I have recorded my college experiences here, and my first few years of teaching and advising. And now I wonder what comes next. Because, unless I die accidentally, there will be a next thing. And more people. I realized recently that I have been forming a life philosophy, and I am as disturbed as you are that these are not verses from the Bible.
1. People are the same everywhere.
That's not to say that individuals are not special to me. Individuals are irreplaceable in my life. But so far as I can tell, people present the same problems and the same solutions, the world over. People are going to be petty, ridiculous, overly-serious, and suddenly-political no matter where I live or what job I have. And people are the answer to that particular lonely feeling I get, and that disheartened loss of faith I know so well, and that cluelessness I feel in new places.
2. We can do no great things, only small things with great love.
Ken gave me a bracelet with this inscribed on it, and Mother Teresa, apparently, said it. I have longed to make a difference in the world. I have longed to use whatever is special about me, my sensitivity, my ability to say words backwards, my peculiar family background, whatever I am, to bring some good to the world, to really get the ball rolling toward this goal of bringing people to Jesus, all in their own languages, at the same time, yes, thank you. It's not gonna happen like that. I'm not gonna do this alone. I'm not even at the center of Jesus' plan of salvation. He's assembled a vast team that spans time and space, in which I'm a pinprick of His light; to think that I could do anything greater than small, daily deaths to self as I look for His face in this world of loss, is ludicrous and possibly idolatrous. Thank you, Jesus, for this freedom! May your Kingdom come!
Saturday, December 28, 2013
Sunday, December 22, 2013
Danticat's "We are Ugly, But We are Here"
Edwidge Danticat is a Haitian author whose essay called "We are Ugly, But We are Here" slaps me upside the head with perspective. Who has ever grieved at pimples from a lack of sleep, or a roll of fat from a lack of activity, or a new wrinkle from worrying? Remind yourself of what matters: you have participated in life.
"There is a Haitian saying which might upset the aesthetic images of most women. Nou led, Nou la, it says. We are ugly, but we are here. [... T]his saying makes a deeper claim for poor Haitian women than maintaining beauty. [... W]hat is worth celebrating is the fact that we are here, that we against all the odds exist."
She gives some examples in the essay of the trials women have endured in her mother country; one woman has scars on her flesh and in her nostrils from where soldiers shoved lit cigarette butts up her nose. Who tells that woman, who tells THAT WOMAN that she is ugly? Go ahead. But you don't understand anything. And for that matter, who tells anyone that he or she is ugly? What do you know? What do I know about what another has seen? We don't know. We must listen.
"To the women who might greet each other with this saying, [...] [i]t is always worth reminding our sisters that we have lived yet another day to answer the roll call of an often painful and very difficult life."
If people call you ugly, turn to them the other marred cheek. "Sure," say to them, "I am ugly." Why not? Smile to yourself, smile to the injured one who stands before you: "But I am here."
The whole of the essay is here, and takes only a few minutes to read.
http://www2.webster.edu/~corbetre/haiti/literature/danticat-ugly.htm
"There is a Haitian saying which might upset the aesthetic images of most women. Nou led, Nou la, it says. We are ugly, but we are here. [... T]his saying makes a deeper claim for poor Haitian women than maintaining beauty. [... W]hat is worth celebrating is the fact that we are here, that we against all the odds exist."
She gives some examples in the essay of the trials women have endured in her mother country; one woman has scars on her flesh and in her nostrils from where soldiers shoved lit cigarette butts up her nose. Who tells that woman, who tells THAT WOMAN that she is ugly? Go ahead. But you don't understand anything. And for that matter, who tells anyone that he or she is ugly? What do you know? What do I know about what another has seen? We don't know. We must listen.
"To the women who might greet each other with this saying, [...] [i]t is always worth reminding our sisters that we have lived yet another day to answer the roll call of an often painful and very difficult life."
If people call you ugly, turn to them the other marred cheek. "Sure," say to them, "I am ugly." Why not? Smile to yourself, smile to the injured one who stands before you: "But I am here."
The whole of the essay is here, and takes only a few minutes to read.
http://www2.webster.edu/~corbetre/haiti/literature/danticat-ugly.htm
Monday, December 2, 2013
Thanks, Mom
Prompt: Indulge in nostalgia
I don't normally think about the positive things I associate with being a kid. My childhood is filled with half-gratified desires. I often think about how hard I had it. I always had questions that needed answering, and I longed to grow up so I could be taken seriously.
The library. As a child, my room had lots of picture books, and we were always at the library swapping them out. We rented movies from there, too, especially during the summer. I remember the first time I saw Princess Bride. My brother was skeptical that it was going to be "a girl movie" (ha!!). It should go without saying that we were both entirely satisfied by the viewing experience.
Midnight Snack. How it got started, I don't know. And it was never actually midnight when my mother indulged our young cravings for sweets. She put a few Graham crackers out with cups of milk. I became a pro Graham-dunker. Good job, Mom, on not giving us fruit snacks or candy at that hour. She knew nutrition, even if our babysitters were sometimes less than aware.
Reading to us.Why does no one read to me now? It's so comfortable and cozy to sit and listen to someone else's voice, on and on. As I rested my head on her side, I closed my eyes and heard her voice, swallowing my thoughts and spooning a thin layer of honey all over the world. She read to us before bed almost every night, when she wasn't working, of course, and she'd dismiss us to bed with, "first one to bed gets first hugs'n'kisses!" We scrambled for our rooms, and made such a fuss if she didn't judge correctly the "winner" of the game.
"Go outside and play." In my imperfect memory, Stephen always seemed to be outside with his friends, riding bike, or skateboarding, or playing street hockey, or... many other mysteries. None of my friends lived in town for a long time, so I confined myself to the yard, learned nothing there, and felt lonely. But at least I was outside, and so was Stephen, usually. Once, though, I recall he and Logan and Danny (together, the Three Musketeers, but without the noble intentions or code of honor) were playing in the basement. They were there for a long time, and finally came upstairs giggling. They had spray-painted their initials on a yellow, metal cabinet, long unused, in the tiny work room. The fumes had been getting to them, but they also thought that they were the cleverest little rascals to ever strategically spray paint their initials. The "LSD" cabinet remained in the house for a long time.
"Why don't you stay home tonight?" In high school, my mom would tell me that I couldn't go out, just because "you've already gone out three nights this week. It would be a good night to stay in." I so little understood how much my bitter, "But why?!" could have hurt her. My "why?" to the request to stay home implied so much: that I wanted to get away from her and the family, that I didn't think they were worth my time, that I had better things to do, better places to be, in short, that I didn't value my home community and consider it worth my contribution.
I wish more parents would tell their kids to stay in a few nights a week. When I tell it to dorm students, they are frustrated. They say things like, "It feels like I'm in prison!"; "I hate this place!"; "Why do you want to control me!?" But by the end of the year, they realize that the time they spent here was valuable. They wish they had spent more time getting to know the other students and advisers. They realize that this was their home for a while, and wish they had owned it more, contributed more.
I don't normally think about the positive things I associate with being a kid. My childhood is filled with half-gratified desires. I often think about how hard I had it. I always had questions that needed answering, and I longed to grow up so I could be taken seriously.
The library. As a child, my room had lots of picture books, and we were always at the library swapping them out. We rented movies from there, too, especially during the summer. I remember the first time I saw Princess Bride. My brother was skeptical that it was going to be "a girl movie" (ha!!). It should go without saying that we were both entirely satisfied by the viewing experience.
Midnight Snack. How it got started, I don't know. And it was never actually midnight when my mother indulged our young cravings for sweets. She put a few Graham crackers out with cups of milk. I became a pro Graham-dunker. Good job, Mom, on not giving us fruit snacks or candy at that hour. She knew nutrition, even if our babysitters were sometimes less than aware.
Reading to us.Why does no one read to me now? It's so comfortable and cozy to sit and listen to someone else's voice, on and on. As I rested my head on her side, I closed my eyes and heard her voice, swallowing my thoughts and spooning a thin layer of honey all over the world. She read to us before bed almost every night, when she wasn't working, of course, and she'd dismiss us to bed with, "first one to bed gets first hugs'n'kisses!" We scrambled for our rooms, and made such a fuss if she didn't judge correctly the "winner" of the game.
"Go outside and play." In my imperfect memory, Stephen always seemed to be outside with his friends, riding bike, or skateboarding, or playing street hockey, or... many other mysteries. None of my friends lived in town for a long time, so I confined myself to the yard, learned nothing there, and felt lonely. But at least I was outside, and so was Stephen, usually. Once, though, I recall he and Logan and Danny (together, the Three Musketeers, but without the noble intentions or code of honor) were playing in the basement. They were there for a long time, and finally came upstairs giggling. They had spray-painted their initials on a yellow, metal cabinet, long unused, in the tiny work room. The fumes had been getting to them, but they also thought that they were the cleverest little rascals to ever strategically spray paint their initials. The "LSD" cabinet remained in the house for a long time.
"Why don't you stay home tonight?" In high school, my mom would tell me that I couldn't go out, just because "you've already gone out three nights this week. It would be a good night to stay in." I so little understood how much my bitter, "But why?!" could have hurt her. My "why?" to the request to stay home implied so much: that I wanted to get away from her and the family, that I didn't think they were worth my time, that I had better things to do, better places to be, in short, that I didn't value my home community and consider it worth my contribution.
I wish more parents would tell their kids to stay in a few nights a week. When I tell it to dorm students, they are frustrated. They say things like, "It feels like I'm in prison!"; "I hate this place!"; "Why do you want to control me!?" But by the end of the year, they realize that the time they spent here was valuable. They wish they had spent more time getting to know the other students and advisers. They realize that this was their home for a while, and wish they had owned it more, contributed more.
Friday, November 29, 2013
Immovable Object, Meet Unstoppable Force
Maggie, a student here, is obsessive-compulsive when it comes to her bed. She wants it to be clean. So clean. It must remain clean. Each night, after her shower, she goes right across the hall, changes quickly, and gets in bed before she has the chance to encounter any more dirt.
On Wednesday afternoon, people were coming in and out of the dorm, claiming their children and their children's clothes for the five-day holiday. One student's five-year-old sister, Sara, was running through the halls at this time. Sara has Down Syndrome, and she is the busiest kid I've ever met. She runs and runs. She runs to the edge of the stairs on the girls' hallway, looks around, then goes down the stairs and up to the boys' hall. She's tough to catch up with, and impossible to stop.
Maggie and a few other girls happened to be with me in my kitchen that afternoon, when Maggie's roommate came in, asking in Chinese who the little girl was. We told her, and she said, "She came into our room, looked around, and went to Maggie's bed. She moved all the covers, and left!"
Maggie bolted out of my kitchen to collect her sheets and blanket, and immediately did a load of laundry. Maggie's roommate stayed in the kitchen, looking puzzled. "I don't understand it," she said, "She just came in, went straight to Maggie's bed, then left. It's like she knew."
