died… or maybe it’s just sick.

Racing/Eating/Hoarding Free Stuff For the Cure... and Other Adventures

I used to HATE running. It was painful and tiring and required some degree of athletic prowess. While I still don't consider myself a "runner," I'm in adequate shape so when Starbucks asked local partners to consider joining their team for today's Race for the Cure, I thought I'd give it a whirl. After all, it's for a good cause.

Well, by this morning "Team Starbucks" had dwindled to Randy and me, so with a "who needs them" attitude, we took our marks behind about a 100 people and waited for the beginning of the race. The run itself went pretty smoothly. A local drumline set our pace in the mall parking lot and a chorus of cicadas kept us moving through the adjacent soybean fields that I'd somehow never noticed from my car.

At the finish line, Randy and I hit up the booths for free stuff. I love free stuff. Especially when that free stuff comes in the form of bagels from PANERA!!! I also got free deodorant and a heinously small t-shirt advertising Soft & Dri. Excellent.

However, it was what I was reading before the race that really got me moving in the furthest regions of my soul. I'd been reading Donald Miller's Searching for God Knows What off and on all summer. Well, more off than on, considering I'm not even half way through. Anyway, this morning while I awaited my teammate(s), I came across this picture of Adam and Eve that rocked my spirit:

... And then I began to wonder about Eve, what the scene might have looked like when she and Adam first met. Dante paints the meeting as being more realistic than I had imagined, writing that the slow-to-love Eve did not find Adam the least bit attractive, becoming enamored, instead, with her own reflection in some water. It's true women are terribly enamored with their own reflections. You can't blame them, though. If I were good-looking, I would certainly go around looking at myself all the time, too. And it is also true women are slow to love. I used to think this was because something was wrong with them, but, over time, I wondered whether they were more deliberate than men about important decisions. Romantic decisions. And in comparison I realized they were infinitely more intelligent about relational matters than men.

But when I was reading the text the way John Sailhamer [an OT scholar] said to read the text, I noticed Adam and Eve didn't meet right away. Moses said God knew Adam was lonely or incomplete or however you want to say it, but God did not create Eve directly after He stated Adam is lonely. This struck me as funny because a lot of times when I think about life before the Fall, I don't think of people going around lonely. But that thought also comforted me because I realized loneliness in my own life doesn't mean I am a complete screwup, rather that God made me this way. You always picture the perfect human being as somebody who doesn't need anybody, like a guy on a horse out in Colorado or whatever. But here is Adam, the only perfect guy in the world, and he is going around wanting to be with somebody else, needing another person to fulfill a certain emptiness in his life. And as I said, when God saw this, He did not create Eve right away. He did not give Adam what he needed immediately. He waited. He told Adam to name the animals...

There is a reason for every season in life, even this one. The other day I found myself singing along to a Blue October song on the radio, empathetically stating, "I'm cold as cold as cold can be." I'm numb, and more than a little secluded, not because I don't have friends or anything but because I'm struggling to open up even to my own self. I guess I should make a point to remember all that is happening right now, to record these confusing emotions upon my heart so that one day when God decides to supply the needs and desires I'm not sure I have, I will truly be thankful to him for delivering me from this present state of limbo.

"Might be a quarter-life crisis"

I've decided the new John Meyer stuff is too Phil Collins-y for me. Not feeling it.

The way I see it #76

So who else is excited that it's fall at Starbucks? In the past three days, I've consumed more than my fair share of various pumpkin-laced products. Yum.

But the real subject of this post is not what was inside of my partner beverage cup on Tuesday (btw, it was triple grande nonfat no whip pumpkin spice latte) but instead what was written on its side. Here's the quote:

"The irony of commitment is that it’s deeply liberating – in work, in play, in love. The act frees you from the tyranny of your internal critic, from the fear that likes to dress itself up and parade around as rational hesitation. To commit is to remove your head as the barrier to your life."
- Anne Morriss, Starbucks customer

Oh, how convicting for Little Miss Can't Decide. I believe in the truth of Anne's statement with all of my heart. I just can't seem to put it into practice.

"The time for sleep is now"

They’re mocking me, I thought, as I turned the key in my Taurus’ ignition at 4:30 a.m. and that Death Cab line shot back at me. Yes, I agreed, 4:30 a.m. is the perfect time for sleep, but, hi-ho, off to work I go.

I suppose my latest posts have been indicative of my current situation… some rubbish about mowing grass… Last night I was made embarrassingly aware of the pathetic-ness of said situation when a coworker asked me what I’d been up to all week.

Working overtime, I responded. And I ran on the treadmill. And mowed grass.

Yeah.

Last week I worked somewhere in the vicinity of 50 hours at various Starbucks stores. I could definitely use the overtime pay, but the nonstop laboring left me feeling an all-too-familiar sensation: burnout.

My coworker’s question inspired a rather painful realization about how unbalanced my life has become, which is exactly what I was trying to avoid by taking this job in the first place. I gave up the “career track” because I craved balance in my personal, social, professional and spiritual lives. However, what I’ve achieved looks nothing like the scales supporting the duck and the “witch” in that one Monty Python movie.

I can’t say I want to get back into journalism right now. I mean, if I can’t balance working at a coffee shop with outside life, how on earth would I manage to be healthy whilst operating the all-consuming machine that is the news? I need to find a way to work with what I have now for as long as it is mine. Huh… lookie here… a lesson in stewardship.

I guess the place I need to start reclaiming that balance is in my spiritual life. As long as it’s confession time, I haven’t picked up a Bible since shortly after graduation. I started a Donald Miller book, but never made it past the second chapter. My prayer life has degenerated to “God, please help me fall asleep right now” or “Please keep [enter loved one’s name here] safe as [he/she] travels.” On Sunday, Pastor David (who recently returned from a 5-week pilgrimage to Colorado to reclaim his lost balance) emphasized the importance of praying as Jesus prayed… first for God’s Kingdom and Glory and eventually for my own needs. Oops.

So I think I’ll spend some time with God before bed tonight, though the time for sleep is fast approaching. Alas, I open again tomorrow and he who does not work does not eat (and I like to eat).

Adventures in lawncare

There is a reason I will not be starting a landscaping business anytime in the near future.

With Nate back at the 'Due, the task of grass mowing falls to me. After much procrastination, I finally admitted that the forest that had been sprouting in our yard for the past two weeks needed a serious trim.

I rose early this morning to knock the chore out of the way as soon as possible, but the dew left by last night's cold spell didn't bother lifting until well after 10 a.m. By the time the grass dried out and I oiled and gassed up the mower, it was almost noon.

Of course every time, and I do mean every time, I mount the mower I forget how to turn it on. I try following the instructions inscribed below the steering wheel (which usually results in something sputtering and smoking) until I eventually give up, storm inside and call my grandpa. But today, not even the Lawn Lord himself could get that little red Snapper going. While Grandpa took our mower back to his place for further inspection, he left his faster, zippier mower with me. The grass would get mowed today one way or another. After all, today was my only day off.

After a few laps around the yard, I felt like I was getting the hang of mowing again. Sure, I got slapped in the face by numerous tree limbs and almost tipped over on one hill, but the fresh air felt great and it wasn't too hot out today. Regardless, I don't believe a bright future in professional lawncare is on my horizon.

"Grief is good"

Today's Courier & Press detailed a 16-year-old boy's suicide in a local public high school parking lot yesterday. As I read the piece, I found myself remembering my late-night library shift on April 26, 2006-- a night that changed my alma mater forever.

That was the night five members of the Taylor community died in an I-69 confrontation with a semi-truck. For hours we sat in the chapel waiting for identification of those who had left us. Tired of sitting, I left before the announcement, anxious and upset. I laced up my running shoes and began circling the campus in an attempt to burn out the helpless feeling that sank in my gut. It was the one night I wasn't afraid to be running alone. My fear had been replaced with agitation.

