How do I get myself in these things?

I've never had such trouble writing anything in my life.

The only thing that stands between me and my Bachelor's is my thesis. I've done the research, written my outline and course objectives, even breaking everything down into 6 sections with specific goals, splitting each section into three 5-page segments and writing some skeleton tests. But have I been able to actually write the material? No.

Last week, I finally churned out the first of the six sections. (I had a meeting and had to have something to prove I was actually working! :) What I ended up with was pretty good, but also written on the level of a senior in high school, when I'm supposed to be writing for 7th graders.

(As a side note, I was involved in a little skit at a teen girl's activity on Saturday. I was playing the part of a self-centered author who realizes that her book is an absolute failure and full of bad advice. Ironically, as I was 'in character', banging my head against the table and saying, "Stupid, stupid idea"...I was actually thinking about that first of six sections that I wrote the day before. Ha!)

So this past week has helped me take a step back and reassess some things. How do you write a history course for 7th graders? In particular, how do you take something like Baptist History, with all its controversy and deeper subjects, and present it in a way that will be interesting and understandable to a 7th grader? There's a lot of terms, a lot of doctrinal issues, and a lot of sketchy information. It's not impossible, but I think I've been coming at it completely wrong.

I'm determined to finish this thing. I've been thinking about it for so long...it's time to get it over with!!!

Living upon the earth, citizens of Heaven

Up to my ears in dusty books, and this passage has quite caught my attention. I keep coming back to reread it.

“The Christians are not distinguished from other men by country, by language, nor by civil institutions. For they neither dwell in cities by themselves, nor use a peculiar tongue, nor lead a singular mode of life. They dwell in the Grecian or barbarian cities, as the case may be; they follow the usages of the country in dress, food, and the other affairs of life. Yet they present a wonderful and confessedly paradoxical conduct. They dwell in their own native lands, but as strangers. They take part in all things, as citizens; and they suffer all things, as foreigners. Every foreign country is a fatherland to them, and every native land is foreign. They marry, like all others; they have children; but they do not cast away their offsprings. They have the table in common, but not wives. They are in the flesh, but do not live after the flesh. They live upon the earth, but are citizens of heaven. They obey the existing laws, and excel the laws by their lives. They love all, and are persecuted by all. They are unknown, and yet they are condemned. They are killed and made alive. They are poor and make many rich. They lack all things, and in all things abound. They are reproached, and glory in their reproaches. They are calumniated, and are justified. They are cursed, and they bless. They receive scorn, and they give honor. They do good, and are punished as evil-doers. When punished, they rejoice, as being made alive. By the Jews they are attacked as aliens, and by the Greek persecuted; and the cause of the enmity their enemies cannot tell.

“In short, what the soul is to the body, the Christians are in the world. The soul is diffused through all the members of the body, and the Christians are spread through the cities of the world. The soul dwells in the body, but it is not of the body; so the Christians dwell in the world, but are not of the world. The soul, invisible, keeps watch in the visible body; so also the Christians are seen to live in the world, for their piety is invisible. The flesh hates and wars against the soul; suffering no wrong from it, but because it resists fleshly pleasures; and the world hates the Christians with no reason, but they resist its pleasures. The soul loves the flesh and members, by which it is hated; so the Christians love their haters. The soul is enclosed in the body, but holds the body together; so the Christians are detained in the world as in a prison; but they contain the world. Immortal, the soul dwells in the mortal body; so the Christians dwell in the corruptible, but look for incorruptible in heaven. The soul is the better for restriction in food and drink; and the Christians increase, though daily punished. This lot God has assigned to the Christians in the world; and it cannot be taken away from them.” 

(Epistola ad Diognetum, written early second century, quote taken from a copy published in 1852.) 

Fascinated by a Fish

Somewhere in the Sea of Galilee there lived a fish, and somewhere on the bottom of the sea he found a coin. He scooped it up in his mouth and swam with all his might to a place where there was a hook. And with his mouth barely open - full of the coin, you know - he bit down on the hook and was pulled up by Peter. 

Have you ever thought about that fish? What did he think about the Master's command to put that coin in his mouth? How long did he swim around until Peter came around with a hook? 

Even the fish obey Him... and thus the need was met. More importantly, a lesson was taught - to Peter that day and to me today. 

Still enjoying my roses...

Especially split up into three small beautiful bouquets, each in a different room.

I can't decide which one I like the best. Yellow roses just seem to fit so well in blue vases. The other container is a lidless sugar bowl from Burma, so it almost wins out in its uniqueness and special memories. Ahh...but I just keep coming back to that blue glass vase, sitting so demurely on my bathroom sink.