On Wednesday afternoon, people were coming in and out of the dorm, claiming their children and their children's clothes for the five-day holiday. One student's five-year-old sister, Sara, was running through the halls at this time. Sara has Down Syndrome, and she is the busiest kid I've ever met. She runs and runs. She runs to the edge of the stairs on the girls' hallway, looks around, then goes down the stairs and up to the boys' hall. She's tough to catch up with, and impossible to stop.
Maggie and a few other girls happened to be with me in my kitchen that afternoon, when Maggie's roommate came in, asking in Chinese who the little girl was. We told her, and she said, "She came into our room, looked around, and went to Maggie's bed. She moved all the covers, and left!"
Maggie bolted out of my kitchen to collect her sheets and blanket, and immediately did a load of laundry. Maggie's roommate stayed in the kitchen, looking puzzled. "I don't understand it," she said, "She just came in, went straight to Maggie's bed, then left. It's like she knew."
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
Wedding Weekend in Albany
A good friend, one of the group that laughs, got married a few weeks ago. It was one of the loveliest times of my life. I'll tell you why. Think of each paragraph as part of a list.
When Sheri arrived, by contrast, she brought her entire bed from her bedroom! It's not only possible, but true, because she sleeps in a hammock that has a free-standing frame, and she is the coolest person known to Syracuse and beyond.
One of the best parts of being with these young women is hearing the stories. We sat enthralled Friday afternoon as Erin told us an incredible story about her and... a person... You'll see it published one day, and sold in the No-Freakin'-Way-Is-This-For-Real? section in Barnes and Noble.
At the rehearsal, we realized that the groomsmen were all at least 10 inches taller than all the bridesmaids. We also realized that we had no pockets in which to keep the song lyrics, and were therefore compelled to practice the music together. We huddled around the lyrics and harmonized between processional and recessional.
Friday night, we were tasked with decorating 120 cupcakes with purple icing and sprinkles. Ashley made the icing, and the kitchen probably still has small purple evidences thereof, I know my shoes still do. But the sprinkles were especially interesting. As the icing hardened, we found that sprinkles weren't sticking... until Sheri started to throw them aggressively at the lovely purple cupcakes! 26 seconds later, opalescent sprinkles were flying all over the room, and they will also probably stay in dining room crannies for as long as the house itself stands.
I've been writing this post for a month, and I don't even have time to tell you about the lack of GPS, and the smiling, and the twinkle lights in the barn, and the wheelchair, and the couches, and the kissing, and the Shulan-spilling-rum moment, and the game of ninja at the reception, and the speeches, and the gorgeous hair, and the loud laughing, and the praying, and the eating, and the trees, and the not-apple-cider doughnuts, and the staying up late to talk, and did I mention that time we started playing Bang, and ended up worshiping God in song? Praise the Lord. It was like that, you know? Praise the Lord forever.
The party began while I was still at my day job in Pennsylvania. The crowd gathered at the airport to welcome Erin, and her carry-on backpack. [Listen, she's a professional, okay? She knows how to pack all the things. And she brought this one backpack and in it were her bridesmaid dress, her sweet shoes, a change of clothes, pajamas, toiletries, hair-doing supplies, make-up-doing supplies, and two gifts. You. Don't. Even. Know.] When she arrived, everyone screamed and hugged and giggled (except for, possibly, Sam and Rich... but I don't know, I wasn't actually there), and Ashley cried out, "What do you have there, Erin? A big bag of wrinkles!?" BAhaha!
One of the best parts of being with these young women is hearing the stories. We sat enthralled Friday afternoon as Erin told us an incredible story about her and... a person... You'll see it published one day, and sold in the No-Freakin'-Way-Is-This-For-Real? section in Barnes and Noble.
At the rehearsal, we realized that the groomsmen were all at least 10 inches taller than all the bridesmaids. We also realized that we had no pockets in which to keep the song lyrics, and were therefore compelled to practice the music together. We huddled around the lyrics and harmonized between processional and recessional.
The puns and the laughing.
Christine married a wonderful guy on Saturday.
We packed up the reception site with many hands. My car and Sam's truck were full of wedding paraphernalia. Sam and I even had the privilege of packing up Christine's wedding dress. It went like this:
Sam: I don't understand why girls even save these!
Me: Because, it's special! [aggressively adjusts the hanger and bodice thereon]
Sam: But look, the bottom's dirty, and it's never gonna be worn again. [gingerly gathers the bottom of the dress, and places it in a bag, to avoid further damage]
After packing and hauling all the presents to the house, and finally backing my car into the driveway during a moment in which my hands refused to cooperate due to laughter, things got more serious. Christine and Rich were off on a new adventure, and we were four of us, glad for a few moments of being together and doing nothing. We had just started a too-complicated game when a friend in crisis contacted Sheri. We stopped playing the game. We began to pray and sing. Listen, you know you're friends when you can transition into worship from a game of "Bang."
Sam: I don't understand why girls even save these!
Me: Because, it's special! [aggressively adjusts the hanger and bodice thereon]
Sam: But look, the bottom's dirty, and it's never gonna be worn again. [gingerly gathers the bottom of the dress, and places it in a bag, to avoid further damage]
After packing and hauling all the presents to the house, and finally backing my car into the driveway during a moment in which my hands refused to cooperate due to laughter, things got more serious. Christine and Rich were off on a new adventure, and we were four of us, glad for a few moments of being together and doing nothing. We had just started a too-complicated game when a friend in crisis contacted Sheri. We stopped playing the game. We began to pray and sing. Listen, you know you're friends when you can transition into worship from a game of "Bang."
Friday, November 22, 2013
From CarolynBot
These are from a robot that uses language logarithms on Facebook to compile possible updates from me. Here's what CarolynBot has been up to.
"King Alfred the Great, you a great semester."
CarolynBot makes plans:
"It's so sweet! May we see naked people that is kind words."
"Official end of winter. I am with booksturnedmovies, and caring!"
"I kinda wish I will be strengthened by fainting goats."
"Go hug time yet?"
"Every time I see this book fad. Shamelessly in."
"Black Rock is on my wedding."
"Sorry, no texting today."
"Preparing to clap."
"Yo me voy de los arboles, las alas de la U ahorita!!"
"I will rubric the living daylights out of my head for a wonderful birthday."
"I'ma comin' in a pretty little surrey with the economy and everything."
"Black Rock is on my wedding."
"Sorry, no texting today."
"Preparing to clap."
"Yo me voy de los arboles, las alas de la U ahorita!!"
"I will rubric the living daylights out of my head for a wonderful birthday."
"I'ma comin' in a pretty little surrey with the economy and everything."
CarolynBot gives compliments:
"Props, kudos, etc.!"
"We're all awesome."
"SUCH a pentillion people who is patient and amazing, and Jacob and Joella..."
"500 friends is a sweet bundle of cute."
"I love you right now."
"One episode of your monkey jokes online! Very nice."
"One episode of your monkey jokes online! Very nice."
CarolynBot confronts you with orders and the facts:
"We had all decided that was out of line."
"Study hall monitoring = fastest way to justify pushing you over."
"A termite went into obscurity."
"Go hug yo me"
"I kinda wish I could be your Mom."
"Shoot, I took Eric's advice."
"What Liz, come to be obnoxious?"
"Doctor Who, an ISFJ, but thanks for existing."
"This was the kind of weekend when you can't hide."
"Rebecca is why I'm not going to be strengthened by grace."
"I will be let down, as seen here."
"no, no. You get murdered in the mind."
"Radius = exactly the length of killing poetry."
"Rebecca is why I'm not going to be strengthened by grace."
"I will be let down, as seen here."
"no, no. You get murdered in the mind."
"Radius = exactly the length of killing poetry."
CarolynBot scares us all to death:
"Beware, dark alleys!"
"Beware, dark shadows at all!"
"Shawn McDonald + George MacDonald = Satan's minions."
"was enchanted by scary people doing scary things. And nutritious."
"Official end Mennonite Fellowship"
"My heart finds rest in the darkness behind Ashley..."
"King Alfred the Great, you can't hide!"
"The girls are you, but I put into the shredder because they're sad."
"This one will become a pig slave. LOLZ!"
"But then as you are brutally murdered."
"Just sing along and go a natural disaster."
"King Alfred the Great, you can't hide!"
"The girls are you, but I put into the shredder because they're sad."
"This one will become a pig slave. LOLZ!"
"But then as you are brutally murdered."
"Just sing along and go a natural disaster."
CarolynBot gets philosophical:
"My heart finds rest in a flying bison, as opposed to tell you a secret about"
"Rest in your story."
"Can one live alone, cozily?"
"Scrabble game gone overboard here?"
"Can one live with, and over?"
"Well, I can find my way manfully through the length of the library and find no benefit whatsoever on my homework."
"Am I Splinter?"
CarolynBot is self-absorbed:
"Boy, I can't believe I just noticed your legs broke? Miss you, we had an awesome my life is."
"I love so wide that it stops all my time. I have tasted of a voter's guide, for this is so old, so proud of exhaustion."
"Completely overwhelmed with me."
"The Millersville library has never known so many of a love myself."
"Sad to revise my own poems. They're either really pretty or really pretty sure is!"
"Well, I can find my way manfully through the length of the library and find no benefit whatsoever on my homework."
"Am I Splinter?"
CarolynBot is self-absorbed:
"Boy, I can't believe I just noticed your legs broke? Miss you, we had an awesome my life is."
"I love so wide that it stops all my time. I have tasted of a voter's guide, for this is so old, so proud of exhaustion."
"Completely overwhelmed with me."
"The Millersville library has never known so many of a love myself."
"Sad to revise my own poems. They're either really pretty or really pretty sure is!"
Sunday, November 10, 2013
Friday Moment
This happened and you have to believe me.
I had taken my class to the library for a research paper, and we were getting settled down to do work. Ashley, a student who used to live in the residence hall, stopped me and took me by the shoulders, and placed me to the side of the computer aisle. She then proceeded to run past me for a total of five feet. I was dumbfounded, without a clue. She then whispered in my ear, "Do you smell the perfume?"
I eventually had to kneel on the ground I was laughing so hard.
I had taken my class to the library for a research paper, and we were getting settled down to do work. Ashley, a student who used to live in the residence hall, stopped me and took me by the shoulders, and placed me to the side of the computer aisle. She then proceeded to run past me for a total of five feet. I was dumbfounded, without a clue. She then whispered in my ear, "Do you smell the perfume?"
I eventually had to kneel on the ground I was laughing so hard.
Saturday, November 2, 2013
Oversimplifying Love, Probably
No Future Together
I found out about their break-up a week after it happened.
He said he didn't have those feelings for her anymore.
After 18 months, and countless little and big decisions to be together,
he saw no future together, after all.
---
Tonight
My grandpa has become a child again.
As my grandma cuts his meat, he looks up at her and smiles.
I wonder if she ever thinks about
how they're headed in different directions.
I wonder if she ever thinks about
how little she's getting out of the relationship.
---
Love
When is it ever the right time
To stop being selfish, and live for someone else?
I found out about their break-up a week after it happened.
He said he didn't have those feelings for her anymore.
After 18 months, and countless little and big decisions to be together,
he saw no future together, after all.
---
Tonight
My grandpa has become a child again.
