I've called the lady at the CSO 11 times since Monday. I've left her a message on her phone. I've emailed her twice. She's responded by email once and called back once (while I was in class). I've called another lady at the CSO twice. She answered the first time and gave me to the other lady... who promptly said she'd call me back at 1:30 today. She finally called back at 2:48 (that's while I was in class). I had sat with my phone in front of me at my desk for 38 or so minutes before giving up and heading to class at two.
My article is due tomorrow. I need to ask her the details of the event I'm covering. But I also need her to tell me who else I can call. I don't know anyone who went to the pre-concert event last week! I have no connections with audience members! I'm screwed!
And what's great is that I can't do anything about it. And I already "skipped" my last article, resigning myself to a C or poooooossibly a B in that class. That was a new experience. So now if I end up "skipping" another article, I'm F-ed. FAILure.
My dad told us kids that he failed a class once. That gives me hope. I was told this morning that I need to be more objective about my life and look at it more intentionally. Here's objective and intentional: I'm trying and not succeeding. What now?
I only have so many fingers to cross.
_______________________________________________________________
I got to listen to Jonsi's first album last night and get some grading done. I got to sleep over 7 hours last night. I got to go swim my mile today. The air is crisp and clear in the morning when I head to class. Just cold enough that my toes are red when I get to Brock, but not cold enough that there is no hope of warming up all day. And now the sun is bright and shiny. The Spalding children are out playing and learning and laughing. Our soccer game is tomorrow night. My blinds are open and the sun is cleansing my room. Alex and Mom went to a class and made bread together. I'll get to learn next. My literary journalism class is exciting; my classmates are amazing and talented. Tim's going to come to SonRise with me on Sabbath. I got to eat a whole can of black beans and a whole can of corn for lunch. My stomach is dancing. I read Psalm 19 this morning and realized once again that it is one of my favorite psalms.
I really am happy with my life. Just in my own way. Clearly, I'm more vocal about the frustrating parts, but that's just because it's the easier thing to be.
30.3.10
a rarity
Listen here, and live.
I have to confess...
... this is another grabbed blog. But since I was going to save it for myself anyway, I figured I'd put it on this blog so that anyone else could see it as well.
25.3.10
Jesus needs two attempts?
This is from a blog of a pastor of a large modern church that I occasion upon. I read it quickly and have to keep working on other stuff, but I thought the thought was thoughtful and interesting. I wonder why Jesus did take two attempts to heal that man? I think he makes some valid points about prayer. I would really love to compile different answers to prayer from differing religious affiliations and denominations and compare them. God is the same for all of us. Does He work the same with everyone? I doubt it, but I want to understand the difference. Is it possible? Maybe that can be for graduate school. Maybe for a future book project. Maybe not. Probably the Christian world isn't interested in working too closely together. We don't believe in John 17. Good thing too, or we would be too powerful and influential for God to have any room to work. Right? Good thing??
Remember when Jesus heals the blind man but it takes two attempts? For some strange reason, that is blessing me big time. Even Jesus needed two attempts. I find tremendous encouragement in that. And I think there are a few lessons to be learned.
I think many of us give up after our first attempt so we forfeit the miracle. Keep praying for the miracle. Give God a chance! I also think some of us are satisfied with a partial miracle. Don't settle for half a miracle. Keep believing God for the whole thing! Finally, some miracles happen in stages. It doesn't happen all the way right away.
Mark 8:25 says: "Then Jesus laid hands on his eyes again." The operative word is "again." Is there something you need to pray for again?
I think many of us give up after our first attempt so we forfeit the miracle. Keep praying for the miracle. Give God a chance! I also think some of us are satisfied with a partial miracle. Don't settle for half a miracle. Keep believing God for the whole thing! Finally, some miracles happen in stages. It doesn't happen all the way right away.
Mark 8:25 says: "Then Jesus laid hands on his eyes again." The operative word is "again." Is there something you need to pray for again?
24.3.10
23.3.10
I hope you have a good day.
This is the result of a conversation with BJ Orn last night and of desperate searching for something to quickly write about this morning. It may end up in the Accent on Thursday, but frankly, I sent it in way late and am not sure if they'll use it or not. So, take it either just in case or as a preview. I hope you have a good day:
The talent that I want to deplete myself of before I die is that of loving God back. It seems almost an impossible task with all my shortcomings and wanderings and distractions. But I will still hope. “I used every single bit of talent, everything You gave me. To love You back.”
