Burrito Fast

There is nothing in the world that I love more than a good burrito. Nothing. Not a delicious plate of pasta, not a gooey brownie, not my dog, not my family. Well, perhaps I love my dog and my family more than a good burrito, but it's tough call.

I mean, there's nothing quite like a good burrito. Even a bad burrito isn't that bad. Consider the burrito with me for a bit. It's an entire meal wrapped in a tortilla. How brilliant is that? You've got meat, veggies, beans, and rice all right there. And they're delicious. Personally, I like a good steak burrito. A few years ago I had this great idea for cajun burritos. I never actually made one, but I thought it would be fun to have a restaurant that specialized in them. Which reminds me. My love of burritos actually led me to a career as a burrito roller. That's right. For one year, I worked at Freebird's World Burrito, original location. By the end of that year, I resembled a burrito, but I still remain a fan.

But all that burrito love has to go on hold because I decided to take a burrito fast for one year. One year with no burritos. I know it sounds weird, and I'm even willing to admit it's weird. The thing is, I started thinking about fasting about a month ago, and I wondered what was something that I felt I couldn't get along without, something that I loved so much that I would actually miss it if I had to stop eating it. Burritos were the obvious choice.

The thing is, I like the idea of a burrito fast because burritos are the one food that I can get here in the Midwest that reminds me of home. So, not eating burritos is a good way of forcing myself to accept that this is where I live now, and, each time I think about eating a burrito, it gives me a good opportunity to remind myself that, even when I am not in Texas, I'm always home and never alone.

So, odd as it is, the burrito fast goes on. Perhaps I'll tackle caffeine next...or maybe not!

On Loneliness

A couple of weeks ago, I woke up in the middle of the night. I'm not sure why, but I thought I heard something or sensed something. Whatever the case, I was awake. Awake and completely frightened. I walked into the living room to see that there was nothing there at all but the furniture. Still, I was still completely afraid.

And, I was afraid because, at that moment, I realized I was totally alone.

Now, I'm someone who doesn't usually have problems with being alone. I'm an only child, and I think we do a pretty good job of coping with a few hours (or days or weeks or years) spent alone. As something of an expert on this state of being, allow me to enlighten you on a couple of ways that being alone is not such a bad thing.

Sometimes being alone is comforting because you need a little time to yourself. After spending hours in a crowd or with a group, it can be nice to take some time to move to your own beat. And, sometimes it's nice to do just that. I've taken plenty of vacations by myself, and, let me tell you, it's nice to see the sites you want to see when you want to see them without having other people complaining about how much their feet hurt or telling you how hungry, thirsty, sleepy, whatever they are. Imagine vacationing your way!

But...sometimes being alone is just, well, lonely. When I've gone on vacation alone, there have been times when I couldn't wait to call someone, just to be able to talk for a while. Even while spending time in places many people would love to be like Paris, London, or Berlin, there's something that's made me need to have someone else to talk to. And, sometimes--like the other night--being alone can be the scariest feeling in the world.

It seems like being alone is most frightening when there is the sense of impending danger. But, there's another time when being alone feels frightening, and that's when it feels like the state of being alone is one that has no end. We need other people around us, and, in their absence, we need a sense that we are never truly alone.

I was reading Donald Miller's book, Searching for God Knows What the other day, and he addresses this really well. What he does a good job of is talking about the many ways we try to fill the void of loneliness. In his case, he tried to fill it with being smart, with having people affirm his intelligence. I couldn't relate to that at all. Well, maybe a bit. It is affirming to see good grades and to get good comments on papers. It is affirming to see yourself making progress on a paper. I love to write my papers single-spaced and then put them in double-spaced type, just to see how they grow and grow. But, no matter how many pages I type or how many times I write good papers, I know that those things do nothing to fill the hole of loneliness. It isn't a term-paper-sized hole. It isn't even (in my consumerism-driven times) a new-dress-and-shoes-sized hole, though sometimes that can be more filling than anything.

Unfortunately, the hole is much bigger than that. Donald Miller writes of the time after he renounced his faith in God,

"I was very concerned with getting other people to say I was good or valuable or important because the thing that was supposed to make me feel this way was gone. And it wasn't just me. I could see it in the people in the movies. I could see it in my friends and family, too. It seemed that every human being had this need for something outside of himself to tell him who he was, and that whatever it was that did this was gone, and this, to me, served as a kind of personality theory. It explained why I wanted to be seen as smart, why religious people wanted so desperately to be right, why Shirley Maclaine wanted to be God, and just about everything else a human did. Later, when I set this truth about myself, and for that matter about the human race, next to what the Bible was saying about who God is, what happened at the Fall, and the sort of message Jesus communicated about humanity, I realized Christian spirituality fit my soul like a key. It was quite beautiful, to be honest with you. This God, and this spirituality was very different from the self-help version of Christianity. The God of the Bible seemed to be brokenhearted over the separation in our relationship and downright obsessed with mending the tear" (43-44).

I'm sorry that quote is so long, but I really loved all of it. I think we look for so many things to fill that loneliness, but it seems that nothing is quite enough. More importantly, the things we search for are all things that we may not always have. Miller's idea shows us that only this relationship with God is something that is not dependent on other people; Miller's sense of worth comes from a relationship with God, something that can never be taken away.

I really like this way of thinking. And, quite honestly, thinking this way makes it a little easier to sleep through the night, even when I wake to strange noises.

Day of Rest

Dear Friends,

Well, today is Sunday, and you know what that means. That's right. It's the day of rest. So, today I'm not writing a real blog. I will share something funny though.

The other day I was talking to my friend Justin about Bible Study. And, since I'm attending Bible Study at the Baptist church, he asked if I'd be changing the name of my blog to "crackersandgrapejuice."

