I've been struck by the irony in my life this year. Everywhere I turn, and every time I think I've finally turned the bend to leave it behind, irony is right there. And I must admit, we're not really friends. When I'm reading or watching a movie or tv show I don't mind the situational irony because it's funny. That's the thing about irony, it's funny when it isn't you.
Now, I don't want to rehash all of it, but if you read my post about February you have an idea of the kind of thing I'm talking about. I think it's even more frustrating to realize the irony because then you dwell on it... Sometimes I wonder if God finds irony amusing.
Last semester, Claire and I started regularly attending the local E-Free church, I've mentioned this before. One of the congregation members really likes working with the college group, and so she hosts these meals once a month after the second service. The food she provides is always delicious, and it's just a good ministry to us--the poor and hungry college students.
It is kind of a wonder I ever went back though. The first time meeting these people, and the lady that helps Dawn asked us what we were majoring in. A standard question, easy to answer. When I told her I was an English major with a Creative Writing emphasis, she asked me second question, "What do you plan to do with that?" I explained to her my graduate school plans and that I want to be a professor. She actually, and I kid you not, scoffed and said, "Yeah, that's what my daughter said, she put all her eggs in on basket, and now she works at a car dealership. What a waste."
....
I was shocked and offended and just said that I wasn't going to do that. Wasn't going to do that.
Here I sit this morning, at one of the largest car dealerships in my town, waiting for the phone to ring. Waiting for the phone to ring and praying that I get the full time position.
Maybe this is at the root of my frustration with not getting into graduate school. I'm afraid of getting stuck here, afraid of losing my will to go back to school. Then I remember that there's nothing wrong with this part of life. There's nothing wrong with taking some time to stretch your wings and allow some things to heal--the wounds that can only come from academia and dorm life and loans.
It's not a sin to work at a car dealership, like this lady made it sound. The people here are nice. The days are always interesting. The customers sometimes bring their kids, and they are adorable. I see people here. I talk to people. For once I feel like a semi-normal person. (Usually I say that normalcy is overrated, but it's really not.)
So, here's to a standard job. And irony.
"Humor brings insight and tolerance. Irony brings a deeper and less friendly understanding." [Agnes Repplier]
Showing posts with label English. Show all posts
Showing posts with label English. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
Saturday, June 23, 2012
You saw me mourning my love for you...
I've had a lot of thoughts tumbling around in my head these last few weeks, and they haven't settled into any kind of order. Normally I wait for something to settle into place before picking it up and putting out there for people (you people) to read, but this is just getting ridiculous. I promised to post more, and if I wait around for something to finally come together than this blog will die (a second death, I suppose). I don't really want that to happen, so I'm just going to start writing regardless of the confusing thoughts rolling around inside this fragile mind.
My family and I went to Colorado last weekend, and it was great to see the school my brother plans to attend and the apartment he may live in. The mountains left me in awe and slack-jawed. I've seen them before but I hadn't necessarily noticed the way the sky swooped low to kiss the frosty tips.
We spent some time walking around an outdoor mall/shopping area in Loveland one evening. I spent all too much time in the Barnes and Noble--the largest I had ever seen. It was like a piece of heaven for this new graduate, and proud holder of a B.A. in English. Drifting through the aisles filled with story after story of hope and loss and pain and love and want and anything you want, I felt the overwhelming feeling to just sit down and absorb the words. Stories have always held my love and my profound need for returned love--unfortunately books are incapable of reciprocating the feeling.
One of the courtyards of this shopping area housed sculptures of animals for children to play on. The statue that stood out to me was the frog. I've known the story of the princess and the frog for as long as I can remember.
Josef snapped a picture of my sitting on the broad-back of the frog, smiling. It's a running joke in the family, and this is not the first picture I have with a stone frog.
My first summer in my newly finished basement room was riddled with nights of little sleep. It took me a while to discover that the noise that was keeping me up was the sound of frogs trying, desperately, to batter their way into my room. Soft white breasts would beat against the glass, searching for the light that came from my demonic lamp. (It's touch sensitive, and turns itself on or off whenever it chooses.) It didn't take long for my dad and brother to nickname the frogs my boyfriends. We laugh that all I have to do is kiss one and I will magically have a boyfriend.
This notion prompts these pictures with stone frogs.
A stone frog seems to have a special kind of curse, don't you think? It must be a truly powerful magic or love to break that spell--to turn a stone frog into a living, breathing prince. And this is when I wish I lived in those places of fantasy and fairytale, because love is enough to wake the sleeper from the Sleep, and the breath of a Lion can bring the stone to life.
A jolt of realization reminds me that a perfect Love has woken the sleeping soul in me, and that the Lion that breathed the stone to life in Narnia is not so unlike the breath of God breathing life into the dust that became Adam. The Love and Breath that saved and created me exists in a world where frogs don't magically become princes...but the sinners become saints, and the wicked are made new.