As my grandma cuts his meat, he looks up at her and smiles.
I wonder if she ever thinks about
how they're headed in different directions.
I wonder if she ever thinks about
how little she's getting out of the relationship.
---
Love
When is it ever the right time
To stop being selfish, and live for someone else?
Thursday, October 31, 2013
Halloween Story
Prompt: Begin by listing your favorite words... then write a story using ALL of them!
bilious
Ulster
jiggle
unanimous
sylvan
Under cover of night, in the County Ulster, the parent-teacher association was attempting to solve the problem of rebellious teenagers. The problems with rebelliousness were innumerable: drugs, sex, yes, and rock and roll. A storm was rolling in from the sea, and the sylvan country was enveloped in thick cloudfall.
The committee unanimously voted against further rebellious attitudes, and was about to enjoy Ms. Heb's Jell-O mold.
All gave an abrupt start as they heard a great, jarring roar!
"The storm," Ms. Heb said, as she held the Jell-O mold. But when it happened once more, only louder and clearer, she jumped and the Jell-O mold flew upward, jiggled in mid-air, and was soon covering the heads of several members.
A dark creature growled into the window. Ms. Bruin and Ms. Heb gave a scream, but the rest were too startled to do or say anything. They sat frozen. The dark creature burst through the window, all hair and teeth. His claws grasped Ms. Heb, his body filled the room with a bilious stench. Ms. Heb fainted in her terror, and looked as though she were dead already. The dark creature stood in the center of the PTA meeting room and loosed another shattering roar. Ms. Bruin and several other members at this moment could hold themselves together no longer, and also gave way to a faint. The remainder were simply stunned and staring in horror, for the beast, at least 8 feet tall was sniffing Ms. Heb's face. He growled in a small way, and set her down. Apparently he had decided she was already dead. For the first time, he looked around.
What he saw was half a dozen corpses with their brains gushed out (for the creature was, as of yet, unaware of the existence of Jell-O). He thirsted only for live blood. Curse his ill luck for entering the only room in his radius which contained only the already-dead.
He dropped Ms. Heb and climbed back through the shattered window in search of those still waiting to be made victims.
When the committee members finally came to, they all agreed that this had been their most productive meeting yet, however, to this day they cannot stand the sight of a Jell-O mold.
[Update 10/24: Aaaand let's say Ms. Bruin's husband is both an expert hunter and the county sheriff, who took action the moment his wife called with an alert of a blood-thirsty, hairy, toothy monster on the loose. He saw the creature as it was headed down West Grube Street, and followed in his car. One well-placed shot was the end of the potentially long and gory saga that no amount of Jell-O could have fixed.]
bilious
Ulster
jiggle
unanimous
sylvan
Under cover of night, in the County Ulster, the parent-teacher association was attempting to solve the problem of rebellious teenagers. The problems with rebelliousness were innumerable: drugs, sex, yes, and rock and roll. A storm was rolling in from the sea, and the sylvan country was enveloped in thick cloudfall.
The committee unanimously voted against further rebellious attitudes, and was about to enjoy Ms. Heb's Jell-O mold.
All gave an abrupt start as they heard a great, jarring roar!
"The storm," Ms. Heb said, as she held the Jell-O mold. But when it happened once more, only louder and clearer, she jumped and the Jell-O mold flew upward, jiggled in mid-air, and was soon covering the heads of several members.
A dark creature growled into the window. Ms. Bruin and Ms. Heb gave a scream, but the rest were too startled to do or say anything. They sat frozen. The dark creature burst through the window, all hair and teeth. His claws grasped Ms. Heb, his body filled the room with a bilious stench. Ms. Heb fainted in her terror, and looked as though she were dead already. The dark creature stood in the center of the PTA meeting room and loosed another shattering roar. Ms. Bruin and several other members at this moment could hold themselves together no longer, and also gave way to a faint. The remainder were simply stunned and staring in horror, for the beast, at least 8 feet tall was sniffing Ms. Heb's face. He growled in a small way, and set her down. Apparently he had decided she was already dead. For the first time, he looked around.
What he saw was half a dozen corpses with their brains gushed out (for the creature was, as of yet, unaware of the existence of Jell-O). He thirsted only for live blood. Curse his ill luck for entering the only room in his radius which contained only the already-dead.
He dropped Ms. Heb and climbed back through the shattered window in search of those still waiting to be made victims.
When the committee members finally came to, they all agreed that this had been their most productive meeting yet, however, to this day they cannot stand the sight of a Jell-O mold.
[Update 10/24: Aaaand let's say Ms. Bruin's husband is both an expert hunter and the county sheriff, who took action the moment his wife called with an alert of a blood-thirsty, hairy, toothy monster on the loose. He saw the creature as it was headed down West Grube Street, and followed in his car. One well-placed shot was the end of the potentially long and gory saga that no amount of Jell-O could have fixed.]
Wednesday, October 23, 2013
Judging Journeys to God
Prompt: Go off on a rant
Today, a friend's Facebook status said something about the existence of God. She said it with little punctuation, with spelling errors: three or four vicious lines about how obvious it was that no God ever did, does, or will exist.
I am generally annoyed and disappointed with public thoughts that reflect the same self-evident approach to the existence of God, usually focusing on some piece of creation and then insulting atheists.
They have no idea how long and hard the other has looked, only to come to the end of their ability and finally hit the ground in despair, usually at the edge of the faith leap. Those who see God there must realize how distinctly close they were to the edge of unbelief. And others arrive at the edge, and cannot lift their heads because of shame.
Who is either the atheist or the believer to call the other ignorant? The journey is treacherous. They may have arrived at either decision with only the faintest of guiding lights, and with great pain and sorrow.
Self-evident, indeed.
The way is narrow.
Today, a friend's Facebook status said something about the existence of God. She said it with little punctuation, with spelling errors: three or four vicious lines about how obvious it was that no God ever did, does, or will exist.
I am generally annoyed and disappointed with public thoughts that reflect the same self-evident approach to the existence of God, usually focusing on some piece of creation and then insulting atheists.
They have no idea how long and hard the other has looked, only to come to the end of their ability and finally hit the ground in despair, usually at the edge of the faith leap. Those who see God there must realize how distinctly close they were to the edge of unbelief. And others arrive at the edge, and cannot lift their heads because of shame.
Who is either the atheist or the believer to call the other ignorant? The journey is treacherous. They may have arrived at either decision with only the faintest of guiding lights, and with great pain and sorrow.
Self-evident, indeed.
The way is narrow.
Sunday, October 20, 2013
Sorry, Bugs
Prompt: If you could be any animal...
I wouldn't. I love my life. But I wonder what the bugs must think. I hope they don't have higher orders of processing. Honestly, it seems unlikely. But, oh! the horror if they knew how despised they are on the girl's side of the residence hall.
People scream at the sight of them. So unclean are they, the little black bugs with an orange, striped pattern on the back, that a girl under 18 will never be found to touch one, indeed, will not even suffer being in the same room as one. They are the root cause of such upheaval, that they must feel the weight of their presence, their sheer unwanted-ness.
When a girl does muster the courage to touch one, it is only by force of a shoe, or a box of tissues, thus ending the life of the unappreciated being.
It's wrong, bugs, and I'm sorry.
I wouldn't. I love my life. But I wonder what the bugs must think. I hope they don't have higher orders of processing. Honestly, it seems unlikely. But, oh! the horror if they knew how despised they are on the girl's side of the residence hall.
People scream at the sight of them. So unclean are they, the little black bugs with an orange, striped pattern on the back, that a girl under 18 will never be found to touch one, indeed, will not even suffer being in the same room as one. They are the root cause of such upheaval, that they must feel the weight of their presence, their sheer unwanted-ness.
When a girl does muster the courage to touch one, it is only by force of a shoe, or a box of tissues, thus ending the life of the unappreciated being.
It's wrong, bugs, and I'm sorry.
Thursday, October 17, 2013
Stream of Consciousness
Prompt: Something that grows
trees
plants
children
affection
"There can be no life without growth."
Growing... I think... that I am in awe of how wrong first impressions can be. Affection grows. All my favorite people who are not family have become dear through a process comprised of much time.
Oh, Lord, make me loving! Is it the caffeine in my veins that makes me more aware of faults, and less aware of what matters most to You? Forgive me my anxiety. Now I know why David prayed for You to know his anxious thoughts. They crowd me out, invaders.
One of the school counselors says that a good goal in teaching is to become a non-anxious presence.
trees
plants
children
affection
"There can be no life without growth."
Growing... I think... that I am in awe of how wrong first impressions can be. Affection grows. All my favorite people who are not family have become dear through a process comprised of much time.
Oh, Lord, make me loving! Is it the caffeine in my veins that makes me more aware of faults, and less aware of what matters most to You? Forgive me my anxiety. Now I know why David prayed for You to know his anxious thoughts. They crowd me out, invaders.
One of the school counselors says that a good goal in teaching is to become a non-anxious presence.
Tuesday, October 8, 2013
Advice to Men in Search of Ladies
Prompt: Give advice to the opposite gender
- If a girl treats her friends poorly, don't expect to have better treatment because you are a boy. Eventually, you will be in the same stressed and demeaned boat.
- Asking a girl out takes incredible bravery. If the girl rejects you, it could be a test of strength: how do you react to rejection? Are you going to withstand the roller coaster of a relationship? Or, she may not be that into you. (And, impossibly, there's a good chance that she doesn't even know which reason it is.)
- Don't let some rejection stop you forever.
- Don't always take other people's advice.
- Sometimes you are going to need other people's advice.
- George MacDonald said that men should marry women whose faces are not stunningly beautiful. Age and wisdom will then add beauty, whereas stunning faces fade with age. (I know he said this in earnest, yet part of me would be irate if I were his wife reading that.)
- It is possible to pay for the meal, and open the door, and still not be a gentleman.
Friday, October 4, 2013
Free Write Notebook
In my writing class, I require 10 minutes of most days be devoted to free writing. I try to participate in this time, as well. After 2.2 years of teaching this class, I have finally completed my first free write notebook, filled with prompts and my own responses. I'll be mining it and posting my favorite entries with the label "notebook." Especially if you're a writing teacher, find the prompts I use highlighted at the top of notebook posts.
Here is one:
Prompt: Respond to "Fog" by Carl Sandburg. How have you experienced nature recently?
The rain fell like it does: indifferently.
The streams rose and rose.
Falling asleep under down I heard
each passing car play its lullaby of tires,
water, road.
In our small tent, I woke up to the crashes of thunder. At first, they had not mattered. They were just background rhythms in my dreams. But then, we were all awake. Angela looked about; I could see her fright in the lightning flashes. And, for no good reason, this was hilariously funny to me. I began to laugh hard. We had to decide whether we would remain in the tent, dry, but perhaps electrocuted, or retreat to the car, getting soaked, but staying whole, and with less danger of trees crashing on our canvas-covered heads.
I stopped laughing when I was shivering in the car, unable to sleep.
Here is one:
Prompt: Respond to "Fog" by Carl Sandburg. How have you experienced nature recently?
The rain fell like it does: indifferently.
The streams rose and rose.
