Location

Location; it matters so much, or perhaps so little.  
I love my Grandma and Grandpa's house.  To step through the door into that familiar abode is to enter comfort, security, and love; to be appreciated and accepted for all that I am. 

Grilled cheese sandwiches (with perfectly melted cheese), comfortable furniture (with a cozy blanket neatly folded across the back of every seat), and pictures of family (a frame for every grandchild) adorn the walls and appease my senses with familiarity.

I know I am in a place where I am wanted and loved.

Is it the house that promotes a sense of belonging?  The wood, windows, and shingles that embrace me upon crossing the threshold?

No. 

A museum without art is a building with awkwardly arranged walls and not nearly enough seating.  A home without people is mearly a roof under which to store things.

It is my Grandparents that make their house special.  They offer the sandwiches, embrace me with love, and attentively listen to the stories of my life.  They are the reasons I frequently long to go to that wood structure where I am always utterly overwhelmed with warmth and fuzziness.

Geographical location of these two whom I treasure is meaningless.  Even if they had no stove on which to make grilled cheese sandwiches, my visits would be no less frequent.  I love them more than is logical for the frail human condition.

The people are what give a place its meaning.  Without them, a house is only organized space to hide from the rain.

Theory on Sleep Patterns

I have a problem.  Every morning my alarm clocks sings to me, and every morning I hit snooze.  I doze for five minutes, and snooze again.  This can go on for an undeterminate amount of time, particularly if I have nothing to do that morning.

Every night, I crawl in bed, and cannot sleep.  I watch TV episodes.  I facebook.  I read blogs.  I write blogs.  I turn off my computer and start thinking. I use the bathroom three or four times.  I think some more.  I read. Finally, after laying in bed for what seems to be forever, I fall asleep.

Why is it that when I want to be awake I sleep, but when I want to sleep I am awake?

Perhaps I am dissatisified with my life.  I do not want to sleep because I continue to hope something great will happen to end the day, or I do not wake up because I fear nothing will occur to make being awake worth the trouble.

Perhaps the opposite is true and I love my life.  I feel a sleep cycle officially ends a day, but why would I want a wonderful day to end?  To belay sleeping and waking up make the good times last longer.

I doubt either is accurate.  That's the thing about extremes; they tend to eliminate the more moderate truth.

Really, I've probably created a habit of  doing homework late, and, since I need copious amounts of sleep, I optimize every single moment of rest possible.  Hence the habit of staying up late and sleeping as long as possible.

Or, the childhood hatred of having to go to bed continues to persist.  Plus, to lay in bed, curled up under the covers with nothing to do, is one of the most comfortable things I've ever experienced.

But, you know, whatever sounds most interesting to you.  I just wish counting sheep worked and I could wake up at the first discordant notes of my alarm.

Inspiration

I like to write.

I would like to write well. 

I would like to write things that people need to hear.

I would like to write encouraging and thought provoking things.

I would like to write the type of things that spark revolutionary living.

I would like to write things from heaven that people on earth need to hear.

I cannot do this alone.

I am from this world.

I write like one from this world.

This world is corrupt.

Do I write things that are corrupt?

Jesus is above the corrupt world.

I would like Jesus to be my inspiration.

I would like to write things from above the corruption.

"The one who comes from above is above all; the one who is from the earth belongs t0 the earth, and speaks as one from the earth.  The one who comes from heaven is above all."  -John 3:31

Dear Jesus,

Be my inspiration in all that I do.

Amen.

The Perfect Place to Study

I sit at my dorm room desk and stare at a map of colonial Africa. From the crack under my door a host of distractions beckon: a dance party in the bathroom, a movie in the room across the hall, a trip to get hamburgers, and a game of Ultimate Frisbee.


The smell of burnt popcorn and fresh baked cookies assail my nose. My stomach gurgles in response. A snack would taste yummy, but would only make studying harder.

My roommate turns on the TV. Of course, Wipeout. The big red balls toss ordinary people like acrobats, twisting and turning into the waters below. It is one of the funniest shows I have ever seen. How am I supposed to get anything done now?

After a plethora of weak-willed attempts, a paper describing the decolonization of Ghana has proceeded no farther than a title. The blinking cursor flashes like a neon sign taunting me to chase it across the page with a torrent of words, but none will come.

It takes all my powers of refusal to pass up an opportunity to play ping pong. Instead, I gather my supplies and strike out on a quest to find a place where I can study.

I try the library. I sit at a desk with walls on three sides, immediately eliminating any potential for visual distraction. This could work.

Twenty other students study around me. I can smell the remains of a portable dinner- Thai food from a doggie bag-mingling with the musk of old books.

Only the sound of air whizzing through a vent can be heard.

My ears ring with the silence.

It is intolerable.

Again, nothing is being accomplished.

I decided to move again, this time off campus to a coffee shop.

I walk through the doors and am greeted by delicious smells and cheerful baristas.

I purchase a cup of heaven covered in whip cream and sit at a table by the window. I situate my textbook and computer, sip my beverage, and try again.

My quest, it seems, has finally come to an end.

Baristas continue to brew coffee, crush ice in the blender, and steam milk. Other patrons talk quietly across the little tables. The unique white noise is louder than silence, quieter than my thoughts, and diverse enough to prevent a stalemate in my mind.

Trendy music flows through the room and unique artwork adorns the warmly painted walls. The ambiance surrounds me like a friend who knows me well enough to let me work in peace.