Um, negative on that one, but it is pretty clever.

I hope all of you have a nice, relaxing Sunday!

See you,

Sara

The Glad Game

Most people have no idea what I'm talking about when I mention "The Glad Game," but it's from the movie Pollyanna. In the movie, Pollyanna changes the lives of those around her by suggesting that they look for things to be glad about when times get tough. And, to do this, she plays something called "The Glad Game."

To play "The Glad Game" you simply examine the bad situation and look for the good in it. The game started for Pollyanna when she was living with her parents who were serving as missionaries. Being missionaries, they had to write and ask for anything they needed or wanted that was unavailable where they lived. Pollyanna wanted a doll, so her father wrote to ask for one. However, when the shipment arrived, a pair of crutches had been sent in place of the doll. So, her father invented "The Glad Game."

I'm guessing you'll see where this is headed. Her father told her not to be sad about not getting a doll but to be glad that she didn't need the crutches.

I guess this could seem like a delusional way of going through life, but there's something really satisfying about looking for the good rather than dwelling on the bad, even if the way you look for the good seems a little silly.

Lately I've been feeling a bit like Pollyanna. It really goes against my nature to do this, so you can imagine my discomfort. But, I think "The Glad Game," as silly as it may be, is a good way of thinking about spiritual discipline, and I think that it can teach us a lot about how we should interact with other people. If we look to Luke 6:27 and 28, we learn the following:

"But I tell you who hear me: Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you."

I think that when we start doing those things, it changes the way we view difficult situations and it transforms the way we handle tough interactions with people. When you start loving people, blessing them, and praying for them, you really start using all things for good. It's very easy to look a a bad situation and see only the bad, and it's natural for us to do so. It takes more effort to play "The Glad Game" and to look for the good or, even more difficult, to find the blessings in hardship or to bless those who create that hardship.

But, I don't think we're always to do what comes easiest. Anger comes easy. Fear comes easy. Jealousy comes easy. But we don't want to live our lives in any of those, and, thankfully, we don't have to. We have the choice to work towards good, and if it takes playing "The Glad Game" to do it, I'm all for that!

Thoughts on Mother Theresa

There have been times in this blog when I've mentioned testimonies. I don't like them. At least, I've said I don't like them. Truly, there is something very inspiring about hearing people talk about all the good that God has done in their lives. It's nice.

But, the thing I don't like about testimonies is the fact that they're often so simple. They wrap up so neatly that they don't make a good short story, let alone a good story of a person's life. Then I realized that that's sort of what I do here. I sort of talk about all the positive things I see about God, church, religion, spirituality.

You know, I really do see those things, and I really do find great comfort in them. But, seeing the good side of things doesn't mean that one doesn't question, and it doesn't mean that one doesn't have hard times--hard times with faith and just hard times in general. Life is hard. That sounds trite, but there's no better way to put it.

I guess that's why I find the story of Mother Theresa so inspiring. Here was this woman who seemed so happy, so full of life and love for her God, yet for many years of her life she didn't feel His presence. I guess it is true that we are given no more than we can handle; judging from what I have read of her life, she must have been very strong.

What I mean to say is that nobody's story, not even Mother Theresa's, wraps up nicely, no matter what face they prepare to meet the faces that they meet. For every story of conversion, there are a thousand little stories of ups and downs, stories of good and bad advice, stories of answered and unanswered prayers, stories of laughter and of tears. These are the stories we don't hear, but perhaps they're the stories we should tell more often. They're certainly truer than those stories wrapped up prettier than Christmas packages.

And, although the true stories are more complex than those we often hear, I'm not sure it would be possible to really convey the fact that there is also a greater joy than there is sorrow, a greater faith than there is doubt, a greater love than there is apathy. And these are the things that make us all, like Mother Theresa, keep searching even during those dark days.

A Lesson from "The Lord's Prayer"

For some reason, my favorite part of a church service, be it Protestant or Catholic, is the part where we say "The Lord's Prayer." [Editor's Note: That's an "Our Father" for my Catholic readership.] I know that saying "The Lord's Prayer" every Sunday may seem like one of those things that can easily turn into a habit and mean very little to us after a few Sundays, but should we let it?

It seems that saying "The Lord's Prayer" should be one of those things that constantly reminds us of how we are to prayer and what our responsibility is in prayer and in our lives. I guess what I mean is, if we really think about the words while we say them, they really tell us so much about what our lives are meant to be.

When I say "The Lord's Prayer" aloud in church, along with everyone else, I can't hold onto grudges. I have to forgive those who trespass against me. It's tough, but how do I continue with the prayer and really mean it if I don't start forgiving people right then? And, how do I ask God not to lead me into temptation if I let myself rush headlong into it? It's not a prayer we pray and do nothing with; it's a prayer that tells us how to live, how to take responsibility, how to forgive others as we would have God forgive us.

I say this, not as one who has always done this. For a while, I'd been attending a church where we said "The Lord's Prayer" every Sunday, and I liked that part of the service because it seemed so churchy. You know, it just made me feel like I was really an adult in "big church." We all like to feel grown up sometimes, right? Well, this was my way of feeling grown up. I suppose there are worse ways to feel grown up, really.

But, anyways, I hadn't given much thought to saying "The Lord's Prayer" until one Sunday when I was in a bad mood. This is just to say that God often reveals Himself when we're in the midst of being rude or annoying or, well, any number of things. So, I was full of foul moods and making my way through "The Lord's Prayer" when it struck me that I didn't mean it. There were heaps of people who I had never forgiven for even the smallest things and a few who I hadn't forgiven for bigger things.

