As some of you already know, I will not be returning to this college next fall. This is not because I don't fit in well here, and it is certainly not because I don't absolutely love my teachers and friends. Rather, the reason I will not be coming back is because my college will not be here next year. The buildings will be here, of course, but that is all. There will be no volleyball team to play a rousing game in our gym--the thunderdome. There will be no hall full of faculty, always avaliable to talk. There will be no JC full of students laughing, talking, playing ping-pong, pool, or air hockey. There will be no service clubs, no classes, no school.
Mine is a branch campus of a college in Oklahoma, and recently this main college decided that it was no longer financially feasible for them to operate my smaller school. This news, announced today to the faculty and staff, then to the students, came as quite a shock to us all. After our president made his difficult speech, most of the students broke into tears. No one was expecting this, and no one is quite sure exactly what they will do now. As I sat beneath a beautiful tree gazing up at the blue fall sky, I was surprised by a touch on my shoulder. This young man was the first of many friends to ask me how I was doing, to talk with me, to cry with me, to give me a hug. I think I have given and received more hugs today than all the rest of my life put together. I absolutely love the sense of community here. All of us care so deeply for everyone else, and a time that could potentially be a time of hopeless, frustrated mourning is actually a time of love and support.
So what does this mean for me? It means that I prematurely rejoiced over the completion of college applications. It means that I once again will be seeking out a college home. It means that, after May, I might never see my new, but beloved friends again. It means that my fabulous professors will no longer be right there for me. It means that I will have to start all over again. This is bad, no doubt, but I am certainly grateful for my situation. I am a freshman, with few credits to transfer and three plus years of college before me. I feel especially bad for my teachers. For many of them, this school was their life, a project to which they devoted time, energy, and love. They have families and children, and now they will be out looking for a new job. I cried with the seniors who are taking an extra semester. They are left schoolless one semester short of graduation. I pity those whose bible credits will not transfer to most schools. I reach out to our many foreign students who sacrificed financially to come here and are not sure even what country they will be studying in next year. Please pray for all of the people affected by this decision!
When I was sitting beneath the tree, the friend that approached me sat down and we just talked. The two of us are very much in the same position. We are both freshmen who absolutely love Cascade and are thriving here spiritually, academically, socially, and athletically. We were both planning on attending this school for four years, and are now rather unsure of what our near future holds. One thing we agreed upon, however: God knows exactly what he is doing, and this is a valuable reminder that we are not in control even of our own lives. This is certainly not what we expected or wanted, but as it is, we trust that God has a beautiful plan for our lives, and we are optimistic about what our future holds.
It is important to remember that this year is definitely not over. In fact, it has just begun! I still have six valuable months to spend with my teachers and friends and my Phi Alpha sisters. Six months of school, of being student senator, of being a part of this community. In fact, today some of my female friends assured me that I would certainly be marrying one of my male friends from here, and they are going to do their best to facilitate this match in the next six months. Like I said, the rest of this year will certainly be interesting, and I think very rewarding as well. Many people are transferring away at the semester break, so the community will definitely not be the same, but this is where God has placed me for now, and I am committed to blessing this community in every way that I can. I am a little distressed about the rushed college search I will be starting, um, in a few minutes, but I do believe that God will provide. I believe that he has a life of blessing planned for me, and I am quite ready to experience it, though this is not exactly the path that I had in mind. I would appreciate your prayers as I once more begin finding and applying for colleges. =P
Monday, October 27, 2008
Thursday, October 23, 2008
what is a girl to do?
Today in our daily chapel, we focused on children. More specifically, we focused on children who were without food--who gained their only sustenance from the dumpsters in which they scavenged. We focused on children who were without legs--who had discovered one of the millions of active landmines around the world and had been devastatingly injured. We focused on the children without a family, without health, without hope. Every time I think about these children, or about the parents who must raise their children in abject poverty, my heart nearly breaks. After chapel, as I walked to volleyball practice, I wanted to just throw myself to the ground and mourn for the children around the world who could not run and play, who could not remember an hour free from hunger.
A startling number of people have approached me lately and thanked me for being such a positive influence in their life. They remark that I am never unhappy, that I always have something encouraging and uplifting to say to them. I often wonder why they are surprised, as the biggest problems I have to worry about are some difficult assignments. Two papers and a speech. THOSE ARE MY MOST PRESSING PROBLEMS!! What excuse do I have to be discouraging when my struggles are so trivial?
