Well, it's almost the end of the semester. Crazy. So. A list of things I am going to miss in each class is needed.
1. Poetry Writing. I'm going to miss Lisa, and the awkward pauses right after I would finish reading a poem. While they were uncomfortable, but I'm glad she let the rest and settle in before speaking, they allowed for growth in me--silence is more than okay. I'm going to miss sitting in the "dungeon" listening to poetry for hours...and seeing how everyone's style is different, but it's still poetry. And I'm going to miss Daniel Brown--because he is an old soul in a young body and tried to write to the style of Tolkien, and that just made me happy. I'll never forget him telling me, "The chinese don't capitalize 'I' either...they use characters, they don't capitalize any words," and then hearing him laugh. That was a good day. And I'm never going to forget Lisa telling me on the last day while I hugged her, "You have strong arms." For a minute I thought maybe I had squeezed her too hard, but really I think she meant that they can hold a lot--she was speaking metaphorically, really I'm a whimp. Poetry was the class that soothed me back into a sense of calm (most days, when I was arguing poetic devices with one of my classmates). I'm even going to miss that bickering...mostly because I "won" nearly everytime, and the times I didn't it just wasn't concluded and neither of us "won."
2. British Literature III. I'm going to miss Dr. Ashby. She's a tough professor, but I appreciate the way she pushed us to learn more and see more than just the surface of the material. And I will miss walking over to Jesse with her after class occasionally. I will never forget the day she told me she didn't like James Joyce either...and that the modernists were all arrogant. She was one of the most helpful professors when I was preparing to present at that theology conference. "Remember to breathe." A simple instruction, but crucial. And I feel like I owe her something, but I'm not sure what it is. I really should sit down and just talk to her sometime.
3. Ling and Lang. Dr. Gernant. I could probably leave it at that, because how does one describe her? Not easily, that's for sure. I'm going to miss how much she pushed us as a class, and myself as an individual. I learned so much that sometimes it made my head hurt--and in a good way. There are so many wonderful people in that class, it's going to be weird not seeing them so much, especially those that are graduating. Mostly, I'm going to miss talking about language being nerdy about linguistics in a safe environment.
4. Global Issues. Well... I'm going to miss doing homework for other classes in that class. Ha. Oh, and I'll miss talking to Austin and my other table-mates. They're all pretty much awesome.
5. Reading Interests of the Adolescents. I'm going to miss my table-mates in that class too... it's been so great to be able to talk with all of them. I'm going to miss Dylan's singing terribly, it always made me smile. There were so many silly things said in that room... I'll miss those quirks.
6. Independent Study on "The Lord of the Rings." Wow. Mostly, I'm going to miss having meetings with Dr. Thurber. Sitting in his office, talking about one of my favorite series of all time, was simply put: epic. He and I connect when trying to communicate, and that makes me happy. I'll miss reading Tolkien for homework. I'll miss being totally submerged in super-nerdom.
I had some great classes this semester. And I've had some wonderful times with friends. I'm going to miss Monday nights with Andrew, Tuesday afternoons with Heather and Heidi, Tuesday evenings with Claire, Wednesday evenings with Claire, Thursday evenings with the Office-watching crew, and Friday nights with my roommate. And all my other friends too.
Yes, I will even miss my dorm room.
"But I can't go back to how it was. I believe now I've come too far, now I can't go back, back to how it was. Created for a place I've never known--this is home." [Switchfoot]
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Friday, April 22, 2011
And there's a God that walks over the earth...
My church has their "Good Friday" service on Thursday night.
This year it was different for me. I had just finished reading Life of Pi by Yann Martel. And in that book the main character struggles with the idea of God. The part where he is talking to a priest is particularly interesting to me. He says that it doesn't make any sense for God to die in punishment for His creations sin.
And it doesn't.
It doesn't make sense that Jesus died for us. When I read that, I said out loud, "But that's the beauty of it." The beauty of mercy--of grace.
I didn't deserve Christ's sacrifice--I still don't. Nobody does.
And still He came.
And still He died.
What kind of love is this, that God should lay down His Son's life for a wretch like me?
Beautiful pain.
"He's searching for heart that is desperate, and longing for a child that will give Him their all, give it al, He wants it all. And He says, love Me, love Me with your whole heart. He wants it all today." [Forever Jones, He Wants It All]
This year it was different for me. I had just finished reading Life of Pi by Yann Martel. And in that book the main character struggles with the idea of God. The part where he is talking to a priest is particularly interesting to me. He says that it doesn't make any sense for God to die in punishment for His creations sin.
And it doesn't.
It doesn't make sense that Jesus died for us. When I read that, I said out loud, "But that's the beauty of it." The beauty of mercy--of grace.
I didn't deserve Christ's sacrifice--I still don't. Nobody does.
And still He came.
And still He died.
What kind of love is this, that God should lay down His Son's life for a wretch like me?
Beautiful pain.
"He's searching for heart that is desperate, and longing for a child that will give Him their all, give it al, He wants it all. And He says, love Me, love Me with your whole heart. He wants it all today." [Forever Jones, He Wants It All]
Monday, April 18, 2011
If my heart says I'm sorry, can we leave it at that?
So... I called to talk to my mom today. It wasn't anything big. I just wanted to run some plans by her for next Monday.