When I stand before God at the end of my life, I would hope that I would not have a single bit of talent left, and could say, 'I used everything you gave me.'"
This is not a quote from Psalms. Nor Paul or Ellen White or Mark Finley. It’s by Erma Bombeck in Triathlete Magazine. And I liked it anyway.
When it comes down to it, I’m quite certain that someday, when I “stand before God,” the only thing that will really matter will be whether or not I did everything I could to know Him. The longer I suck oxygen out of this atmosphere, the more God is making it clear that when He says He is love, He means that He is love to me.
The talent that I want to deplete myself of before I die is that of loving God back. It seems almost an impossible task with all my shortcomings and wanderings and distractions. But I will still hope. “I used every single bit of talent, everything You gave me. To love You back.”“Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is one.
Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength.”
(Deuteronomy 6:4,5)
19.3.10
Gabriel and I saw the Space Station.
It flew above the trees between the moon and the North star at a few seconds past the stroke of 9:22. It went almost directly up, arching slowly, higher and higher for a little over two and a half minutes. Then, suddenly, it went dark. Only the tiniest edge of moon-reflected light was visible on its western side for as long as it took to read this sentence. And then, it disappeared for good, hidden behind the shadow of the earth.
It was amazing.
Plus we saw Betelgeuse, Sirius, Orion and his belt and sword, the quarter moon up close, and the tiny, speedy Mars. We saw the Seven Sisters and learned that the North Star never moves. We saw Cassiopeia and learned that the middle tip of its W shape points more or less toward the North Star. We learned that it also plays ring around the rosy with the Big Dipper around the North Star every night. We learned that Orion's right shoulder is the upper right point of the winter triangle or whatever it was called. And we learned that Sirius is the brightest star in the sky, a level 0 star, or something like that. Betelgeuse was a level 1, I think. 
The International Space Station didn't fly in front of the moon, but here's a link in case you want to see more or less what we saw and get to see it go in front of the moon, too! Click on this sentence to go to the YouTube video. It's 20 seconds long. The video, that is.
And by the way, I only noticed that I was spelling Betelgeuse way wrong (as it was pronounced Beatle-juice when I heard it), so I fixed it. But the rest are probably all spelled wrong and I just wanted you to know that I did not check them. Thank you for not thinking any less of me...
16.3.10
"This is so strange! No one's here!"
Everyone's wondering why no one is showing up to ESL tonight. I'll tell you why: there's not much motivation to do so. When I learn a language, which I do all the time, obviously, I want to have a teacher that teaches me relevant things, that corrects my pronunciation, that is willing to answer my questions or look them up to answer later, and that has a book that is useful. I think all of the ESL teachers have most of those things except I'm skeptical of our book. It has an old feeling about it, and the things it teaches don't seem very relevant. I guess it's mostly for conversational English, but the lack of grammar instruction is a bother to me. I suppose that's why there are separate classes for composition, grammar, and conversation when you go overseas through an ACA program.
Anyway, I thought it was funny. Apparently there is always a little slump after spring break, they're also saying now. I guess that's good to know.
14.3.10
George News can run fast, too.
This morning I got myself up at 4:20 (thank you Daylight Savings) to get ready for the little SM race organized for Janessa and I. I woke Ben up a little later, but too early, so he went back to sleep first in his bed, then on the couch. I was excited, but not enough to keep me from getting sleepy during our drive after less than four hours of sleep. I did well to get in bed relatively early for a potential 5 or 6 hours of sleep, but the party upstairs, Nate and Ben talking in the living room, my silly earphones that were blocking out a lot of the noise, the ridiculous "earliness" of bedtime, the anticipation of a new race, and the unusual amount of thoughts coursing through my head kept me lying awake for more than an hour in bed. I believe I got in bed around 11, maybe a little after, but I remember the RA coming in to do check at around 1.