The steps the administration took to ensure community healing in the following weeks were exemplary. Classes were cancelled for the two days following our all-night vigil. Memorial services were planned and arrangements were made for students and faculty to attend funerals in neighboring states. Professors went so far as to cancel major assignments in hopes to alleviate our stress levels and make room for corporate grief. Although these adjustments may have seemed excessive to students relatively untouched by the tragedy, those closest to the deceased found some measure of comfort in the university's compassion.

I couldn't help but wonder if the Castle High School students struck by this suicide will remember their administration the same way. Of course, Taylor is not perfect, nor is it as sheltered as it might appear. Inside the "bubble" resides a community scarred by suicide, death and vandalism. Real life will attack any institution, regardless of whether or not it receives state funds. I hope those closest to the Castle case will feel safe and supported by their school. Certainly, my prayers are with them.

"What looks so strong, so delicate"

Cliff just linked me this. I guess if myspace's obnoxiously designed interface isn't enough to ruin your day, the viruses you might pick up there will. Just be careful, surfers.

Mighty MO

This isn't my first long-distance relationship, but in the past it seems I've always been the one to initiate them. It's not like I've ever wanted a long distance relationship, I just find myself going to Ireland or school or something like that. This time is different. This time he's moved away from me.

It's nothing personal, either. He has a great opportunity and I'm excited for him. I spent the weekend moving him into his new apartment in Columbia. I had so much fun getting him all settled in. Plus, I really enjoy the area. We walked around this park with a fake lake in the middle of it and played on this sweet playground. Later that evening, we strolled through Mizzou's Peace Park to the exhilarating rhythm of the MU drumline. They were awesome and I reeled in envy of their coordination.

Today I drove home, unsure of what awaits me. On the radio, Sean Hannity warned of impending doom following the UN ceasefire agreement. Like the Middle East, I feel equally unstable, though not so much doomed. I just feel antsy, as though I'm on the brink of a huge life decision and I don't know which way is up or down...

But I'm following my heart. We'll see where that gets me.

"... What's goin' on in the kitchen, but I don't know what's cookin'"

I love Rachael Ray.

There, I've admitted it, but it's not exactly my deepest, darkest secret. Actually, it's no secret at all. It's common knowledge that I'm quick to tune into anything starring the bubbly brunette, be it 30-Minute Meals, $40-a-Day, Tasty Travels, etc. She's fun, she makes great food, and she has excellent advice.

Therefore I was sold on the virtues of Balsamic Vinegar the moment she touted it's benefits. Indeed, her Rosemary Chicken Breast recipe was a real crowd pleaser when I made it earlier this summer. Great, I have one recipe that calls for BV and a bottle of the stuff collecting dust under the stove. What else can I do with it?

The idea came to me after my mom let me in on the family recipe for Salmon Patties. They're delicious, but lack something in the flavor department. As I thought back on my chipper days in Ireland, the thought occured to me: fish and vinegar rock together. What would happen if I put balsamic vinegar in the pattie recipe? The rest is history.

Now I'm following in Ray's footsteps engineering my own recipe. I'm so excited about it, I want to share it with the world. So here it is, Megan's Balsamic Salmon Patties:

Ingredients:
1 can of salmon fillets
1 egg, beaten
1/2 cup of oats (substitute crushed crackers)
2 tbsp balsamic vinegar
Pure canola oil

Procedure:
Combine ingredients in bowl (TIP: strain fillets first. If cohabitating with cats, strain excess oil/water into dish on floor for them to lap up). Fill frying pan with oil to between a quarter and half an inch from the bottom. Heat on medium. Fashion salmon/oat/egg/vinegar mixture into patties. Plop in oil, cook on both sides for 3-4 minutes or until golden brown. Remove from oil and wick away excess liquid with paper towels. Enjoy.

Get your kicks...

Shopping for shoes with a side of insanity? Look no further than your neighborhood Shoe Carnival.

I hadn't been in a Shoe Carnival in years, so when Cliff suggested we swing by the Green River location to get some new sneakers, I didn't think twice. I'd heard there was a sale there (buy one, get one half off) and I needed some new shoes for work (my 7th grade gym shoes that I'd been wearing were losing their soles). Besides, Cliff had a gift card he needed to use up, so after we stuffed ourselves with all the Fazoli's breadsticks we could stand, we headed over to the happiest shoe store on earth.

I should clarify that by "happiest" I mean "most psychotic." The minute we stepped in the door we were greeted by a creepy looking man in a bow tie standing atop a pedestal hawking promotions like an auctioneer. The music (70s/80s dance classics) was so loud I had to shout to hear myself think. The crowds, the deals... they just kept coming. I quickly located some adequate footware to meet my employer's dress code standards and plopped down in men's athletics while Cliff paced the aisle... first New Balance, then Asics. After much deliberation over comfort, style and affordability, he settled with the New Balance.

We at last escaped with our brand new kicks, a few dollars saved, and, believe it or not, our right minds. I even sported my new Sketchers at work today to the applause of many. Of course, this applause only came AFTER I pointed them out enthusiastically.

Call me by my secret agent name.

I just worked an eight hour shift at Starbucks with no bathroom breaks. Add to that a meal break and travel to and from the Bux, that's nine hours straight! Haha, take that ADH inhibitors!!!

I received the most interesting comment ever today. Cliff told me: "You smell like St. Louis." Yeah. Not sure...

My new "alias" in my coffee passport is Tootsie Roll.

"No more papers, no more books..."

In the past week or so, stores have begun to advertise Back-to-School sales. As I peruse the newspaper ads for discounted Jelly Roll pens and Trapper Keepers, I feel an acute emptiness. Suddenly, I reach a startling realization: This fall, for the first time in 17 years, I will not be going back to school.

I've been looking forward to this state of being for quite some time, but I must admit the situation strikes me as a bit odd. I'm not entirely sure what to do with myself. Of course, there isn't anything I should be doing with myself. I have entered the Real World. I've been there for a couple months by now. Why am I so surprised?

Three weeks ago, I found myself and three friends walking the campus of Taylor University, our Alma Mater. As we reminisced about the past four years spent in the midst of corn, we couldn't avoid admitting to the specialness of that place. "Oh no," one of us exclaimed. "We've become Taylor Alums!"

Being back on campus was a strange experience in itself. Everything was so familiar, yet at the same time entirely foreign. I can never go back to being a Taylor student. Nor would I want to; I quite enjoy the freedom graduation entails. Yet something within me aches for that familiarity. Perhaps it's the fear of the unknown.

Recently, I disclosed to a coworker my awkward feelings concerning Back-to-School sales. He affirmed my emotions, but reassured me.

"It's ok. You can still buy new shoes."

Under pressure

About two weeks ago, my Mr. Coffee coffee maker broke. It was nothing special. I work around coffee everyday, so brewing my own cup isn't a top priority to me. I like coffee, but I get along fine without it if need be. Still, I've wanted a french press for a while now and yesterday the price was right. Check out my new toy:



It's a thermal french press that recently got marked down to half price. With my discount and my current lack of brewing technology in my own home, the purchase just made sense. I drank my first cup of Komodo Dragon Blend from this baby this morning and, let me tell you, it was awesome.

"Give me strength, Reserve control"

I'm not much for politics. In fact, during my brief stint as a "reporter" in Washington, D.C., I found myself blind to the actual work done in the Capitol as I wandered aimlessly admiring all the pretty buildings. So when I start to smell something fishy in a political campaign, something must be hopelessly wrong. Fortunately, I'm dating a savvy political scientist who can answer any questions I have about said fishiness.

It seems as of late the committees backing the candidates for our regional congressional representative think smear ads are a sure-fire way to get their candidate elected. Both sides of the ballot (for an election which I don't think happens until November) have been televising shady attacks on their respective opponent's character. One ad attacks current congressman John Hostettler (R), saying he voted three times to raise his own salary while voting down a bill that would raise the minimum wage.