Falling asleep under down I heard
each passing car play its lullaby of tires,
water, road.
In our small tent, I woke up to the crashes of thunder. At first, they had not mattered. They were just background rhythms in my dreams. But then, we were all awake. Angela looked about; I could see her fright in the lightning flashes. And, for no good reason, this was hilariously funny to me. I began to laugh hard. We had to decide whether we would remain in the tent, dry, but perhaps electrocuted, or retreat to the car, getting soaked, but staying whole, and with less danger of trees crashing on our canvas-covered heads.
I stopped laughing when I was shivering in the car, unable to sleep.
The Longest Day of My Life
Prompt: describe the longest day of your life
[A story of when I was returning from a mission trip in Australia at age 15. More significant events took place, but this one sticks close in my memory.]
Technically, it would be the day you cross the international dateline, right? What could make that set of flights longer? How about a 24-hour virus that caused you to fill your sick bag every time you experienced turbulence?
While all your friends gleefully bought kangaroo jerky at the Sydney airport, you put your head between your knees and tried to disappear from earth. But, no, you had to line up to go through passport check? or something, and then security, where you discover too late that you had a water pistol in your backpack. But what's worse than holding up the security line for an inadvertent water pistol? Your friend being stopped instead, by mistake. As security searches her extensively, you once more wish to disappear, because of course you aren't thinking about your stupid, delaying-everyone water gun that could have righted the whole situation. You're looking for a trash can to throw up in.
Then everyone in your group of 72 has to board late, and the plane had to wait, and so you're last in the queue to take off, and when you finally arrive in Dallas, you're feeling great, but a little tired from living two days.
[A story of when I was returning from a mission trip in Australia at age 15. More significant events took place, but this one sticks close in my memory.]
Technically, it would be the day you cross the international dateline, right? What could make that set of flights longer? How about a 24-hour virus that caused you to fill your sick bag every time you experienced turbulence?
While all your friends gleefully bought kangaroo jerky at the Sydney airport, you put your head between your knees and tried to disappear from earth. But, no, you had to line up to go through passport check? or something, and then security, where you discover too late that you had a water pistol in your backpack. But what's worse than holding up the security line for an inadvertent water pistol? Your friend being stopped instead, by mistake. As security searches her extensively, you once more wish to disappear, because of course you aren't thinking about your stupid, delaying-everyone water gun that could have righted the whole situation. You're looking for a trash can to throw up in.
Then everyone in your group of 72 has to board late, and the plane had to wait, and so you're last in the queue to take off, and when you finally arrive in Dallas, you're feeling great, but a little tired from living two days.
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
Vocabulary Influences
Here's the kind of vocabulary test you make up after staying up late to watch the latest episode of "Burn Notice."
Part II.
a. mercenary d. arbitrary g. adamant j. encounter
b. infirmity e. zeal h. eccentric
c. taint f. sabotage i. retort
____ 1. The spy unit attempted to ___ the plan to capture the president on Labor Day.
____ 2. The commanding officer was ___ that they not shed blood during the mission, cost what
it may in regard to convenience.
____ 3. The opportunity to put their specialized training to use made the five men of the unit feel
great ___ to accomplish their mission.
____ 4. One of the spies, Brad, had lost a friend on his last mission, and this he allowed to ___
his life and his work. He could barely focus on spycraft, so eaten up was he with revenge.
____ 5. His teammates dismissed his extraordinary bloodlust as merely ___ behavior; but they
were about to discover that they had underestimated him.
____ 6. Brad’s desire for revenge only grew, and soon became a(n) ___ of the mind.
____ 7. In preparation, Brad targeted any possible threat to the mission with ___ indifference,
seeming to make no distinction between friend and foe.
____ 8. The others were familiar with ___ soldiers and spies, who would sell out to the highest
bidder, but Brad wasn’t concerned with money. It was about getting even, and it compromised the mission.
____ 9. Their mission that day became known as the Labor Day ___ , when the spies came
face-to-face with a terrorist organization, and only through the inexperience of the
terrorists did the president survive.
___ 10. When asked how such an event could have been allowed to happen, the usually witty
commanding officer’s unsatisfactory ___ was, “Sometimes you make a mistake, and you have to deal with the consequences forever. And sometimes you make a mistake, and you don't have to deal with those consequences.”
Spared
My brother was in a car accident a few weeks ago. He's fine. Car's totalled. It was not his fault. Insurance will cover it all.
My sister had a biopsy done. It's not cancer.
My three-year-old friend was inspired by God to pray for me right before what turned out to be a trying day.
A friend who I've helped fight for is still living.
My sister had a biopsy done. It's not cancer.
My three-year-old friend was inspired by God to pray for me right before what turned out to be a trying day.
A friend who I've helped fight for is still living.
Saturday, September 7, 2013
Sherpa
Don't get me wrong, a bunch of kids knew what a "sherpa" was, and got the bonus question right. But those who didn't know guessed that a "sherpa" was the following:
"a medical tool"
"a type of tent"
"is a plant"
"a mountain of dirt covered by ice... I think."
Friday, August 23, 2013
Third Year Goals
School has started, and God is just as good as ever! I feel unsettled and unruly in my heart, though, and I can't imagine what would quiet me. I doubt I'd do it if I knew. I am ready to call it fatigue and leave the question to be sucked up by the fan in the window.
I'm undertaking a few challenges this year, friends. The first is a prayer challenge: to pray in the girls' lounge for a half an hour two nights a week, from about 10:15 - 10:45. The second is to read one book from my writing class's reading list every two weeks. I often say, rightly, that I don't have time to read; but I want to make time, because I enjoy reading and because I have the happy excuse of calling it career development.
This being my third at the residence hall, I have two points, and am able to finally draw a navigation line between them. Year one, I thought my job was tough, filled with apathetic or annoying teenagers who were inherently my excuse for not building community. Year two, I thought it was my sole job to build a community, to pray it into being, and then, when I failed, to accept that I should have done more and better.
Year three, it seems obvious now that building a community is not something a person can do alone. There's no amount of willpower or hard work that can form it. No way. It takes a friggin' village, and the grace of God. The residence hall is a village. Sorta. By the end of last year, it was time for me to admit that the students of the RH were a big part of my community, and therefore my calling and my ministry.
Also of note, a writing student informed me today that she is considering getting a tattoo of a semi-colon, because though the sentence seems to have stopped, like life, it goes on. Awesome.
I'm undertaking a few challenges this year, friends. The first is a prayer challenge: to pray in the girls' lounge for a half an hour two nights a week, from about 10:15 - 10:45. The second is to read one book from my writing class's reading list every two weeks. I often say, rightly, that I don't have time to read; but I want to make time, because I enjoy reading and because I have the happy excuse of calling it career development.
This being my third at the residence hall, I have two points, and am able to finally draw a navigation line between them. Year one, I thought my job was tough, filled with apathetic or annoying teenagers who were inherently my excuse for not building community. Year two, I thought it was my sole job to build a community, to pray it into being, and then, when I failed, to accept that I should have done more and better.
Year three, it seems obvious now that building a community is not something a person can do alone. There's no amount of willpower or hard work that can form it. No way. It takes a friggin' village, and the grace of God. The residence hall is a village. Sorta. By the end of last year, it was time for me to admit that the students of the RH were a big part of my community, and therefore my calling and my ministry.
Also of note, a writing student informed me today that she is considering getting a tattoo of a semi-colon, because though the sentence seems to have stopped, like life, it goes on. Awesome.
Friday, August 16, 2013
Attempts at Hospitality
I believe in offering what I have.
Me: See ya, Lachelle! Thanks for visiting me!
Lachelle: See ya! Thanks for the water, the icing, and the offer of cold, cooked chicken!
Me: See ya, Lachelle! Thanks for visiting me!
Lachelle: See ya! Thanks for the water, the icing, and the offer of cold, cooked chicken!
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
Ready For School?
Yes, sure. No, not really.
It's almost unfair that school-centered jobs have so much build-up before beginning. In late July, back-to-school "sales" begin, and right on cue this question begins to circulate. I have nothing against the question, let me be clear.
The truth is this: I feel like a different person in the summertime. I let down my guard and say yes to doing things. During the school year, I am focused on a whole different set of joys and challenges. It's like crossing a border into another country. Not good or bad, really, but entirely different. The comparison doesn't stand.
I suppose the point is that neither the summertime nor the school year are paradise in their own right. The only paradise is where Christ is.
Check this out:
"Anchor" by Beautiful Eulogy and Josh Garrels
It's almost unfair that school-centered jobs have so much build-up before beginning. In late July, back-to-school "sales" begin, and right on cue this question begins to circulate. I have nothing against the question, let me be clear.
The truth is this: I feel like a different person in the summertime. I let down my guard and say yes to doing things. During the school year, I am focused on a whole different set of joys and challenges. It's like crossing a border into another country. Not good or bad, really, but entirely different. The comparison doesn't stand.
I suppose the point is that neither the summertime nor the school year are paradise in their own right. The only paradise is where Christ is.
Check this out:
"Anchor" by Beautiful Eulogy and Josh Garrels
Thursday, August 8, 2013
Productive Day List
On Facebook, I often see lists of things people did on their most productive days. A few of those lists, and I am sure that I am unsuccessful at living. I make to-do lists all the time, and rarely cross off more than two or three items before day's end. BUT, if you make the list AFTER the day is over, it's much more rewarding.
Here's what this morning's to-do list would have consisted of, if it had been accurate.
Drive to Philly and back.
Turn around only three times.
Attend a doctor's appointment with a friend who will get sutures removed, right in front of me.
Do not throw up.
Have a stimulating conversation.
Leave windows down during a rainstorm.
Eat Vietnamese food with Elizabeth.
Buy two cute shirts at a thrift store.
Read Steinbeck.
Clap loudly to scare off a skunk while Lachelle unlocks the building.
Ignore other lists.
Here's what this morning's to-do list would have consisted of, if it had been accurate.
Monday, July 29, 2013
Monday, July 15, 2013
Off Day
Snatched this gem from my old xanga (xanga.com/carolynofgreengables). It's appropriate for today. And the past week.
Off-Day: Is there some French word for that?
| It's easy to believe that off-days never really happen when you're not having one. But today has taken that notion's family hostage and made it beg for mercy. (I started with "But today has blown that notion out of the water," but it felt too cliched. We have cliches for a reason, though. Tested and proven.) I showed up late to my last final of the semester. I mean a half hour late kind of late. Then I couldn't understand the directions. After asking if I was on the right track (I kid you not) three times, I finished and left the classroom with 40 minutes to spare. Wow. Easier than I thought. Then I got to the restroom where some girls who had just finished the test were saying that it was harder than they expected. I ascertained the instructions from them. Then I swallowed whatever shreds were left of my pride and whispered the situation to my professor. "Carolyn, is this an off-day for you?" she remarked. I think she thought that I was going through something especially difficult: heroine withdrawal, a break-up, a death in the family. Praise God, no! I just can't seem to FOLLOW DIRECTIONS EVER. So then I finished and it may have been "B" material at best. Also, why can't we find any stars for the top of the tree? Or, more to the point, where can we find a star for the top of the tree? haha, "to the point" | |
| Posted 12/11/2008 10:54 PM |
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
Asking Better Questions
In the teaching ESL class I took this month, we watched a video from the late 1970s about Mexican-American acculturation in southern California. They were experiencing all the racism, poverty, and loss of identity that comes with immigration. The most striking part of the video was when the interviewer asked some of the Mexican-American high school drop-outs, "what do you want to be when you grow up?" This is a familiar question, and it seems to me that it is really asking, "how will you make money when you are old enough to do so?" It's a good question for an individualistic, transitory, capitalistic society to ask of its members. But the teens in the video, who come from a communal, stationary society just stared blankly into the distance, and responded with a nervous chuckle, "I don't know."