The race was awesome. Albert Handal comes up and gives us a pre-race pep talk for encouragement. "This race is rough. This race is tough. Twenty-seven hills is horrible. I felt horrible after last year's." Etc. That was after we arrived an hour early to a dark field where I timidly found my way... right up to their house... where I wasn't supposed to park. The drive took 20-30 minutes less than Google said it should. So we were definitely early. It was good though, because it took us about all that time to register, repark, get our clothes on, go to the bathroom, and walk back from the car which was probably like half a mile away.
So, like I said, the race was awesome. We start, with Brittni shooting off a real gun, with perfectly fine intentions of keeping our shoes clean and killing the hills. The first quarter mile helped us to realize that our shoes were hopeless and the hills were strong. Ben Foote and I hung our behind George News and Jack for the whole race. Our feet sludged through miles of mud and over, yes indeed, 27 grassy hills. I slipped and fell once, to smear my behind and side with a nice layer of protective mud. Ben fell forward once to catch himself with his hands and test his upper body strength. Our lungs told us to go back to school where sitting in chairs was easy. Our heart reminded us that being nervous around a pretty girl is not what makes it pump the fastest and hardest. Our legs repented for being antsy and jittery in class or during a long car ride. They said they'd never do it again if we would just stop. But we didn't stop, suckas. And we came back and played soccer for two hours instead.
All the people who made it out there too early this morning were troopers. I don't even feel right "taking" their money. I wish I could do something back for them. I guess the only thing I can do is to continue to do my best to devote this temple God has given me to His work and to His glory. I guess I can do my best to make the most of next year's struggles and challenges and possibilities. I guess I can try to excel in my work and in my relationships with the people I meet in far away lands. I guess it's the least I can do.
Thank you, Bens, for coming out. Schnell felt like crap before the race and was amazing and persevering in spite of reeeally not wanting to. Foote kept me company most of the race and encouraged me with powerful Danish guttural noises that sounded like Go Chris! I loved the race today. It was awesome.
The race was awesome. Albert Handal comes up and gives us a pre-race pep talk for encouragement. "This race is rough. This race is tough. Twenty-seven hills is horrible. I felt horrible after last year's." Etc. That was after we arrived an hour early to a dark field where I timidly found my way... right up to their house... where I wasn't supposed to park. The drive took 20-30 minutes less than Google said it should. So we were definitely early. It was good though, because it took us about all that time to register, repark, get our clothes on, go to the bathroom, and walk back from the car which was probably like half a mile away.
So, like I said, the race was awesome. We start, with Brittni shooting off a real gun, with perfectly fine intentions of keeping our shoes clean and killing the hills. The first quarter mile helped us to realize that our shoes were hopeless and the hills were strong. Ben Foote and I hung our behind George News and Jack for the whole race. Our feet sludged through miles of mud and over, yes indeed, 27 grassy hills. I slipped and fell once, to smear my behind and side with a nice layer of protective mud. Ben fell forward once to catch himself with his hands and test his upper body strength. Our lungs told us to go back to school where sitting in chairs was easy. Our heart reminded us that being nervous around a pretty girl is not what makes it pump the fastest and hardest. Our legs repented for being antsy and jittery in class or during a long car ride. They said they'd never do it again if we would just stop. But we didn't stop, suckas. And we came back and played soccer for two hours instead. All the people who made it out there too early this morning were troopers. I don't even feel right "taking" their money. I wish I could do something back for them. I guess the only thing I can do is to continue to do my best to devote this temple God has given me to His work and to His glory. I guess I can do my best to make the most of next year's struggles and challenges and possibilities. I guess I can try to excel in my work and in my relationships with the people I meet in far away lands. I guess it's the least I can do.
12.3.10
Race
Just as a sheepish reminder:
There is a fundraising race for Janessa King and me this Sunday down in Calhoun. It's $25 to register today and tomorrow, and $30 for race day registration. I think you get a t-shirt and the satisfaction of endorphins and knowing that the proceeds go toward our student missionary fundraising. The race starts at 8 a.m. and I am going to try to win it, along with many other people, so don't expect me to. I'm not.
Also, keep in mind that Saturday night is Daylight Savings, and I guess since it's spring that means you spring the clock forward one hour. Which means that the race is actually starting at what feels like 7 a.m. (Right??) Great. Not to be discouraging, of course. More day left over afterward!!