What do you think?

Frustrating Friday

I say I work well under pressure, but the truth is that when too much pressure comes, I feel claustrophobic and want to thrash my way out of it. When projects mount up around my head, I feel like I don't have enough brain power to comprehend them all. If I can't spend enough time thinking through the things I'm doing, I feel like I am doing a mediocre job, and I'd rather do no job at all than a job unwell.

When I'm so busy in big projects that I feel like I'm not accomplishing anything, I have to take the time to do relaxing, yet guaranteed productive things. Cooking and baking fall into this category, because I love to do that, and it is relaxing for me - plus there is usually a yummy reward at the end and I learn something in the process.

One night last week we were snowed in, so my brother and I decided to try a couple new recipes - peppermint marshmallows for me and cinnamon raisin bagels for him. We took a bunch of goofy video clips, and I later assembled them into a little video. I figured it would be something fun and relaxing and provide some interesting blog material. Wouldn't you know I can't get the video to export? It's so frustrating, yet days later, I still can't figure out what the problem is. I almost feel like that time has been wasted and probably could have been better spent.

Kind of like today has been - I've worked all day (in between interruptions) on one particular task, and after running into many problems, this task is still uncompleted. It's days like this that I want to just go away somewhere, or clone myself so I can do twice the work. (Although then I get cynical and say to myself, 'Expend twice the effort to still get no results? That sounds like a bad idea.' And then I want to go away somewhere all over again.)

Aren't Fridays supposed to be wonderful, happy days? They've turned into these terrible days where everything that goes wrong gets pushed into the weekend, which of course means that I'm giving up precious time on Saturday to do work-related things. What happened to the idyllic Fridays of my childhood?

But this Friday hasn't been all bad. My Valentine's roses are still strikingly beautiful and have hardly drooped since I received them last Saturday. They are sitting on my bedroom windowsill where they fill my room with their beautiful fragrance and I can admire them as I get ready each morning. This is probably why they have lasted this long and hopefully much longer, because the temperature of my bedroom windowsill is almost as cold as a refrigerator.

Also, a happy find in an old book. Paging through some books in my dad's office, I found this little postcard, mailed in 1950 with the grocery specials of the week and someone's grocery list scrawled on the back. Evidently the book was bought used and its previous owner had left the postcard in as a bookmark. So funny to read through these old prices:

ETA: I wrote the above at around 4PM while I waited for someone who was coming to help me with my 'problem' in this particular frustrating task. Wouldn't you know...he took one look at the computer screen and said, "Did you click start?" Um.... now why would I have done that??? In my defense, I've never had to click start before, but this was a different situation, and you would think I would have been smart enough to figure that out. Instead I was checking for corrupted files, rebooting the system, starting over...when all I needed to do was click start. At least my Friday ended up productive!!! :)

The Bookworm

A pile of books before her, she caressed them all lovingly. First two even stacks, then switching books from one pile to another, adding more to one pile, then all into one large pile again. She took pictures on her phone, her mittened hands fumbling with the keys. First a picture of the large stack, then smaller stack, then each individual book was picked up, rubbed with affection, and photographed from all angles - front cover, back cover, spine, inside introduction pages.

She didn't look like a typical bookworm. Dark hair chopped short with a shock of pink straight above her eyes. Piercings in her ears, her eyebrows, her lip. Striped toe socks with flip-flops, cut-off jeans. What was this for? Why all this caressing and sighing? Why all this intrigue over the selection of a book? Why the pictures?

"I feel so spoiled," she said to the boyfriend who wasn't listening, then presented the reason behind all of this. It was a gift card, which she laid on the table, eyes shining. "100 dollars!" she exclaimed, then added sadly, "but I can't get them all." Then she divided her piles again, gave a sad glance at those she left behind, and walked away with her new treasures.

Valentine's Day 2010

I have one thing to say about Valentine's Day: Life is too short to live with regret and what-ifs. Sure, I'm not married or even close to it, and I still choose to celebrate this holiday. Valentine's Day has always been one of my favorites - who can resist chocolate and roses?? Not me!!! I love celebrating the love of my favorite couples and their example to me.


With all that in mind, a sort-of last minute trip to New York City took place. In all, there were nine of us single girls who left Friday morning for the city - for a fabulous weekend of a Broadway show, good food, lots of laughing and memories, and shopping. :) 


We watched "The Miracle Worker" - which though a small production, was very, very good. We got all dressed up, went out to dinner, got 'lost' on the subway, stayed up late talking, and walked all over the city on Saturday siteseeing and shopping. 