But the prayer doesn't say anything about who hurt you the smallest or the biggest. It just asks God to forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. If God really was forgiving me just as I was forgiving others, I was in big trouble because I could hold a grudge like none other; thankfully God is more gracious than I am. So, then I had to face it. I had to face that I was dead wrong not to forgive people. So, now I do. And, I've never thought about "The Lord's Prayer" in the same way since.

Sometimes we shy away from prayers that are already written out for us, thinking that sincerity can come only from a prayer that is spontaneous, but I think that sometimes we can learn unexpected lessons about prayer from other people. Learning what and how they pray may teach us ways that we can grown in our own faith. But, what is special about "The Lord's Prayer" is that it is the prayer Jesus taught us to pray, and praying this prayer teaches us to pray as we should, even if we forget the importance of it sometimes because we've prayed it so often.

Are We Skinny Fat?

Not so long ago, Allure magazine published an article about skinny fat women. Seems like a contradiction of those two terms, right? Well, not necessarily. What the article was talking about were those women who so desire to be a size double-zero or to maintain a particular weight that they focus in on that size or weight, often to the peril of their health. These women were referred to as skinny fat because, though they appeared to be skinny (often underweight by healthy standards), they actually had very high percentages of body fat. Their eating and workout habits were unhealthy, so the women, in turn, were unhealthy.

I thought about that last night as I went on my first run in...well...quite a while. I would never, ever put myself in the category of skinny, but I'd done a pretty good job of losing and keeping off some weight with healthy diet and exercise. I know, what a concept! But, then I got lazy and stopped exercising. Isn't that how it always happens? So, I looked to the scale as a guide, and according to the scale I was doing just fine. My weight hadn't really moved in either direction, so I felt pretty good about myself. Even when I could tell that the muscle tone was fading and my endurance was lessening, I stuck to the idea that I was fine because the scale said so.

And then it happened. Ten pounds jumped right on me. Without warning. Okay, the fact that I was desperately addicted to burritos might have been a warning. Afterall, we're all familiar with the following truth:

(giant burrito) + (no exercise) = TEN POUNDS JUMPING ON YOUR BODY!

Yes, ten yucky pounds of squish. Sorry to be graphic, but gain of fat, unlike gain of muscle, is not a pretty thing. Believe me, I felt all of that weight while I was running last night, and, as I ran, I could remember a time when running, because my body was disciplined to it, was much easier. It was easier to breathe, to stretch my legs, to push for just one more lap. This isn't to say that any Olympic records were in danger of being broken by me, but it is to say that there was a time when the work I put into my running was noticeable in how comfortable I was doing it and how much a part of my life it had become.

This morning, as I frowned about my aching muscles and listened to the radio, I heard a woman discussing how we can become spiritually malnourished. She was discussing this spiritual malnourishment as analogous to malnourishment of the body, and this analogy made a lot of sense, really. I thought about those skinny fat women and how they deny their bodies health in order to maintain a particular weight or size that they (and probably society as well) have decided is perfect, despite the fact that this "perfect" body type goes against what their bodies actually need. Though it can't be easy to maintain that weight, it does present some sort of comfort to fit into a mold they are being told or imagining they must fit. In some ways, they are fulfilling an obligation to be so thin but risking their well-being by doing so.

I started to wonder if we may, at times, be skinny fat in a spiritual sense. Perhaps there are ways that we get out of shape while still fitting into the mold we are told we must fill. It's very hard to get out there and run; it's hot and uncomfortable and sweaty. And it hurts. Likewise, spiritually it's difficult to commit to actually believing, to actually following, to actually making God a part of our lives. But that's exactly the kind of work that must happen in order to keep ourselves nourished, in order to keep ourselves spiritually in shape. In the book Spiritual Arts, Jill Briscoe writes:

"As the Holy Spirit does his transforming work within us, we must cooperate. We must give way to the Spirit's prompting, give in to his plans for our lives, and embrace the work he has for us to do. We need to work out what he is working in" (9).

In this way, we can't be content to be passive receivers of blessings, just like we can't expect to be fed by someone else or have someone else doing our running for us. Surely those things would be nice, albeit a little weird. But, we must be both open to what we are supposed to do and willing to actually do it. It is real work and takes real dedication, just as it takes real dedication to run a few miles, which I'm hopefully working towards!

However, it does seem that the rewards for this type of dedication to spiritual fitness and nourishment are tremendous. And, in reality, wouldn't we all prefer to be healthy and in shape rather than just skinny fat?

On Prayer

Sometimes, you just get something stuck in your head. Usually, it's a song. And, usually, it's a fairly annoying one. I've never managed to get a song I really like stuck in my head; it always seems to be something really dreadful, something completely pop.

But, lately, I've had a couple of Bible verses stuck in my head. Weird, right? But, the thing is, as with most things you get stuck in your head, I couldn't remember all of it. I was trying to remember the whole of 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18, but I could only remember verse 17. The whole of it is as follows:

"Rejoice always, pray without ceasing; give thanks in all circumstances, for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you."

All I could remember was to "pray without ceasing," but that isn't it. We aren't told just to pray; we must also "rejoice always" and "give thanks in all circumstances." Rejoice and give thanks always? Really? Even when we pray?

Apparently so.

Last night as I was reading from Streams in the Desert, a book I highly recommend, the advice was the same. When we pray, we are to give thanks, even when we are asking God for things. It's a difficult thing to really put into practice, to always give thanks. How often are we praying because we feel like we've come to the end of our rope and have nowhere to go but God? How easy is it to ask for help with a thankful heart? Not very. But, prayer is one of those spiritual arts, one of those things that takes practice to understand and to learn about.