The next thing I know, she's defensive and crying. Now, I can be snarky sometimes when talking to my mom, but I wasn't this time. I was very calm and explained it all to the best of my ability. I was completely reasonable.
I finally told her, "Mom, you have to tell me what you're thinking. I don't understand why you're upset. Or why you're angry."
"I'm not angry."
"You sound angry."
Then there was more blubbering. Something about a bad day and not understanding why I would want to carry through on these plans....
"Mom, can I please talk to Dad?"
Now, Dads are generally more reasonable than Moms, at least in my experience. He asked me to explain what was going on, so I did, this time I was on the brink of tears because I didn't understand what the big deal was. I don't think Dad did either. He talked me through it and then explained what was going on with Mom.
She did have a bad day. Her medical mystery is still a mystery, she had physical therapy this morning, and her first day back to work in a month was today. Yes. She had a bad day.
And I'm sorry that I made her cry, even if I don't understand. I'm sorry that our communication is so strained sometimes. I pray we "grow" out of this phase sooner than later.
I was able to have a good conversation with my Dad about the theology conference. I love talking to my daddy about God and where I'm at with my literary analysis of "The Lord of the Rings." He is the one person that I know will understand what I'm trying to say and will push me to develop it further. Now, professors do that too, of course, and so do my friends, but there's something about Dad...it's a part of home. He calls them my "Anna rants" and whenever I'm home he asks me what's new, and I know that he's looking for a "rant." Normally, I can lay one out pretty good. I think he just likes to know how I'm growing. I always know what Dad wants to hear about.
I don't know what Mom wants to know about. She's not on the same page as me as far as world view. She's far more... feminine than I am, in a sense. She's more apt to cry than I am. I always feel like she's one step behind me, like she's settled. And there is nothing wrong with that. I'm just learning that Dad is willing to grow with me.
I think my experience on campus as one of the few that aren't Lutheran has been a cause for him to grow as much as it has been for me. I used to call home all the time and say things like: Daddy, they think I'm less Christian...we need to make sure we don't do this to them, it hurts. Daddy, why can't we all just say that Jesus is all that matters and forget about our denominations? Daddy, why does the body fight so violently against itself? Daddy...why, Daddy?
"Mommy paints the sky." [Danny Oertli]
The next thing I know, she's defensive and crying. Now, I can be snarky sometimes when talking to my mom, but I wasn't this time. I was very calm and explained it all to the best of my ability. I was completely reasonable.
I finally told her, "Mom, you have to tell me what you're thinking. I don't understand why you're upset. Or why you're angry."
"I'm not angry."
"You sound angry."
Then there was more blubbering. Something about a bad day and not understanding why I would want to carry through on these plans....
"Mom, can I please talk to Dad?"
Now, Dads are generally more reasonable than Moms, at least in my experience. He asked me to explain what was going on, so I did, this time I was on the brink of tears because I didn't understand what the big deal was. I don't think Dad did either. He talked me through it and then explained what was going on with Mom.
She did have a bad day. Her medical mystery is still a mystery, she had physical therapy this morning, and her first day back to work in a month was today. Yes. She had a bad day.
And I'm sorry that I made her cry, even if I don't understand. I'm sorry that our communication is so strained sometimes. I pray we "grow" out of this phase sooner than later.
I was able to have a good conversation with my Dad about the theology conference. I love talking to my daddy about God and where I'm at with my literary analysis of "The Lord of the Rings." He is the one person that I know will understand what I'm trying to say and will push me to develop it further. Now, professors do that too, of course, and so do my friends, but there's something about Dad...it's a part of home. He calls them my "Anna rants" and whenever I'm home he asks me what's new, and I know that he's looking for a "rant." Normally, I can lay one out pretty good. I think he just likes to know how I'm growing. I always know what Dad wants to hear about.
I don't know what Mom wants to know about. She's not on the same page as me as far as world view. She's far more... feminine than I am, in a sense. She's more apt to cry than I am. I always feel like she's one step behind me, like she's settled. And there is nothing wrong with that. I'm just learning that Dad is willing to grow with me.
I think my experience on campus as one of the few that aren't Lutheran has been a cause for him to grow as much as it has been for me. I used to call home all the time and say things like: Daddy, they think I'm less Christian...we need to make sure we don't do this to them, it hurts. Daddy, why can't we all just say that Jesus is all that matters and forget about our denominations? Daddy, why does the body fight so violently against itself? Daddy...why, Daddy?
"Mommy paints the sky." [Danny Oertli]
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Maybe our stories won't be told by firesides...
The line that titles this blog is part of a sentence from the paper I presented on Friday at about 2:50.
I have a lot of thoughts jostling around inside my head right now. I wish I could put them all into an order...I know that they are connected, I'm just not entirely sure how right now. Maybe I'll make a list... hm. It's worth a shot.
1. All you have to do is breathe. So keep breathing. Go on breathing. Keep on breathing. (Superchick) This was the motto of my day on Friday. Leading up to my presentation I was getting more and more anxious... until the girl before started talking about Buddhism and how it should be applied to Christianity... then I started squirming my chair... (There's something unsettling about listening to someone explain how they're being sucked away from the Gospel. Sorry, but there really is something absolute about the Gospel, I know our culture likes to shy away from that right now.) and I realized that at least the things I was going to say weren't blasphemous... or heretical. And once I was on the stage, and started reading, it was fine. This is something I am passionate about. I have a firm grasp on this. I can do this. I am doing this.