"This is not a dream that I'm living, this is just a world of Your own." [Rebecca St. James, Lion]
My family and I went to Colorado last weekend, and it was great to see the school my brother plans to attend and the apartment he may live in. The mountains left me in awe and slack-jawed. I've seen them before but I hadn't necessarily noticed the way the sky swooped low to kiss the frosty tips.
We spent some time walking around an outdoor mall/shopping area in Loveland one evening. I spent all too much time in the Barnes and Noble--the largest I had ever seen. It was like a piece of heaven for this new graduate, and proud holder of a B.A. in English. Drifting through the aisles filled with story after story of hope and loss and pain and love and want and anything you want, I felt the overwhelming feeling to just sit down and absorb the words. Stories have always held my love and my profound need for returned love--unfortunately books are incapable of reciprocating the feeling.
One of the courtyards of this shopping area housed sculptures of animals for children to play on. The statue that stood out to me was the frog. I've known the story of the princess and the frog for as long as I can remember.
Josef snapped a picture of my sitting on the broad-back of the frog, smiling. It's a running joke in the family, and this is not the first picture I have with a stone frog.
My first summer in my newly finished basement room was riddled with nights of little sleep. It took me a while to discover that the noise that was keeping me up was the sound of frogs trying, desperately, to batter their way into my room. Soft white breasts would beat against the glass, searching for the light that came from my demonic lamp. (It's touch sensitive, and turns itself on or off whenever it chooses.) It didn't take long for my dad and brother to nickname the frogs my boyfriends. We laugh that all I have to do is kiss one and I will magically have a boyfriend.
This notion prompts these pictures with stone frogs.
A stone frog seems to have a special kind of curse, don't you think? It must be a truly powerful magic or love to break that spell--to turn a stone frog into a living, breathing prince. And this is when I wish I lived in those places of fantasy and fairytale, because love is enough to wake the sleeper from the Sleep, and the breath of a Lion can bring the stone to life.
A jolt of realization reminds me that a perfect Love has woken the sleeping soul in me, and that the Lion that breathed the stone to life in Narnia is not so unlike the breath of God breathing life into the dust that became Adam. The Love and Breath that saved and created me exists in a world where frogs don't magically become princes...but the sinners become saints, and the wicked are made new.
"This is not a dream that I'm living, this is just a world of Your own." [Rebecca St. James, Lion]
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
Why are you so far from me?
As usual, it's been a while since I last posted and a lot has happened in that time period. I do promise to be more diligent in posting this summer and this next year. I forget how therapeutic blogging can be--and for me, always is.
Instead of going into long details about what has happened, I think a list is in order. This list won't necessarily be in any particular order beside that which they come to me in.
1. I graduated from college with my B.A. in English. I walked across the stage afraid that my cap would tumble off my head, but made it to the president's hand, shook it firmly, and went on my merry way.
2. The Civil Wars have been on repeat since I bought their CD last week. I can't get enough, but wish they had another CD out. There's something about the organic sound and soulful lyrics that speaks to me...
3. My brother graduated from high school. This was huge because his graduation means that my parents could be empty nesters (an idea that I have ruined, but I'll get to that in a bit). I was responsible for the cake at his party, and it was a big success.
4. I did some house sitting for my cousin over this last weekend. She has a new dog (it's actually her boyfriend's, but the basset hound stays are her house), Oliver is a slime monster--cute, but drools a lot. And he's definitely a social eater.
5. I received four rejection letters. And that means that graduate school as not as near as I had hoped. This is why my parents are not going to be empty nesters quite yet. I'm taking the year off and just working, assuming I can find a job in town.
6. There's a possibility that I could be moving to Colorado to live with my brother while he goes to film school and I work. It's a possibility, but also a kind of last option. We'll see what happens.
7. I went on a date (or two). That was exciting, and the highlight of the last two weeks of school. I could go into this, but I think I'll leave it fairly simple. We're keeping in touch, but since we both graduated and are 13 hours from each other we're not "in a relationship." Letter writing is nice.
8. Goodbyes are hard.
9. My God-lesson right now is definitely Trust--and it's written on my wrist as a reminder. Trust. Trust. Trust.
That's about all I've got for an update right now. I'll see you around though, for sure.
"How long will you make me wait? I don't know how much more I can take. I miss you, but I haven't met you. Oh, but I want to. How I do." [The Civil Wars, To Whom It May Concern]
Instead of going into long details about what has happened, I think a list is in order. This list won't necessarily be in any particular order beside that which they come to me in.
1. I graduated from college with my B.A. in English. I walked across the stage afraid that my cap would tumble off my head, but made it to the president's hand, shook it firmly, and went on my merry way.