(The only picture I took all weekend was of my gyro lunch on Saturday. But Becky posted some pictures here.)


I had so much fun this weekend. I love big cities and their excitement, especially when you can wander around and do whatever strikes you as fun instead of having to stick to a schedule. It was fun to have Anne along as well - a bit of a last single-girl fling since she is 'deserting' us this summer to join the ranks of the married. (Heehee...you know I had to work that in!)


It was a certainly a lot more fun than sitting at home and feeling sorry for myself! When I got home, there were a dozen roses waiting for me from my Dad and one of my girls in Sunday School gave me a bag of homeade chocolate-covered pretzels. So I still got my roses and chocolate! ;o)

A Snowy Night

From last week's journal, and in honor of the snowfall tonight:

Well, I couldn't help myself.

While I was holed up one evening, the snow came. I didn't even realize it until I let the dog outside, and was surprised at the sight of a white lawn before me. I had just gotten out of the shower, so I reveled in the beautiful world as best I could from inside my warm window.

But then, around midnight, I wanted to see. I stuck my head out the window, hoping that a breath of the snow-fresh air and the sound of the stillness would be enough. But it wasn't. And that was when I couldn't help myself.

I pulled layers over my pajamas - a couple pairs of pants, a long skirt, a couple sweaters, scarf, socks, mittens, hat, hood, boots, and coat. Then out I went, as silent as a mouse, trying not to wake my sleeping house.

It's a magical world - a snowy night like this. I love a lot of things about snow. I like the cold, I like the white, I like the cleanness and the quietness. But while that is all well and good during a bright day, at night it takes on another dimension. At night, the clouds hang low and between the clouds and the snow, the light is reflected and refracted a hundred times over, until it seems almost as bright as day. Every light that happens to be shining, even just the moonlight somewhere above the clouds, dances over the snow like a million glittering stars. I just want to dance and twirl in it - in my lawn of diamonds. And the quietness, the stillness. It is as if the entire world has stopped, breathless, to watch the snow fall from the sky.

I turn my face upwards and close my eyes tightly, feeling the icy bits kissing my face and  brushing past me to the ground. I lay on the ground and look at the sky, look at the snow falling, and feel so small and insignificant in this great, grand world God has made. I listen to the stillness, the quietness. The only noise that breaks the silence is the water flowing in the creek behind our house. Always flowing, never stopping. Though mostly frozen over the surface, there are still openings to the rushing water underneath, throwing its babbling laughter through the holes so that everyone knows the creek still lives on.

The trees stand like tall sentries, dark and straight against the orange sky, each branch and twig outlined in shining diamonds. The ground is flat and continuous - one unbroken slate of beautiful white. Even things like grills and cars, toys and bikes left out become things of beauty when covered with snow.

So this is why I go out, why I run the risk of waking others up, why I get all dressed up to go in the cold - even in the middle of the night. It's this moment that I will remember for the next year, until the next snow fall.

Welcome Home!

You know those friends who you can not see for months and months, but then when you see them again, it's like you were never apart? I have a couple like that. We can talk on and on about things far and near, and you would never guess it was the first time we spoke in months or even years.

My blog has always been that sort of friend for me. I can leave it lonely and neglected for weeks...and then come back and jump right in. In this particular case, I can do nothing but throw a couple YouTube videos at it for almost a month, and then saunter back as if nothing has happened. :)

This week promises to be just as busy as the last, but I feel like I'm ready to start writing again. In a lot of ways, it seemed like my world was turned upside down with our return to the States. I wouldn't say it is necessarily busier here than it was in Botswana, but it is a different kind of busy. It is a busy that is less exhausting and draining on one hand, but involves much more thinking and multitasking. If that doesn't make any sense, don't worry; it confuses me too.

So I gave this poor blog a bit of TLC tonight, and though I don't want to make a promise I can't keep, I do have some things lined up to post on later this week.

I'm looking forward to this weekend! I have some special plans with some friends. Let's just say it involves a few girls who are also single, a night in New York City, and a premiere. We are a little psyched about it, and let's just hope we make it home in one piece. :)

A Love Story

MY love story...

   Just a poor, beggar girl I am, deserving of nothing. He is so great and so far above me, like a Grand Prince over all - fine, educated, rich, handsome, kind. So far above me - wretched, dirty, stubborn, ugly, stupid me. "What about your self-image?" you might say. And this is my self-image - that I am a dog, that I am a sinner, and that I was incurable.
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