2. Oh, I feel so tired. I cannot hardly keep open my eyes. (Plumb) Sitting in a van for hours with two professors... I was beyond exhausted. I hadn't slept much all week, and once I was done presenting it just washed over me, this weariness was a tsunami to my thirsty soul. Over dinner, Prof. Reek told me I looked tired... and when I told him it had been a long week of late nights he told me he understood... I don't think he could have. And so, I went to bed early last night, and woke up late this morning. And I took a nap today. And it was good.
3. Why does our brokenness keep whispering? It's telling us we're not anything. (Remedy Drive) Over the course of this semester I have had to deal with self-confidence issues. And presenting a million times had made me think that I wasn't any good at what I love... and I was beginning to doubt why I'm studying English with the intent of being a professor... and every once in a while God drops something my lap--a reminder that I am making the right choices for right now. Things like talking to Dr. Thurber. And things like this presentation and having a girl tell me in the bathroom afterwards that I did a very nice job. I can't let the failures guide my life, rather I must let the success stories speak for me. Speak for me.
4. What you say and what you do are different things. (TobyMac) My cousin didn't call me on my birthday. He didn't even write on my Facebook wall. He used to call me every year--and I always cherished hearing his voice. I used to think that he and I had a special bond because we both wore back braces. He's married now. And he lives far away. I just pray when I get married some day that I won't become as distant from my family as he has. I miss him very much. Yesterday was his birthday. I didn't call him. I thought about it. But I settled on writing on his Facebook wall. Maybe I'll send him a card. Yeah. I think I'll do that.
5. A whole new world... (Aladdin) If you ever have the chance to ride in a car with two professors... do it. And do it as often as you can. You will learn more in that time about their area of interest than any other time in your life. (maybe) And you'll also learn how deeply they care about their students (at least on a smaller campus). I was so anxious to be done with my undergrad...but I'm sad now to be leaving these professors because I know how much they care about every single one of their students. I pray that someday I will care as deeply for my students while they discover what it means to be an adult. I caught a glimpse of what my future could be, and it could be beautiful.
6. We all long to belong. We all need to be needed. (Krystal Meyers) It is said that chivalry is dead. Wrong. As long as Prof. Reek lives there will still be chivalry in this world. He tried to help me into the van (fail). I tried to take my hand back, but he REALLY wanted to help me into that van. He did help me out of the van, which was better. Every door was opened by him, or someone else, and held until I had passed through. And when he was unable to help me with my coat it was, "One of you young men help Anna with her coat, please." I didn't think they would actually do it... but Grant informed me I had been "gentlemanized." It was nice...why did women ever fight against this? Were they nut jobs? (ha.)
7. People not only can surprise you, but they will. Nuns can be feminists.... I was not expecting that one.
8. Faith is never taught, it's just something they catch from watching you along the way. (Mark Schultz) Dr. Thurber casts a long shadow... and he is not the end-all-be-all power that I imagined him to be. I am sad that he will not be the Dean anymore... but I am ecstatic that he will be teaching more classes.
9. Don't waste, one day is all that we've got to give and take. (Adie) I was asked if I felt like I got a good education from my public schooling. Yes. But I was also in the AP classes getting college credit. School is really what you make it to be. If you're there to learn, then you will. If you're there to screw around, then maybe you won't. The success or failure of a school does not rest solely on the teachers, it also rests on the students. I was told that my parents probably did a lot to motivate me. And then Dr. Holtorf said, "I think she's self-motivated too. I think so anyway."
10. We want to feel Your wind in our lungs. There's a little girl at church. Every Sunday her daddy holds her during worship. And every Sunday, while we're singing she puts her little hands up in the air and she opens her mouth as wide as it will go. She can't be over 3 years old... and I don't know if she's actually making any noise when she opens her mouth and bobs her head along to the music. But whenever I see her I pray. Papa God, don't let her spirit for You fade away, make it grow stronger day by day. Raise her up to see Your face, and teach those around her to see Your grace. Teach my heart give all things up, like her little arms reach to something she can't see to touch. One day, when I have children, help me to be an example that allows for such reckless abandon.
11. She was watching as they were dancing and thought "Someday I wanna be like that." She was watching her momma singing as they were dancing hand in hand. And though she can't recall the song, she was watching. (Mark Schultz) During the return journey on Friday, we stopped at a Cracker Barrel. I went in to use the restroom before we took off for the last leg of our journey. While I was drying my hands, a little girl and her mom were in a stall. I can only assume the little girl was finished and waiting for her mom. I heard a, "Wait, stay here please. Can Mommy go potty too, please? Please don't open the door." That could be me someday... and I smiled to myself as I left the restroom.
12. In Christ alone, my hope is found. Hope is a constant in a world full of morphing despair. I am ruminating over my paper, replaying the themes and the quotes. Maybe our stories won't be told by firesides...but maybe they don't need to be. Maybe the greatest part of our story has already been told. And truly, it has.