Wait a minute, I thought. This doesn't sound like the Hostettler I know. Sure enough, Cliff informed me that Hostettler has actually voted against congressional pay raises on numerous occaisions. Besides, he said, raising the minimum wage is probably not a very good idea.

I'm inclined to agree with him. I'm currently halfway through Nickle & Dimed: On [Not] Getting By in America. This book details one journalist's quest to make ends meet working for minimum wage. It's supposed to be a shocking expose of the horrors imposed upon blue collar America by white collar America. Unfortunatlely, I'm not buying it. I haven't finished the book, so this isn't a review (yet), but it seems to me that the struggles of the lower-class are not entirely the government's fault, nor is it the government's responsibility to fix everyone's problems. What can they honestly do? Raising the minimum wage would only cause the cost of all other necessities to become more expensive. Those working at the newly-hiked minimum wage will still not be able to pay their also newly-hiked rent/ grocery bill/ laundry bill/ utility bill/ etc. The problem will not go away.

Life is not typically fair, but more often than not, I've seen individuals receive eventual rewards by good-old-fashioned hard work. That's the beauty of this capitalist system: those who work hard can reap enormous benefits. Sometimes they get screwed over, but that's not the government's fault. People in general need to take responsibility for their own circumstances and choose the best course of action from their own particular starting point.

That said, I know very little about government and I slept through high school econ. What I do know is that America's system, while not perfect, allows people to reach their own potential better than most other government systems. So now I shall dismount my political soapbox before I start sounding like Bill O'Reilly. That, my friends, would be ridiculous.

Know your audience

Interesting/sick happening of the day:

Went to work out this morning at the gym. Showered prior to heading into work. Whilst drying hair, noticed poster on locker room mirror advertising a blood drive with the catchy factoid, "Donate a pint, Lose a pound!" At least the Red Cross knows their audience. :/

The rains came down and the floods came up...

Word to the wise: when coming through the Starbucks drive-thru during a downpour, turn off your windshield wipers when you get to the window. If you don't, the person working DT that day will get soaked.

Cliff has a rain gauge. I think that's how "gauge" is spelled. Too lazy to look it up. Anyway, we've gotten an inch and a half of rain since yesterday... and that was before it started pouring this afternoon.

My car windows leak. :(

I'm thinking of building an ark. Who's with me?

If it gets too familiar, I'll be gone

This weekend (and by weekend, I mean Friday through Tuesday) I...

-Ate Giordano's Pizza
-Saw a friend I thought had died get married
-Went to the top of the tallest building in North America
-Walked to Navy Pier from Union Station on the highway
-Freaked out on the Navy Pier Ferris Wheel (I always forget that I'm afraid of heights)
-Drank Jamba Juice (!!!YAY!!!)
-Slept in a basement belonging to the mother of NASCAR driver Carl Edwards
-Watched Revenge of the Sith in said basement
-Apartment hunted in Missouri (not for me)
-Conquered my fear of driving over the Wabash River

... At the old ball game

[This post is about 6 days late as life has not permitted me much computer time in the last week]

God bless David Eckstein.

His RBI base hit (albeit scored on an error) ended the Cardinal's longest losing streak in 8 years last Wednesday at Busch Stadium in St. Louis. And I was there to see it all go down.

Nothing spells summer to me like an evening at the ballpark. There's something electric that happens while soaking in live the best game ever invented. Make it a Cardinals game and I can't possibly think of a better way to spend my evening.

Last week Cliff took me to St. Louis to take in a game at the new Busch Stadium. We went to the old one last year right before it was torn down and we promised each other we'd return when the new one was built. Keeping our word, we arrived last Wednesday to stand-still traffic over the Mississippi River. Alas, we finally made it.

The game was incredible. We got off to an early lead, but let's face it, our pitching staff is crap. The minute our bull pen opened up in the eighth, our lead immediately deteriorated to being down by a run. By the end of the eighth inning, it looked like the Cleveland Indians would be handing us our 9th straight loss. Many Cardinals fans had had enough and made their way to the exits.

But Cliff and I had come too far to give up. Although an early morning shift at Starbucks awaited me the next day, I couldn't leave. We stayed planted in our seats through the top of the 9th as Isringhausen bumbled his way to a saved inning. With no runs scored, it was time for the Cardinals to take one last shot.

In times like this I see each baseball game as something like an epic battle. It doesn't matter how well or how bad a team has been doing in the past. The only thing that matters is this moment, this strike, this hit, this out. Some see the game crawling along at a snail's pace, but you can't watch it like that. You have to see the intricacy, the strategy, the human drama as each player puts aside the past to make the play. They truly are warriors with knee socks and billed caps, slinging that little white ball like a projectile missile.

So Taguchi stepped up to bat. He just happens to be my favorite Cardinal because it seems like when the Cards are in a tough spot and everyone starts sucking, he steps up his game. However, it looked like the inning was over when he tipped the ball straight up over home plate. The ball went sky high... there's no way the Indians wouldn't catch it. But So ran anyway, and as the pitcher brought the ball down with his glove, it dropped to the ground. Suddenly, hope! The crowd went wild as Taguchi doubled on the error. Molina squeezed him to third, Miles brought him home with a base hit. The Cards and Indians were tied with one out in the 9th.

The next out went to Spezio, who still managed to put Miles in scoring position for the game-winning run. Up came Eckstein who hadn't been playing his best that night. Eckstein has a reputation of always getting on base one way or another, however he hadn't been living up to his rep that Wednesday night. Now he had the opportunity to bring in the game-winning run. He grounded to short. Everyone held their breaths as he ran hard for first although it looked like we'd be going into extra innings. But as the short stop threw the ball to first for the third out, something happened and he missed the glove of the waiting first baseman. Eckstein was safe at first and Miles was in at home. The Cardinals won!

I'll never forget that moment as long as I live. Even my boyfriend, who tends to take plays like that sitting down, was up on his feet right along side of me clapping and cheering.

Did I mention I love baseball?

"What's a Wonderwall anyway?"

Just about every morning on my way to work, Oasis comes on the radio and gets in my head. Not an unpleasant experience by any means, but 'tis starting to get old.

I accidently saw the Budweiser Clydsdales (sp?) on both Wednesday and Thursday. I think they're overrated and look very uncomfortable.

Cliff and I are going to the NEW BUSCH STADIUM on Wednesday. Pujols is back in the game and it's gonna be a party. Go Cards!!!

Here and now

I'm not the kind of woman who is easily satisfied with the present tense. In fact, I've spent most of my life yearning for some point in the distance, some magic date upon which the world of toil I currently occupy will melt away into paradise. I pretend I know these dates and I look forward to them with great anticipation. My made-up dates come and go, never delivering on their promises, and so I ascribe mystical properties to yet another date and sit and wait and let life pass me by.

No more.

In recent weeks, I've had a revelation. Life, right now, is good. I no longer wish for some future point on the horizon but enjoy the present for all it's worth. I have a job I love and a man who meets my persistent attention needs while refusing to spoil me. I smile and laugh more than I have any right to. I can honestly characterize my life with joy.

And I don't say that because everything is going my way. I'm still frustrated by the drudge of life and feelings of inadequacy. Yet I know that God has my future in His hands and He's given me the present as a lavish gift.

There are a few dates on my horizon to which I look forward (most notably a long-awaited Cardinals game at the NEW Busch Stadium), but I no longer pin on them utopian properties they cannot possibly fulfill. Instead, I let tomorrow worry about itself. This is the day that the Lord has made. I will rejoice and be GLAD IN IT.

"The world's a roller coaster and I am not strapped in"

Sometimes life is an absolute party.