Why do I have so much, when others have so little? What was God thinking when he put me here, and another little girl in Haiti? More importantly, what can I do about the anguish I am feeling now? It is not enough simply to feel bad, and do nothing. What can one girl do when faced with the overwhelming problems that come from living in a broken world? I suppose for now I will pray. I will pray to a God who is bigger than poverty, disease, and hurt. I will pray that he will heal the brokenness, and that he will use me as a part of his healing. I will pray that I may never forget all those who have so little, and that I may always be ready to serve in whatever way God asks me.
Here I am, Lord. Use me.
A startling number of people have approached me lately and thanked me for being such a positive influence in their life. They remark that I am never unhappy, that I always have something encouraging and uplifting to say to them. I often wonder why they are surprised, as the biggest problems I have to worry about are some difficult assignments. Two papers and a speech. THOSE ARE MY MOST PRESSING PROBLEMS!! What excuse do I have to be discouraging when my struggles are so trivial?
Why do I have so much, when others have so little? What was God thinking when he put me here, and another little girl in Haiti? More importantly, what can I do about the anguish I am feeling now? It is not enough simply to feel bad, and do nothing. What can one girl do when faced with the overwhelming problems that come from living in a broken world? I suppose for now I will pray. I will pray to a God who is bigger than poverty, disease, and hurt. I will pray that he will heal the brokenness, and that he will use me as a part of his healing. I will pray that I may never forget all those who have so little, and that I may always be ready to serve in whatever way God asks me.
Here I am, Lord. Use me.
Monday, October 20, 2008
let me tell you about my day...
...it began at midnight, as most days do. However, this morning at 12am I was not asleep, as I had planned, but lying awake as I listened to my roommate frustratedly bustle about the room. I wish I could say that I got out of bed to help her look for her misplaced binder, room key, and college ID. I wish I could say that I had volunteered to help her finish some tasks she had put off until that night. I wish I could say that, but really I can't. I was selfishly curled up with my blankets pulled up to my ears, a pillow clutched desperately over my head lest it should suddenly fling itself across the room at Kristina. Beneath the pillow my tired mind was contemplating whether it would be any quieter to sleep in the hallway, and my heart was crying out to God for patience and the strength to love. After an hour of puttering, Kristina finally shut off the light and, still being loudly upset, left the room. I fell asleep almost immediately. Seven hours later, my cell-phone alarm startled me into a very busy day.
Today I have noticed an almost amusing degree of forgetfulness in my activities. First, there was the incident in which I almost put my wool coat in the washer. Fortunately I vaguely recollected the fact that wool shrinks. A lot. A friend confirmed this notion and wisely suggested that I not try to wash a wool coat. Ugh.
Once I had been delivered from that near-disaster, I devoted my morning to diligent homework-doing.
At lunch I stopped to talk to a professor about a homework assignment I had recently turned in, one in which I was to identify a controversial verse in Matthew, then state a question about that verse. I will be answering this question in a 6-7 page research paper, due next month. It is a good thing I stopped to discuss this assignment, because the question that I turned in had absolutely nothing to do with the verse I cited. Fortunately, though I am forgetful, I am likeable, so it was easy for my professor to laughingly disregard this instance of forgetful mis-citation.
Next item on today's agenda: a research trip to the library. I had carefully planned my trip by noting the bus route numbers, times, and relevant stops. As I boarded the bus, I remember feeling a bit proud of how quickly I had mastered the bus system and how well-planned my excursion was.
On the way to the library, I was happily amused by a large, older German man who mumbled something pleasant as he boarded the bus. All I caught was a "nice day" in the midst of a Germanic clutter of syllables. I also was astounded by all the beautiful houses we passed. I wouldn't mind living in the city if I could own a house like those.
My bus ride went marvelously. That is, until... I got off at the wrong bus stop. After I had walked a couple blocks and seen no library, I decided that there must be two 10th streets. That meant that I had 20 blocks left to travel. Fortunately, though I am forgetful, I have a reasonable sense of direction and knowledge of the city, so I had no trouble figuring out where I was going. Also quite fortunately, I was dressed comfortably with good solid walking shoes on my feet, and was quite in the mood for a relaxing walk. On the way, I was able to cross a beautiful, beautiful river. It was a nice, brisk fall day, and the rain of the morning had cleared to reveal a chill blue sky, full of huge white clouds. The fall colors of the tree-lined street were absolutely striking.
After a slight, confused detour, followed by the realization that there were NW, SW, NE, and SE 10th streets, my purposeful wanderings ended before possibly the most beautiful library I have ever seen in my life. Both the outside and the inside of the library were absolutely amazing. After pleasant conversations with two particularly helpful librarians, I left the library with the closest thing to a 1891 newspaper that I could possibly get.