I wish the interviewer had gone on to clarify, "You mean you don't dream of anything happening in your life?" Then it would have been clearer if they merely didn't know how they would earn money, or if they had not been encouraged to dream about their futures, and to picture life differently. The tragedy would be if they had not been given the power to view themselves as agents for change and betterment in the world. That possibility was heart-breaking, and everyone in my class felt it.
I recently attended a party of about 25 bright, enthusiastic young people. They are certainly exceptions to many rules. They carry the hope of Christ in their hearts. They walk with confidence wherever they go. They change the world by listening to God and people. If you ask them what they want to be when they grow up, they might also stare at you blankly for a bit. They are entrenched in that very battle of deciding how they will earn their bread. For them, too, the question doesn't have a more inspirational answer than a stare into the distance, and a faint, "I don't know." But, if we change the question a bit, and begin with "what do you want in life?" or "what are your hopes for the future?" we will get to the heart of the matter.
Here are a few of their responses:
I wish the interviewer had gone on to clarify, "You mean you don't dream of anything happening in your life?" Then it would have been clearer if they merely didn't know how they would earn money, or if they had not been encouraged to dream about their futures, and to picture life differently. The tragedy would be if they had not been given the power to view themselves as agents for change and betterment in the world. That possibility was heart-breaking, and everyone in my class felt it.
I recently attended a party of about 25 bright, enthusiastic young people. They are certainly exceptions to many rules. They carry the hope of Christ in their hearts. They walk with confidence wherever they go. They change the world by listening to God and people. If you ask them what they want to be when they grow up, they might also stare at you blankly for a bit. They are entrenched in that very battle of deciding how they will earn their bread. For them, too, the question doesn't have a more inspirational answer than a stare into the distance, and a faint, "I don't know." But, if we change the question a bit, and begin with "what do you want in life?" or "what are your hopes for the future?" we will get to the heart of the matter.
Here are a few of their responses:
- I want to be a father to children, and not just in the biological sense, especially for boys.
- I want to teach, and help build a community.
- I want adventure, love (maybe getting married, but maybe not), and wisdom (because I love to read books).
- I want to do everything, go everywhere, and meet everyone.
- I want to serve. I like where I am right now.
- I want to do one of the following before I die: star in a show, or start a camp for troubled youth, or...
- I want to write a novel, like War and Peace, that follows a person through all of life.
- I want to have a family, and have an outlet for adventure.
- I want to adopt four boys.
- I want to do something that matters, that no one ever gives me credit for.
- I want to have the ability to go off on thinking tangents for as long as I like.
- I want to play Encore all together with my giant family.
- I want to live outside of the ordinary.
- I want to know people and encourage them to know God better.
I'm far more satisfied with these answers than with those I gave as a child, "nurse, vet, waitress [ahem, little Carolyn, you mean 'server']."
Friday, June 28, 2013
A Dorm Story: What I Learned About Knees
Students were getting in and out of a taxicab minivan in front of the residence hall. Lachelle and I happened to be talking there when we suddenly noticed that Krysta, a student from China, was leaning pitifully on the floor of the minivan, awkwardly situated with her knee.
Upon closer inspection, we found that her kneecap had dislocated, and it lay at an odd angle, frightening the poor girl almost as much as the pain. It became evident that in no way was she moving from the edge of the cab.
Lachelle went to find crutches, of which the dorm has an abundance for reasons untold. We called 911, and waited. I suggested that the perplexed cabdriver keep his meter running, for she could not move even the vertical meter upward to sit in the van and be taken to the Emergency Room. She could not, in other words, have chosen a more expensive seat upon which to become immobilized.
To make matters worse, the tough but shy Krysta was “parked” directly in front of the residence hall entrance, and it happened to be dinner time. Students were pouring out, wondering and gawking. Krysta, did not hesitate to tell them, I’m pretty sure, to keep moving and to mind their own business.
When the EMTs arrived, we had racked up a sizable cab fare. But Krysta was treated almost immediately in the ER, and experienced great relief, after which we waited for three hours to get the x-ray and its results.
If you’ve ever had knee trouble, you know the story does not end there. We were in and out of physical therapy for the rest of the school year. As inconvenient as that continued to be, it was actually an incredible use of time, because I got to know Krysta on these frequent drives, and she got to see that the advisers cared for her. I found that she was not actually shy, and that she had a great interest in a friend of mine: Jesus. The story continues this fall. In the meantime, some morals:
Moral 1: take care of your knees,
Moral 2: especially when the only seat available is going to charge you by the minute.
Saturday, June 22, 2013
"Guess the Impulse Buy": A Fun, New Game
I made a special trip to the store tonight, folks, and I bought the following:
Which was not on the original list? Probably 1/3 of you guessed it (because, let's face it, chocolate is ALWAYS on the list): Gatorade.
I won't explain the nail polish. So, regarding the deodorant, I've been trying to take two steps to prevent breast cancer (and only two steps, 'cause, well, let's not get crazy): use deodorant without aluminum, and use BPA-free bottles. But tonight I needed deodorant with aluminum in it, because tomorrow I'm helping with a wedding. There's pressure to look and smell good, despite lifting chairs and rolling tables, and keeping calm when the electricity goes out. So, here's to making an exception!
----
More on bottles: http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2009/03/090326100714.htm
I'm not providing you any links on the aluminum thing. The studies are generally inconclusive, like, not enough to take aluminum antiperspirant off the market, but conclusive enough for us to stop buying it.
- Gatorade
- Fantastic yellow nail polish
- Chocolate
- Antiperspirant (you know, with aluminum)
Which was not on the original list? Probably 1/3 of you guessed it (because, let's face it, chocolate is ALWAYS on the list): Gatorade.
I won't explain the nail polish. So, regarding the deodorant, I've been trying to take two steps to prevent breast cancer (and only two steps, 'cause, well, let's not get crazy): use deodorant without aluminum, and use BPA-free bottles. But tonight I needed deodorant with aluminum in it, because tomorrow I'm helping with a wedding. There's pressure to look and smell good, despite lifting chairs and rolling tables, and keeping calm when the electricity goes out. So, here's to making an exception!
----
More on bottles: http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2009/03/090326100714.htm
I'm not providing you any links on the aluminum thing. The studies are generally inconclusive, like, not enough to take aluminum antiperspirant off the market, but conclusive enough for us to stop buying it.
Sunday, June 16, 2013
The Horror/Honor of Needing People
After special needs week at my favorite summer camp, we were in the midst of group debriefing when someone began his story with something like: "Despite the fact that these people have been dealt a horrible hand, they are still cheerful..." I don't remember what else he said because I got all hung up on the word "horrible." What was so horrible about needing help with things? Even things like going to the bathroom. Or what was so horrible about smiling all the time? Or what was so horrible about occasionally bursting out in shouts or song? Or what was so horrible about pacing a lot, and needing to be calmed down by other people? These situations are not average, of course. But were they horrible?
We're afraid to need each other. We're afraid to have to bear ourselves in the most vulnerable way, like needing to be helped in the bathroom.
As we told stories at the end of the week, I know several of us were surprised that the sights and smells of the bathroom did not repulse us more. I know we were surprised that we felt incredible accomplishment, and incredible humility after helping to wipe another person. It's a matter for gratitude to the one in need that we were able to be so materially helpful, so intimately trusted.
Each of those most vulnerable people are able to bestow upon their helpers a valuable gift which cannot be repaid. Who is greater in the Kingdom? The person who has no choice but to be vulnerable (like widows and orphans in a patriarchal society, or the meek, poor in spirit, persecuted, Matthew 5), because God says he will personally plead their case, bless them, give them the earth for an inheritance; or the one helping the vulnerable person, like the good Samaritan, who fulfilled the requirements of the Kingdom by loving his neighbor as himself?
We have to become like little children, Jesus said, trusting implicitly. We have to acknowledge how we cannot help ourselves, and smile up at our Father, and say, "thank you for wiping me."
To be honest, just writing that makes me uncomfortable. But... vulnerable ≠ horrible, in fact, it may be the opposite in light of eternity.
We're afraid to need each other. We're afraid to have to bear ourselves in the most vulnerable way, like needing to be helped in the bathroom.
As we told stories at the end of the week, I know several of us were surprised that the sights and smells of the bathroom did not repulse us more. I know we were surprised that we felt incredible accomplishment, and incredible humility after helping to wipe another person. It's a matter for gratitude to the one in need that we were able to be so materially helpful, so intimately trusted.
Each of those most vulnerable people are able to bestow upon their helpers a valuable gift which cannot be repaid. Who is greater in the Kingdom? The person who has no choice but to be vulnerable (like widows and orphans in a patriarchal society, or the meek, poor in spirit, persecuted, Matthew 5), because God says he will personally plead their case, bless them, give them the earth for an inheritance; or the one helping the vulnerable person, like the good Samaritan, who fulfilled the requirements of the Kingdom by loving his neighbor as himself?
We have to become like little children, Jesus said, trusting implicitly. We have to acknowledge how we cannot help ourselves, and smile up at our Father, and say, "thank you for wiping me."
To be honest, just writing that makes me uncomfortable. But... vulnerable ≠ horrible, in fact, it may be the opposite in light of eternity.
Wednesday, June 5, 2013
Why Summer Makes Me a Better Teacher
Someone told me recently that good teaching takes good content and good delivery. By content, she explained, she meant the life well lived, not just the lesson plan, but the honing of my approach to life. By delivery, she meant being able to explain my approach; because if you're a teacher, that's what you're teaching from beginning to end: how you view life.
That is what the summer is good for:
Perspective
Being quiet
Looking at a sunset, and letting it wash over me for as long as it will.
Not being the first to leave,
Not having something to say,
Not having a plan,
Not eating at 5 pm if I'm not hungry,
Reading for hours,
Talking around the fire,
Setting up a tent and sleeping in it,
Taking a nap midday because I didn't sleep well in the tent.
Summer is good for driving for hours to see my people,
Going to church,
Turning off my phone,
Going the long route on the jogging trail,
Having brunch with small groups of people,
Talking at the kitchen table about the world's problems,
Praying at the kitchen table about our own problems,
Writing letters that help me to sort through the crashing waves of thought,
And later, in August, summer is good for remembering why I love a schedule and a routine and students.
That is what the summer is good for:
Perspective
Being quiet
Looking at a sunset, and letting it wash over me for as long as it will.