Holiday World. Now that's a great place. Basically, Holiday World is my childhood. It's an amusement park in the middle of NoWheresVille, IN (actually Santa Claus, IN). You drive through random cornfields and all of a sudden there's this huge parking lot and a lake and a roller coaster. You enter the park and its an extravaganza of fattening food and holiday-themed delights. Oh, and there's also a waterpark... the largest in Indiana. Oh man.

Yesterday Cliff and I indulged in a day at the park, lunch, and unlimited free soft drinks/sunscreen on his employer's dime. Nice. We rode the new roller coaster (a bit long for my taste... it's pretty bad when you get bored on a roller coaster and want it to end) and all the water slides. My favorite was Zinga, where an enclosed slide spits you out into this funnel-like pipe. We got hit by a mid-afternoon rain shower while waiting for one slide, but we were wet anyway, so no big.

The wildest part of the day came toward the end when we decided to make one more go on the classic Frightful Falls. This ride has been around for as long as I've been going to Holiday World and is basically just a 20 or so ft. drop. As our log-shaped vessel began its coveyer ascent, we heard this nasty pop and the ride shut down. Ride attendants and security guards started running to our rescue, all while the song "Celebrate" blasted from a nearby speakerbox. No one got hurt and it was more funny/ironic than scary.

Hooray for summer!

"Ladies, it ain't easy bein' independent"

In this morning's Courier & Press, I read a rather disturbing AP piece on some feminists take on the career move of ABC anchor Elizabeth Vargas. In the article, Jocelyn Noveck reports the reactions of a few agenda-driven women to Vargas' decision to focus on her family. Their take: the prospect that a powerful, successful woman cannot balance a career and family must mean that women of today still cannot "have it all." Poor babies.

I consider myself a feminist in the traditional sense. I believe women should have the right to equal pay and respect if they so choose to enter the workforce. I also believe a woman's decision to stay home for the good of her family should be respected and not subjected to conspiratorial scrutiny from a small but very vocal sect of feminists.

The feminists noted in the piece claimed Vargas was forced to step down by higher ups (although they had no evidence of this and Vargas herself denies it). President of the so-called Feminist Majority Foundation Eleanor Smeal bemoans the vestiges of patriarchal oppression calling Vargas' move "a demotion" and asking, "Is this a return to the days when it was tougher for women to get ahead?"

The answer, Ms. Smeal, is no. Vargas herself proves that getting ahead as a woman is not impossible. Success is difficult for anyone, but if you're going to make a broad statement like that, please account for the successes of Katie Couric, Barbara Walters, Diane Sawyer, and the countless other women I see in cable news anchor seats. The truth is that many women value relationships over the corporate ladder. When the time comes to decide between the two (and I know from experience that high-track journalism and family cannot coexist in an egalitarian partnership), these women choose family not because Patriarchy made them do it but because, get this, they want to.

Mistaken identity

Shock and grief all over again. I rejoice for the Ceraks but WEEP for the VanRyns. Please follow this Taylor Web site link because I can't process this fast enough to expound.

Pray.

Back to the grind

I broke down and bought a coffee grinder yesterday. It was bound to happen eventually. This morning after a lovely breakfast with my boy, I sat down with my first homemade cup of joe in three weeks.

See, I'd been using my apartmentmate's grinder for the whole school year (thank you, Lane), but cellar apt living is long over and she moved her grinder home a week before school ended anyway. Therefore, for the past several weeks I've relied on the DC, Starbucks, church and (blah!) McD's to fill my cup.

So I did it. I went to WalMart and purchased a grinder. It was on sale and as I fetched the box from a high shelf an elderly woman in a motorized wheelchair paid me a nice compliment. All in all it was a delightful WalMart experience.

And what's more... next week I'll begin filling my grinder with my mark-out pound of Starbucks coffee per week! Oh, the joys of employment.

"For what it's worth, it was worth all the while"

Fortunately for my wallet and waistline, Ivanhoe’s addiction is not a requisite to the Taylor University experience. Although admissions counselors may claim otherwise, life in Upland does not revolve around this famous ice cream vendor. In fact, during my last four years I rarely sampled its cold confections, only discovering my favorite shake in the last semester of my senior year.

“Try the chocolate peanut butter pretzel shake with Peanut Butter Iditarod ice cream instead of the soft serve,” my friend Jess advised. “It’s orgasmic.”

And she was right.

So after four years at University of the Corn Fields, I can at last name my favorite Ivanhoe’s shake. But that’s not all.

My undergraduate career ended a week ago tomorrow on a sunny football field in north central Indiana. My family came to cheer me on and buy me lunch. My gratitude goes to them for enduring the three hour ceremony perched upon ancient bleachers which faced toward the sun. At approximately 12:45 p.m., I claimed my bachelor of arts degree and shifted my tassel to the opposite side of my cap, thereby officially joining the ranks of thousands of Taylor alumni.

It’s hard to look toward the future right now as my prospects remain hazy. Instead, I find it much more comforting to reflect on the past and know that the last four years were not a waste. No, I may never use my degree in exactly the way I thought I would in the fall of 2002, but at that time I didn’t know what I know now. My time in Upland, in Maryland, in Washington, D.C., in Hong Kong, in Ireland, in Finland/Estonia, and in Evansville produced valuable lessons that stretched, pained, and developed me into the woman I am today. The thing is, I’m still learning. I may have graduated from Taylor, but I remain enrolled University of Life.

The term “commencement” signifies new beginning. What is this new road on which I tread? Will I falter? Will I persevere? Only time will tell, but in the meantime, I’ll trade in my Ivanhoe’s spoon for a G.D. Ritzy’s cone. Their cookie dough ice cream is pretty amazing.

Whether the weather...

In Upland, storms overnight bring with them arctic temperatures, even in May.

In Evansville, storms overnight produce warmer weather and the distinct feeling of living inside an armpit.

Geography changes everything.

Prayer request

Laura VanRyn, the only survivor of the recent accident who is still in the hospital, has a blog with updates about her condition. Check it out and remember her in your prayers.

Kids these days...

... got no respect.

I've got the mudstain on my windshield to prove it. :(

Innocence shattered

Current mood: Devastated.

The bubble has burst. Aaron just told me that the dinosaur commonly known as a Brontosaurus is a hoax. It is actually a mixture of two different dinosaurs. This means Little Foot (from The Land Before Time) is nothing but a lie.

How can I go on?

For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand

Twenty-two years today. Surprisingly, it’s been a good birthday. I’ve been resisting celebration due to recent moods, yet I’ve enjoyed the milestone.

In contemplating life as of late, I’ve returned in my mind to Sligo, Ireland AKA Yeats Country…

Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.
-from “The Stolen Child” by W.B. Yeats

"Lying on the floor, lying on the floor"

“Grief is good. It is cleansing. It undoes my world—and that’s the best part of it. I need to be undone; simply undone.”
--John Eldredge, The Journey of Desire

Five dead. Five injured.

My hometown paper had a short write-up on the accident last Thursday. The online format allowed readers to make comments. There was only one comment. It read: “sad.”

Sad. That doesn’t come close to describing the mood oppressing our campus right now. To put the tragedy in perspective, 4 students dead from Taylor would be the mathematical equivalent of 84 students dead at Purdue. But then, numbers don’t always mean much. I mean, how many thousands of children are kidnapped, tortured, enslaved and murdered by Northern Uganda’s Lord’s Resistance Army and yet it’s so easy to forget. No. For any kind of tragedy to truly break your heart, you have to know the victims.

The commenter I mentioned above didn’t know the deceased. He didn’t question Monica about the nature of each day’s fish selection in the DC. He hadn’t marveled at Brad’s grasp of the teleological argument for the existence of God. He never sang beside Betsy in a nursing home lobby or saw the joy on her face as she waxed harmonic. He hadn’t painted large Garamond letters into the wee-hours of the morning across the table from Laurel. He didn’t witness Carly’s elation when her sister Whitney decided to come to Taylor.