For an upcoming history project, I chose to find a 19th century newspaper, read it in its entirety, then write a 5-6 page paper about my observations of that time period, based on the newspaper. I picked the date May 19, 1891, and I am so excited about it. I made copies directly from the microfilm, and I could not be looking forward to this project more. Did I tell you that up until this spring I was going to declare a history major?
Well, now you know. History is a pretty good subject, especially when all your teachers are phenomenal (as all of mine have been).
Fortunately, my bus trip back passed entirely without incident. I settled down in the school cafeteria with my computer and a cup of hot chocolate, intending to write this entry. I wasn't disciplined enough to work in a public place today, however. I spent the whole time talking and laughing with people. =P It was supremely enjoyable, but not terribly productive, as far as the blog-posting goes.
Thus concludes my story about my day. And now it is time for dinner before practice. The rush of life begins once more.
Today I have noticed an almost amusing degree of forgetfulness in my activities. First, there was the incident in which I almost put my wool coat in the washer. Fortunately I vaguely recollected the fact that wool shrinks. A lot. A friend confirmed this notion and wisely suggested that I not try to wash a wool coat. Ugh.
Once I had been delivered from that near-disaster, I devoted my morning to diligent homework-doing.
At lunch I stopped to talk to a professor about a homework assignment I had recently turned in, one in which I was to identify a controversial verse in Matthew, then state a question about that verse. I will be answering this question in a 6-7 page research paper, due next month. It is a good thing I stopped to discuss this assignment, because the question that I turned in had absolutely nothing to do with the verse I cited. Fortunately, though I am forgetful, I am likeable, so it was easy for my professor to laughingly disregard this instance of forgetful mis-citation.
Next item on today's agenda: a research trip to the library. I had carefully planned my trip by noting the bus route numbers, times, and relevant stops. As I boarded the bus, I remember feeling a bit proud of how quickly I had mastered the bus system and how well-planned my excursion was.
On the way to the library, I was happily amused by a large, older German man who mumbled something pleasant as he boarded the bus. All I caught was a "nice day" in the midst of a Germanic clutter of syllables. I also was astounded by all the beautiful houses we passed. I wouldn't mind living in the city if I could own a house like those.
My bus ride went marvelously. That is, until... I got off at the wrong bus stop. After I had walked a couple blocks and seen no library, I decided that there must be two 10th streets. That meant that I had 20 blocks left to travel. Fortunately, though I am forgetful, I have a reasonable sense of direction and knowledge of the city, so I had no trouble figuring out where I was going. Also quite fortunately, I was dressed comfortably with good solid walking shoes on my feet, and was quite in the mood for a relaxing walk. On the way, I was able to cross a beautiful, beautiful river. It was a nice, brisk fall day, and the rain of the morning had cleared to reveal a chill blue sky, full of huge white clouds. The fall colors of the tree-lined street were absolutely striking.
After a slight, confused detour, followed by the realization that there were NW, SW, NE, and SE 10th streets, my purposeful wanderings ended before possibly the most beautiful library I have ever seen in my life. Both the outside and the inside of the library were absolutely amazing. After pleasant conversations with two particularly helpful librarians, I left the library with the closest thing to a 1891 newspaper that I could possibly get.
For an upcoming history project, I chose to find a 19th century newspaper, read it in its entirety, then write a 5-6 page paper about my observations of that time period, based on the newspaper. I picked the date May 19, 1891, and I am so excited about it. I made copies directly from the microfilm, and I could not be looking forward to this project more. Did I tell you that up until this spring I was going to declare a history major?
Well, now you know. History is a pretty good subject, especially when all your teachers are phenomenal (as all of mine have been).
Fortunately, my bus trip back passed entirely without incident. I settled down in the school cafeteria with my computer and a cup of hot chocolate, intending to write this entry. I wasn't disciplined enough to work in a public place today, however. I spent the whole time talking and laughing with people. =P It was supremely enjoyable, but not terribly productive, as far as the blog-posting goes.
Thus concludes my story about my day. And now it is time for dinner before practice. The rush of life begins once more.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
serving two masters, take two
I am a daydreamer. Ask anyone who knows me. I may seem to be essentially serious (ha!), but really I keep myself sane and fill dull moments by dreaming up all sorts of whimsical things. Sometimes, as in Harry Potter, my dreams will be particularly sophomoric. I’ll imagine a spider in roller skates or my least favorite professor in a ridiculous outfit. Usually my dreams are everyday. Perhaps, like 19-year old Sebastian, I'll consult my teddy bear named Aloysius (or in my case, my pet rock named Penorphius). I'll come up with absurd schemes and events whose very appeal lies in their peculiarity and fun. I will dream up random outfits or funny responses to a situation. But in my time I’ve had some serious dreams too.