2. The Civil Wars have been on repeat since I bought their CD last week. I can't get enough, but wish they had another CD out. There's something about the organic sound and soulful lyrics that speaks to me...
3. My brother graduated from high school. This was huge because his graduation means that my parents could be empty nesters (an idea that I have ruined, but I'll get to that in a bit). I was responsible for the cake at his party, and it was a big success.
4. I did some house sitting for my cousin over this last weekend. She has a new dog (it's actually her boyfriend's, but the basset hound stays are her house), Oliver is a slime monster--cute, but drools a lot. And he's definitely a social eater.
5. I received four rejection letters. And that means that graduate school as not as near as I had hoped. This is why my parents are not going to be empty nesters quite yet. I'm taking the year off and just working, assuming I can find a job in town.
6. There's a possibility that I could be moving to Colorado to live with my brother while he goes to film school and I work. It's a possibility, but also a kind of last option. We'll see what happens.
7. I went on a date (or two). That was exciting, and the highlight of the last two weeks of school. I could go into this, but I think I'll leave it fairly simple. We're keeping in touch, but since we both graduated and are 13 hours from each other we're not "in a relationship." Letter writing is nice.
8. Goodbyes are hard.
9. My God-lesson right now is definitely Trust--and it's written on my wrist as a reminder. Trust. Trust. Trust.
That's about all I've got for an update right now. I'll see you around though, for sure.
"How long will you make me wait? I don't know how much more I can take. I miss you, but I haven't met you. Oh, but I want to. How I do." [The Civil Wars, To Whom It May Concern]
Thursday, March 1, 2012
Says She's Got Hope...
The month of February was a rough one. I wish I could say it was just me, but it isn't. If I were the only one struggling it would have been more bearable, but nearly everyone I interact with was having some kind of problem too.
Really, it all started to unravel the week of Valentine's Day. Please don't take this as a single hating on the holiday devoted to couples--it's not. I really have no problem with Valentine's Day, except that it means there is way too much chocolate just floating around. In fact, I was even determined to have a good February 14th because, honestly, the week before had been awful for some people and I didn't want the trend to continue.
I went to bed that Monday praying I would get a letter from a graduate program. In my dreams I would be accepted into the Literature program at my top choice of school. It would be a day to write home about.
Well. I did call home, several times that day, but it had nothing to do with grad school letters. I was having some chest pain that was worrisome. I spent Valentine's Day morning in and out of various medical locations. Alone. (And I wasn't pining for a special someone, I just wanted my momma.)
A couple days later (Thursday) I had mail. An envelope from my preferred school. It was small, average letter size. Why do we put so much of our fate into the seals of envelopes? Inside was a perfectly creased rejection letter. My heart sank, and all through my British Literature class I was distracted. At one point, my professor called on me, and I scrambled to find the answer to a question I hardly heard. When I apologized after class for being distracted I cried. In front of a professor, whom I love but have no emotional connection with, I cried.
Since that day I've been riddled with thoughts of rejection, and in the back of my mind I can hear Professor Reek chanting, "They don't know what they're missing!" But as the days go on, his voice fades away and I'm left alone with the self doubt. What if I didn't get into the literature program because I'm not ready? I'm not passionate enough? I don't have what it takes?
This last week I found out I didn't get into one of the Creative Writing programs I applied to...and the questions started up again. (It was even the program that I was least interested in, and I still got upset about it.) Maybe this is all God's way of telling me that I picked the wrong career path.
That's just my stuff. And my stuff this month seems pretty lame compared to every thing else that my friends are going through.
I've started drinking tea again--like, every night and day. I also turned on some Anberlin. I don't know why I forget that they are one of the few bands that lets me wallow for a little while before convincing me it's time to get back up again. I need to put that in a hubby letter, something like this: "When I'm upset or depressed, put on some Anberlin and it will probably be okay in a few hours." (This rut is taking longer than a few hours to work myself out of.)
This will be a better month. March means spring is coming, and spring means there is hope.
"You're so brilliant. Don't soon forget. You're so brilliant. Grace marks your heart." [Anberlin, The Unwinding Cable Car]
Really, it all started to unravel the week of Valentine's Day. Please don't take this as a single hating on the holiday devoted to couples--it's not. I really have no problem with Valentine's Day, except that it means there is way too much chocolate just floating around. In fact, I was even determined to have a good February 14th because, honestly, the week before had been awful for some people and I didn't want the trend to continue.
I went to bed that Monday praying I would get a letter from a graduate program. In my dreams I would be accepted into the Literature program at my top choice of school. It would be a day to write home about.
Well. I did call home, several times that day, but it had nothing to do with grad school letters. I was having some chest pain that was worrisome. I spent Valentine's Day morning in and out of various medical locations. Alone. (And I wasn't pining for a special someone, I just wanted my momma.)