All race info and registration at:
runforansm.com
There is a fundraising race for Janessa King and me this Sunday down in Calhoun. It's $25 to register today and tomorrow, and $30 for race day registration. I think you get a t-shirt and the satisfaction of endorphins and knowing that the proceeds go toward our student missionary fundraising. The race starts at 8 a.m. and I am going to try to win it, along with many other people, so don't expect me to. I'm not.
Also, keep in mind that Saturday night is Daylight Savings, and I guess since it's spring that means you spring the clock forward one hour. Which means that the race is actually starting at what feels like 7 a.m. (Right??) Great. Not to be discouraging, of course. More day left over afterward!! All race info and registration at:
runforansm.com
10.3.10
To need more two-kneed lessons
Nate and I talked about prayer for a while tonight. We didn't come up with any groundbreaking or earth-shattering (redundant) new philosophies or insights or theological nuggets, but it was encouraging in a couple ways. It was a reminder that my friends are thinking many of the same thoughts I am, and it was hopefully a foreshadow of further discussion and improvement among our thoughts and participation regarding prayer both individually and as a family of Christ.
Even though the majority of my thoughts simply remain in my own head, I am aware that a great number of them are similar and in the same direction as others around me. I think it sometimes unfortunate that I am not one to often discuss the heaviest things on my heart with others. This, however, I don't view as something I necessarily need to change or improve on, but something that I rather enjoy at times which allows me the easier opportunity to more slowly think myself through things and digest slowly and vaguely rather than in a rushed gulp. At the same time, it is often rewarding to talk about things like prayer with people I know because it is one way which can strengthen connection and understanding and, perhaps most importantly, serve as a means of support which is crucial to us as fallible and frail human beings whose God does not sit in the flesh next to us on the couch.
Prayer, I believe, is crazy and important: crazy important. I think prayer is ridiculous: it's the one aspect of our religion that is not tangible. We're talking, or even thinking, to a non-human, an extraterrestrial, an invisible, a past, present, and future, and a GOD. Any secular person can sing or give money to worthy causes or be nice to people or read the Bible or meditate or sacrifice their lives for others or wander and wonder and wish, but talking to thin air is something people have been institutionalized for. Yet, prayer is one of the highest honors afforded us. We, pitiful weakling sinners in the eyes of all our universal watchers, still are blessed with conversation with God. I'm sure they wonder why we neglect to do it more frequently, or why we have so many questions about whether it's "working" or not, or why we have trouble getting past the pleases and thank yous of our meager prayers. Prayer is so noble and powerful. We call some men and women "prayer warriors." And for good reason. It takes sacrifice and strength and discipline and perseverance and stoutness of heart and blind faith and that first step to be able to be assured that our prayers are heard, that we are praying "the right" thing, that we will be spoken back to, that there is even a reason for asking something of or telling something to the Omnipotent One who knows all and does all. The dialogue of prayer is a noble, but difficult, concept.
Perhaps I am a Thomas. These days I want to see God's reassurance that my prayers are actually prayers. I want to know that the effort I put into keeping my words few, into thinking of others, in mustering up that mustard seed of faith while I pray is different than just talking to myself and going through the day's possible scenarios in my head. Having reassurance and encouragement from friends is good. And I want more. Will God wait to give me more recognizable answers or responses until after I've furthered my understanding of how this prayer thing works? Am I being too selfish to expect and wish that my prayers made a difference or that God is supposed to hear and answer me? Am I treating prayer like a monologue exercise that eventually will get me the results I want? I know there are other minds and hearts with similar entreaties. I am scared to challenge myself with committing more time in discovering this weapon and pillow of prayer. It seems to be only the best of men, only the most sacrificial, only the most pious and the most loving and the most noble of men who ever receive the covetable title of prayer warrior. And it seems only the most faithful, the most innocent and submissive ever receive that elusive peace that passeth understanding. Will I ever make the cut?
What are the right questions to ask?
God is good. I know that full well. He knows where I sit and when I rise and the words that will roll off my dangerous little tongue. He has searched me and He knows me. And I believe, I fully believe, that He will ever guide me in the way everlasting. It's just - it seems that journey requires being a God to completely understand.