13. The sweet by and by. There is a song that talks about the singers grandma singing "The Sweet by and by" all the time... and when I'm old, I want my sweet by and by to be "Be Thou my Vision." yeah.
This list could go on... but I do believe I will spare you. (At least for a little while.)
"Be Thou my vision, Oh Lord of my heart, naught be all else to me, save that Thou art! Thou my best thought, by day or by night, waking or sleeping, Thy presence my light."
I have a lot of thoughts jostling around inside my head right now. I wish I could put them all into an order...I know that they are connected, I'm just not entirely sure how right now. Maybe I'll make a list... hm. It's worth a shot.
1. All you have to do is breathe. So keep breathing. Go on breathing. Keep on breathing. (Superchick) This was the motto of my day on Friday. Leading up to my presentation I was getting more and more anxious... until the girl before started talking about Buddhism and how it should be applied to Christianity... then I started squirming my chair... (There's something unsettling about listening to someone explain how they're being sucked away from the Gospel. Sorry, but there really is something absolute about the Gospel, I know our culture likes to shy away from that right now.) and I realized that at least the things I was going to say weren't blasphemous... or heretical. And once I was on the stage, and started reading, it was fine. This is something I am passionate about. I have a firm grasp on this. I can do this. I am doing this.
2. Oh, I feel so tired. I cannot hardly keep open my eyes. (Plumb) Sitting in a van for hours with two professors... I was beyond exhausted. I hadn't slept much all week, and once I was done presenting it just washed over me, this weariness was a tsunami to my thirsty soul. Over dinner, Prof. Reek told me I looked tired... and when I told him it had been a long week of late nights he told me he understood... I don't think he could have. And so, I went to bed early last night, and woke up late this morning. And I took a nap today. And it was good.
3. Why does our brokenness keep whispering? It's telling us we're not anything. (Remedy Drive) Over the course of this semester I have had to deal with self-confidence issues. And presenting a million times had made me think that I wasn't any good at what I love... and I was beginning to doubt why I'm studying English with the intent of being a professor... and every once in a while God drops something my lap--a reminder that I am making the right choices for right now. Things like talking to Dr. Thurber. And things like this presentation and having a girl tell me in the bathroom afterwards that I did a very nice job. I can't let the failures guide my life, rather I must let the success stories speak for me. Speak for me.
4. What you say and what you do are different things. (TobyMac) My cousin didn't call me on my birthday. He didn't even write on my Facebook wall. He used to call me every year--and I always cherished hearing his voice. I used to think that he and I had a special bond because we both wore back braces. He's married now. And he lives far away. I just pray when I get married some day that I won't become as distant from my family as he has. I miss him very much. Yesterday was his birthday. I didn't call him. I thought about it. But I settled on writing on his Facebook wall. Maybe I'll send him a card. Yeah. I think I'll do that.
5. A whole new world... (Aladdin) If you ever have the chance to ride in a car with two professors... do it. And do it as often as you can. You will learn more in that time about their area of interest than any other time in your life. (maybe) And you'll also learn how deeply they care about their students (at least on a smaller campus). I was so anxious to be done with my undergrad...but I'm sad now to be leaving these professors because I know how much they care about every single one of their students. I pray that someday I will care as deeply for my students while they discover what it means to be an adult. I caught a glimpse of what my future could be, and it could be beautiful.
6. We all long to belong. We all need to be needed. (Krystal Meyers) It is said that chivalry is dead. Wrong. As long as Prof. Reek lives there will still be chivalry in this world. He tried to help me into the van (fail). I tried to take my hand back, but he REALLY wanted to help me into that van. He did help me out of the van, which was better. Every door was opened by him, or someone else, and held until I had passed through. And when he was unable to help me with my coat it was, "One of you young men help Anna with her coat, please." I didn't think they would actually do it... but Grant informed me I had been "gentlemanized." It was nice...why did women ever fight against this? Were they nut jobs? (ha.)
7. People not only can surprise you, but they will. Nuns can be feminists.... I was not expecting that one.
8. Faith is never taught, it's just something they catch from watching you along the way. (Mark Schultz) Dr. Thurber casts a long shadow... and he is not the end-all-be-all power that I imagined him to be. I am sad that he will not be the Dean anymore... but I am ecstatic that he will be teaching more classes.
9. Don't waste, one day is all that we've got to give and take. (Adie) I was asked if I felt like I got a good education from my public schooling. Yes. But I was also in the AP classes getting college credit. School is really what you make it to be. If you're there to learn, then you will. If you're there to screw around, then maybe you won't. The success or failure of a school does not rest solely on the teachers, it also rests on the students. I was told that my parents probably did a lot to motivate me. And then Dr. Holtorf said, "I think she's self-motivated too. I think so anyway."
10. We want to feel Your wind in our lungs. There's a little girl at church. Every Sunday her daddy holds her during worship. And every Sunday, while we're singing she puts her little hands up in the air and she opens her mouth as wide as it will go. She can't be over 3 years old... and I don't know if she's actually making any noise when she opens her mouth and bobs her head along to the music. But whenever I see her I pray. Papa God, don't let her spirit for You fade away, make it grow stronger day by day. Raise her up to see Your face, and teach those around her to see Your grace. Teach my heart give all things up, like her little arms reach to something she can't see to touch. One day, when I have children, help me to be an example that allows for such reckless abandon.