A couple days later (Thursday) I had mail. An envelope from my preferred school. It was small, average letter size. Why do we put so much of our fate into the seals of envelopes? Inside was a perfectly creased rejection letter. My heart sank, and all through my British Literature class I was distracted. At one point, my professor called on me, and I scrambled to find the answer to a question I hardly heard. When I apologized after class for being distracted I cried. In front of a professor, whom I love but have no emotional connection with, I cried.
Since that day I've been riddled with thoughts of rejection, and in the back of my mind I can hear Professor Reek chanting, "They don't know what they're missing!" But as the days go on, his voice fades away and I'm left alone with the self doubt. What if I didn't get into the literature program because I'm not ready? I'm not passionate enough? I don't have what it takes?
This last week I found out I didn't get into one of the Creative Writing programs I applied to...and the questions started up again. (It was even the program that I was least interested in, and I still got upset about it.) Maybe this is all God's way of telling me that I picked the wrong career path.
That's just my stuff. And my stuff this month seems pretty lame compared to every thing else that my friends are going through.
I've started drinking tea again--like, every night and day. I also turned on some Anberlin. I don't know why I forget that they are one of the few bands that lets me wallow for a little while before convincing me it's time to get back up again. I need to put that in a hubby letter, something like this: "When I'm upset or depressed, put on some Anberlin and it will probably be okay in a few hours." (This rut is taking longer than a few hours to work myself out of.)
This will be a better month. March means spring is coming, and spring means there is hope.
"You're so brilliant. Don't soon forget. You're so brilliant. Grace marks your heart." [Anberlin, The Unwinding Cable Car]
Monday, February 6, 2012
There's still good in this world, and it's worth fighting for...
Well. You've all noticed this already, I'm sure, but I kind of fell off the blogsphere... and after a weekend of feeling wretched (for several reasons, but partially because I wasn't writing--and when I tried it flopped) I decided I needed to pick myself up and get with it. I found a partially started entry that I think I should still share with you...and then finish the thought.
What was already said:
Oh, where to begin...as I have mentioned before, this semester has been crazy busy. It's been a good and bad kind of busy (I'm getting a lot done, and I don't feel like I'm drowning, but I'm also super behind on letter writing, sorry Danielle). It's been a challenge, that is for sure.
One of the largest challenges I've faced is filling out graduate school applications. Now, because I'm going into writing I have to send in a writing sample. Initially I didn't think this would be an issue at all. I've been working on this story (Morning Star) and feel pretty confident about the first couple chapters. A professor (my boss at the Writing Center) looked over what I thought I would be submitting and told me that grad schools may not even consider an applicant who submits genre fiction. (This is where things got hectic.) After emailing the school I'm looking at, this fear was confirmed. So I frantically found something "literary fiction" that I can submit, but it needs revisions.
While talking to my professor about what the writing workshop world is like, I realized that I was entering in to one of the hardest fights of my life--my academic life. I'm going to have to fight for "my thing." Honestly, the mere idea of this kind of potential confrontation has me shaking with nerves.
And the rest:
This isn't as much of an issue anymore because my applications are all in and I'm just waiting. Waiting, hopefully with some patience, for the word. I'm still nervous, sure. Maybe even a little scared about what the future may hold. But isn't that always the way when turning to a new chapter?
I did something unexpected in the middle of the application process. It didn't occur to me until one night when I was sipping at coffee with Lisa, she asked if I had thought about applying to any literature programs. I hadn't, not really. And then I just did it. I applied for a program that I hadn't really even thought about.
Creative Writing has always been my thing, just as genre fiction has always been my thing. But I can still write (genre fiction) without a Master's degree in it... and if I enter into the literary world maybe I'll be better equipped to fight for it. I only applied to the one literature program. One chance.
So don't think I'm going to stop fighting. I'm not. But I'm maybe going to take the Hobbit position for a while and just see how it all pans out. Then I'll walk to Mordor. And fly back with the Eagles.
Love you all, and I promise I'll post more frequently. :)
What was already said:
Oh, where to begin...as I have mentioned before, this semester has been crazy busy. It's been a good and bad kind of busy (I'm getting a lot done, and I don't feel like I'm drowning, but I'm also super behind on letter writing, sorry Danielle). It's been a challenge, that is for sure.
One of the largest challenges I've faced is filling out graduate school applications. Now, because I'm going into writing I have to send in a writing sample. Initially I didn't think this would be an issue at all. I've been working on this story (Morning Star) and feel pretty confident about the first couple chapters. A professor (my boss at the Writing Center) looked over what I thought I would be submitting and told me that grad schools may not even consider an applicant who submits genre fiction. (This is where things got hectic.) After emailing the school I'm looking at, this fear was confirmed. So I frantically found something "literary fiction" that I can submit, but it needs revisions.