C.S. Lewis remarked in Surprised by Joy that the first time he approached prayer it was because his mother was very ill. He prayed for her to be healed, but she died. His explanation of this is really interesting and, honestly, a bit convicting. He writes,

"I had approached God, or my idea of God, without love, without awe, even without fear. He was, in my mental picture of this miracle, to appear neither as Savior nor as Judge, but merely as a magician; and when He had done what was required of Him I suposed He would simply--well, go away. It never crossed my mind that the tremendous contact which I solicited should have any consequences beyond restoring the status quo" (21).

And, isn't that so often how it happens? There is no real desire for anything more than for a wish to be granted, certainly no desire to continue any sort of relationship. I have to admit, I've prayed many prayers in just this way, prayers for me to get what I want without having to commit to anything more than reaping the benefits of answered prayer. It should probably come as no surprise that most of those prayers were not prayed in a spirit of thanksgiving or that there was no rejoicing or that those prayers were not part of a ceaseless prayer that should have been my life.

So, while verse 17 is important because it reminds us that we must "pray without ceasing," it's the two other verses that instruct us in just how we should say those prayers. With rejoicing and thanksgiving. And, those are some ideas that aren't so bad to get stuck in your head.

A Favorite Hymn

I am a huge fan of liturgy and old hymns. I know I'm not supposed to be because I'm young(ish) and supposed to want church to be hip and cool. Though, the fact that I just used those two words probably means that I'm neither of them. But, nonetheless, there's just something about the lyrics of old hymns that makes you stop and think. And, there's something about the melodies that just makes you want to belt out the songs.

But, one of my favorite hymns isn't like that at all. In fact, it's more like a prayer. It's more like a prayer that's really difficult to pray and also to mean.

Here are the lyrics:

"Spirit of God, descend upon my heart;
Wean it from earth; through all its pulses move;
Stoop to my weakness, mighty as Thou art;
And make me love Thee as I ought to love.

I ask no dream, no prophet ecstasies,
No sudden rending of the veil of clay,
No angel visitant, no opening skies;
But take the dimness of my soul away.

Teach me to feel that Thou art always nigh;
Teach me the struggles of the soul to bear.
To check the rising doubt, the rebel sigh,
Teach me the patience of unanswered prayer.

Hast Thou not bid me love Thee, God and King?
All, all Thine own, soul, heart and strength and mind.
I see Thy cross; there teach my heart to cling:
O let me seek Thee, and O let me find!

Teach me to love Thee as Thine angels love,
One holy passion filling all my frame;
The kindling of the heaven descended Dove,
My heart an altar, and Thy love the flame."

It's a rough one to sing and really mean, right? I mean, you're basically asking for the hard stuff. You're asking for God to teach you by making your life difficult. You're asking, really asking for God to take you and do what He will with your life. That's a hard prayer to pray. But, then again, isn't that just the prayer that we often need?

Don't we often need for things to be as terrible, as desperate as they can be before we ever search for the reason that they're so bad? My mother often says that sometimes things have to get to their absolute worst before we ever think to look up. I always fought looking up, seriously hardened and calloused myself against it, purposely looked down or straight ahead rather than ever humbling myself enough to finally look up to see who I should be looking to.

It's hard to admit to having the weakness that this song speaks of and sometimes harder still to quiet the rebelliousness that selfishness fosters. This song asks for no sign in return, just the ability to love God enough. It's easy to believe that we love God enough, but this song says so well that we need to be taught to love even more, as much as the angels, and that even our hearts must cling to the cross, the symbol of true love.

So, this song is very special to me because that's just what it talks about. When I read these words, they remind me of what I should be doing--humbling myself, asking to be given the difficult tasks, looking to God, and giving all that I have to live the life I'm supposed to be living. It's not easy. Sometimes it's not even fun. But there is joy, and there is love.

On Terriers and Papier Mache Feelings

One of my Philosophy professors used to tell stories during class. They were always interesting, much more interesting than having a regular lecture. One day he was telling us about his dog, a trusty terrier, and their adventures on a walk. It seems that this trusty terrier loved to chase squirrels. As the parent of a trusty terrier myself, I can attest that they love nothing more than the thrill of spotting a bushy-tailed squirrel and growling as if possessed. As small as my little Greta is, just seven pounds, even she gets overcome with, well, some sort of bloodthirsty rage it seems.

These dogs become so intent, so alert that it's an amazing thing to see; it's as if all of the energy of the little dog is focused on the squirrel. My professor remarked that, on seeing the dog's reaction to the squirrel, he felt like papier mache. What a good description.

I was just wondering, how much of our lives do we feel just like that--papier mache, nothing solid, no strength behind us, no connection to anything that makes us feel as alert as that terrier with a squirrel in sight? Sometimes, it seems like too much time is spent like that.

But, why? I mean, I've felt like papier mache an awful lot. I guess some of that feeling comes down to not having strong beliefs about much of anything, just feeling sort of adrift. It's not a good feeling to be feeling like that. You want something to grab onto, something that you're passionate about, something you're willing to both live and die for. That's what keeps us from feeling like papier mache.

So, I've been working on grabbing onto those beliefs and strengthening them, working to really live them. When there are beliefs you really stand for, you feel less like papier mache, more like you're solid and strong. I guess that part of this is feeling like there's something true in your life, something very real.

Oddly enough, the other day someone called me a radical, so I guess it's working. But, that seems funny. Me? A radical? I like baking cookies and buying lipgloss. But, even though it's weird, it's still good to hear. Perhaps I've spent too much time in Philippians lately and I've just stopped caring about being mild about things. Perhaps mild just isn't where it's at. Perhaps we all should be a bit radical. Perhaps I'll go take the radical terrier for a walk.

Knowing God

When I was young, I heard a lot of conversion stories. We were Baptists, so we called them testimonies. Testimonies were a big part of the story of Christianity, as in the story of how one becomes a Christian, how one comes to know God. You see, everyone has a testimony. Some are pretty basic, and some are pretty, well, interesting.

