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.

Freedom isn't free

Tomorrow my high school best friend Jessica is shipping off to Afghanistan to fight for our country, or someone’s country. I never know anymore.

Along similar (but in no way equal) lines, I have spent an obscene amount of money on gas and coffee the last few weeks. Such is the wages of liberty.

"She's his yellow-brick road..."

I just did something completely unexpected. I watched Elizabethtown and LOVED it.

1. It's filmed in Kentucky so it makes me feel like home (I know, I'm from Indiana, but I'm on the border so the culture is the same).
2. The cinematography is excellent.
3. Orlando Bloom is actually a convincing American.
4. Kirstin Dunst (though still annoyingly braless) is actually a convincing Kentuckian.
5. The Suicide Bike sequence was PERFECT.
6. Amazing soundtrack.
7. I like what it has to say about risk.

Take that, Newton.

You

All alone

Are you waiting for someone to make you whole?

Can't you see?

Aren't you tired of this dysfunctional routine?

--Staind, “Falling”

There is no way for me to hear those lyrics and not feel convicted. I’d been dreading this weekend for the last two weeks, ever since I heard Margaret and Alison were going to a conference. I never realize how dependent I am on my friends until they leave for a few days.

So Thursday rolled around and I realized my other friends were going to be unavailable this weekend too. It seemed I was headed for a solid three days of loneliness in EH 019. Yeah, I was pretty tired of that dysfunctional routine.

Instead of lying around the apartment, I escaped to the anonymity of the city like I used to when I was living in Washington, D.C. Indy isn’t quite Washington, but it’ll do in a pinch. I went to the art museum. I’d never been there and was actually quite impressed that such a place exists in Indiana.

Art museums are the modern-day cathedral. They have this surreal reverence to them to which even the most uncritical patron (me) must conform. Everyone wears their best clothes to the art museum, even the little boys with collared shirts barely tucked into their itty, bitty Dockers. The artwork itself preaches sermons and/or leads worship by example.

My favorite piece was called “Round Trip (A Space to Fall Back On)” by Vito Acconci. It took up an entire corner with stools and boxes placed “randomly” around the floor, wall and ceiling. A podium equipped with speakers played a loop of commands, ruminations and odd noises recorded by Acconci. Whenever he wasn’t speaking, there was this almost eerie knocking sound. It gave me a sense of unpredictability coupled with discomfort. I believe the point of the work was to move the viewer beyond his/her self-imposed physical/psychological constraints. If wooden stools can break the laws of physics, why can’t I?

Everytime we lie awake

Dr. Corduan offered our Contemp class world-wide internet fame yesterday, and, although he did mention us, I felt a tad slighted by his coverage. I wasn't devastated tho, considering I didn't exactly participate in the discussion. Hey, I have an excuse: I sit in the back of the classroom, it's early in the morning, and I'd already drank three cups of coffee so I had to pee. All I could think about was bladder control. Anyway, I like Dr. Corduan's blog. It makes me smile.

Rebekah gave me some amazing chocolate today. I don't remember what it's called, but it's a new brand and it had chili peppers and cinnamon in it. Orgasmic.

Last night I went to Muncie and had coffee with a wonderful friend. We blew off Cru and just talked about life for a couple of hours. It was glorious. I'd been feeling very disconnected from everyone in the entire world lately, but it's starting to wear off. Plus today I wore my Alf shirt and Heather's sexy boots and that puts me in a good mood.

No tame lion

Today in Contemporary Christian Belief we were discussing possible conclusions to the statement, “I would accept Christianity if…” The most challenging conclusion involved experience (feelings, direct communication, miracles). Often, people require God to give them “a sign” before they’ll believe in him. Sometimes God decides to answer said person with a sign, but usually he doesn’t. The problem with the logic of “I would accept Christianity if God does something for me” is that we cannot control what God does. He works in his own sovereign way. Dr. Corduan said, “I’m not trying to rain on anyone’s parade, but it’s up to God whether there is a parade or not.”