11. She was watching as they were dancing and thought "Someday I wanna be like that." She was watching her momma singing as they were dancing hand in hand. And though she can't recall the song, she was watching. (Mark Schultz) During the return journey on Friday, we stopped at a Cracker Barrel. I went in to use the restroom before we took off for the last leg of our journey. While I was drying my hands, a little girl and her mom were in a stall. I can only assume the little girl was finished and waiting for her mom. I heard a, "Wait, stay here please. Can Mommy go potty too, please? Please don't open the door." That could be me someday... and I smiled to myself as I left the restroom.
12. In Christ alone, my hope is found. Hope is a constant in a world full of morphing despair. I am ruminating over my paper, replaying the themes and the quotes. Maybe our stories won't be told by firesides...but maybe they don't need to be. Maybe the greatest part of our story has already been told. And truly, it has.
13. The sweet by and by. There is a song that talks about the singers grandma singing "The Sweet by and by" all the time... and when I'm old, I want my sweet by and by to be "Be Thou my Vision." yeah.
This list could go on... but I do believe I will spare you. (At least for a little while.)
"Be Thou my vision, Oh Lord of my heart, naught be all else to me, save that Thou art! Thou my best thought, by day or by night, waking or sleeping, Thy presence my light."
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
I will move ahead bold and confident...
Well, it's Monday night (or Tuesday morning) and in approximately three days I will be presenting my paper on Tolkien's Middle Earth at a theology conference. Let me fill you in on what exactly I'm going to be talking about:
Now, I have had more presentations in the last two weeks then I have had in the last three semesters (not including this one, that math would be impossible). It seems a bit excessive, honestly. Something you need to understand: I don't do well in front of people. I get nervous, my face turns red (or so it feels), and my hands get shaky. It's kind of obvious.
One of my professors commented to me on blackboard, "Nice job! Continue building you speaking confidence. You are INCREDIBLY bright so you need not be timid about presenting." (Gernant) Now, all that emphasis is hers, not mine. I say that because I don't think I would call myself "INCREDIBLY bright" but I must admit that my confidence, when it comes to presenting, is seriously lacking. It's bad.
So, this Friday I get to present in front of a bunch of people I don't know. Yeah, it's going to be great... *heavy sarcasm*
Now, my friend Andrew suggested that I just pick one person out at the conference and "talk" to them. We both agreed that it would be kind of creepy, but that it would probably work.
Any speaking tips out there?
Praying for the nerves to go away.
"Yet it is not our part to master all the tides of the world, but to do what is in us for the succour of those years wherein we are set, uprooting the evil in the fields that we know, so that those who live after may have a clean earth to till. What weather they shall have is not ours to rule." [Gandalf, The Return of the King]
"In this presentation, I will be exploring the idea of hope versus despair. This exploration will take place in the context of Middle Earth, a fantastical land created by Professor J.R.R. Tolkien. In “The Lord of the Rings” there is a group of unlikely companions that are sent to destroy evil. I will be discussing predestination and how it impacts the hope versus despair theme that comes up in Tolkien’s literary works. I will focus primarily on “The Lord of the Rings” and possibly include other books by Tolkien. With this presentation I will have a power point to show the text to the audience, so they can follow along as I discuss."Yeah, so that's the gist of it. And I have a lot of work ahead of myself.
Now, I have had more presentations in the last two weeks then I have had in the last three semesters (not including this one, that math would be impossible). It seems a bit excessive, honestly. Something you need to understand: I don't do well in front of people. I get nervous, my face turns red (or so it feels), and my hands get shaky. It's kind of obvious.
One of my professors commented to me on blackboard, "Nice job! Continue building you speaking confidence. You are INCREDIBLY bright so you need not be timid about presenting." (Gernant) Now, all that emphasis is hers, not mine. I say that because I don't think I would call myself "INCREDIBLY bright" but I must admit that my confidence, when it comes to presenting, is seriously lacking. It's bad.
So, this Friday I get to present in front of a bunch of people I don't know. Yeah, it's going to be great... *heavy sarcasm*
Now, my friend Andrew suggested that I just pick one person out at the conference and "talk" to them. We both agreed that it would be kind of creepy, but that it would probably work.
Any speaking tips out there?
Praying for the nerves to go away.
"Yet it is not our part to master all the tides of the world, but to do what is in us for the succour of those years wherein we are set, uprooting the evil in the fields that we know, so that those who live after may have a clean earth to till. What weather they shall have is not ours to rule." [Gandalf, The Return of the King]
Thursday, April 7, 2011
This is not my home...
Now, judging by the title of this post, I bet you're thinking, "Oh, she's going to talk about heaven." Wrong. I'm not. And besides, that would be way to literal. Haven't you noticed that most of my blog titles are a bit of a stretch? They make sense to me, but I understand that they won't make sense to everyone. ... and that's okay. Anyway... so, if I'm not talking about heaven then what am I talking about?
My family came to see me yesterday on their way home from a college visit with my brother. We went out to eat and I once again took notice of how my brother is growing, but he still maintains the old habits; such as, eating his food in compartments. He ate all of his coleslaw. Then he ate all of his fries. And then he ate his burger. There is to be no mixing of the food before it enters the stomach. No mixing. That rule never gets broken. I told him that he was a compartmentalist.