The testimony that many people have is of being born into a family of Christians and growing up to be Christians. Perhaps there's a part of that testimony that involves a few years at Bible College or something. But then there are the interesting testimonies, stories chock-full of sin and vice. I have to admit, they may have been a bad influence to hear at a young age, but they were tons of fun. When you're young, you hear the story as a pretty basic tale of sin and salvation in which the former wanderer emerges unscathed and saved by grace. While the "saved by grace" part is true, I think the wisdom of a little age tells us that the former wanderer probably doesn't feel completely unscathed after those years of wandering.

Nevertheless, I always wanted to have whatever those former wanderers had. I mean, I didn't want the years of sin and all of that, but that wasn't all that they had. What they had was a sort of gratefulness for all that they had been given by God. It always seemed that they somehow knew God in a way that I didn't and probably never would. They talked freely of how God had rescued and saved them. This I couldn't understand at all.

I grew up in a family of Christians. We went to church every Sunday and most Wednesdays too. I went to Christian school, so when we went to church, I knew all of the Bible stories better than anyone in Sunday School. I memorized Bible verses quickly and even won memorization contests. In short, my soul was fine, and I had much to be proud about.

But, there's that word "proud." Sure, I was winning awards for memorizing Bible verses, but, to be honest, I just liked winning. In fact, I loved and still love winning. And, I won a lot. Winning feels good. Getting good grades feels good, and I've generally been good at both of those things, save a few lazy years in undergrad. So, I've had a lot to be proud about. I should be proud of me. Except that, being proud of me meant that I didn't need anyone else telling me what to do. In short, I didn't really need God. Except that I did.

The thing is this. I already knew God. I'd known all about Him from the time I was very young. And, to me, knowing God meant going to church and being good and praying that He would forgive your sins. You could also pray for people you knew who were sick or something. And, to do those things was to follow God and to know Him.

But, that's not how the people with the really interesting testimonies talked about God. The way I understood knowing Him was pretty sterile compared to the way those people talked about Him. I mean, they talked about God like they really knew Him. They spoke of God rescuing them like someone might speak of a person who'd dragged him out of a burning building. And, it seemed like they talked to God as if He was someone you could really talk to. And, they always, always seemed grateful.

It was the grateful part that seemed hardest to understand. And why should it not? You rarely find people who are both proud and humble, proud and grateful. That combination doesn't work very well. To be grateful for something means having to admit that you needed help in the first place, and I'm not someone who needs help. Except that I am. Except that we all are.

So, in some ways, I now get to be a convert, to have the excitement of someone who is just coming to the Bible and to a relationship with God for the first time, having spent some time away from reading the Bible, from knowing God. In some ways, we all get to do this, even those of us who've never left. We all have the opportunity to come to these things fresh and new, looking for that which we've never seen or heard before, constantly seeking to understand God and His Word in a new way. When we think of it that way, how exciting is all of this? It's something more than just religion, really.

And I think of that in my Bible Study. We begin each study with the discussion leader (yes, the same woman I accosted after the first study) reading from the Bible. And, after she reads, she says, "This is the Word of God." And, this being a Baptist church, she's not waiting for us to respond, "Thanks be to God," though that's what I'm used to saying. No. Rather, she's simply saying, with all of her heart, with all of the excitement she has, with all sincere belief and a huge smile on her face, "This is the Word of God." It's as if she's just read to us from a letter, written to her from someone who loves her more than anyone possibly can. It's that kind of excitement. And, I have to think that that's what it's meant to be like. Even though there will be troubles in life because we're all human and have to deal with such things, that feeling of true love must be what it is to know God, to understand His unfailing love for us and His unending desire that we come to know Him.

Ladies Bible Study, Take Two

Tonight I returned to Ladies Bible Study. Before I tell more about it, I have a confession to make, and that confession is that I had never gone to Bible Study before I joined this one. For this reason, I had no idea what to expect when it came to the rather innocently named "homework" we were to do in preparation for tonight's meeting. So, last week when the other ladies heard that we had seventeen pages of homework and seemed a little stressed about it, I didn't know what to make of their reactions.

My thought was, "How bad can it be? I read bajillions of pages for school every week. Seventeen pages is pretty light, really." Yes, I know. Pride goeth...

So, today I learned what it meant to study. I mean, really study. I learned what it meant to follow along with a study that took me from Genesis to Revelations and many points in between. It was intense, probably the most intense studying I've done in some time. And, the thing is, I'd read most of this stuff before or at least knew the stories. Many of the big players were represented. We had Original Sin, Noah and the Flood, Abraham and Isaac. Like I said, we covered a lot of ground.

But the weird thing was this. Even though I knew all of those stories before, it was a completely different experience reading them now. And what made it different is that the stories made sense together as a whole, rather than as a series of interesting but unconnected stories. Suddenly, the story of the Flood was much more than a story I learned as a kid. And the story of Abraham and Isaac was more than a story that should make any kid view her parents with at least a tinge of suspicion or nervousness.

Rather, the stories came together to tell the same story again and again. They all tell the story of a God who is constantly calling His people back to Him, despite the sin in their lives and despite their inability to do even the simplest things, like not eating the fruit. They tell the story of a God who asks very little of His people except that they create a place for Him in their lives--a tabernacle, in the case of the Old Testament--and that they keep that place pure. The theme of the "wilderness experience" that kept coming up in our Bible Study last week is also a common thread which ties to this concept of man's sin in relation to a sinless God. It seems that there is always a time at which people become separated from God, usually a wilderness experience precipitated by sin--or in the case of Job, a time when God seems so far away. But, even (and perhaps especially) in those wilderness times, God never ceases to call His people back to Him, though it may also be at those times that His voice is hardest to hear.