While talking to my professor about what the writing workshop world is like, I realized that I was entering in to one of the hardest fights of my life--my academic life. I'm going to have to fight for "my thing." Honestly, the mere idea of this kind of potential confrontation has me shaking with nerves.
And the rest:
This isn't as much of an issue anymore because my applications are all in and I'm just waiting. Waiting, hopefully with some patience, for the word. I'm still nervous, sure. Maybe even a little scared about what the future may hold. But isn't that always the way when turning to a new chapter?
I did something unexpected in the middle of the application process. It didn't occur to me until one night when I was sipping at coffee with Lisa, she asked if I had thought about applying to any literature programs. I hadn't, not really. And then I just did it. I applied for a program that I hadn't really even thought about.
Creative Writing has always been my thing, just as genre fiction has always been my thing. But I can still write (genre fiction) without a Master's degree in it... and if I enter into the literary world maybe I'll be better equipped to fight for it. I only applied to the one literature program. One chance.
So don't think I'm going to stop fighting. I'm not. But I'm maybe going to take the Hobbit position for a while and just see how it all pans out. Then I'll walk to Mordor. And fly back with the Eagles.
Love you all, and I promise I'll post more frequently. :)
Friday, September 16, 2011
I ride (write) to find my own meaning...
I've mentioned before (back at the beginning of this blog, ...because they love you) how I feel connected to Eowyn from "The Lord of the Rings." She is perhaps my favorite female character in all the literature I have read thus far. It runs deeper than her relationship with Aragorn (or lack there of) or Faramir (something I long for).
I feel like she is cruelly misunderstood by the general audience. There are two main things I see:
1. People have only seen the movies. Now, I love the Peter Jackson adaptation of the books. However, I think he significantly downplayed Eowyn's character and the real issues she was dealing with (especially in the theatrical version). Viewers get the impression that she was simply love sick--tired of being left behind at home and wanting some adventure. Aragorn was different and definitely a break from the hum-drum of her life.
2. She's a fairly minor character when compared to Gandalf, Aragorn, or Frodo. She has a huge moment, but doesn't come in until the second book, she just doesn't get as much space on the page as some of the other characters. So maybe readers just don't pay her much attention. Or they don't see some of the things about her character because it takes those around her a long time to figure it out--they chalk it up to being lovesick as well.
There's more going on there. [More going on in me.] Now, there are definitely elements of her being lovesick (but there's a cause behind the cause) and she is a minor character (which is part of why she is the way she is!). It's all very intriguing to me, and I wrote a paper on it last semester (and posted it here, I'm preparing you for something great...)... but I'm going to try to paraphrase what I'm feeling right now.
Her biggest issue is finding her place in the world--what her purpose is. Her brother and uncle get to ride off into battle and gain honor and renown--something she yearns for. She doesn't want to be forgotten. So, she's learned how to fight and defend herself. She has honed her skill because she doesn't want to be left behind; the last defense.
Eowyn wants to be remembered for doing something great. For making a difference. She wants to die with honor.
Now, maybe this is just the effects of my "Death, Dying, and Trauma" class coming out, but I want the same thing. I want to use my life for something with purpose. I want to make a difference. And when I die I want it to be with grace and dignity. (That class will make you think about death in a way you would never imagine.)
I don't think I'm the only one. Eowyn's character speaks to something so very human. Nobody wants to be forgotten and left behind. She was struggling deep within herself. Her upbringing was telling her one thing while her heart said something else. Her heart says, "you can be a hero." Her mind says, "you're only a woman."
Sometimes I take on the same mentality. I'm only one person. One young woman. What weight can I bear in this world?
I don't suffer from depression. (Not that I know of, anyway.) And so I can't claim that part of her character to be an echo of myself. She was fighting against social norms, and I do feel like I'm doing that myself, in a different way.
I found a song on iTunes really randomly one day. It's called "Eowyn's Song" and it's beautiful. It captures her character perfectly (while focusing on the Aragorn issue, which is still a big deal, don't get me wrong). Please listen to it. (LeAnn, you've already heard it, but you can always listen again.) This is the song that prompted this post, so it's kind of a big deal. Ha.
There's a line in the song, "I ride to find my own meaning," and I don't think any combination of words could described her situation (in a nutshell) any better. And that is something so deeply ingrained in me. Instead, I don't ride horses (I'll leave that you, Lisa, dear). I find my meaning in my writing (and in the Bible and Christ, but that's a Sunday School answer) because writing is the way I let go of the things that distract me. It's my way of filtering through the turmoil and the joy.
"No one will hear of this tale." This is an interesting comment on the view of history and how it is recorded and retold. (My Ling and Lang senses are tingling.)