When I was probably seven or eight, I had my heart set on being an astronaut. I dreamed about it whenever I was bored. I would shuffle outside at night to make a map of all the stars. I would shine my flashlight into the night sky (to see the stars better, because that's why we use flashlights in the dark) and wonder what happened to that beam of light. When my mom told me that the light went shining on and on forever, I would keep my flashlight off so that the universe wouldn't fill up with light. I still wanted it to be dark sometimes so that I could look at the stars. Not that this instance of youthful ignorance has anything to do with astronomy, I just thought I'd share. Anyway, while I was still dreaming of outer space, I exceeded the maximum height for an astronaut. That dream sputtered to an untimely death.
As soon as I recovered from my disappointment (which actually took a while) I knew that I was going to be an author, doing nothing but write stories. I soberly picked out a Lisa Frank notebook at the store and began writing stories in it. Because my livelihood now depended on these stories, however, I found my creativity suppressed and my originality stifled. I was quite embarrassed. That notebook, however, despite all my efforts to nonchalantly destroy it, is still floating around somewhere, thanks to the preservative instincts of a proud mother. I really wish she had tried to keep another notebook, a nondescript pale blue one, in which I wrote stories about my childhood, before I depended upon writing as a profession. Just for fun, I described stacking firewood with my dad, of how he let me 'drive' a backhoe and how I was scared to death of wrecking it. I talked about my first impression of my favorite mountain. There were some really good stories in that notebook. Note to self: search for that book over Thanksgiving break.
Once I realized that my career-starting material, found in that blue notebook, had been misplaced (like most everything else I own), my dreams were violently sent off in a new direction. After making the surprising discovery that I liked math, I decided that I wanted nothing more than to be an engineer. What would I do? Why, work for NASA of course!! For a while, had you asked me what career I would pursue, I would have told you to come visit me in Florida.
Then I started high school.
High school math frightened me.
Thus ended my dream of engineerhood.
And so it goes. Ever since I was little, I have been in the practice of dreaming out every single minute of my waking life. I had dreamed out my theses and my graduation speech roughly by ninth grade. You just thought I wrote them at the last minute. Really, I had been pondering them for years.
I dreamed of college volleyball for quite some time, so when I was offered a volleyball scholarship, I wasn't even faintly surprised. After all, that was how I had planned for it to happen. As of last month, Tiffany and I are dreaming of moving to New Zealand together. And I'm quite sure that I've been dreaming of marrying and raising kids since I was old enough to grasp a doll.
I don't think that there is anything inherently wrong with dreaming about the future, but there are certain risks of which dreamers, especially Christian dreamers, particularly need to beware.
Though I am not really a fan of the Christian band Barlow Girl, some of their songs really stand out to me. I liked the song "Surrender" the very first time I heard it. This song voices the agonized cry of someone who is clinging to her dreams and cannot trust God with them. "If I trust you with my dreams," she seems to say, "how can I be sure that you will make my dreams come true? What if you say no to these dreams forever? I don't know if I can handle that." This is the ever-present struggle for the dreamer.
The real test of faith, for people like me, comes when God asks us to submit our dreams to his plans. We have found the dream job, we have met the man or woman of our dreams, we clearly see the choice that will make all our dreams come true. It is just as we have always planned, just what we have always wanted for our life. But then God says, "listen to me. Let me choose whether or not you take this job, whether or not you marry this perfect woman. Trust me. Choose my plans over your dreams." How will we respond? Will we trust God to fulfill the desires of our heart? Do we trust that he knows what will truly make us happy?
I do.
If God asks me to give up a dream, however dear to me it may be, I will do it. I will praise him while I do it. I choose to believe that he knows what I truly need. I trust that he, like a true father, will deny me the dreams that are appealing but harmful. If I trust him in this, he will give me things that are truly good.
In conclusion (which is your cue that this is almost over, so you could at least pay attention to this last part. ...please tell me I am not the only one who snaps to a relieved attention every time the words "in conclusion" are reached), let me share with you a story my high school volleyball coach told me.
Ahem.
"Once upon a time, there was a little girl. Her mother owned a pearl necklace, and the girl would often just sit and stare at the necklace. She was always struck by its beauty and fascinated by its elegance. One day, while shopping with her father, the girl spied a small pearl necklace. She asked if she had enough money to buy it. Her father said, 'no, you would need to save your allowance money for two months to buy that necklace.' The little girl decided to save all her money for two months. She didn't buy any bubble gum, she didn't buy any new toys. She just thought of that necklace. Three months later, the little girl went with her father to the store and joyfully bought the little necklace, strung with durable fake pearls.
