a lunchtime sabbath

September is almost over. It has been a hard month. My volleyball season has demanded much of me, with daily 2-3 hour practices and a grueling schedule of away games which often saw us driving "home" in the wee hours of the morning. Classes are also a constant source of work (as they should be). Though most of my courses are not difficult, they still require a good bit of effort. All of these factors (as well as the half-starved social life that I have lately been keeping alive with stale bread crusts and lukewarm water) have unfortunately led to a necessary encroachment on my regular weekly day of rest. I have not been able to take my customary Sunday completely off for most of this month, and that has been wearing on me. So today, as I walked into the crowded and noisy cafeteria for lunch, thinking anxiously about my afternoon homework and tonight's big game, I decided to take a break immediately.

I made myself a colorful wrap, complete with red tomatoes, white chicken, yellow peppers, green lettuce, and black olives. A colorful meal always makes me happy. I left the stuffy cafeteria behind and went to the sunny courtyard, where I was, surprisingly, left completely alone to revel in the beauty of fall. It was a glorious autumn day, with a brilliant blue sky and a bright sun that consented to warm me if I sat still and simply enjoyed her. The trees were turning yellow and red and orange, and leaves were starting to cover the grass. Acorns were falling on the sidewalks, and I tried to make a point of stepping on them when I walked. I liked the way that they popped underfoot.

I sat there in that bright courtyard for almost half an hour, reading a good book, enjoying my wrap, cold glass of water, and apple for dessert. I greeted people that walked past. I watched a squirrel bury something in the ground. I savored the fall sun, so different from the sun of spring or winter or summer, and thus so amazing. The air was chilly, reminding me of warm, pumpkin-colored sweaters and squealing children romping in fallen leaves. What a refreshing break in my demanding routine, a moment to simply sit and savor this, my favorite of seasons. For half of an hour, I simply observed God's play. I watched a scene starring the squirrel, with a backdrop that actually smelled like ripened leaves and felt like an autumn sun. (Pardon me while I take Wilson's masterpiece of thought and mimic it with muddy-colored fingerpaint on the back of an envelope.)

I challenge you all to take an extra moment today (before it snows tomorrow back at home...) to savor the wild beauty of autumn, to step for a minute outside the confines of your daily routine and to simply breathe in God's living masterpiece. Do it.

i live in a puddle.

I know I already posted something today, but I just have to share this testimony to the amazing goodness of God.

Like I said, I live in a puddle. My primary puddle of residence is basement south: the termination of choice for all the building's rain gutters. The past several days have been cold and rainy, and I definitely see the results in my wing.

My secondary puddle home is known as the Midwest. This is where most of the rain from my elevated home state runs. Down. The streets here are flooded, the sidewalks are soggy, and my walk to class is made dangerous by puddles flung by fast cars.

A puddle is cold, wet, and muddy. A puddle is not cheerful. Hence, after many days of cold grey rain and rigorous practices and, above all, feeling in between my old (faraway) friends and the friends here that I have yet to meet, I have been just a little down. I prayed yesterday that God would give me strength and some source of encouragement.

Let me give you a list of His answers:

1) I received a letter from a very dear friend and sister in Christ, which made me so grateful for her spiritual strength.
2) I received a card from my pastor and his wife, which reminded me of my community of faith.
3) I was greatly blessed by campus devo last night, which lifted my soul.
4) I received an email from my dad, which made me feel taken care of.
5) I received a phone call from a good friend, which made me smile. Big.
6) I received a card from my grandma, which warmed my heart.
7) I had a good practice and was encouraged by my amazing coach.
8) I received an uplifting e-card from my mom, which made me feel loved.

The goodness of God has made this puddle glorious. I praise Him for his continual care and thank Him for each and every one of you who has encouraged me in this transition.

ode to the uncomfortable

Never before have I heard so many voices raised, cursing the god of technology. I arrived on campus three weeks ago, and the internet consisted of one sketchy wireless connection in the lobby of the freshman/sophomore dorms. One could never walk through that spacious lobby without stepping over the legs of laptop users. It was an incredibly good way to meet many of the athletes in my dorm--peering over the blue hazy light of my screen to another smiling face in its own patch of blue light--bonded by the shared quest for the internet. As freshmen arrived on campus for orientation, the internet connection grew sketchier, and the muttered blasphemies became ever so slightly more audible. Now the internet-seeking group in the lobby was larger. Often the girls gave up on the unreliable connection and talked or watched a movie together instead.

Soon all the returning students arrived on campus. The internet became elusive. One evening my teammate and I wandered around campus hunting for someplace, anyplace where we could find a wireless connection. We heard a rumor that a new router had been installed in the music building. We stuck to the trees and bushes and patches of shade as we walked that direction. After dashing across the lawn and leaping through the door, we opened laptop lids and waited. A grin and a high five. Success! We were the queens of the internet hill. But then came a group of boys. Apparently they had heard the rumor too. They found us huddled sneakily behind the ficus tree--perhaps the glowing blue light gave us away. But what times we had! The five of us chatted and joked behind the artificial ficus--all brought together by the thrill of the chase, and made friendly by the warmth of success.

Then came the day that the internet failed all together. For a week, there was no wireless to be found. Not in the broken elevator (holding the left ear between two fingers and extending the elbow to the southeast). Not behind a ficus tree in the music building. Not under the table in the cafeteria. Not inside a rack of sweaters in the bookstore. The wireless connection had left us for good. This is when the curses against the god of technology grew louder. Students clamored. We rallied. We prepared to sacrifice our IT guys on a specially prepared table in the weight room. We had set up our own ipod touch app that would do the job nicely. Just as we all gathered round, ipods extended, ready to appease the technology god, the internet flickered on. There were mixed cheers and murmurs of disappointment. We untied the two men and let them go. We facebooked, we emailed, we myspaced, we IMed. We reconnected to the virtual world which has become so essential to our existence.

Today, there are no internet hunting parties roaming around campus. The lobby is usually empty. There are no jokes shared behind the artificial shrubbery. Everything is back to normal, and I'm not sure that I like it. There is nothing unexpected--we are not forced out of our comfort zone. Now there is internet surfing at the dinner table (via our new ipod touches) and games and music to entertain in every dull moment. Few people walk to class without some sort of gadget in their hand or ear. It saddens me that they are again too caught up in the artificial noises of their ipods and their impersonal pseudo-interactions to breathe deeply of the energy of autumn, even to start a conversation with the person walking next to them. In many senses, I lament the re-establishment of handy technology.