I have to say, that the stories were pretty amazing when read in this light. More than just something to hear in Vacation Bible School or Sunday School, they became one story of a beautiful gift from God.

So far, this Bible Study thing has been pretty good. I never really thought of myself as the Bible Study type, I guess. But, it makes reading the Bible make so much more sense, and it gives a real structure to it that I could never do on my own, structure and organization being two, um, weak points. I'll keep updating the progress of Bible Study, though I don't want to ruin it for anyone who'll do the same study!

Review: Ladies Bible Study

So, I went to Ladies Bible Study last week. Because I was raised Baptist, I knew to expect the following:

1. It would start late.
2. There would be food.

Well, these ladies did not disappoint on either count. There was plenty of food, and we started about 15 minutes later than scheduled. Some things you can just count on.

And it seems like that's one of the nice things about church. There is a certain comfort there, a certain something that you can expect.

And, then there are the things that you can't expect. The things you'd never anticipate in a million years. Like, I never would have expected I'd nearly break down crying during Ladies Bible Study. I don't like to cry, especially not in front of people, especially not in a room full of strangers. But I started to. Every single time the group leader--a woman who was clearly on fire for Jesus--said the phrase "wilderness experience." As in, "You may be going through a wilderness experience right now." I just really wished she'd stop saying that. And, then we watched a video, and that speaker kept talking about how God pursues us. She said it again and again. By this time, I was feeling a little irate. I mean, stop talking about this stuff already. But they didn't. And, the oddest thing was, these women both seemed genuinely filled with joy, and that made me wonder about them.

So I, quite uncharacteristically, decided to go up to the group leader to talk about the fact that I nearly burst into tears everytime she said "wilderness experience." I didn't want to do this, but I felt almost compelled to. When I went up to her, I must have looked a wreck. I felt a wreck. So, I just started talking to her. About God, about religion, about school. I was talking to a complete stranger. I was talking to the on fire for Jesus lady, the lady who I strongly suspected had never so much as missed one devotional in her whole life. I mean, maybe she opened her eyes once or twice during prayers, but I'm sure that was it. Who on earth was I? More to the point, who was she? And why was I talking to her? Well, as it turns out, she (the on fire for Jesus lady) finished her PhD in the same department I'm in, 17 years ago. And, we talked a little about her life back then. Turns out, she was a lot more like me than I'd have ever guessed.

I know that sounds surprising. Like I said earlier, there are some things you could never anticipate in a million years. But, it didn't feel surprising. It was like I was living out those stories that I've heard and read and seen in church a hundred times before. It was like taking apart the parts of a short story of my life. I knew where to expect the character development, the plot twists, the rising action, the foreshadowing. And I guess I knew that none of this was a huge surprise. In fact, when I look back, it all just looks like a big, well-ordered plan.

And, that's part of the comfort of church. Even when there is no liturgy, there are no real surprises, just small acts and small revelations that let us see the bigger plan. I'll be going back tomorrow to see what else happens!

Joy

The first job I ever had was sacking groceries at Randall's. The thing I will always remember about my first day of work is how much my face hurt from smiling so much. I guess it was a good thing though because I remember doing pretty well with tips when I had that job. But, I hated that job more than was probably reasonable, and after about two months I quit.

Today I remembered how much it hurts to smile sometimes. I started reading a book called Spiritual Arts: Mastering the Disciplines for a Rich Spiritual Life. It's by Jill Briscoe, who I know next to nothing about, but I've been interested in learning more about spiritual disciplines. I also like that the discussion of spiritual arts is drawn from Philippians--a short book that contains so much, and the author does a really neat job of explaining that the work we do to grow spiritually can be seen as an art. She writes:

"There is as much spiritual discipline needed on my part as the self-discipline needed for the rest of the arts. Just as I need to study the art of music and practice it, so must I study the art of humility and practice it" (9).

So, spirituality is not something that happens to us; it's something we must work at. We must work to better understand the purpose of these arts in our lives and to understand God's purpose for us.

I've only made it through the first of the spiritual arts--ministry. Personally, I think she started with the toughest art to practice! What seems so difficult is just what I talked about earlier--how hard it is to smile sometimes. But this is Paul's message to the Philippians, that ministry should be an act of joy. In fact, the words "joy" or "rejoice" appear in all four chapters of the book of Philippians. There is to be joy in prayer. Joy in all that we do. And, we have to keep reminding ourselves that this is a letter written by a man in jail, a man who may well lose his life.

But, even though I'm not in jail, it is hard to smile sometimes. Sometimes it's hard to feel happy. But, maybe that's the mistake. Maybe, like the author argues, happiness is something changeable, while joy is a constant. Pehaps it's just a bit off to search for happiness when it's joy that brings true, lasting fulfillment. Maybe we can have joy even when it seems like happiness is far away.

I'll keep reading and let you know! And, if you haven't already, I highly suggest reading Philippians!

In Which I Give up on Being Cool

Today I gave up on being cool. It was a struggle because I've been hoping for quite a while that I could hold onto some of that coolness I've always imagined myself to have. Perhaps I've been a bit misguided in ever assuming that I was cool to begin with. I certainly wasn't cool in high school, and I'm not really sure what counted as cool in college. But, I read cool books and listened to cool music and had cool opinions on things. I was a cool English major, which at least gave me cool stuff to talk about or think about.

None of that is gone, really. But, I feel like today was an official marker in the death of any coolness I might have once had. Today I joined a Bible study. At a Baptist church. A ladies Bible study at a Baptist church. I'm making cookies to take to tomorrow night's meeting.

Cookies. Ladies Bible study. Baptist church.