It doesn't take much to get my mom going on a rant about habits. Let's just say that my family is full of habits...and when they're disrupted...well...it's bad. She said that at this college visit, whenever they would meet back in the big conference room, my dad and brother would pick the exact same seats. We used to sit in the same seats every Sunday; and if we could still swing it, I'm sure we would now too.
It always makes me laugh when I notice these habitual things in my family.
Today in Language and Linguistics we moved to a different classroom. (I just realized it was for the VCR.) And that was strange for me. I had to sit in a completely different room...and it definitely through of my groove. (Weird, I know.)
Then, I went to Poetry Writing and someone was sitting in my chair! Now, I don't actually care, it wasn't a big deal, but it was still a displacement.
And then it hit me.
I am so my daddy's girl.
I like my routine, and I get flustered when it's disrupted.
At least I don't compartmentalize my food. That would be silly.
"Now's the time for letting go. I surrender all. Can You hear my call, when I'm at the end of myself? Is this where You begin, when I'm caving in." [Remedy Drive]
My family came to see me yesterday on their way home from a college visit with my brother. We went out to eat and I once again took notice of how my brother is growing, but he still maintains the old habits; such as, eating his food in compartments. He ate all of his coleslaw. Then he ate all of his fries. And then he ate his burger. There is to be no mixing of the food before it enters the stomach. No mixing. That rule never gets broken. I told him that he was a compartmentalist.
It doesn't take much to get my mom going on a rant about habits. Let's just say that my family is full of habits...and when they're disrupted...well...it's bad. She said that at this college visit, whenever they would meet back in the big conference room, my dad and brother would pick the exact same seats. We used to sit in the same seats every Sunday; and if we could still swing it, I'm sure we would now too.
It always makes me laugh when I notice these habitual things in my family.
Today in Language and Linguistics we moved to a different classroom. (I just realized it was for the VCR.) And that was strange for me. I had to sit in a completely different room...and it definitely through of my groove. (Weird, I know.)
Then, I went to Poetry Writing and someone was sitting in my chair! Now, I don't actually care, it wasn't a big deal, but it was still a displacement.
And then it hit me.
I am so my daddy's girl.
I like my routine, and I get flustered when it's disrupted.
At least I don't compartmentalize my food. That would be silly.
"Now's the time for letting go. I surrender all. Can You hear my call, when I'm at the end of myself? Is this where You begin, when I'm caving in." [Remedy Drive]
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Why do I do the things I do?
In my Language and Linguistics class we have started talking about grammar. (This is where most people tell me I'm crazy for being and English major. Who likes grammar?) Well, we've been discussing the difference between writing and usage. Most of the time, when someone says, "They have really bad writing skills," they mean the usage, not the writing itself. Someone can be an excellent writer--usually characterized by complete and original thoughts and ideas--but then their usage can be sour--comma use is poor, spelling is bad, sentence structure is lacking, ect.
Now, I've always regarded myself as a decent writer. (Can you see a bit of that confidence coming into play? Really, if you're writing and you think it's worth reading, you have a least a little bit of an ego.) In the middle of class though, I started to have a mental break-down. Am I doing what I'm supposed to be doing? Do my usage skills suck? Should I switch my major? Do all of my colleagues cringed when they read my papers? Did I proof-read that paper for Dr. Ashby very well? What about the one for Dr. Gernant? What would I do if I didn't write? That's the basic idea of what this internal melt-down looked like.
Then I had to go to Poetry Writing. Now, I love that class, it is one of my favorites. I'm normally fairly vocal about my opinions in that class...but yesterday I just couldn't do it. Those feelings of self-doubt, that Ling and Lang instilled in me, were leaking over into my poetry. Now, I did speak a little, but not nearly as much as I normally do...at least it felt like less.
After that I had to work. While I was working I needed to finish a paper for Dr. Thurber, before our meeting. The entire time I was stressing out about how I wasn't using perfect MLA formatting... (I hate formatting, by the way.)
Once I got into his office though, a deep calm seem to rush over me. There's just something about that man that soothes the frayed nerves. We had an excellent conversation about my independent study. He would read to me little bits of what I had written in previous papers and then he would tell me how well I articulated it and would ask me to expound upon what I had said. These are papers I had written at least a month ago, so it was kind of hard to recall exactly I had meant when typing them.
The meeting lasted a half an hour. And when it was all done, Dr. Thurber told me he was very glad to see where I was going with this research into Tolkien's Middle Earth. Deep sigh of relief. I am where I am supposed to be. This is at least part of what I was meant to do. Praise God for gentle reminders.
"If you're a ship and you're lost in the ocean, I'll be the wind in your sails, give you motion. I will guide you home. If you're too far out that you can't see the shore line, I'll be the lighthouse shining in the night time. I will guide you home. I will guide you home. When the night is long, when the storm is strong, I will guide you, I will guide you home." [Remedy Drive]
Now, I've always regarded myself as a decent writer. (Can you see a bit of that confidence coming into play? Really, if you're writing and you think it's worth reading, you have a least a little bit of an ego.) In the middle of class though, I started to have a mental break-down. Am I doing what I'm supposed to be doing? Do my usage skills suck? Should I switch my major? Do all of my colleagues cringed when they read my papers? Did I proof-read that paper for Dr. Ashby very well? What about the one for Dr. Gernant? What would I do if I didn't write? That's the basic idea of what this internal melt-down looked like.