I’m learning from my Beth Moore study that faith must often precede vision. Hebrews 11:1 defines faith as “being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see.” The Biblical examples of Abel, Enoch, Noah and Abraham are held up as models of this state of being. They lived in God’s promise by faith and did not require God to prove himself to them. In many ways, he never did. “All these people were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance” (v. 13).

I’m no Bible scholar, so I could be theologically off-base, and, please, correct me if I’m wrong because I’m struggling with this. How can I follow a God who refuses to prove himself to me? There is absolutely nothing I can do to make God be real to me. He makes me wait on him and allow him to surprise me with breathtaking sunrises and mid-sob peace that defies understanding. I want God to move, I want him to come through for me, but then again maybe he is and it’s just not according to my demands. God is not house-trained to my expectations. That’s probably a good thing.

I kissed homeostasis good-bye

I get mad at God sometimes. I was a little ticked at him around lunchtime today. I was sitting alone at the top of the DC and sort of yelling at him in my head. It seems like I’m in this endless cycle of getting exactly what I want only to have it taken away. This usually works out alright in the end because God’s pretty good at meeting my ultimate needs rather than my wants, but I still get pretty miffed when I lose something I thought God wanted me to have.

I was upset that things aren’t ok in my life. Granted, I want things to be more than just “ok,” but tranquility sounds like the ideal. Looking back on the past month or so of my life, things seemed pretty perfect. Now my ship has run aground. It’s not like anything is destroyed, my soul is still intact. I’m just a little battered, a little bruised, and I’m caught up in this horrible tension that I just wish would go away.

So after I mentally railed at God for a minute or so as to why my life isn’t copasetic, I looked down at the book sitting in my lap and God said to me (through Viktor Frankl):

“I consider it a dangerous misconception of mental hygiene to assume that what man needs in the first place is equilibrium or, as it is called in biology, ‘homeostasis,’ i.e., a tensionless state. What man actually needs is not a tensionless state but rather a striving and struggling for a worthwhile goal, a freely chosen task.” (Man’s Search for Meaning)

And so I’m caught up in this struggle, this tension as I strive to ascribe meaning to my current discomfort. It’s not always going to be a fun challenge but it’s a challenge nonetheless. At least I feel better about not being where I want to be.

“I want a perfect body, I want a perfect soul”

“The trouble with our ideals is that if we live up to all of them, we become impossible to live with.” –Brennan Manning, The Ragamuffin Gospel

We’re reading The Ragamuffin Gospel for Contemporary Christian Belief. Well, Margaret’s reading it. I haven’t bought the book yet. Anyway, Margaret read me the above quote and I LOVE it. It hits me right where I am, where I’ve been for ages.

I’ve spent most of my life trying to perfect myself. I go to extremes to prove myself worthy… of what? I’m not sure. But I know I’m not there and if I just push myself a little harder maybe I can get there.

It’s an addiction, an addiction to perfection. I have this notion of the ideal in my head, but it’s not something I can really visualize or grasp. It’s an abstract goal somewhere off in the future that I never will attain. Thank God for grace.

Last Friday the chapel speaker talked about America’s obsession with body image. I felt immediately and deeply convicted. I spend hours in the fitness center each week pushing myself and for what? The Bible supports stewardship of the body, but what are my motives for spinning 5.5 miles on the elliptical each morning? I do love the feeling of physical invincibility I get when I complete my workout, but I know deep down I’m just trying to maintain my slender figure. I’m constantly scrutinizing my body, just searching for imperfections to loathe. It never takes me long to find something to hate.

This does not honor God. The speaker (I forgot his name), who had suffered from bulimia when he was in college, said “God is okay with your body.” God made me the way I am and, sure, I have a responsibility to maintain a certain level of physical fitness, but only after I’ve made it a priority to maintain my relationship with God. I’ll admit the past couple of months that part of my life has been lacking. I’m a cardio-queen but when it comes to spiritual discipline my tank is empty. Yay… another thing to beat myself up over!

But the wonderful thing is I don’t need to beat myself up. The past is over, what really matters is my decision today. Perfection is an illusion, the ideal is futile. God wants me just as I am, an imperfect body with an imperfect soul.