Prayer, I believe, is crazy and important: crazy important. I think prayer is ridiculous: it's the one aspect of our religion that is not tangible. We're talking, or even thinking, to a non-human, an extraterrestrial, an invisible, a past, present, and future, and a GOD. Any secular person can sing or give money to worthy causes or be nice to people or read the Bible or meditate or sacrifice their lives for others or wander and wonder and wish, but talking to thin air is something people have been institutionalized for. Yet, prayer is one of the highest honors afforded us. We, pitiful weakling sinners in the eyes of all our universal watchers, still are blessed with conversation with God. I'm sure they wonder why we neglect to do it more frequently, or why we have so many questions about whether it's "working" or not, or why we have trouble getting past the pleases and thank yous of our meager prayers. Prayer is so noble and powerful. We call some men and women "prayer warriors." And for good reason. It takes sacrifice and strength and discipline and perseverance and stoutness of heart and blind faith and that first step to be able to be assured that our prayers are heard, that we are praying "the right" thing, that we will be spoken back to, that there is even a reason for asking something of or telling something to the Omnipotent One who knows all and does all. The dialogue of prayer is a noble, but difficult, concept.
Perhaps I am a Thomas. These days I want to see God's reassurance that my prayers are actually prayers. I want to know that the effort I put into keeping my words few, into thinking of others, in mustering up that mustard seed of faith while I pray is different than just talking to myself and going through the day's possible scenarios in my head. Having reassurance and encouragement from friends is good. And I want more. Will God wait to give me more recognizable answers or responses until after I've furthered my understanding of how this prayer thing works? Am I being too selfish to expect and wish that my prayers made a difference or that God is supposed to hear and answer me? Am I treating prayer like a monologue exercise that eventually will get me the results I want? I know there are other minds and hearts with similar entreaties. I am scared to challenge myself with committing more time in discovering this weapon and pillow of prayer. It seems to be only the best of men, only the most sacrificial, only the most pious and the most loving and the most noble of men who ever receive the covetable title of prayer warrior. And it seems only the most faithful, the most innocent and submissive ever receive that elusive peace that passeth understanding. Will I ever make the cut?
What are the right questions to ask?
God is good. I know that full well. He knows where I sit and when I rise and the words that will roll off my dangerous little tongue. He has searched me and He knows me. And I believe, I fully believe, that He will ever guide me in the way everlasting. It's just - it seems that journey requires being a God to completely understand.
7.3.10
Slightly above average?
Can this quarter be above average? I'm not sure that it will be, but I'm not sure that I'm going to not try to make it not be. Get it? I've only known school. Since I was seven, I've been in school. It's been my life and what it is I wake up for. And suddenly, in like two months (I know, suddenly/in two months... ironic), it will be something that I will try hard to remember, but will fail miserably at.
What could I do to make it the best quarter of my bajillion years of school experience? I could go to class naked. And immediately end my school experience. I could do all my homework and study my butt off to bring my grades up (the slightly above average was not only a reference to the quality of my time during the next two months). And immediately regret that decision. I could keep doing whatever I'm doing and keep regretting everything I'm regretting. Yep, sounds good.
I realized the other day that I listen to too much music even though it doesn't seem like overkill yet at all. But I have a hard time washing dishes or eating a meal or cleaning my room without thinking I'm not being as efficient as I could be unless I'm listening to music. So I turn it on. I realized that I don't leave myself time to just deal with thinking. It's hard for me to organize thoughts and have memories and philosophize in my head, so I try to avoid it. I think that's what my music is often for. Not all the time, but sometimes.
I loved biking this weekend. At one point, Ben and I raced a car that was a ways behind us to the next intersection. It was quite a race. My bike wouldn't shift down when we got to a slight incline, so Ben yelled at me to keep racing ahead and beat the car even though we were slowing down going uphill. I'm so glad he did. It was my favorite biking moment of my life. I was breathing so hard and my legs were pumping so hard and my happiness was hitting me so hard. I won. And in my head, I gave that car a sucker-punch to the face. Thanks, Ben.
Just for future reference: 500 calories a day, with no exercise, and only protein calories is an unfortunate diet. For present reference: this diet is not mine. Another present reference: it is of someone I knit with. Thank you EG Dubs (no relation to Nate) for NEWSTART. Or thank you to whoever summarized her messages into that clever acronym. And sorry for being a lifelong Adventist and not being too clear on where NEWSTART came from. Etc.