Not being the first to leave,
Not having something to say,
Not having a plan,
Not eating at 5 pm if I'm not hungry,
Reading for hours,
Talking around the fire,
Setting up a tent and sleeping in it,
Taking a nap midday because I didn't sleep well in the tent.
Summer is good for driving for hours to see my people,
Going to church,
Turning off my phone,
Going the long route on the jogging trail,
Having brunch with small groups of people,
Talking at the kitchen table about the world's problems,
Praying at the kitchen table about our own problems,
Writing letters that help me to sort through the crashing waves of thought,
And later, in August, summer is good for remembering why I love a schedule and a routine and students.
Monday, June 3, 2013
No Culture Has it All Right
But, c'mon, Japan. Schadenfreude on a whole new level. Start at 1:17. I dare you not to laugh at some of these moments. Others are just cruel, like the lady with the vegetables.
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
Time Passing Under the Siamese, Silly-Leaf Tree*
By my part of the stream in a corner of the park, the new summer breeze draws its silk cape over my bare arms.
Who knows what may come or go?
But may God receive praise for it all.
For this moment: the grass bits on this paper, the sap from that old tree: knowing that life probably goes on.
For the last moment: when I saw the soft heart of someone for whom I'd given up hope.
And for the next moment: when life will continue or end at Your pleasure.
Be praised, Great God.
Ant biting my ankle.
Two mallards swimming by.
A groundhog, honestly, nibbling at leaves above its head, exposing its soft belly.
A branch creaking in the wind, like a strange bird or a rusty door,
and, naturally, two heavy-footed humans scare the groundhog away, and the breeze stops,
as does the rusty door-branch. The mallards are past now.
The stream is still flowing, at least.
---
*I believe we've talked about how I don't know the names of things in nature. This is a tree whose trunk splits very low, creating two, and whose leaves look like mittens and high-five hands.
Who knows what may come or go?
But may God receive praise for it all.
For this moment: the grass bits on this paper, the sap from that old tree: knowing that life probably goes on.
For the last moment: when I saw the soft heart of someone for whom I'd given up hope.
And for the next moment: when life will continue or end at Your pleasure.
Be praised, Great God.
Ant biting my ankle.
Two mallards swimming by.
A groundhog, honestly, nibbling at leaves above its head, exposing its soft belly.
A branch creaking in the wind, like a strange bird or a rusty door,
and, naturally, two heavy-footed humans scare the groundhog away, and the breeze stops,
as does the rusty door-branch. The mallards are past now.
The stream is still flowing, at least.
---
*I believe we've talked about how I don't know the names of things in nature. This is a tree whose trunk splits very low, creating two, and whose leaves look like mittens and high-five hands.
Monday, May 27, 2013
A Sparse Month
So much for blogging in the month of May.
Readers, I did write a poem that I'm proud of. But I like it because it's true and close to my heart. So close, in fact, that I cannot yet share it here. So please accept this placeholder until the day when I am far enough removed from this moment to fill the empty space below with the only thing I will then be able to offer you: a vintage rendition of feelings long past.
Readers, I did write a poem that I'm proud of. But I like it because it's true and close to my heart. So close, in fact, that I cannot yet share it here. So please accept this placeholder until the day when I am far enough removed from this moment to fill the empty space below with the only thing I will then be able to offer you: a vintage rendition of feelings long past.
Friday, May 17, 2013
Lesson #33: Don't Pretend to Know What You're Talking About
This blog contains many life lessons. I estimate that we're about to lesson 33. Either Twain or Lincoln said it well, "Better to be silent and be thought a fool, than to open your mouth and remove all doubt." Merely for the sake of illustration, I present to you a real-life story.
When I was student teaching, there were a few days when my mentor teacher was out for illness. As per the law, a substitute teacher came into the classroom for the whole day. But I was de facto teacher for the day. That was fun and all, but I wanna talk about the one substitute teacher. He was studying to become an acupuncturist. Ladies and gentlemen, even now I have no idea how acupuncture works. And for the purposes of this lesson, all you need to know is that when, we'll say, Kevin, explained it to me, he used the term "meridians," in a non-condescending, non-threatening way: "So, I'm not sure if you've heard of these, but acupuncturists believe the body has many meridians..."
In as sophisticated a manner as possible, I responded that yes, I had in fact heard of meridians, and in an unlikely place: Star Wars Episode I, ain't it just the darn'dest?
Midichlorians. No, Carolyn. No.
When I was student teaching, there were a few days when my mentor teacher was out for illness. As per the law, a substitute teacher came into the classroom for the whole day. But I was de facto teacher for the day. That was fun and all, but I wanna talk about the one substitute teacher. He was studying to become an acupuncturist. Ladies and gentlemen, even now I have no idea how acupuncture works. And for the purposes of this lesson, all you need to know is that when, we'll say, Kevin, explained it to me, he used the term "meridians," in a non-condescending, non-threatening way: "So, I'm not sure if you've heard of these, but acupuncturists believe the body has many meridians..."
In as sophisticated a manner as possible, I responded that yes, I had in fact heard of meridians, and in an unlikely place: Star Wars Episode I, ain't it just the darn'dest?
Midichlorians. No, Carolyn. No.
Saturday, April 27, 2013
Disposable Packaging (parts II, III, and IV)
You say "Glorious," I say "Sparkly"
I wish you could have been there for Sunday's service two weeks ago, because it was all about disposable packaging.* Pastor titled the sermon, "Don't Save the Veils."** Moses was in God's presence for a while, and his face was radiant. But after a few days, that radiance began to fade, and he felt (perhaps) shame as the glory left him. So he covered his face with a veil.
Moses himself was not glorious, that stuttering, murdering, shepherd. The radiance was the glory of being in the presence of God. God chooses to use inglorious people, disposable packaging, to contain and reflect his presence, because in our weakness, he is stronger. The less impressive our clay pot is, the more beautiful is the glory that radiates from the contents inside.
This week three people asked me how I was, and waited for an answer, to which I confessed an embarrassing truth: "I just... I don't feel... sparkly this week. You know? Like my sparkle is... just... blah."
One friend considered this, and somberly answered, "No. I can't say I've ever felt 'sparkly'."
Another more inquisitive soul asked, "What is your sparkle, exactly?" Of course I don't know the answer to that one. It just is sparkly. It's how I feel about myself.
And another said, "You're just tired. It'll come back," to which my inner self responded, "A-HA! So you agree that I'm not sparkly! Jerk."
But there's hope for my sparkle to return, because it's not me. "[W]henever anyone turns to the Lord, the veil is taken away. Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom. And we all, who with unveiled faces, reflect the Lord's glory, are being transformed into his image with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit."
And until my sparkle returns, I'll take comfort here, in 2 Corinthians 12:7-10, where Paul boasts in his weakness, because,"when I am weak, then I am strong." In this passage, Paul [is crazy and] rejoices in his sufferings and deprivations, because God gets to show Himself to the world in those situations. Paul is glad that he's shown up to be the mere human (read, gifted animal) that he is, and that God gets to be God in those unbalanced situations.
----
Hannah and Mary: Clay Pots Filled with Glory
Hannah and Mary were humble clay pots, entrusted to carry children who were blessed and purposed by God. They sing similar songs # about God filling the empty with good things. Mary says, "He has been mindful of the humble state of his servant. From now on, all generations will call me blessed, because the Mighty One has done great things for me-- holy is his name."
----
A Prayer
Your glory will shine in the humblest, ugliest faces, and make them beautiful.
Your glory will cover the least melodic, grating voices, and make their song rise to the heavens.
Your glory will fill the barren woman, and give her many children.
Your glory will bring down the proud, and lift up the humble.
Your glory will fill the whole earth, of this we can be sure.
You have chosen the weak of this world to confound the strong. Blessed are the poor in spirit, the meek, the mourners, the lost, desperate, and hopeless, the insulted and grieved, because your ear is attentive to their cries, and great is their reward in heaven.
----
Notes
* You can listen online (maybe start around 55 minutes), but know that it was better in person. There is so much more happening than just what is spoken, especially the moments after everyone is dismissed. People start to mill around, a few people may leave right away (they probably have friends coming over for lunch, and need to make sure their house hasn't burned down because their electric is a little finicky and the crock pot may have caused a power surge (okay, I don't even know if that's possible)).
I wish you could have been there for Sunday's service two weeks ago, because it was all about disposable packaging.* Pastor titled the sermon, "Don't Save the Veils."** Moses was in God's presence for a while, and his face was radiant. But after a few days, that radiance began to fade, and he felt (perhaps) shame as the glory left him. So he covered his face with a veil.
Moses himself was not glorious, that stuttering, murdering, shepherd. The radiance was the glory of being in the presence of God. God chooses to use inglorious people, disposable packaging, to contain and reflect his presence, because in our weakness, he is stronger. The less impressive our clay pot is, the more beautiful is the glory that radiates from the contents inside.
This week three people asked me how I was, and waited for an answer, to which I confessed an embarrassing truth: "I just... I don't feel... sparkly this week. You know? Like my sparkle is... just... blah."
One friend considered this, and somberly answered, "No. I can't say I've ever felt 'sparkly'."
Another more inquisitive soul asked, "What is your sparkle, exactly?" Of course I don't know the answer to that one. It just is sparkly. It's how I feel about myself.
And another said, "You're just tired. It'll come back," to which my inner self responded, "A-HA! So you agree that I'm not sparkly! Jerk."
But there's hope for my sparkle to return, because it's not me. "[W]henever anyone turns to the Lord, the veil is taken away. Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom. And we all, who with unveiled faces, reflect the Lord's glory, are being transformed into his image with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit."
And until my sparkle returns, I'll take comfort here, in 2 Corinthians 12:7-10, where Paul boasts in his weakness, because,"when I am weak, then I am strong." In this passage, Paul [is crazy and] rejoices in his sufferings and deprivations, because God gets to show Himself to the world in those situations. Paul is glad that he's shown up to be the mere human (read, gifted animal) that he is, and that God gets to be God in those unbalanced situations.
----
Hannah and Mary: Clay Pots Filled with Glory
Hannah and Mary were humble clay pots, entrusted to carry children who were blessed and purposed by God. They sing similar songs # about God filling the empty with good things. Mary says, "He has been mindful of the humble state of his servant. From now on, all generations will call me blessed, because the Mighty One has done great things for me-- holy is his name."
----
A Prayer
Your glory will shine in the humblest, ugliest faces, and make them beautiful.
Your glory will cover the least melodic, grating voices, and make their song rise to the heavens.
Your glory will fill the barren woman, and give her many children.
Your glory will bring down the proud, and lift up the humble.
Your glory will fill the whole earth, of this we can be sure.
You have chosen the weak of this world to confound the strong. Blessed are the poor in spirit, the meek, the mourners, the lost, desperate, and hopeless, the insulted and grieved, because your ear is attentive to their cries, and great is their reward in heaven.
----
Notes
* You can listen online (maybe start around 55 minutes), but know that it was better in person. There is so much more happening than just what is spoken, especially the moments after everyone is dismissed. People start to mill around, a few people may leave right away (they probably have friends coming over for lunch, and need to make sure their house hasn't burned down because their electric is a little finicky and the crock pot may have caused a power surge (okay, I don't even know if that's possible)).