First off, anything with the word "ladies" in it is usually a little uncool, unless "ladies" is used in a funny, somewhat ironic sort of way. "Ladies" means things like Ladies Auxiliary Meetings, and there's nothing cool about chilling with the geriatric set and talking about missions while you chug sherbet punch and eat crunchy little cookies. Nope. It's not cool. Second off, I feel uncool because I'm doing this of my own free will. Yes, I'm heading off to ladies Bible study because I want to go. And maybe a little because I need to go.

I guess I'm feeling a little like Donald Miller when he talks about needing to be part of a community. I don't do community. I don't even like the word that much, and I even wrote a paper on my dislike of it. It was a pretty cool paper, in my opinion.

But that's just it. what he talks about is needing, not wanting, community. I feel like I need the ladies Bible study because one can't grow in a vacuum. In fact we're not even supposed to try. Spiritual growth requires learning from others and helping others to grow and learn as well.

As uncool as it is, ladies Bible study is a part of that. I never wanted to go to Bible study before because I didn't think it fit who I was. For a long time, I really wanted to find a God as cool as me. One that understood life in a more sophisticated, cosmopolitan way. A way that required very little effort on my part except for believing. Unfortunately, I found that that God just isn't out there. Or, perhaps I should say, I found that I could worship in that way, but it really only led to my worshipping myself. Any of you who know me can probably attest that I am good at that. I spend a lot of time spiffing up the outside of the Temple of Me with cool shoes and cool hair. Or, filling the inside with a lot of cool knowledge, being happy about being smart. But, in the end, none of that proved fulfilling. It didn't really feel so cool to realize that the end of it was just me.

So, as uncool as ladies Bible study is, I'm going to it. I hope it's every bit as uncool as I think it will be!

Book Review: Blue Like Jazz, Part Two

To begin with, yes, this is two blogs in one day. It may be a record. Not a world record but a record for this blog, especially given my laziness toward blogging.

That said, I realize that I've written about Blue Like Jazz before, but I also realize that I said next to nothing about it. Now, I'm not wanting to spoil it for people, but I do want to talk about what I liked about this book. To begin with, I like its subtitle, "Nonreligious Thoughts on Christian Spirituality." I know it sounds a little crunchy granola, a little like the book will be some wishy-washy look at Christianity. To be fair, in some ways, it is like that. The author doesn't set out to articulate religious doctrine or lay out a clear cut code of ethics. Personally, I don't think that providing an ethic is the end goal of Christianity, but I do think ethics are a necessary part of really living out the faith. So, why do I like this book?

Well, I mainly like the book because we already know the rules of Christianity. Even those of us who've never gone to church have a pretty good idea what the rules--all the do's and don'ts--are. Well, perhaps we have a much better view of the don'ts than of the do's, but, in any case, we know all of the rules, even if we do a terrible job of following them.

In short, we have a very good idea of religion without much of an idea of spirituality, and it's in understanding the relationship of spirituality to religion that we get a real sense of why we follow the rules. It's that understanding which allows us, even encourages us, to follow those rules out of love and devotion rather than out of duty. To get biblical about it, it's sort of like Paul's letter to the Philippians, when he writes of praying that their "love may abound more and more in knowledge and depth of insight." It seems here that it is important, necessary even, that love of God be in communion with knowledge of God.

And, in this knowing of God, we're called beyond just avoiding the don'ts and toward working on the do's. In other words, we become people who are not so concerned with what not to do that we forget the things we need to do; we remember that Christianity is about discipline but that it is about discipline toward holiness, not just discipline away from sin.

And, when we really think of it, most of the Christian disciplines--prayer, Bible reading, fasting, worship--are about doing things that draw us closer to God, not about focusing on acts that take us further from God. It is in understanding those disciplines of devotion that we get a better understanding of a personal relationship to God, of seeing God's place in our lives and ordering our lives in such a way that we can follow that will.

So, why I like Blue Like Jazz is not because it has any clear plan for what any of us should do. Reading this book isn't like reading the writings of someone who has lived out the faith and never strayed or questioned; it's more like reading the writings of someone who also searches even though he has already found his way. I like that the book moves us away from just worrying about rules and toward thinking of God as real. Donald Miller writes, in the beginning of the book,

"I am early in my story, but I believe I will stretch out into eternity, and in heaven I will reflect upon these early days, these days when it seemed God was down a dirt road, walking toward me. Years ago He was a swinging speck in the distance; now He is close enough I can hear His singing. Soon I will see the lines on His face."

And, I think, when we see God like this, when we know God is real and is love, the rules become easier to follow; they just become a part of love. We realize that by following the rules and through living out the disciplines we come to truly know God.

Some Thoughts

When I was a kid, I was usually preoccupied in church. I spent most of the sermon (that's a homily for my Catholic readership) engrossed in reading rather than paying attention. I'd read the church bulletin a lot, but, often, I'd just read the Bible. And, thus began a descent into a life in which books provided comfort or, in this case, an escape from boredom.

My favorite reads during my sermon boycotts were Song of Solomon, Job, Ruth, and Esther. Perhaps it was growing up Baptist that drew me to Ruth and Esther; I just needed to know what the women had to say! But, Job was also a favorite. Perhaps I knew, even as a kid, that life was going to be tough and sometimes lonely, that I would need the help of a higher power in order to get through it. Whatever it was, the story of Job who lost everything--children, wife, friends, possessions--but kept his faith in God, was my favorite to read.

So, I turned to that not so long ago, to remember what I had read so long ago. And it really is amazing how different it was to read, When you're young, reading about Job losing his children sounds terrifying because you, as a child, identify as someone's child. But to read it as an adult, even as an adult who doesn't have children, brings out what a feeling of loss and powerlessness Job must have had to not be able to protect his children.