He didn’t. But I did.

Taylor University is an intentional Christ-centered community. This means every person here is somehow connected. When any part of that connection is broken, we feel it and we grieve. I’ve received hugs and words of comfort from classmates, professors, administrators, secretaries, card scanners, housekeepers, maintenance men… the list goes on and on. If tears spontaneously come throughout my day, I feel no need to hinder them for I know they will be accepted. There’s something incredible about this place. It’s painful. It hurts. Several times the last few days, I’ve wanted to flee. And yet, I’m thankful. I’m thankful that there is at least one place on earth that acknowledges the need for open, unrestrained grief. We embrace it because to do so is to be human.

I thought I saw mountains today. They were only clouds.

Psalm 55:4-8

"My heart is in anguish within me; the terrors of death assail me.
Fear and trembling have beset me; horror has overwhelmed me.
I said, "Oh, that I had the wings of a dove!
I would fly away and be at rest-
I would flee far away and stay in the desert;
I would hurry to my place of shelter, far from the tempest and storm."

More to pray about...

UPDATE: Click here for the most complete story so far.

Five people in a Taylor van were killed traveling southbound on I-69 in a collision with a semi near the Marion exit, according to IndyChannel.com. Four other van passengers and the semi driver were injured. Names have not been released. Pray.

A time to pray

Why God? It’s a fair question with which to begin. Why is my friend laying in a hospital ICU with her chest open? Why did her blood clot and stop the flow to her heart? Why did her heart stop beating?

So many questions. No real answers. And yet, I hope. God has already worked more miracles in this situation than I can even comprehend. Prayers have been sent up around the clock from around the world. We’re “not out of the woods yet,” but looking back on the blur that was yesterday, I can see God’s hand in everything.

“Blessed be Your name on a road marked with suffering,
Though there’s pain in the offering…
BLESSED BE THE NAME OF THE LORD”

Ben sent an update on Melissa just before noon today. Here it is:

All of the people here are very thankful for the prayers that everyone has been offering up throughout yesterday and the night. Melissa had a really good night, spent some time awake and responding to Brad, and her family. She has been in surgery already this morning, to re-bandage her gauze. Much to everyone's surprise the gauze was completely white. The bleeding is minimal, but the right side of her heart is still not working at all.

The main prayer request is this: The best case scenario is that in the next few weeks the right side of her heart will begin to function normally with her spending that time here in the ICU. The worst case scenario is that the heart does not recover, and it requires her to be on a heart transplant waiting list. The doctor mentioned she would be high on the list because of her health and age. Both families are doing noticeably
better, as they have realized the progress made in the last 24 hours. Melissa's mom is still asking for the continued prayer of everyone, as it has clearly been giving Melissa strength…

And now I shall make like KT Hesse and compile a brief list…

Things for which I thank God:

Heart surgeons
Timing
Friends with whom to cry
Cell phones
Helicopters
Taylor University
Ft. Wayne Lutheran Hospital
911
Hymnals
Prayer vigils
Prayer chapels
Coffee
Hospital volunteers
Sympathetic DC workers
Understanding professors
Due-date extensions
Excused absences
Make-up quizzes and tests
Coworkers to sub
Medical technology
Free pizza
Family
Love
Kleenex

Polygamy shmalygamy

Alison told me that, if I lived in Africa, I would not be a man’s first wife. I’d be his third.

“The third wife is for pleasure,” she said. To which Margaret responded:

“AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! I’m so glad you’re drunk right now (on cough syrup).”

Weeping may last for the night...

“I’ve heard self-pity described as the super-glue of hell,” Alison said.

Last night, she, Janell and I went to Payne’s. We laughed so hard we disturbed the other patrons, we discussed the Irish with a British barista/custard maker, we deliberated on the essence of psychological disturbance and we defied the lure of Satan’s lies as we joined together in intercessory prayer.

It might have been one of the best nights of my semester.

Thinking about it now, tears prick at my eyes. Too often I neglect to be thankful for my friends. This semester has taken us in so many different directions. Some of that is probably our coping mechanism to detach from Taylor in order to alleviate the burden of graduation. In less than a month, we will scatter. Although throughout the summer we will reunite for abbreviated spurts as four of our friends marry off, things will never be the same. This is the way of life. Movement, mutation, isolation.

It’s so easy, in light of such experience, to construct a bed of despair, recline and weep. I ache over inevitable exits, over broken friendships that may never be reconciled. Grief is good. There is a time to grieve; but there is also a time to rise from sackcloth and ash, to claim of the life offered me, to rejoice!

Josh Garrells sings, “In this world you will have trouble, but Jesus overcame the world.” Until we start living that Truth, self-pity is our only option. And like Alison so aptly stated, the cost of that option is far too great.

So what do we do with the grief we feel as a consequence to breathing in a world marred by brokenness? The solution begins with catharsis, with identifying our wounds and feeling them without reservation; but it cannot remain there. Soon we must move beyond awareness to actively seek healing for these wounds. In this way, we abandon self-pity.

Throughout the Bible, we see God healing people’s infirmities. He still offers that today, even if our only wounds are emotional in nature. It’s a continuous process that will never be perfected until we enter heaven, but we can begin to experience some degree of restoration even now. We cannot do it on our own, but it is our responsibility to choose to seek his will and experience the completeness we will only feel from him.

The tears may fall, the heart my wretch, but I will praise you, My LORD and Creator, for it is in you that I may find peace when I earnestly seek (and even sometimes when I don’t).

"We're gonna take this lying down"

The so-called Lord’s Resistance Army has abducted over 30,000 Ugandan children and brainwashed them to kill their own people. Rebel violence has displaced 2 million Northern Ugandans. This war has been waging for the last 18-years. Why haven’t I heard anything about this?

It seems I’m not alone in my ignorance. According to invisiblechildren.com, the Northern Ugandan situation has been called the “worst humanitarian crisis in the world today because of the lack of attention.” It’s time to spread some awareness.

Every night, more than 40,000 children commute on foot into Northern Ugandan cities to sleep together in public places (hospitals, bus depots…). Huddled tightly together, these children seek refuge from the threat of abduction they'd face if they remained in their own homes. This “solution” exposes the children to a number of other horrors (experimental sex, peer aggression, etc.) they may have avoided at home, but the risk of rebel capture is too great. These children are doing the best they can.

On Saturday, April 29, my Taylor friends and I will venture to Indianapolis to take part in the Global Night Commute, a nationwide demonstration occurring in 130 cities. We will join other Hoosiers for a mass sleep-in at Monument Circle from 7 p.m. to 7 a.m. Please join us if you live in the Indy area OR if you want to make a road trip out of it. Like I said, there are 130 US cities participating in the GNC, so find one near you at http://www.invisiblechildren.com/. Be sure to register on the site to make your commitment count. One April night is really not so much of a sacrifice when you consider the suffering the Northern Ugandan children endure every night. I hope you’ll consider taking a stand to shed some light on these “invisible children.”

And one to grow on...

Kids say the darndest things. I found the above illustration within a birthday card from my 6-year-old cousin, Michaela (seen below).



Don’t let the adorable face fool you. This kid is DEVIOUS. But she’s fun. :)

Grease monkey

I changed the oil and filter in my car the other day (under the instruction of my Grandpa). I am officially a pro. ;)

"I'm lucky to know you"

My roommate is an artist. A real artist. Everything she does astonishes me. I can’t even imagine what it would be like to overflow with creativity the way she does. Now she’s included me in her most recent artwork. I’ve never felt so honored.

It’s a deeply emotive piece depicting human trafficking. Four women (of which I am one) have climbed out of a boiling pot of water and are standing on the edge about to jump off. Below them, a malevolent man with an outstretched hand waits to catch them as they fall. The other two pieces depict me being dropped from his hand and being flicked across the globe. I wish I could show them on here, but I don’t even know if that’s legal. My words certainly do not do justice to her concept.