A few months passed, during which the girl often wore and admired her necklace. The time had nearly come for the little girl's birthday. Her father came to her one evening and asked her to give him her beautiful necklace. She looked tearfully into her father's eyes as she gave him her pearls. The next morning, however, her father presented her with a new necklace, this time made of real pearls."
This is sort of how I think of my dreams. If God asks me to give them up, dear to me though they are, I will willingly surrender them. It might be hard, but I choose to trust that when God takes away my dream, it is because he has something better for me. This is the difficult, but very rewarding stance of a Christian dreamer.
When I was probably seven or eight, I had my heart set on being an astronaut. I dreamed about it whenever I was bored. I would shuffle outside at night to make a map of all the stars. I would shine my flashlight into the night sky (to see the stars better, because that's why we use flashlights in the dark) and wonder what happened to that beam of light. When my mom told me that the light went shining on and on forever, I would keep my flashlight off so that the universe wouldn't fill up with light. I still wanted it to be dark sometimes so that I could look at the stars. Not that this instance of youthful ignorance has anything to do with astronomy, I just thought I'd share. Anyway, while I was still dreaming of outer space, I exceeded the maximum height for an astronaut. That dream sputtered to an untimely death.
As soon as I recovered from my disappointment (which actually took a while) I knew that I was going to be an author, doing nothing but write stories. I soberly picked out a Lisa Frank notebook at the store and began writing stories in it. Because my livelihood now depended on these stories, however, I found my creativity suppressed and my originality stifled. I was quite embarrassed. That notebook, however, despite all my efforts to nonchalantly destroy it, is still floating around somewhere, thanks to the preservative instincts of a proud mother. I really wish she had tried to keep another notebook, a nondescript pale blue one, in which I wrote stories about my childhood, before I depended upon writing as a profession. Just for fun, I described stacking firewood with my dad, of how he let me 'drive' a backhoe and how I was scared to death of wrecking it. I talked about my first impression of my favorite mountain. There were some really good stories in that notebook. Note to self: search for that book over Thanksgiving break.
Once I realized that my career-starting material, found in that blue notebook, had been misplaced (like most everything else I own), my dreams were violently sent off in a new direction. After making the surprising discovery that I liked math, I decided that I wanted nothing more than to be an engineer. What would I do? Why, work for NASA of course!! For a while, had you asked me what career I would pursue, I would have told you to come visit me in Florida.
Then I started high school.
High school math frightened me.
Thus ended my dream of engineerhood.
And so it goes. Ever since I was little, I have been in the practice of dreaming out every single minute of my waking life. I had dreamed out my theses and my graduation speech roughly by ninth grade. You just thought I wrote them at the last minute. Really, I had been pondering them for years.
I dreamed of college volleyball for quite some time, so when I was offered a volleyball scholarship, I wasn't even faintly surprised. After all, that was how I had planned for it to happen. As of last month, Tiffany and I are dreaming of moving to New Zealand together. And I'm quite sure that I've been dreaming of marrying and raising kids since I was old enough to grasp a doll.
I don't think that there is anything inherently wrong with dreaming about the future, but there are certain risks of which dreamers, especially Christian dreamers, particularly need to beware.
Though I am not really a fan of the Christian band Barlow Girl, some of their songs really stand out to me. I liked the song "Surrender" the very first time I heard it. This song voices the agonized cry of someone who is clinging to her dreams and cannot trust God with them. "If I trust you with my dreams," she seems to say, "how can I be sure that you will make my dreams come true? What if you say no to these dreams forever? I don't know if I can handle that." This is the ever-present struggle for the dreamer.
The real test of faith, for people like me, comes when God asks us to submit our dreams to his plans. We have found the dream job, we have met the man or woman of our dreams, we clearly see the choice that will make all our dreams come true. It is just as we have always planned, just what we have always wanted for our life. But then God says, "listen to me. Let me choose whether or not you take this job, whether or not you marry this perfect woman. Trust me. Choose my plans over your dreams." How will we respond? Will we trust God to fulfill the desires of our heart? Do we trust that he knows what will truly make us happy?
I do.
If God asks me to give up a dream, however dear to me it may be, I will do it. I will praise him while I do it. I choose to believe that he knows what I truly need. I trust that he, like a true father, will deny me the dreams that are appealing but harmful. If I trust him in this, he will give me things that are truly good.