"I go with a mind full of death." I'm not suicidal. Not even close. But there is something in this that tugs at me. Something about Eowyn's plight pulls at my heart so strongly... She has a heart of sacrifice, if that is what will get her honor and valor. "Oh, I would have followed you down to the end, my captain, my King. Oh, I would have followed you down to the Paths of the Dead."
"Fire consumes the heart that teaches captain of evil to fall. Desire, as pure as the man that reaches the humble hero in us all." This is my favorite line. Absolute favorite. Because she is the one that teaches the Witch King to fall. She did this from a pure desire. And I think "the man that reaches" is Aragorn, and he taught her to be a hero in a backwards kind of way. He was belittling her, like some might think. Indeed, he pitied her. He was reaching the humble hero in the hearts of the Hobbits, and he did the same for her.
I'm not articulating this as well as I had hoped I would. But maybe you understand. Maybe you see yourself echoed here. Maybe you, too, worry for the way you will be remembered. The way you will leave your mark on this world.
"...the humble hero in us all."
I feel like she is cruelly misunderstood by the general audience. There are two main things I see:
1. People have only seen the movies. Now, I love the Peter Jackson adaptation of the books. However, I think he significantly downplayed Eowyn's character and the real issues she was dealing with (especially in the theatrical version). Viewers get the impression that she was simply love sick--tired of being left behind at home and wanting some adventure. Aragorn was different and definitely a break from the hum-drum of her life.
2. She's a fairly minor character when compared to Gandalf, Aragorn, or Frodo. She has a huge moment, but doesn't come in until the second book, she just doesn't get as much space on the page as some of the other characters. So maybe readers just don't pay her much attention. Or they don't see some of the things about her character because it takes those around her a long time to figure it out--they chalk it up to being lovesick as well.
There's more going on there. [More going on in me.] Now, there are definitely elements of her being lovesick (but there's a cause behind the cause) and she is a minor character (which is part of why she is the way she is!). It's all very intriguing to me, and I wrote a paper on it last semester (and posted it here, I'm preparing you for something great...)... but I'm going to try to paraphrase what I'm feeling right now.
Her biggest issue is finding her place in the world--what her purpose is. Her brother and uncle get to ride off into battle and gain honor and renown--something she yearns for. She doesn't want to be forgotten. So, she's learned how to fight and defend herself. She has honed her skill because she doesn't want to be left behind; the last defense.
Eowyn wants to be remembered for doing something great. For making a difference. She wants to die with honor.
Now, maybe this is just the effects of my "Death, Dying, and Trauma" class coming out, but I want the same thing. I want to use my life for something with purpose. I want to make a difference. And when I die I want it to be with grace and dignity. (That class will make you think about death in a way you would never imagine.)
I don't think I'm the only one. Eowyn's character speaks to something so very human. Nobody wants to be forgotten and left behind. She was struggling deep within herself. Her upbringing was telling her one thing while her heart said something else. Her heart says, "you can be a hero." Her mind says, "you're only a woman."
Sometimes I take on the same mentality. I'm only one person. One young woman. What weight can I bear in this world?
I don't suffer from depression. (Not that I know of, anyway.) And so I can't claim that part of her character to be an echo of myself. She was fighting against social norms, and I do feel like I'm doing that myself, in a different way.
I found a song on iTunes really randomly one day. It's called "Eowyn's Song" and it's beautiful. It captures her character perfectly (while focusing on the Aragorn issue, which is still a big deal, don't get me wrong). Please listen to it. (LeAnn, you've already heard it, but you can always listen again.) This is the song that prompted this post, so it's kind of a big deal. Ha.
There's a line in the song, "I ride to find my own meaning," and I don't think any combination of words could described her situation (in a nutshell) any better. And that is something so deeply ingrained in me. Instead, I don't ride horses (I'll leave that you, Lisa, dear). I find my meaning in my writing (and in the Bible and Christ, but that's a Sunday School answer) because writing is the way I let go of the things that distract me. It's my way of filtering through the turmoil and the joy.
"No one will hear of this tale." This is an interesting comment on the view of history and how it is recorded and retold. (My Ling and Lang senses are tingling.)
"I go with a mind full of death." I'm not suicidal. Not even close. But there is something in this that tugs at me. Something about Eowyn's plight pulls at my heart so strongly... She has a heart of sacrifice, if that is what will get her honor and valor. "Oh, I would have followed you down to the end, my captain, my King. Oh, I would have followed you down to the Paths of the Dead."
"Fire consumes the heart that teaches captain of evil to fall. Desire, as pure as the man that reaches the humble hero in us all." This is my favorite line. Absolute favorite. Because she is the one that teaches the Witch King to fall. She did this from a pure desire. And I think "the man that reaches" is Aragorn, and he taught her to be a hero in a backwards kind of way. He was belittling her, like some might think. Indeed, he pitied her. He was reaching the humble hero in the hearts of the Hobbits, and he did the same for her.