Let's go to the movies!

In less than a month, it seems like I watched more movies than I did in all of 2005. I haven’t said a word on here about most of them, even though I thought about it. So now, I’m attempting to right such injustice by creating a recommendation list. I wish I could have reviews for each of these movies, and perhaps one day I’ll allude to a theme from one or two in future posts, but for right now, here goes.

Highly recommended:

Dear Frankie
Crash
Hitch
Mr. & Mrs. Smith
Girl with a Pearl Earring
Big Fish
Wayne’s World II
Under the Tuscan Sun
Chocolat

Recommended:

MST3K the Movie
Shall We Dance (Original Japanese)
Shall We Dance (American)
Best in Show
Waiting for Guffman
The Bourne Identity
Lost in Translation
The Producers (1968)
Garden State


Not Recommended:

Casanova
Half of Lord of War
The Last of the Mohicans
On Edge
Vanity Fair

What a beautiful letdown...

I’ve often wondered what happened to Large and Sam after the Garden State credits rolled. The conclusion of that movie leaves so much to be desired. Here they are, standing at this “crossroads,” and Large makes a decision to commit. He says, “This is it. This is life. And I'm in love with you, Samantha. I think that's the only thing I've ever been really sure of in my entire life.”

At this point, he’s known her for four days.

I’m not discounting his feelings or his decision, but I’m pretty sure a month or so later there’s been some fallout. Large’s withdrawal symptoms finally catch up to him and he realizes that he has considerable work to do on his unresolved emotional issues. This puts a great deal of burden on Sam as she valiantly tries to stand by her man but ultimately cannot relate. She isn’t entirely honest about her feelings of regret about jumping into something with Large because she still cares about him and doesn’t want him to worry. Somehow, though, her lies reveal themselves nonverbally and Large must try to sift through the past to try to understand which part of this woman standing before him is actually his girlfriend and which part is a fictitious image she projected to make him happy. Things are so jumbled that, at this point, a break up looks like a pretty attractive option.

According to my Interpersonal Communication book (and personal experience), all human relationships experience some degree of conflict. The difference between relational success and failure lies in how each party handles the conflict. Sometimes this struggle actually enhances a couple’s bond. What can Large and Sam do to salvage their mangled relationship?

I'm open to any ideas.

“Turn on the light, stumble inside.”

The trouble with having real friends is that they won’t believe your lies.

They ask you how things are going. You say fine; your eyes betray you. They hound you for the rest of the afternoon until you finally fess up to what’s bothering you.

Fortunately, that troublesome little attribute is also the best thing in the world. We all want to be known, to be seen. Sometimes, that requires a little unabashed honesty, which is risky but essential to the authenticity of said relationship. Sometimes it hurts, usually it’s really uncomfortable; but in the end you find yourself spooning with your two closest friends on your roommate’s bed and you know that nothing in the world will ever take this moment from you. Right now, you are accepted for who you are, and even if no one else gives a damn, you’ve made a connection. There are so many things that friends cannot fix, but at least they are there and they see you. Gestaltists believe that all anyone really needs is validation. I’m not sure I’d go that far, but it sure does feel nice to have someone else say I exist.

Whoa-yeah, everything’s not lost

Have you ever been totally caught off-guard by an act of love, something that knocks the air straight out of your lungs like a surprise French kiss or an unexpected visit? I believe in a God of Romance, and boy did He lavish one on me this morning! I think I’ve mentioned on here how God communicates His love for me through the sky. Well, this morning as I was leaving the Well a fuchsia sunrise greeted me. I could hardly believe my eyes, it was so breathtaking. For a moment, I wished for a camera, but then I realized that I should just enjoy it and drink it in while I could. The pink had quickly dissipated by the time I passed the baseball field, leaving not so much as a trace upon the grey clouds that shrouded the morning air. It was then that I knew that the display I’d just seen had been intended specifically for me. Had I left the Well a moment later, I would have missed everything.

“How great the Father’s love for us, how vast beyond all measure.”