In conclusion (which is your cue that this is almost over, so you could at least pay attention to this last part. ...please tell me I am not the only one who snaps to a relieved attention every time the words "in conclusion" are reached), let me share with you a story my high school volleyball coach told me.
Ahem.
"Once upon a time, there was a little girl. Her mother owned a pearl necklace, and the girl would often just sit and stare at the necklace. She was always struck by its beauty and fascinated by its elegance. One day, while shopping with her father, the girl spied a small pearl necklace. She asked if she had enough money to buy it. Her father said, 'no, you would need to save your allowance money for two months to buy that necklace.' The little girl decided to save all her money for two months. She didn't buy any bubble gum, she didn't buy any new toys. She just thought of that necklace. Three months later, the little girl went with her father to the store and joyfully bought the little necklace, strung with durable fake pearls.
A few months passed, during which the girl often wore and admired her necklace. The time had nearly come for the little girl's birthday. Her father came to her one evening and asked her to give him her beautiful necklace. She looked tearfully into her father's eyes as she gave him her pearls. The next morning, however, her father presented her with a new necklace, this time made of real pearls."
This is sort of how I think of my dreams. If God asks me to give them up, dear to me though they are, I will willingly surrender them. It might be hard, but I choose to trust that when God takes away my dream, it is because he has something better for me. This is the difficult, but very rewarding stance of a Christian dreamer.
Friday, October 10, 2008
paper chains
One year, when I was very young, waiting for Christmas was almost more than my little heart could bear. I think I was too small to fully grasp the concept of calendars, so my mom helped me in a way that I could understand. We made a paper chain together, then hung it up on our freezer. At the end of every day, I was allowed to pull one ring off my paper chain, thus counting down the days to Christmas.
This past year my classmates and I were surely old enough to understand calendars, but in our prospect-of-graduation-induced madness, we turned to the same method. A teacher made a paper chain for us to count down the days until our graduation. On the joyous day when we reached the last link, we looked at each other, each grasped a part of that last ring, and joyfully tore it apart.
Today is the first day of fall break on campus, meaning that there are no classes until next Tuesday. Most of the students have gone home this weekend, leaving the campus almost entirely to the student-athletes who have games over the weekend. Today, in a moment of nostalgia and impatience, I bought a package of construction paper and once more created a paper chain. On one end is written today's date. On the other is the date that I arrive back home: November 21, 2008. I simply cannot wait, and am having a hard time not obsessing.
Unfortunately the chain is longer than I am tall, but it is a comfort to know that the chain will get a little shorter each day.
Right now I have to rush off to a quick meal before my game tonight against the monster team of our league. The great thing about sports, however, is that upsets happen all the time. I am optimistic. =)
This past year my classmates and I were surely old enough to understand calendars, but in our prospect-of-graduation-induced madness, we turned to the same method. A teacher made a paper chain for us to count down the days until our graduation. On the joyous day when we reached the last link, we looked at each other, each grasped a part of that last ring, and joyfully tore it apart.
Today is the first day of fall break on campus, meaning that there are no classes until next Tuesday. Most of the students have gone home this weekend, leaving the campus almost entirely to the student-athletes who have games over the weekend. Today, in a moment of nostalgia and impatience, I bought a package of construction paper and once more created a paper chain. On one end is written today's date. On the other is the date that I arrive back home: November 21, 2008. I simply cannot wait, and am having a hard time not obsessing.
Unfortunately the chain is longer than I am tall, but it is a comfort to know that the chain will get a little shorter each day.
Right now I have to rush off to a quick meal before my game tonight against the monster team of our league. The great thing about sports, however, is that upsets happen all the time. I am optimistic. =)
Sunday, October 5, 2008
college adventures and classic comics
It is one of my firm beliefs that for every moment in life, there is a appropriate Calvin and Hobbes comic.
Illustration of this obvious point: last night I decided to try my hand at a haircut--my own haircut, in fact, which makes it decidedly more interesting. There is a little place less than a block from school where I could easily have gone for a haircut, and I am sure several of my friends would have been more than willing to help me out too, but no, I decided to have a little adventure. As I sat cross-legged on the floor with scissors in hand, I remember thinking two things: 1) when I actually do get my hair styled by someone who knows what they are doing, the inevitable question will be: did you have an unfortunate run-in with a lawnmower? and 2) maybe when I go home at Thanksgiving I can ask my mom to try to fix this, thus being able to answer the inevitable question with the answer: "no, my mom just cut my hair." Of course that would be totally unfair to my mother, and I could probably never actually bring myself to say it, but it does give one a sense of regained face when one doesn't have to admit that the terrible haircutting job is actually one's own doing. All that said, I don't think my haircut turned out badly at all. Of course, I have no idea what the back of my head looks like, but it felt fine. And I did gain a sense of hilarity and accomplishment from my escapade.