Then I had to go to Poetry Writing. Now, I love that class, it is one of my favorites. I'm normally fairly vocal about my opinions in that class...but yesterday I just couldn't do it. Those feelings of self-doubt, that Ling and Lang instilled in me, were leaking over into my poetry. Now, I did speak a little, but not nearly as much as I normally do...at least it felt like less.
After that I had to work. While I was working I needed to finish a paper for Dr. Thurber, before our meeting. The entire time I was stressing out about how I wasn't using perfect MLA formatting... (I hate formatting, by the way.)
Once I got into his office though, a deep calm seem to rush over me. There's just something about that man that soothes the frayed nerves. We had an excellent conversation about my independent study. He would read to me little bits of what I had written in previous papers and then he would tell me how well I articulated it and would ask me to expound upon what I had said. These are papers I had written at least a month ago, so it was kind of hard to recall exactly I had meant when typing them.
The meeting lasted a half an hour. And when it was all done, Dr. Thurber told me he was very glad to see where I was going with this research into Tolkien's Middle Earth. Deep sigh of relief. I am where I am supposed to be. This is at least part of what I was meant to do. Praise God for gentle reminders.
"If you're a ship and you're lost in the ocean, I'll be the wind in your sails, give you motion. I will guide you home. If you're too far out that you can't see the shore line, I'll be the lighthouse shining in the night time. I will guide you home. I will guide you home. When the night is long, when the storm is strong, I will guide you, I will guide you home." [Remedy Drive]
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
One of us is big and brave...
I was thinking tonight about how we stereotype people. And in my context, specifically college majors. Or rather, not so much stereotypes, but allowances.
Let's look at the jocks first. (I am not trying to pick on any one group, don't worry, I'll get around to almost all of them.) The jocks are generally allowed to be less motivated at academics. As a society we don't expect them to be super intelligent. If they were, in the case of football, we wouldn't necessarily let them go out and run the risk of having their brains beat out. So, the jocks are allowed to be "stupid meatheads."
The science major. Well, I have a lot of friends in the science department. They are totally allowed to be complete and utter nerds. (To them, that was a compliment.) In fact, society expects them to geek out about the most obscure things at the most random times, look at "Big Bang Theory" for goodness sake. I would say that society takes great entertainment from their intelligence. It's okay for them to be socially awkward at times. "Oh, he's a science major...that explains a lot."
Math majors kind of have the same allowances as the science people.
Art majors. Both of my parents were art majors. ...yeah. Well, artists are allowed to be eccentric and mostly just really weird. They also get pegged as high hippies a lot of the time too. (That is not always the case.) It's okay for an art student to dress different from everyone else. It's okay for them to look like they're totally in their own little world.
Music majors are similar to artists. Only, they get the allowance for huge egos as well. Or, we'll call it confidence.
And then we get to the English major.
{insert awkward pause}
Well, they're kind of the culmination of all the things listed above. The most common response to "I'm an English major" is that glazed look that just screams, "Oh...you're one of those stupid kids that didn't know what they wanted, so you picked the dead-end major with no real options after graduation." It always comes from the grocery store employees too. (I just wonder what they think art majors are going to do, seriously.)
They're also allowed to be nerdy and geek out about literary allusions in pop culture. I always love when that happens, it's like I have an inside joke with the writer. (Half the time, I wonder if the writer actually understands that we made a connection...maybe it was an accident.)
And we're also allowed to be a little weird, a little "high" as it were. And if the English major is going into writing, there comes the ego.
But you know? Just once, I would like to have my own little niche that I fit into instead of having one foot in all of them. You know? I want someone to be able to look at me, without noticing my books or journals, and think, "English major," the way I can do with just about any other major on campus.
Let's look at the jocks first. (I am not trying to pick on any one group, don't worry, I'll get around to almost all of them.) The jocks are generally allowed to be less motivated at academics. As a society we don't expect them to be super intelligent. If they were, in the case of football, we wouldn't necessarily let them go out and run the risk of having their brains beat out. So, the jocks are allowed to be "stupid meatheads."
The science major. Well, I have a lot of friends in the science department. They are totally allowed to be complete and utter nerds. (To them, that was a compliment.) In fact, society expects them to geek out about the most obscure things at the most random times, look at "Big Bang Theory" for goodness sake. I would say that society takes great entertainment from their intelligence. It's okay for them to be socially awkward at times. "Oh, he's a science major...that explains a lot."
Math majors kind of have the same allowances as the science people.
Art majors. Both of my parents were art majors. ...yeah. Well, artists are allowed to be eccentric and mostly just really weird. They also get pegged as high hippies a lot of the time too. (That is not always the case.) It's okay for an art student to dress different from everyone else. It's okay for them to look like they're totally in their own little world.
Music majors are similar to artists. Only, they get the allowance for huge egos as well. Or, we'll call it confidence.
And then we get to the English major.