I’m passionate about stories. It’s incredible to me that I’ve been given the opportunity to lend my body to the telling of such an important and tragic one. That’s why I wish I could attend Mars Hill Graduate School. Its philosophy is tied up in the essence of stories, art, text, experience. Unfortunately, there’s no way I could afford such an education after Taylor, but hopefully I can find a way to create my own Mars Hill wherever I end up. A community built on story. That’s what I want.

"Everyday is exactly the same..."

I’ve been fairly uninspired as of late. I’m not particularly sure why. I’ve gotten a lot busier lately. I think I have five weeks of classes left in my undergraduate career. I’m doing my best to enjoy these last few moments while maintaining my academics and looking for jobs. It’s an interesting/stressful season.

This past weekend was perfect. My Irish Studies friends and I trekked out to Pennsylvania (9 hours each way) for Ann’s wedding. It was an absolutely beautiful ceremony, definitely worthy of the bride. All the ISPers had an amazing time breaking it down on the dance floor. I’m so thankful we all got to go.

As for impending after-grad plans, I now have an Indianapolis roommate. Now I just need to get a job or get accepted to grad school. Of course, I wouldn’t be surprised if May finds me with entirely new plans. They’ve mutated so many times already.

Can someone musical explain “heterophony” to me? I have a presentation to give next week and I have no idea what that term means. Oh joy.

And I love NIN. That's all.

Under the sun

Laci says there's a time for everything, so right now it's PENNSYLVANIA ISP WEDDING ROADTRIP TIME!!! :)

Ba-da ba-ba-ba I'm lovin' it

CARDINALS BASEBALL IS BACK!!! Yay Red Birds!

Also, you should watch The McPassion. It's HILARIOUS (and very irreverent). But it's only online until Easter, so get it while it's hot!

"Believe me, I'm just as lost as you"

In a few days, I return to college to finish up the last few weeks of my undergraduate years. Due to the River City Rocker’s obsession with Trapt, I’ve been conveniently reacquainted with one of my old favorite songs. This lyric is especially poignant at the moment:

A small reflection on when we were younger
We had it all figured out
Yes we had everything covered.
Now we’re older it’s getting harder to see
What the future will hold for us
What the f*** are we going to be?
-“Still Frame”

People ask me what I’ll do after May. I have to say my guess is as good as theirs. I have options. I have choices. I just don’t know which way to go. As ever, Megan can’t decide.

"I asked for the sea"

North Park has a new library. Well, it’s probably been here for a year, but it’s new to me and it’s wonderful.

I have wireless internet on my laptop, thanks to Cliff and Best Buy.

I want to be with kt, but her phone broke. :(

My mom and I watched Dear Frankie a few nights ago. I cried as usual.

Simone wrote me an e-mail and I love her.

I bought brown pants for $6 and they’re amazing.

Guess what… I don’t really exist.

"Tell the world I do"

If I could meet anyone dead or alive, I'd meet Billie Holiday. I think she and I could have something to talk about.

Some men like me 'cause I'm happy,
Some 'cause I'm snappy,
Some call me honey, others think I've got money,
Some tell me, "Baby you're built for speed,"
Now when you put that all together,
Makes me everything a good man needs.

-- "Billie's Blues"

Return of Narnia or: The Groundhog Strikes Back

So on February 2, the Groundhog didn’t see his shadow. Obviously.

After one false start to spring, winter is making a come back here in Upland, Indiana. Although no flakes had fallen before my 8 a.m. class, by 10 a.m. the landscape resembled Narnia out my apartment window:



I’m not a huge fan of wetness in general. Snow, rain… it just doesn’t go well with pants. Fortunately, I hadn’t put my long underwear away for the summer yet, so no hypothermia for me!

This afternoon I shall cuddle up with a book and drain the dregs of my Starbucks coffee. Yes, it’s true. “Every ship must sail away…”

NO SPRINGS!!! Heh heh heh...

Tonight I watched SQUIRM with my freshman-year roommate and some other friends. Jenna and Anna made dirt cups (yay for thematic treats) and I learned to do Soduku.

I always forget how much I love Mystery Science Theater 3000, but then I’m reminded the moment those sexy robot silhouettes overlay the screen. Mmmm… nothing compares.

"Volcanoes melt me down."

A year and a half ago, I started down a path that would lead me back to my heart. For so long, I’d been denying my feminine soul. I exchanged relationships for workaholism. I exchanged desire for the status quo. Although I stuffed my craving for human connection beneath busyness and efficiency, that exquisite, aching loneliness of a heart “unworthy” hounded my being as I fought for sleep each night.

And so the summer of 2004 found me awakened to the possibility of who I could be. My dreams were validated, my hope was restored. The prospect of Romance lured me with purpose. For the first time, I saw myself as a woman uniquely bearing the image of God. It was then that I dared to hope.

Looking back, I see how naïve I truly was. I didn’t really understand that by awakening my heart, I had opened myself to suffering, violence, shame, intimidation. In waking up, I had to wade through a dark and tragic past I would have rather forgotten. But only after recognizing this past could I find my redemption.

Tonight, Dan Allender extolled us to let our lives “be about death AND the resurrection.” God uses the Curse to break us and to draw us back to him. You have to die before you can be brought back to life.

Everyday is a battle, but too often I misidentify the enemy. I think of the wounds I have received over the years: The father who abandoned me, the lovers who forgot me, the companions who betrayed me. Perhaps none of their actions were intentionally malevolent, but the implicit message declares that I am not worth anyone’s time, effort, toil. I am too much of a hassle, a mess, a burden.

I have often found myself sitting with my girlfriends, our arms crossed tightly over our chests, bemoaning the atrocities men have wrought on our lives. We blame them for our eating disorders, our self-esteem issues, our faulty perceptions. And Satan has us right where he wants us.

I’m becoming increasingly aware that the true Enemy of my soul is not my father, or my ex-boyfriends, or that crazy old woman who said I was a demon when I was in eighth grade. The wounds in my life were orchestrated and designed to break me and drive me back to God, but too often Satan gets ahold of them and rids me of hope. He makes me feel stained and dark so that I won’t give or receive love. But Allender said, “Evil will not win if you have the courage to name what is true.”

So I will do just that. I will get angry that evil has accomplished so much in my life. I will heed the Curse and not be afraid to let my desperation lead me back to the only Being who can ever satisfy my relational desires. I will not stop telling my story, my Truth, because I know it is the Truth of so many others. Keep reading. The battle has just begun.

Metaphysical mutilation

Last semester in Fundamentals of Counseling, Vance told us that all anyone really needs is validation. He told of how his son used to jump on the trampoline and say, “Look, Dad!” Instead of saying, “Good job” or “Wow, that’s wonderful. I love you,” Vance would simply say, “I see you.” And that was all his son needed.

I guess I’m finding this to be true. One song that speaks to this reality is “Annie Waits” by Ben Folds. As Annie waits in vain for a phone call from a “friend,” she thinks:

“And so he forgot,
he forgot, maybe not —
Maybe he's been seriously hurt.
Would that be worse?”

The friend’s refusal to keep his promise speaks to Annie’s fear that she does not exist. This is evident as she weighs which would be more painful: bodily injury to someone for whom she cares or his lack of acknowledgement that she matters (i.e. forgetfulness).

And so I’ve been thinking, how have I used this simple truth against people? How often have I ignored someone for whatever reason… fear, guilt, revenge… Thinking back through my life, the hardest blows I’ve ever experienced have been the moments that challenged my very existence, the times when I feel unwanted, unseen.

Perhaps that’s why neglect is one of the most sinister forms of abuse. It tells the abused, “You don’t matter. You don’t exist.”

Laundry service.

I just had a very interesting experience that makes me very thankful I live in an all-girl dorm.