I'm not articulating this as well as I had hoped I would. But maybe you understand. Maybe you see yourself echoed here. Maybe you, too, worry for the way you will be remembered. The way you will leave your mark on this world.
"...the humble hero in us all."
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
God, I want to dream again, take me where I've never been...
I may not have a job yet, hopefully that will come soon, but I've still been keeping busy. In a sense.
I've done a fair amount of reading--surprisingly enough it's all been young adult fiction, a genre I don't generally enjoy. It's not so much that I dislike it... I dislike what it's doing to young readers... but that's a post for another day. (And I know I'll get a lot of grief for it, so it can wait.) What I want to talk about is my independent study, actually.
I can't remember if I have posted about this directly yet or not... I've certainly thought about it a lot. In this independent study I'm required to write an hour a day (at least) and pick an author I would like to emulate. Which is a word I don't particularly like, I've decided. I don't want to be another author, but I do want to learn from them. Ideally, this would be an author that writes a similar genre to what I'm interested in, but do it differently than I do, or better than I do.
So I've been reading Fantasy. The problem with finding a fantasy writer of whom I am going to read all of their works is that they write a lot. Now, naturally the first author that came to mind was Tolkien. (How did you guess? You know me so well.) However, even he was a prolific writer in that he wrote the entire history of Middle Earth. I'm not ready to tackle all of that in a summer. And besides, I just did a study on him, and if I'm going to learn more then I need to pick someone new.
What have I been reading?
Well, I'm just about to finish reading Graceling by Kristin Cashore. And let me tell you, for this being her debut novel, I'm impressed. She has created this fantasy world with skill, and I can tell she has put a lot of thought into it. I feel bad choosing her though because she's only written one book. But it's a good one. I'm excited to see how it ends.
I've also been reading the Hunger Games trilogy. I just need to read Mockingjay. I'm anxious to see how Suzanne Collins is going to wrap this all up--there are so many questions swirling around in my head. I don't think that I would classify these as strictly fantasy, but more as a fantastical dystopia.
In addition to these books (which mostly only take me a day to read) I've been reading The Books of Pellinor by Allison Crogan. (I think that's how you spell her name.) These are intense. I first read The Naming my summer between my Sophomore and Junior year of high school. And I had started The Riddle shortly after. It's been a book I return to off and on. I was determined to finish it this summer, and the rest of the four book series. These books make me happy, and not because they're particularly joyful--they're not. No, it's something else--they're challenging. Even for me, a senior in college. Yet, they're considered to be YA books because the protagonist is a young adult. But the reading is dense, full of detail and creative devices. And intrigue! I'm being surprised all the time, and I love that I can't necessarily predict it! I love that there are young adults out there reading these books and being actively challenged. I'll have to do some research and see if she's written anything else. I also love her mastery of scenery, something I desperately lack.
Most of all, while I'm writing, I'm beginning to realize that I'm afraid of what this could turn into. My instinct is to just pump the story out--finally finish Morning Star so she won't be a burden anymore. But I've wrapped my identity around this book--what if people don't like her? Each of those characters carries a piece of who I am, or who I want to be. Do I really want to release them out to a world that they may be ridiculed? Am I strong enough to handle that possibility?
And then there's the issue of names. The protagonist of Graceling: Katsa. The protagonist of The Hunger Games: Katniss. Thank goodness that The Books of Pellinor don't have a protagonist who's name starts with 'K.' And then there's Morning Star, who contains a character, one who will be fairly influential even if she doesn't get the book title: Katra. It makes me angry that these other books have come out before I could finish mine... mine that has been in the works for at least seven years. I don't want to be just another female writer with a female character who's name starts with a 'K.'
And am I writing for a young adult audience? That would be ironic, after all. Or am I more like Markus Zusak? Not writing for any particular audience, but telling a story I feel must be told. (Granted, my story doesn't carry as much weight as one about Nazis.) More on this when I talk about Young Adult literature I think.
Do you have any author suggestions?
"Forget the fear, it's just a crutch that tries to hold you back and turn your dreams to dust. All you need to do is just dream." [Fireflight]
I've done a fair amount of reading--surprisingly enough it's all been young adult fiction, a genre I don't generally enjoy. It's not so much that I dislike it... I dislike what it's doing to young readers... but that's a post for another day. (And I know I'll get a lot of grief for it, so it can wait.) What I want to talk about is my independent study, actually.
I can't remember if I have posted about this directly yet or not... I've certainly thought about it a lot. In this independent study I'm required to write an hour a day (at least) and pick an author I would like to emulate. Which is a word I don't particularly like, I've decided. I don't want to be another author, but I do want to learn from them. Ideally, this would be an author that writes a similar genre to what I'm interested in, but do it differently than I do, or better than I do.