** (but he is German, and "veils" sounds like "whales" and it's a whole German/English pun that people groaned at mostly, but that was actually the funniest thing to happen in my life all week).
# Here's one such song, "Holy is Your Name (Magnificat)," one of the most beautiful renderings of the Magnificat I've heard, written by David Haas, performed here by Mark Haas.
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
Things That Are Not True
(but that are hard not to think during study hall in April, and which will become even harder not to believe in May), a list:
- Teenagers will never grow up
- I am a failure as a human being
- No one understands
- This moment will last forever
- I will never finish my grading
- I will never become a patient, understanding person
- God is not speaking to anyone anymore
- Jesus already came again, and we've been left behind
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
Providing in Real Time
God provides in real time. Recently, I've struggled with uncertainty about where I'll live and work for the next... ever. I am puzzled and sometimes whiny, but God keeps knowledge about the future on a strictly need-to-know basis with me. So, I trust God sometimes, when I'm not freaking out and crying to all my friends about how unfair it is that I don't know everything and have it all figured out, and that my life isn't just already lived-out and decided for me.
A second problem that I've been facing is how to teach this crazy Bible class. I have trouble feeling prepared for it. I can't see very far past the day's lesson, because it's all I can do to keep up with the Bible-reading and study it takes to teach the Bible. I have confessed here before about how I have no degree that is related to God/Jesus/Bible-anything. I find myself burdened with my own questions, let alone those of the students, which overlap often.
Tonight, in the grocery store, God showed up. Actually, it was my friend, K.
I went to the grocery store to pick up essentials (you know, vegetables and chocolate), and I turned and saw K there, saying hey! "Hi, K! What a neat place to meet, so weird, right? I almost never buy groceries..." No. Really.
As we chatted, I realized I had a beautiful opportunity before me; K is trained in theology, and was a professor at M College for a while. So I asked her the burning question inside me this week: how do I make First Samuel interactive for the students... or whatever?
She asked what resources I'd come across so far (nice, K), and I mentioned this book I've been using, and she was all like, "yeah, that was the book I used. The editor is in our theology department." Seriously, K?! Without the exclamation point!?!! This was a big deal for me, because I'm still easily starstruck, perhaps, by people who have written books. But, STILL. I left the grocery store with excitement, feeling affirmed in every which way.
THANKS, K: I hope you still had time tonight to bake for the thingy tomorrow morning.
And NICE one, God!
A second problem that I've been facing is how to teach this crazy Bible class. I have trouble feeling prepared for it. I can't see very far past the day's lesson, because it's all I can do to keep up with the Bible-reading and study it takes to teach the Bible. I have confessed here before about how I have no degree that is related to God/Jesus/Bible-anything. I find myself burdened with my own questions, let alone those of the students, which overlap often.
Tonight, in the grocery store, God showed up. Actually, it was my friend, K.
I went to the grocery store to pick up essentials (you know, vegetables and chocolate), and I turned and saw K there, saying hey! "Hi, K! What a neat place to meet, so weird, right? I almost never buy groceries..." No. Really.
As we chatted, I realized I had a beautiful opportunity before me; K is trained in theology, and was a professor at M College for a while. So I asked her the burning question inside me this week: how do I make First Samuel interactive for the students... or whatever?
She asked what resources I'd come across so far (nice, K), and I mentioned this book I've been using, and she was all like, "yeah, that was the book I used. The editor is in our theology department." Seriously, K?! Without the exclamation point!?!! This was a big deal for me, because I'm still easily starstruck, perhaps, by people who have written books. But, STILL. I left the grocery store with excitement, feeling affirmed in every which way.
THANKS, K: I hope you still had time tonight to bake for the thingy tomorrow morning.
And NICE one, God!
Monday, April 8, 2013
On This Side
On this side of the Red Sea,
let us lay down our worries.
We do not need to clean
our closets before crossing.
On this side of the Red Sea,
let us look up at eternity
written in the sky with a cloud,
a pillar of fire, blocking our view.
Sing with me, brothers,
dance with me, sisters.
God is with us, and we are breathless.
the seas curl up like living scrolls,
and we walk in unlikely places,
touching ground that living feet have not trod.
Sing with me, brothers,
dance with me, sisters.
If the water or the wilderness consume us,
we will have already
worshiped God
for setting us free.
Sing with me, brothers,
dance with me, sisters.
let us lay down our worries.
We do not need to clean
our closets before crossing.
On this side of the Red Sea,
let us look up at eternity
written in the sky with a cloud,
a pillar of fire, blocking our view.
Sing with me, brothers,
dance with me, sisters.
God is with us, and we are breathless.
the seas curl up like living scrolls,
and we walk in unlikely places,
touching ground that living feet have not trod.
Sing with me, brothers,
dance with me, sisters.
If the water or the wilderness consume us,
we will have already
worshiped God
for setting us free.
Sing with me, brothers,
dance with me, sisters.
Friday, April 5, 2013
Disposable Packaging
We humans have been good at labeling things "disposable" lately. Let's say a box of plastic forks is labelled disposable. Says who? Those forks are going to be in the ground in their same shape until long after I'm dead. And plasticware isn't the worst of it. Packaging is the worst.
Packages are supposed to protect, and maybe hint at the quality of what is inside. But packaging should be all about what is inside. When I look at how things are wrapped at Starbucks, I begin to wonder what the deal is: 5 grams of plastic to sell 2 grams of chocolate? How is it possible that I'm so often sold by a big bow? A straight-lined, robin's egg blue wrapping paper? Often, we're being sold packaging. But why buy packaging for its own sake?
God knows how to make disposable things. Look at a banana. That wrapping is completely disposable. You throw it in the trash can at 10 am, and you can smell it decomposing by 3 pm, and you can really smell it decomposing by 10 am the next day. When a package tells us something is disposable, they're commanding us to dump something in the trash can after we use it, and never think about it again. It's "worry-free," "time-saving," "healthy." I don't want to buy into that idea. I want to appreciate the matter around me: I want to wash it and use it again; or if I need to save time and worry, perhaps not have it in the first place.
Packages are supposed to protect, and maybe hint at the quality of what is inside. But packaging should be all about what is inside. When I look at how things are wrapped at Starbucks, I begin to wonder what the deal is: 5 grams of plastic to sell 2 grams of chocolate? How is it possible that I'm so often sold by a big bow? A straight-lined, robin's egg blue wrapping paper? Often, we're being sold packaging. But why buy packaging for its own sake?
God knows how to make disposable things. Look at a banana. That wrapping is completely disposable. You throw it in the trash can at 10 am, and you can smell it decomposing by 3 pm, and you can really smell it decomposing by 10 am the next day. When a package tells us something is disposable, they're commanding us to dump something in the trash can after we use it, and never think about it again. It's "worry-free," "time-saving," "healthy." I don't want to buy into that idea. I want to appreciate the matter around me: I want to wash it and use it again; or if I need to save time and worry, perhaps not have it in the first place.
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
OnetwothreefourfiveHA!
My music on shuffle, “Rocky Road to Dublin” by Young Dubliners catches me off guard this morning. Against my will, I’m transported to a back kitchen with blaring music and waiting dishes.
One, two, three, four, five! Hey! I grab a giant serving tray and fill it up, in an instant attempting to memorize the placement of the special-order plates. I failed as often as I got it right.
On that first night, never having served an evening before, I was working with one other server. The other had walked out. Asked me was I hired, wages I required, / I was almost tired of the rocky road to Dublin./ One, two, three four, five. Ha! All the staff knew I was a newbie, and accorded a kindness and understanding that I still did not know was foreign to food service. I had left my home that night fully knowing that this might be the only night I ever had the chance to serve tables. The business was in trouble, and they needed someone to serve through their last week of reservations. I made up my mind as I applied my lip gloss that I would make the most of it, and absolutely have fun, and not be deterred at all. Then off to reap the corn, leave where I was born, / Cut a stout black thorn to banish ghosts and goblins; / Bought a pair of brogues rattling o'er the bogs / And fright'ning all the dogs on the rocky road to Dublin. / One, two, three four, five. Ha!
Through the evening, I constantly asked my fellow server about the menu, about the computer system, about timing, about drinks. I constantly asked the chefs to name the dishes that were up, repeat the specials, list the desserts. I needed help with a check, I needed a hand with a tray, I didn’t know what was in a hot totty, or how to describe the shelf merlot. All this I acknowledged with a humble humor. The room was full, the tables were lit up by their tealights and softened expressions. The whole room was aflame with a joy of living, it was like church.
At the end of the night, I tallied my tips: $210.60. Seriously? We must be overcharging. Or they must have felt pity for me. The Galway boys wer by, / and saw I was a-hobblin’ with a loud array, / they joined me in the fray / soon we cleared the way on the rocky road to Dublin. / One, two, three, four, five. Ha!
I took off my apron, and wrapped up my black book. Lee, the sous chef, came up to me, “wow,” he said, eyes bulging beneath his thick, black glasses, “you did a great job. I mean that. I’m not just saying it.”
“Thank you,” I was so surprised at his sincerity.
“No, I mean it, if Drew [the chef] takes over, he wants you to stay.”
“Lee, are you serious? I might have a job here? I’ve never done this before. I am not sure this is the wisest thing you could do.” It was true, and I’m still not sure it was the wisest thing they could have done.
“The way you handled tonight, tables at a time. Servers with way more experience get all grumpy and flustered. And you’re in the kitchen making jokes, just getting it right. It was awesome.”
This was not a normal complement for me to receive: that I kept my head about me, was relaxed in a stressful time, made smart calls when it mattered most. This was not the kind of thing to which my temperament is accustomed. So I took the job, in hopes of winning more such favor. One, two, three four, five, Ha! / Hunt the Hare and turn her down / the rocky road and all the way to Dublin, / Whack follol de rah !
I never quite did as well as that first night, when the pressure was on the most.
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
Self Revelation
People are afraid of me, overwhelmed by me, for the same reason that they like me, and for the same reason that I can hold the attention of a class: I'm kind of intense. The word came to me a few months ago, as I was thinking about why I feel things so deeply. We use "intense" as a near-insult, or at least I do. So when I found that it applies to me in no uncertain terms, I felt a little down. (Look at that! Not MAJORLY DOWN, but a little down.)
I don't feel that I live in a black and white world, where no shades exist. I'm not either high or low. Sometimes I'm just alright, hanging out. I promise, I know how to just hang out. And little by little, I've learned how to let silence and peace settle around me and in me. But I feel things deeply all the time.
If hanging out with me has to be intense, I hope it's like getting mauled by a Panda Bear: more notable than painful.
I don't feel that I live in a black and white world, where no shades exist. I'm not either high or low. Sometimes I'm just alright, hanging out. I promise, I know how to just hang out. And little by little, I've learned how to let silence and peace settle around me and in me. But I feel things deeply all the time.
If hanging out with me has to be intense, I hope it's like getting mauled by a Panda Bear: more notable than painful.