Distractions are limited. There is no TV, no friendly floor mates, no dance music and no flying discs. I do not need to worry about my laundry, my messy desk, my perpetually unmade bed or the constant stream of customers who remain outside of my sphere of interest.

Many of the people seated around me are reading, writing, knitting, and other such solitary activities. They focus only on what it is they are doing. I am inspired to do the same and dedicate myself completely to the task at hand.

Time slips past unnoticed. I easily become so absorbed in my studies that the “open” sign is turned to “closed” before I realize it is time to go.

If I am diligent in my work and finish before the sun has fully set, there is the opportunity to walk back to campus. I step out the door and find myself embraced by the crisp air. Colorful leaves crunch underfoot. Cozy houses line the street, and occasionally the smell of a homemade dinner will drift from a kitchen window, teasing my palate with its garlic scent.

Feeling like a conquering hero, I return from my quest ready to socialize. My assignment is finished, and the brisk stroll in the fresh air has chased away the heavy, intellectual thoughts that had previously consumed my mind.

In the future, should I be confronted with a monumental task, or menial writing assignment, I intend to skip the foreplay and go directly to a coffee shop, where success is assured.


(written for my journalism class as my first column)

Life Calling

The most stressful day of the quarter is not what you might think.

Some would say it is the first day of class.  Walking into a new class, trying to find a good seat, and hoping some one you know will walk through the doors and the two of you can be bosom friends throughout the hour and twenty minutes you will be sitting there.

Others will declare that is completely incorrect!  The most stressful time in college is not a day at all, but the three days of finals, and the "dead week" that proceeds them. 

I disagree with both of these statements.  The most agonizing time for me is registration.

Every single time I pick classes I seem to re-evaluate what I want to do with my life, and what major/double major/minor/double minor combination would be the best path to getting me there.

And of course, now that I have registered I have been doubting if I am taking the correct classes and constantly scan the "open class" list, searching for a class that particularly calls out to me.  None have yet screamed my name.

These thoughts have been running through my head all week.  All month, really.  But last night, when I went to my secret place to spend time with Jesus, I wasn't thinking about it at all.

I said, "Jesus, I love you.  I'm listening."

And this is what he said to me:

"I am like the voice of one calling in the desert, 'Make straight the way for the Lord.'" -John 1:23b

"A voice of one calling, 'In the desert prepare the way for the Lord; make straight in the wilderness a highway for our God.  Every valley shall be raised up, every mountain and hill laid low; the rough ground shall become level, the rugged places a plain.  And the glory of the Lord will be revealed, and all mankind together will see it.  For the mouth of the Lord has spoken." -Isaiah 40:3-5

First I thought, "If everything is made smooth, we will have no hills for sledding!  Instead, we will fly on our joy."

Then I wondered what exactly this meant for me?  The voice that calls out in the desert promises that all obstacles will be removed at the glory of God will shine everywhere.  That is such a hopeful message! I need to share that message with people in deserts.  Does that mean a literal desert?  No.  It means places where there is no life.  It is there that I should go.

Haiti.

I asked if I thought it out of habit, but I am certain that God whispered it in my ear.

I am going to go there and say good things for them

"Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves, for the rights of all who are destitute.  Speak up and judge fairly; defend the rights of the poor and needy." -Proverbs 31:8-9

and to them

"Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your moths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen." -Ephesians 4:29

I know I am headed in the right direction because

"If the Lord delights in a man's way, he makes his steps firm; though he stumble, he will not fall, for the Lord upholds him with his hand." -Psalms 37:23-24

You can bet I'm shaking, but I have not fallen yet.

So I'm going to stick with a communications major, but I plan to throw in some english courses (for writing purposes), some theology courses (for a more sound biblical education), and political science courses (because I like them so much that they must be important for something in my life).

Now that you have read this, I ask that you help me.  When I can't seem to have forgotten what direction I am supposed to be going with my life, remind me to read this post.  Then I can remember where exactly I am going. 

It'll make the most stressful time of the quarter a little easier on me.

Splattered Orange Juice

Once upon a time, I sat at a large round table in the lunch room with a group of band friends.

A boy from a different table, one of the "cool kids" who no one at my table was friends with, came and sat next to us, bringing his plastic bottle of orange juice.

Odd thing about this bottle; he had squished in the sides, destroying the original shape.

After a few moments he left, forgetting his juice in the crushed bottle.

Just as I was about to take his orange juice to his table for him, the squished sides popped out, and juice came flying out of the bottle and splattered my friends and I.

The guy's table busted up laughing.
Rude.

I grabbed the bottle and tossed it in the garbage.  Only after did I consider pouring the remaining juice on his carefully combed hair and all over his designer t-shirt.

Those kids thought they were better than us and could push us around.  It is easy to laugh at those who aren't as bold, flashy, or laugh quite as loudly as you do.  But it is one of the most humiliating things that could possibly happen to a high school freshman.

We who are strong ought to bear with the failings of the weak and not to please ourselves." -Romans 15:1

That means if you are the confident, fun loving kid with all the friends, you should not tease the kid who sits alone in the lunch room because it makes you laugh.  Instead, you need to stand by the loner kid-they need your help.

Senior year of high school, I became friends with those cool kids.

A Vietnamese girl was sitting with us at the table during lunch.  She had lived in America for several years, but her English still wasn't the best.

When she got up to leave the table, a "cool dude" said that she should learn to speak English or get out of America.

I laid into him for his rude, uncalled for, insensitive comment.

We never spoke again.

I would so much rather never speak to the "cool kids" if it means I can uphold the weak in society.