So I've been reading Fantasy. The problem with finding a fantasy writer of whom I am going to read all of their works is that they write a lot. Now, naturally the first author that came to mind was Tolkien. (How did you guess? You know me so well.) However, even he was a prolific writer in that he wrote the entire history of Middle Earth. I'm not ready to tackle all of that in a summer. And besides, I just did a study on him, and if I'm going to learn more then I need to pick someone new.
What have I been reading?
Well, I'm just about to finish reading Graceling by Kristin Cashore. And let me tell you, for this being her debut novel, I'm impressed. She has created this fantasy world with skill, and I can tell she has put a lot of thought into it. I feel bad choosing her though because she's only written one book. But it's a good one. I'm excited to see how it ends.
I've also been reading the Hunger Games trilogy. I just need to read Mockingjay. I'm anxious to see how Suzanne Collins is going to wrap this all up--there are so many questions swirling around in my head. I don't think that I would classify these as strictly fantasy, but more as a fantastical dystopia.
In addition to these books (which mostly only take me a day to read) I've been reading The Books of Pellinor by Allison Crogan. (I think that's how you spell her name.) These are intense. I first read The Naming my summer between my Sophomore and Junior year of high school. And I had started The Riddle shortly after. It's been a book I return to off and on. I was determined to finish it this summer, and the rest of the four book series. These books make me happy, and not because they're particularly joyful--they're not. No, it's something else--they're challenging. Even for me, a senior in college. Yet, they're considered to be YA books because the protagonist is a young adult. But the reading is dense, full of detail and creative devices. And intrigue! I'm being surprised all the time, and I love that I can't necessarily predict it! I love that there are young adults out there reading these books and being actively challenged. I'll have to do some research and see if she's written anything else. I also love her mastery of scenery, something I desperately lack.
Most of all, while I'm writing, I'm beginning to realize that I'm afraid of what this could turn into. My instinct is to just pump the story out--finally finish Morning Star so she won't be a burden anymore. But I've wrapped my identity around this book--what if people don't like her? Each of those characters carries a piece of who I am, or who I want to be. Do I really want to release them out to a world that they may be ridiculed? Am I strong enough to handle that possibility?
And then there's the issue of names. The protagonist of Graceling: Katsa. The protagonist of The Hunger Games: Katniss. Thank goodness that The Books of Pellinor don't have a protagonist who's name starts with 'K.' And then there's Morning Star, who contains a character, one who will be fairly influential even if she doesn't get the book title: Katra. It makes me angry that these other books have come out before I could finish mine... mine that has been in the works for at least seven years. I don't want to be just another female writer with a female character who's name starts with a 'K.'
And am I writing for a young adult audience? That would be ironic, after all. Or am I more like Markus Zusak? Not writing for any particular audience, but telling a story I feel must be told. (Granted, my story doesn't carry as much weight as one about Nazis.) More on this when I talk about Young Adult literature I think.
Do you have any author suggestions?
"Forget the fear, it's just a crutch that tries to hold you back and turn your dreams to dust. All you need to do is just dream." [Fireflight]
Saturday, April 30, 2011
I got my memories always inside of me...
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]
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]
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."
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.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
So it begins...
The first week of the semester is over, and it's been kind of intense. I have five English classes this semester, and three of them are literature classes, one a reading intensive Language and Linguistics class, it's easy to say that I am going to absolutely love my Poetry Writing class. Poetry is going to be my detox class.
It's funny, with the start of this semester I find a new kind of peace.
Last night I watched Despicable Me with some friends. Afterwards we were all talking and at 11:11 I said, "Make a wish!" Both of the girls with me wished about a boy. And I thought to myself, "I don't have anyone to wish for." And that was okay. As much as I want to be on that path to wife-dom and motherhood, I am at peace with the fact that I am not right now.
Over Christmas break I did a lot of cooking and cleaning, and now I am learning time management--patience. I am learning my "God-lessons" as I like to call them. When I'm in the thick of it, and I'm fighting with God about how well I need to actually learn a lesson, I find myself thinking that he must surely be learning his own "God-lessons." And I know that we will both be better for this wait.
"Some things are certain." [Arwen]
It's funny, with the start of this semester I find a new kind of peace.
Last night I watched Despicable Me with some friends. Afterwards we were all talking and at 11:11 I said, "Make a wish!" Both of the girls with me wished about a boy. And I thought to myself, "I don't have anyone to wish for." And that was okay. As much as I want to be on that path to wife-dom and motherhood, I am at peace with the fact that I am not right now.
Over Christmas break I did a lot of cooking and cleaning, and now I am learning time management--patience. I am learning my "God-lessons" as I like to call them. When I'm in the thick of it, and I'm fighting with God about how well I need to actually learn a lesson, I find myself thinking that he must surely be learning his own "God-lessons." And I know that we will both be better for this wait.
"Some things are certain." [Arwen]
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