And now, ladies and gentlemen, Calvin and Hobbes!
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Illustration of this obvious point: last night I decided to try my hand at a haircut--my own haircut, in fact, which makes it decidedly more interesting. There is a little place less than a block from school where I could easily have gone for a haircut, and I am sure several of my friends would have been more than willing to help me out too, but no, I decided to have a little adventure. As I sat cross-legged on the floor with scissors in hand, I remember thinking two things: 1) when I actually do get my hair styled by someone who knows what they are doing, the inevitable question will be: did you have an unfortunate run-in with a lawnmower? and 2) maybe when I go home at Thanksgiving I can ask my mom to try to fix this, thus being able to answer the inevitable question with the answer: "no, my mom just cut my hair." Of course that would be totally unfair to my mother, and I could probably never actually bring myself to say it, but it does give one a sense of regained face when one doesn't have to admit that the terrible haircutting job is actually one's own doing. All that said, I don't think my haircut turned out badly at all. Of course, I have no idea what the back of my head looks like, but it felt fine. And I did gain a sense of hilarity and accomplishment from my escapade.
And now, ladies and gentlemen, Calvin and Hobbes!
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Wednesday, October 1, 2008
an update. ...sort of
I just wanted to take this opportunity to quickly share with you some of the things that have been happening in my life lately.
First of all, this is my fifth week of classes. Papers and tests are quite regular now, and our first set of grades come out at the end of next week. I am nearly halfway through my first semester of college! Woohoo!
Second, volleyball is going full swing, as is basketball. There has been a little change of plans in this area however. A couple of weeks ago, and with my coach's full support, I resigned my position on the basketball team and took up a position as team manager. There were a variety of motivations for this big decision. One reason was the fact that, due to my inexperience and also my commitment to volleyball, I would have next to no playing time for two years. The biggest reason, however, was the conviction that playing basketbal would not effectively move me toward my telos. I made the hard choice to drop my weaker sport in order to pursue things that would shape me into more of the person I want to be in four years.
In light of this goal, I applied for and was honored by an election to the position of student senator. I am one of eight students chosen for this position. We will meet weekly to organize school events and strengthen our individual and composite abilities as leaders on campus. This is a lot like the prefect position in which I served in high school, for those of you who are familiar with that system. We will start meeting this week, and I am super-excited for this aspect of my school year.
Also in reference to the Kimberlee I would like to be in four years, I pledged a service club this week. The service clubs here are essentially fraternities and sororities that have been "converted" to a Christian worldview. Part of this twist can be found in the name service club. The focus of these groups is first on serving their own community--the community of young men or women in the club--and second on serving their larger community. Each club will be regularly volunteering for small and large community service projects throughout the year, as well as doing fun things like camping trips together.
There are three female service clubs here and two male. Each one threw a party last week to inform the new students of their unique purposes and missions. These distinctions included things like club virtues and verses, traditions and personalities. We then reflected and prayed, selected a service club that best fit us and performed the necessary pledge requirements, or chose not to join a service club at all. The last choice is by far the minority, with most new students pledging one of the service clubs. We brave club-pledgers will all go through a process of induction this weekend, starting tonight.
I am very excited about my service club, phi alpha sigma. I already love many of the girls in the group and can't wait to formally contribute to this new subcommunity as well as all the larger communities of which I am a part.
Finally, as part of another program in which I am involved, I was assigned a mentor for this year, with the recommended option of keeping up that relationship for the rest of my years here. I was happy to find that my mentor is one of my favorite professors here. Of course it is hard to say that he is my favorite professor, since all of them are fabulous. I love how small this school is, because I literally have conversations with my professors every day. They all know my name, at the very least, and those who actually teach me know much more about me. One day when I was particularly homesick my amazing history professor pulled me aside on the way to chapel and just built me up and encouraged me. He had no idea that I was missing my family and friends, but I know God directed him to me that day. This professor will sit and eat lunch with me and talk to me about theology and life and volleyball and education. I really love the fact that everyone here is so willing to reach out to you, serve you, and encourage you. I am already trying to follow these marvelous examples. I want to serve my fellow students and teammates and my teachers in every way I can.