Sunday, March 3, 2013
Casting Vision
A friend recently told me that there is "blog culture." I had no idea. If I had ever thought of it, I guess I would have known. My vision for this blog is that it be a repository for thoughts, so I don't have to keep them completely inside, where they usually blur, and disappear, and that it be a repository for important events, usually in the form of poetry. With all this, I hope to somehow keep my mom updated with the workings of my life, so she can feel like she didn't waste her time raising me.
Saturday, March 2, 2013
Why My Job is Weirder and Better Than Yours
I present two examples.
The first, on Wednesday evening, while I was "off duty," I spent over an hour at Goodwill in search of a leopard print blouse and stiletto heels to create a costume for our activity on Friday evening. Later that night, 11:30 pm found me in the downstairs girls' hallway, opening a series of large boxes, and itemizing each object on a long sheet in order to ship the whole lot to China the next day. There was no avoiding these tasks, thereby qualifying them as indispensable parts of the job.
The second: my residence hall mailbox currently holds the following items: a water bottle, a dirty spoon (which is not my own), an opened paper clip with which I attempt to pick the lock on the filing cabinet when I have locked my keys in my apartment, a shipping label for the box situation above, a handmade dice that I roll when I feel stressed, red lipstick, and a toaster.
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
Loop Inspiration #2
The bush I've beaten around all day long: here it is: on the tip of my tongue: only one person I wanted to talk to all day. Everyone else seems stale, dry, old, useless. And I hate that. I hate that I can ignore everyone else, refuse to engage with their lives, their precious thoughts, their important moments, just like mine, just as 3D and so damn important!
Damn
My pastor said damn last week. I'm so grateful. If he hadn't, I might not have remembered what he was saying: being a leader is damn hard. But just do it. Don't shirk. Don't hide. Just stand, and put your neck out there, even if it's bound to be cut off.
Grateful
Who was it that I read recently, or heard about, that lived in prison for so many years, and there met God. So real was He, that the prisoner learned prayer in prison as he never had before. When he was released, he noted how the Church often neglected gratitude as the foundation of their prayer. How could they do that, when God freely gives so much? And more than all, He offers us Himself: a blood and bone connection to his heart.
Neglected
In my writing class, we do free writes. This is an institution I'm proud of, because every class makes it their own. They find their own way of discovering to write, when I give them the time and try to give them the inspiration for it. And then the hard part: sharing. How do you hang a piece of your soul out the window? But one girl shares often. And more than once, she has shared about the neglect of her very early childhood, before adoption. Each time I hear about it, it shocks me, beats me, leaves me stunned. Then we clap, and move on to another student's writing about basketball, or how they are wishing it were lunchtime, or sometimes a glance into their hearts. And at the end, I'm never quite sure if we did it right.
Damn
My pastor said damn last week. I'm so grateful. If he hadn't, I might not have remembered what he was saying: being a leader is damn hard. But just do it. Don't shirk. Don't hide. Just stand, and put your neck out there, even if it's bound to be cut off.
Grateful
Who was it that I read recently, or heard about, that lived in prison for so many years, and there met God. So real was He, that the prisoner learned prayer in prison as he never had before. When he was released, he noted how the Church often neglected gratitude as the foundation of their prayer. How could they do that, when God freely gives so much? And more than all, He offers us Himself: a blood and bone connection to his heart.
Neglected
In my writing class, we do free writes. This is an institution I'm proud of, because every class makes it their own. They find their own way of discovering to write, when I give them the time and try to give them the inspiration for it. And then the hard part: sharing. How do you hang a piece of your soul out the window? But one girl shares often. And more than once, she has shared about the neglect of her very early childhood, before adoption. Each time I hear about it, it shocks me, beats me, leaves me stunned. Then we clap, and move on to another student's writing about basketball, or how they are wishing it were lunchtime, or sometimes a glance into their hearts. And at the end, I'm never quite sure if we did it right.
Thursday, February 7, 2013
Evening Confession
Tonight, you don't know me.
You don't.
I'm worn out.
Dark circles.
Too many carbs. Too much caffeine.
I did all the things I was supposed to today.
I did my research, and got the facts straight;
I did the shopping, baked for the group, hosted it, almost cleaned up afterward;
I wrote a letter, thought about my opinion on a subject;
I changed into sweatpants, and made up my mind to set my alarm early for a meeting in the morning.
And I feel empty, here at the computer.
I'm
Afraid this is who I really am, and even more
Afraid that you do know me, after all.
You don't.
I'm worn out.
Dark circles.
Too many carbs. Too much caffeine.
I did all the things I was supposed to today.
I did my research, and got the facts straight;
I did the shopping, baked for the group, hosted it, almost cleaned up afterward;
I wrote a letter, thought about my opinion on a subject;
I changed into sweatpants, and made up my mind to set my alarm early for a meeting in the morning.
And I feel empty, here at the computer.
I'm
Afraid this is who I really am, and even more
Afraid that you do know me, after all.
Friday, February 1, 2013
Uncouth Thoughts for a Young Lady
I was so nervous right before the semester started. I'm teaching a subject in which I've never had formal, university training: the Bible. I mean, I've been a student of the Bible all my life. But to conceptualize how to teach it, well, I was in an uproar. The day before classes were to begin, I could barely breathe, I was so frazzled. I was sitting in a teachers' meeting, and a word came to me, which I believe was from God. Ever so gently, he said, "settle the f&*$ down."
++++
When I fall in love,
I don't want my heart to stop beating at the sight of him.
I want for him to see my heart, and to long for it to go on beating at all costs.
I want to do the same for him. I want us to help each other to live.
++++
I'm so glad that I am not thinking about moving this year. I dread it, really. Although, tonight, I was helping a friend gather his apartment together a wee bit, as he's preparing to move tomorrow, and it wasn't so bad. He's made sure not to collect much stuff. And he has help from people who love him. He said that it costs over $200 to hire movers. $500 if you have a piano that needs moving. I've never had to pay that. I hope you never do, either.
++++
I lied tonight. I ate out at a restaurant, and ordered a chicken dish from their "specials." It was still pricey, though. And when I got it, I couldn't really taste it. Not really at all. And it wasn't that I lack the ability to taste, which I questioned. It was just that it was an unimpressive, low-quality entree. The server came around to ask how it was, and I smiled and said, "very good, thank you." Lies.
But, really, what was she going to do about the food? I was embarrassed for her. But I didn't have to get the whole rest of it in a to-go box to spare her feelings, did I?
++++
When I fall in love,
I don't want my heart to stop beating at the sight of him.
I want for him to see my heart, and to long for it to go on beating at all costs.
I want to do the same for him. I want us to help each other to live.
++++
I'm so glad that I am not thinking about moving this year. I dread it, really. Although, tonight, I was helping a friend gather his apartment together a wee bit, as he's preparing to move tomorrow, and it wasn't so bad. He's made sure not to collect much stuff. And he has help from people who love him. He said that it costs over $200 to hire movers. $500 if you have a piano that needs moving. I've never had to pay that. I hope you never do, either.
++++
I lied tonight. I ate out at a restaurant, and ordered a chicken dish from their "specials." It was still pricey, though. And when I got it, I couldn't really taste it. Not really at all. And it wasn't that I lack the ability to taste, which I questioned. It was just that it was an unimpressive, low-quality entree. The server came around to ask how it was, and I smiled and said, "very good, thank you." Lies.
But, really, what was she going to do about the food? I was embarrassed for her. But I didn't have to get the whole rest of it in a to-go box to spare her feelings, did I?
Saturday, January 26, 2013
Saved from Homogeneity
Not long ago, I had the high privilege of sitting down to lunch with seven students. We were talking about language, and we were able to discuss idioms in Korean, French, Spanish, Mandarin, Cantonese, and Vietnamese, all in English. Then, the ceiling opened up, and a light shone from heaven, and a dove descended. And a chorus of voices in these languages said what I'm sure was, "this is diversity, in which God is well pleased."
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
How the Mighty Pen Will Fall
In West Africa, "traditional" West Africa, to write something down is to kill it. As soon as the story is parted from the human mind, the human heart, the human voice, the story has died. People who can afford it hire a family story teller to keep track of the family and to keep them alive in hearts to come.
In Western contemporary culture, writing is tantamount to immortalizing oneself. Oral history is seen as unreliable, silly even. But written history - don't we see? - is stagnant. It does not keep up with the flow of the river. Writing is a pool all its own, becoming more and more removed from the water that flows. Eventually, the collected debris builds up in the little eddy. And sediment collects to form a thin shaft of land. And the story persists forever in its pool. But fewer and fewer people come to visit.
It is only a matter of centuries before one must study for years to even get at the most elementary meaning of the landlocked text. It gets further inland, further from the flow. But it is immortal. But it is alone.
-----------
Stanley Hauerwas calls ours a culture of death.
We laugh at cultures less ornately technological.
They have witch doctors and poor health.
They have missing eyes, or limbs!
They have a strange growth that the "witch doctor" cannot cure,
It must have come from an angry neighbor,
Never considering food allergies.
We must visit a "real doctor," and have a battery of tests completed.
"Of course a smile will not cure what you have!
Not a hug, nor the air--
This is exceedingly rare!"
Somehow or other, hopefully by regular visits to the prophet doctor
and worshiping at the hospital shrine, we may satisfy death while living,
and never face it head on.
We write a moment so it will go on living forever.
We take a picture so the moment will have the posterity that we do not.
And only the camera's eye will know the moment.
What a shame! that the camera has not our heart!
What a shame the god science has not found a way to transplant a human heart
into a camera, so that the pain and joy - the beautiful transience of the human condition -
will be
perfectly preserved,
forever.
In Western contemporary culture, writing is tantamount to immortalizing oneself. Oral history is seen as unreliable, silly even. But written history - don't we see? - is stagnant. It does not keep up with the flow of the river. Writing is a pool all its own, becoming more and more removed from the water that flows. Eventually, the collected debris builds up in the little eddy. And sediment collects to form a thin shaft of land. And the story persists forever in its pool. But fewer and fewer people come to visit.
It is only a matter of centuries before one must study for years to even get at the most elementary meaning of the landlocked text. It gets further inland, further from the flow. But it is immortal. But it is alone.
-----------
Stanley Hauerwas calls ours a culture of death.
We laugh at cultures less ornately technological.
They have witch doctors and poor health.
They have missing eyes, or limbs!
They have a strange growth that the "witch doctor" cannot cure,
It must have come from an angry neighbor,
Never considering food allergies.
We must visit a "real doctor," and have a battery of tests completed.
"Of course a smile will not cure what you have!
Not a hug, nor the air--
This is exceedingly rare!"
Somehow or other, hopefully by regular visits to the prophet doctor
and worshiping at the hospital shrine, we may satisfy death while living,
and never face it head on.
We write a moment so it will go on living forever.
We take a picture so the moment will have the posterity that we do not.
And only the camera's eye will know the moment.
What a shame! that the camera has not our heart!
What a shame the god science has not found a way to transplant a human heart
into a camera, so that the pain and joy - the beautiful transience of the human condition -
will be
perfectly preserved,
forever.
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