English’s (my residence hall’s) laundry room flooded two weeks ago, rendering the facility useless in the meantime. Last week I did my laundry at a friend’s house, but this week I decided to go do my laundry at next door, coed Gerig Hall.

I finished a test early today and figured it’d be as good a time as any to find a washer. My hunch proved correct as I encountered two empty washers in their laundry room. I loaded the washers and headed back to my apartment for a snack.

A half hour later, I returned to discover my laundry had disappeared. I looked all over the table and other washers and couldn’t find my clothes. I finally looked up to see that my laundry had been stashed above the dryers at a height of eight feet. Do the math… I’m about 5’4”. I had to climb up on the adjacent washers just to get my wet laundry down. This kind of thing would never happen in English, mostly because no one is tall enough to get the laundry up there in the first place.

Also as I was leaving Gerig, the strap on my trusty collapsible hamper snapped off. That strap lasted four years in two different countries. It’s so sad that now it’s gone. It also makes it very difficult to wield my laundry now.

Unclean!

I got a campus-wide email whose subject read “The Well is not for sick students.” I thought that was a fun word play.

Apparently, our humble campus has become an incubator for influenza. As the health center doles out excused absences, infected students wonder what to do with all this free time. Solution: Go pump iron in The Well (our fitness center). Haha. The email informed these students that working out will not only complicate their symptoms but will also spread the virus further.

[Too lazy to transition]

Today in Research, Scott gave us a study guide for Wednesday’s test. The guide was a two-inch long strip of paper consisting of nine bullet points with areas to study. These bullet points included such items as the four scales of measurement and types of variables. The final point read: “And everything else in our readings and book.”

AHHHHH!!! Could you be anymore inclusive?

In reality, I’m not too worried about the test. Research is my favorite class this semester, which is quite a surprise since I got signed into it right before JTerm ended.

[Too lazy to conclude]

Every ship must sail away...

Resignation. In times like these, it’s the only posture to take. I’m thankful for Blue Merle; they pen my sentiments exactly:

Oh change is in the air
And you wear it all so well
I asked you if you cared
If you care I couldn't tell

Years pass and people change
Bluer skies could turn to gray
Though it's gonna hurt for now
Every ship must sail away
Every ship must sail away

Encouragement

So life has taken an unexpected turn. I have no idea what will happen after May 20. In Margaret's professional development class, a guest speaker entered and handed out this flier that I find particularly encouraging at this juncture:

Too cool for school: A consumer report

Margaret and I went to WalMart and Lowe's last night to buy frame stuff for her SENIOR SHOW. While in WalMart, this new new product caught my eye:



Gum ice cubes??? Oh, our brave new world...!!!

So since it was a special occasion, I purchased and sampled the IceBreakers Ice Cubes. To my disappointment, it tasted like chewed-up gum that had been fashioned into a cube shape.

Moral of the story: Save your $.84 for tried-and-true Orbit Gum.

But it was fun to experiment nonetheless.

So Megan waits, Megan waits, Megan waits...

I’ve been listening to a lot of Ben Folds. He’s pretty much amazing. I tried to get concert tickets for next month when he’ll be in Indy, but the show was sold out. :( I cried.

I’m definitely in a holding pattern right now. There are many big decisions on my horizon, but none of them present themselves immediately. I’m just watching and waiting for the flag to drop, for the shot to fire, so I can be off the blocks and running. But I’m no track star. Heck, I’m not even on the sidelines.

At yesterday’s conference, Matt Connor spoke about God’s Will saying he thinks Satan loves nothing more than when we sit around on our butts waiting for a sign from God, fretting about our purpose.

Just go!

But where?

Wherever you want.

But what do I want?

Ooo… That’s a toughie.

And then there’s last Wednesday when Beth Moore told my Bible study group (via DVD) that waiting is NOT idle time. That’s what patience is all about. So maybe I’m growing right now. I don’t know, but it hurts.

The calloused woman-of-the-world inside of me says, “Good. Use that to your advantage. Whatever does not kill you makes you stronger. And, by the way, you look damn good in a power suit.”

“Kill your desire to be loved/important/remembered/enjoyed,” she says. “It’ll just bring you heartache. Women today have more choices than that.”

I wish she was right. The truth is I looked for validation there once and what I got was a pretty convincing counterfeit, but a counterfeit nonetheless.

A couple weeks ago, I was crying to Margaret. The good Gestaltist inside was saying that my turmoil was my fault for building expectations. Margaret wisely informed me that part of trusting is expecting something. If trust is an essential aspect of relationship then we cannot survive by eliminating expectation. Take that, Fritz Perls.

The ache is still there, but I acknowledge it, I feel it. And I will until it goes away.

"I'm looking for baggage that goes with mine"

I went to MAC's Mission Conference today at Ball State. It was deeply enriching and spiritually challenging. The key note speaker was amazing. He talked about Joshua and how God required the people of Israel to take the first step of faith BEFORE He came through for them. This first step was scary and risky, but ultimately rewarding.

I ate free Chinese food. With chopsticks. :)

I also went to breakout sessions on church planting in Ireland, discerning God's Will, and reaching closed-access countries through tentmaking platforms. All were incredibly thought-provoking and inspiring.

I'm not quite sure how to apply all this new information. It will take me at least a few days to process. Until then, I'll have a lot to chew on.

Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb

My Art as Experience professor looks like Scarlett Johansson. That doesn't mean I have to like her. Right now we're "studying" film, which is interesting to me now that I've taken Digital Video. Anyway, for class we had to pick a film from a list of approved titles on which to write a critical paper. Jenny and I chose Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb because it is one of my brother's favorites. I informed Nate of my recent cinematic achievement, to which he replied, "I guess you know who's behind the flouridation of water now..."

Stanley Kubrick’s critically acclaimed cold war comedy describes the frivolous efforts of the United States’ top bureaucrats to keep the world from ending. When insane Air Force Colonial Jack D. Ripper deploys an airborne B-52 to drop an atomic bomb on the Soviet Union, the race is on to stop that plane. Unfortunately, Ripper invoked a protocol to keep this aircraft from being recalled by any radio frequency besides the one for which only he knows the prefix (and he’s not telling). As time runs out, the Soviet ambassador informs the U.S. president and his advisers that any attack on the U.S.S.R. will trigger their Doomsday Machine and usher forth the end of all human, plant and animal life on earth.

Dr. Strangelove opened 1964 to an America that had gotten accustomed to living on the brink of nuclear war. When seen in the context of its release date, this is a very important film because it confronts conspiracy theory and government mismanagement in addition to the idiocy of war. Through his deft use of satire, Kubrick presents war as the most absurd of notions. He portrays War-Room antics with pure lunacy as generals banter across the table and world leaders small-talk over the phone. The film explores the wages of war, of mishandled government policy, and of fear. It describes how our own human fallenness, rather than surging technology, will be our eventual downfall.

The film employs black and white cinematography which emphasizes the archaic nature of the themes presented. War is not progression; it is regression. The lighting in the War-Room is especially effective at conveying the ominous decisions being made. Stark contrasts between light and dark accentuate mortality which is juxtaposed against the fluffy nature of the counselors’ dialogue for added irony. In all of the scenes at the Air Force Base, banners and posters read, “Peace is our Profession,” even as different U.S. military branches open machine-gun fire on one another. This sardonic motif further solidifies the two-faced nature with which the military operates.

I’d recommend Dr. Strangelove to any student of humanity or history. My laughter throughout the movie encouraged me to think more deeply about the issues being portrayed. Although this is satire, man’s depravity is valid. In a world ruled by fear (where not even drinking water is safe), anything can happen. This is true in my own life as well. How often have I based my own decisions on faulty theories and bogus assumptions? When I make perceptual mistakes, nuclear holocaust might not hang in the balance, but then again, maybe one day it will.

Happy birthday, Nanna!