It's 11:33. My last quarter of college starts in less than half an hour. I feel like running away would be ideal right about now. But on the other hand, I could just do it in two months. But on the other hand, I have five fingers. But on the other foot, why ever would I want to run away after finishing so many silly years of school? But on the other foot, isn't that when everyone runs away? But on the other kidney, when will I learn to live productively alone? But on the other kidney, it's not good for man to be alone.
I just randomly thought of the owls who fly those two earthling children from the Narnia place to the other Narnia place. I think Wumblemuffin or whatever is in that one. He's pessimistic and earthy and has webbed fingers. He's my main man. He burns himself in that book. But he defeats the silly underground witch and saves the prince who sat in the silver chair and yelled something in the name of Aslan. Too hoo! Too hoo! Go the owls. Or something like that. Go read Tara's blog. She actually says useful things. Thank you, Tara. Really.
What could I do to make it the best quarter of my bajillion years of school experience? I could go to class naked. And immediately end my school experience. I could do all my homework and study my butt off to bring my grades up (the slightly above average was not only a reference to the quality of my time during the next two months). And immediately regret that decision. I could keep doing whatever I'm doing and keep regretting everything I'm regretting. Yep, sounds good.
I realized the other day that I listen to too much music even though it doesn't seem like overkill yet at all. But I have a hard time washing dishes or eating a meal or cleaning my room without thinking I'm not being as efficient as I could be unless I'm listening to music. So I turn it on. I realized that I don't leave myself time to just deal with thinking. It's hard for me to organize thoughts and have memories and philosophize in my head, so I try to avoid it. I think that's what my music is often for. Not all the time, but sometimes.
I loved biking this weekend. At one point, Ben and I raced a car that was a ways behind us to the next intersection. It was quite a race. My bike wouldn't shift down when we got to a slight incline, so Ben yelled at me to keep racing ahead and beat the car even though we were slowing down going uphill. I'm so glad he did. It was my favorite biking moment of my life. I was breathing so hard and my legs were pumping so hard and my happiness was hitting me so hard. I won. And in my head, I gave that car a sucker-punch to the face. Thanks, Ben.
Just for future reference: 500 calories a day, with no exercise, and only protein calories is an unfortunate diet. For present reference: this diet is not mine. Another present reference: it is of someone I knit with. Thank you EG Dubs (no relation to Nate) for NEWSTART. Or thank you to whoever summarized her messages into that clever acronym. And sorry for being a lifelong Adventist and not being too clear on where NEWSTART came from. Etc.
It's 11:33. My last quarter of college starts in less than half an hour. I feel like running away would be ideal right about now. But on the other hand, I could just do it in two months. But on the other hand, I have five fingers. But on the other foot, why ever would I want to run away after finishing so many silly years of school? But on the other foot, isn't that when everyone runs away? But on the other kidney, when will I learn to live productively alone? But on the other kidney, it's not good for man to be alone.
I just randomly thought of the owls who fly those two earthling children from the Narnia place to the other Narnia place. I think Wumblemuffin or whatever is in that one. He's pessimistic and earthy and has webbed fingers. He's my main man. He burns himself in that book. But he defeats the silly underground witch and saves the prince who sat in the silver chair and yelled something in the name of Aslan. Too hoo! Too hoo! Go the owls. Or something like that. Go read Tara's blog. She actually says useful things. Thank you, Tara. Really.
4.3.10
last.fm
Some vague facts about my playing habits:
Top 10 Artists-
Sigur Ros: 836 plays
Coldplay: 551
Mute Math: 518
Relient K: 515
Switchfoot: 510
Jars of Clay: 483
Greg Laswell: 343
Owl City: 271
The Killers: 265
Jon Foreman: 196
Top 10 Songs:
Boy Lilikoi (Jonsi): 82
Suo I Eyrum (Sigur Ros): 62
Gong (Sigur Ros): 60
Helena (Nickel Creek): 56
Glosoli (Sigur Ros): 56
Hoppipolla (Sigur Ros): 55
Backfire (Mute Math): 52
Redemption (Jars of Clay): 51
Winter Song (Sara Bareilles): 50
Odds (Mute Math): 49
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