{insert awkward pause}
Well, they're kind of the culmination of all the things listed above. The most common response to "I'm an English major" is that glazed look that just screams, "Oh...you're one of those stupid kids that didn't know what they wanted, so you picked the dead-end major with no real options after graduation." It always comes from the grocery store employees too. (I just wonder what they think art majors are going to do, seriously.)
They're also allowed to be nerdy and geek out about literary allusions in pop culture. I always love when that happens, it's like I have an inside joke with the writer. (Half the time, I wonder if the writer actually understands that we made a connection...maybe it was an accident.)
And we're also allowed to be a little weird, a little "high" as it were. And if the English major is going into writing, there comes the ego.
But you know? Just once, I would like to have my own little niche that I fit into instead of having one foot in all of them. You know? I want someone to be able to look at me, without noticing my books or journals, and think, "English major," the way I can do with just about any other major on campus.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
If my eyes, wide open, fail to see...
April 3rd. Well, today marks the beginning of the next decade of my life. It feels like the last one took forever. Being a teen is hard work, you know?
It's funny, we all have our birthdays in a months time. Josef is first. Then Dad, who is now 51, and apparently feeling quite old. And Mom and I today... Mom's only a year from 50. And I'm 20.
Before my parents went to be tonight, Dad came out to where I was working on some homework. He wanted to know if I would turn off the lights when I went to bed. He was massaging my shoulders and then told me that I had already received a lot of birthday wishes on Facebook. I looked up at him and said, "I'm not a teenager anymore, Daddy."
"I know, you're getting old!"
Can we be old together? I have all the creaky joints, and I'm reading a book about grammar, for goodness sake. I get grumpy when I see girls in my brother's class wearing short skirts on stage. (Really? Didn't anyone teach you about costuming? And if you're whiter than I am...well...keep your legs covered, girl.) I hate people who text during theatre performances.....yeah.
It hit me today, that I have already known my daddy longer than he knew his dad. And that is a disturbing thought for me. I was sitting at a music rally...and I almost started to cry. And then my mom called. Twice. I thought for sure Dad had had a heart attack and she needed help. How horrible is it that my first thought after getting two calls was that my dad was in serious danger? Turns out she just wanted to know if I wanted to go get food with them.
It's funny, growing up you feel like your parents are invincible. Nothing could ever tear them down, they are the rocks on which you build your life until you're sturdy enough to stand on your own and be someone else's rock. This year has shattered that illusion for me. My mom is having some of the worst medical issues she has ever had to face...and Dad is just tired. More tired than I ever remember seeing him. I don't remember him being this tired when he would only sleep a couple hours a night because he would stay up making whistles.
When Mom told me good night, I told her, "Now you can be old, too!" And I meant that I was old...but she definitely thought I meant that she and Dad were old.
And they are, I guess. But I'm getting "old" too. A fifth of a century... just four more to go.
So, here's to more creaky joints. (Seriously, you should hear me climb stairs if you haven't already.)
"And your thoughts all break my heart, because there's a chapter left to write. ... Won't you run, fly, open up your lungs tonight. Breathe freedom for the first time in your life. ... He's not through with you yet." [Building 429]
It's funny, we all have our birthdays in a months time. Josef is first. Then Dad, who is now 51, and apparently feeling quite old. And Mom and I today... Mom's only a year from 50. And I'm 20.
Before my parents went to be tonight, Dad came out to where I was working on some homework. He wanted to know if I would turn off the lights when I went to bed. He was massaging my shoulders and then told me that I had already received a lot of birthday wishes on Facebook. I looked up at him and said, "I'm not a teenager anymore, Daddy."
"I know, you're getting old!"
Can we be old together? I have all the creaky joints, and I'm reading a book about grammar, for goodness sake. I get grumpy when I see girls in my brother's class wearing short skirts on stage. (Really? Didn't anyone teach you about costuming? And if you're whiter than I am...well...keep your legs covered, girl.) I hate people who text during theatre performances.....yeah.
It hit me today, that I have already known my daddy longer than he knew his dad. And that is a disturbing thought for me. I was sitting at a music rally...and I almost started to cry. And then my mom called. Twice. I thought for sure Dad had had a heart attack and she needed help. How horrible is it that my first thought after getting two calls was that my dad was in serious danger? Turns out she just wanted to know if I wanted to go get food with them.
It's funny, growing up you feel like your parents are invincible. Nothing could ever tear them down, they are the rocks on which you build your life until you're sturdy enough to stand on your own and be someone else's rock. This year has shattered that illusion for me. My mom is having some of the worst medical issues she has ever had to face...and Dad is just tired. More tired than I ever remember seeing him. I don't remember him being this tired when he would only sleep a couple hours a night because he would stay up making whistles.
When Mom told me good night, I told her, "Now you can be old, too!" And I meant that I was old...but she definitely thought I meant that she and Dad were old.
And they are, I guess. But I'm getting "old" too. A fifth of a century... just four more to go.
So, here's to more creaky joints. (Seriously, you should hear me climb stairs if you haven't already.)
"And your thoughts all break my heart, because there's a chapter left to write. ... Won't you run, fly, open up your lungs tonight. Breathe freedom for the first time in your life. ... He's not through with you yet." [Building 429]
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