This is an 88th birthday shout out to Benny's grandma, Nanna, who probably doesn't even read my blog. Still, 88 deserves something special. Aren't there 88 keys on a piano? And 88 teeth in a dolphin's mouth (yeah, Dolphin Quest)? Yes, this is huge.

Also, Nanna is the most amazing woman ever to roam the earth. I've enjoyed many a chat with her at concerts and holiday gatherings. I adore her.

Over Thanksgiving Break Polk and I went to chill with Nanna at her apartment. Lindsay Lohan was on Jay Leno and Nanna was talking about Lindsay's crazy dress. Good times.

I remember I attended her 84th birthday bash. It's hard to believe that was four years ago. That was also the day I received an orange orangutan to heal a broken heart. It must have worked. :)

I've got a river of life flowin' out of me

Today’s moment of irony: Someone decided it’d be beneficial to the campus ethos to affix random scripture verses to the insides of bathroom stall doors in Reade. I just encountered one that cited John 7:37-38, “If anyone is thirsty, let him come to me and drink. Whoever believes in me, as the Scripture has said, streams of living water will flow from within him." Hmmm… kind of takes on a different connotation whilst urinating.

"This is it. Don't get scared now."

Kevin McAllister is my hero. Let’s just put that out there right now.

This is bound to be one of those eclectic posts. I even have a photo!



Check it out, these are the books I shall read for my senior paper. These are just the sources I checked out today. I have more coming from InterLibrary Loan. Get PUMPED!!!

Don’t ask me what my senior paper topic is. I keep forgetting. Oh wait, maybe I remember. Something about biological sex and gender roles and the rhetoric of silence in the feminist movement… I told myself I’d construct a methodology today. I at least chose one… the sociological approach. If that means nothing to you, consider yourself blessed.

And now I shall continue to put off the inevitable and do no more work on my paper until two days before my books are due back to the library.

Whatever happened to Lucy Woodward? She and I might be the same person. I’m listening to “Standing.”

[Two weeks] under my belt and
I'm staring at the ceiling once again.
Your closure is just ripping me wide open.
And I wanna scream but I know it won't bring you back to me.
So your independence wins.
I hope you're finding out what the hell that is.

It's dinner time and I have friends to meet and movies to watch. Perhaps Dr. Strangelove? Only time will tell.

"I can't see the sun for the daylight"

Tonight I experienced worship at Taylor like never before. This weekend we’re having a 48-hours of prayer marathon in the prayer chapel. Allegedly this is part of a campus craze that’s sweeping the nation. Last weekend it was Calvin, this weekend it’s Taylor.

Anyway, after attending some friends’ senior art shows (which were AMAZING btw), Alison, Margaret and I headed over to the prayer chapel where roughly twenty TU students were already gathered singing and praying and generally worshipping God. I’m usually pretty cynical about things like this, but upon entering I was struck by the sincerity and genuineness of the offering. As I sat down and joined in the song, I felt deeply moved in my very spirit. I was indeed occupying holy ground.

I’m a firm believer in honesty in all forms of communication, even prayer and worship. It seems, however, that this is an area in which I am quite apt to lie. I sang, “I will not forget You, You are my God, my King…” and then I realized that’s not even remotely true. I forget God all the time! It’s sad, I know, but it’s true.

So I stopped singing along, but even so I felt the words to a very different worship song rise up in me. This is the song that I sang within my soul:

If you put your arms around me, could it change the way I feel?
I guess I let myself believe that the outside might just bleed its way in.
Maybe stir the sleeping past lying under glass,
Waiting for the kiss that breaks this awful spell.
Pull me out of this lonely cell.

Close my eyes and hold my heart.
Cover me and make me something.
Change this something normal into something beautiful.

What I get from my reflection isn't what I thought I'd see.
Give me reason to believe you'd never keep me incomplete.
Will you untie this loss of mine, it easily defines me.
Do you see it on my face?
That all I can think about is how long I've been waiting to feel you move me?

Close my eyes and hold my heart.
Cover me and make me something.
Change this something normal into something beautiful...

And I'm still fighting for the world to break these chains.
And I still pray when I look in your eyes
You stare right back down into something beautiful.

--Jars of Clay, “Something Beautiful”

Amid my inadequacies, God is gracious. That, my friends, is the message of the Cross.

"I love the things that we should fear"

I just counted. I’ve had seven cups of coffee today. Excessive? Yes. But is it lethal?

I seem to remember Dr. Cosgrove citing 10 cups/day as the indication of a problem. If memory serves me well, I’m in the clear. Still, I’m aware that many of the chemicals present in coffee affect brain activity in adverse ways. At this point, I’m willing to suffer the consequences.

My cursory research in such scholarly publications as Prevention and Psychology Today indicates that drinking coffee does have its benefits, most notably in diabetes prevention. Excellent. I hope those are valid studies and not just media hype. I would do some serious research on PsychINFO for some more credible, peer reviewed data, but I’m not really feeling it right now.

It’s interesting to note that not one of today’s seven coffees was made by Steve, my favorite barista. In the past four days I’ve spent way too much money on him. What can I say, he is the master. Last Friday he made me a triple grande vanilla hazelnut latte that was so perfect I almost peed my pants. He’s working more hours at Northern Lights now. That’s a problem for my wallet.

A letter from the battlefield...

How to fight loneliness:
Smile all the time
Shine you teeth til meaningless
Sharpen them with lies
And whatevers going down
Will follow you around
That's how you fight loneliness
You laugh at every joke
Drag your blanket blindly
Fill your heart with smoke
And the first thing that you want
Will be the last thing you ever need
That's how you fight it
--Wilco, "How to Fight Loneliness"

I'm sick of combat. My scimitar is far to heavy. Heather tells me it's okay to be sad. I wish I could believe her more.

Fame! I'm gonna live forever...

Some people are remembered for monumental contributions to humanity. Others are remembered for driving through L.A. with four-month-old babies in their laps. Me? I’m remembered for falling victim to klepto-primates in Southeast Asia.

Yesterday at MAC Scotty B. informed me that he’d used my harrowing Monkey Mountain ordeal as an example for his sociology class at Marion High School. An example of what? It’s nice to know the youth of Marion have had a laugh at my expense.

This morning in the Well Kathryn took a break from medicine-ball sit-ups to inform me that she’d also shared my horrific experience with a Taylor student currently studying at Hong Kong Baptist University. It seems I’ve become a legend.

So to set the record straight, here’s my account of what happened that fateful day almost four years ago:

The team had just returned to Hong Kong from mainland China and we had a day to unwind before boarding our flight back to the other side of the planet. We decided to use this day to do some sightseeing on the yet-unexplored Hong Kong Island (we’d spent all our Hong Kong time in Kowloon). Everyone I’d talked to thus far had raved about Monkey Mountain, a magical place where humans and primates coexist as nature intended, where wild monkeys run free with the wind in their hair, where tourists can truly get in touch with the feral heart within. We set our itinerary and headed out for the adventure of a lifetime.

Prior to boarding our bus, however, I’d stopped in a convenience store to purchase some unique Chinese items for my impending trip home. I spent $40 HK ($5 US); money well-spent, or so I thought.

We reached Monkey Mountain and disembarked from the public bus. Our Asian friends led us up a path into the heart of the monkey kingdom. I clutched my plastic Watson’s bag and was about to ask a friend if I could place it in his backpack when out of nowhere this nasty, furry demon streaked past me, taking my recently-purchased souvenirs with him.

A hoard of snarling simians gathered to divide the spoils amongst them. One took a liking to a purple electric fan (batteries included). Another selected my cylindrical watch. A mother and child lathered up with glittery shower gel. It was an evil spectacle to behold.

At this point, I basically lost it and cried. I’d just come off two weeks of straight ministry and was emotionally raw. I left that mountain a shell of a woman. I mean, who gets mugged by monkeys? Yeah, that’s right. Me.

I never fully recovered.