I want to illustrate the loving spirit of this college with just one story. Early this week I was struggling a bit with life. My RA stopped and talked to me while we were brushing our teeth and when she realized that I was upset she offered to pray for me. The next day I came back from class to find a little card stuck on my door. My RA had written me a note full of encouragement from herself and from Scripture. I felt so blessed that I nearly cried.
This college is certainly not for everyone, but I do feel that this is a place where I can grow immensely in all aspects of my life. God was watching out for me when my shoebox full of college letters was overflowing last year. I am still surprised that I left all those other fantastic colleges in favor of this one. Looking back, the story of how I chose this college is pretty astounding... it is pretty much a God thing.
In ninth grade, when I was stressing out about college choices (yes, already), a teacher advised that I pray, pray, pray. (Anytime I am stressed about anything, by the way, her first direction is to pray.) I prayed constantly about which college I would attend, and I believe that this college is the answer to those prayers. This seems to be where I belong.
First of all, this is my fifth week of classes. Papers and tests are quite regular now, and our first set of grades come out at the end of next week. I am nearly halfway through my first semester of college! Woohoo!
Second, volleyball is going full swing, as is basketball. There has been a little change of plans in this area however. A couple of weeks ago, and with my coach's full support, I resigned my position on the basketball team and took up a position as team manager. There were a variety of motivations for this big decision. One reason was the fact that, due to my inexperience and also my commitment to volleyball, I would have next to no playing time for two years. The biggest reason, however, was the conviction that playing basketbal would not effectively move me toward my telos. I made the hard choice to drop my weaker sport in order to pursue things that would shape me into more of the person I want to be in four years.
In light of this goal, I applied for and was honored by an election to the position of student senator. I am one of eight students chosen for this position. We will meet weekly to organize school events and strengthen our individual and composite abilities as leaders on campus. This is a lot like the prefect position in which I served in high school, for those of you who are familiar with that system. We will start meeting this week, and I am super-excited for this aspect of my school year.
Also in reference to the Kimberlee I would like to be in four years, I pledged a service club this week. The service clubs here are essentially fraternities and sororities that have been "converted" to a Christian worldview. Part of this twist can be found in the name service club. The focus of these groups is first on serving their own community--the community of young men or women in the club--and second on serving their larger community. Each club will be regularly volunteering for small and large community service projects throughout the year, as well as doing fun things like camping trips together.
There are three female service clubs here and two male. Each one threw a party last week to inform the new students of their unique purposes and missions. These distinctions included things like club virtues and verses, traditions and personalities. We then reflected and prayed, selected a service club that best fit us and performed the necessary pledge requirements, or chose not to join a service club at all. The last choice is by far the minority, with most new students pledging one of the service clubs. We brave club-pledgers will all go through a process of induction this weekend, starting tonight.
I am very excited about my service club, phi alpha sigma. I already love many of the girls in the group and can't wait to formally contribute to this new subcommunity as well as all the larger communities of which I am a part.
Finally, as part of another program in which I am involved, I was assigned a mentor for this year, with the recommended option of keeping up that relationship for the rest of my years here. I was happy to find that my mentor is one of my favorite professors here. Of course it is hard to say that he is my favorite professor, since all of them are fabulous. I love how small this school is, because I literally have conversations with my professors every day. They all know my name, at the very least, and those who actually teach me know much more about me. One day when I was particularly homesick my amazing history professor pulled me aside on the way to chapel and just built me up and encouraged me. He had no idea that I was missing my family and friends, but I know God directed him to me that day. This professor will sit and eat lunch with me and talk to me about theology and life and volleyball and education. I really love the fact that everyone here is so willing to reach out to you, serve you, and encourage you. I am already trying to follow these marvelous examples. I want to serve my fellow students and teammates and my teachers in every way I can.
I want to illustrate the loving spirit of this college with just one story. Early this week I was struggling a bit with life. My RA stopped and talked to me while we were brushing our teeth and when she realized that I was upset she offered to pray for me. The next day I came back from class to find a little card stuck on my door. My RA had written me a note full of encouragement from herself and from Scripture. I felt so blessed that I nearly cried.
This college is certainly not for everyone, but I do feel that this is a place where I can grow immensely in all aspects of my life. God was watching out for me when my shoebox full of college letters was overflowing last year. I am still surprised that I left all those other fantastic colleges in favor of this one. Looking back, the story of how I chose this college is pretty astounding... it is pretty much a God thing.
In ninth grade, when I was stressing out about college choices (yes, already), a teacher advised that I pray, pray, pray. (Anytime I am stressed about anything, by the way, her first direction is to pray.) I prayed constantly about which college I would attend, and I believe that this college is the answer to those prayers. This seems to be where I belong.
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