So, I'm in the middle of reading Job right now. I'm still in the part where he's losing everything, where he's cursing the day of his birth. And, you can feel free to read those last two sentences metaphorically with relation to my spiritual life. I know that I would. But I majored in English, so everything is a metaphor in some ways.

But, that aside, in the beginning of Job, I found two verses that I think really show what the story is about. What you have to remember is that Job was a holy man with whom God found no fault. Job was the epitome of a person living a life exactly as God wanted him to. So, these verses are taken a bit out of context because they're the words of Job's friend, begging Job to repent. Job has nothing to repent though. His life is just hard because God knows that Job is strong enough in his faith to handle it (perhaps the recent news of Mother Theresa's struggles is a good parallel here). But, out of the context of Job's life, I really felt like these verses were good because I don't know anyone who is perfect like Job. I'm certainly not, and I know the struggle to be perfect is just that, a struggle. And, not living up to it is hard, but it's harder still to quit trying. So, the verses are these:

"Blessed is the man whom God corrects; so do not despise the discipline of the Almighty. For he wounds, but he also binds up; he injures, but his hands also heal." Job 5:17&18

For some reason, after quoting a Bible verse, I feel like I should say, "This is the word of God for the people of God." And then you would all say, "Thanks be to God." But that's my Methodist side.

Anyways, I just felt like there was great comfort in those verses because feeling like one has done wrong is very difficult, and being in the middle of hard times is unbearable. But, it is good to know that God's healing also comes if we look for it.

Academia

So...the fact that I constantly examine my place in academia will not come as any surprise to my faithful readers (ok, reader singular. thanks for reading, greta. you're the best!). But I do question it because questioning is what I do. Sometimes with the hope of answering the question but often knowing there's no hope of answering the question.

But, lately, I'm not questioning my place in academia so much as I'm just questioning academia. I'm just wondering if we ever actually listen to ourselves talk. What are we talking about? Does any of it make or really work toward any ultimate good? And, if it doesn't oughtn't we start doing those things or at least working toward them? And, tangentially related but also totally off topic, why don't we hear the word "selfish" very often anymore? I'm not sure, but I think it's a word we need to focus on. It's a word we need to consider in all our interactions because it's a word we easily forget, to disastrous consequence.

Perhaps these aren't good questions. I certainly haven't worked on formulating them, mainly because I've been taking care of my readership...the as-of-late very needy greta.

Rock of Love

So, I like bad TV. That's not surprising to anyone who knows me. I get into anything that features a makeover or modeling. Usually, I'm not too into the dating shows, but Flavor of Love got me pretty hooked. Now VH1 is offering a new version of the dating show, Rock of Love. Rock of Love features Bret Michaels of Poison fame and his quest to find a soul mate among a bevy of scantily clad women, a decent number of whom have been culled from the "dancing" world, as evidenced by their pole skills.

So, the premise of this show is pretty typical. Bret wants to find the perfect woman, and, apparently, his perfect woman is a female version of himself--a girl who loves to ride dirtbikes, play football, and rock out to Poison but is still woman enough to want to make out with her man just as soon as he's through making out with five other women.

Um, wait a second. That last part sounds a little suspect. Which brings me to my sentimental favorite on the show--Sam. Sam is young and pretty and tall and thin, a girl who doesn't drink and seems pretty introspective, a girl who feels just a little strange making out with a guy who's just made out with five other women. The other women, especially Lacey, don't seem to understand Sam's reticence at sharing a guy with six other women. In fact, Sam gets labeled "jealous," and her behavior signals to the other ladies and Bret that Sam may even be a little crazy or on the verge of "freaking out."

I have to say, I don't think Sam is crazy. I think she may be the only sane one on the show, the only one who seems aware that what's going on around her is just wrong, that she shouldn't open up to some guy who wants a woman who will let him cheat. So, bravo to Sam for holding onto that shred of dignity.

Book Review! Another One

Because I am a total procrastinator, I've been doing a lot of reading lately. A lot of reading that should have been reserved for after I'd finished the papers I'm supposed to be working on.

But, oh well!

Anyways, this won't be a true review. Rather, it's a recommendation. I'd like to recommend Blue Like Jazz by Donald Miller. It's a good read, an interesting read, and a quick read. Read it!

Book Review!

A couple of weeks ago, I read a few articles by Lauren Winner, an author I'd never heard of before. She is funny and witty and sharp and smart. So, of course, I had to read more. I ordered a couple of her books off Amazon, and I just finished her memoir, Girl Meets God. I have to say that it's one of the best books I've read in awhile.

I should come out and say that the book is the story of her conversion to Christianity from Orthodox Judaism. I'm usually not too big on conversion stories, really. I grew up Baptist, and I've heard enough "testimonies" to last a lifetime. I hate that genre of storytelling, and I often wonder if hearing those stories does more harm than good. If you will allow me a brief respite from the review, I'd like to speak to the genre of testimony.

For those not familiar with the testimony, it usually goes something like this. The person giving the testimony will tell of his life in darkness (that'd be sin), and then he will say that at the darkest moment there came some sort of Saul on the Road to Damascus moment when he "saw the light." After "seeing the light" he turned to a life in Christ and walked the straight and narrow. Awesome. If you're at some mega-church, I'm guessing there could be a swelling of music at important parts. And, to be fair, I meant nothing by the gendered pronoun use; we women are equally capable of sin or even more capable if you ask some men.

I hate the testimony for a lot of reasons, none of them kind. I'll give you two reasons though. First, I always feel like there's a sort of weird voyeuristic element at work. A bunch of "good people" sit around listening to a formerly "bad person" recounting all sorts of sin. The "good people" get a fix of what it's like in the evil world outside of the safety of the church.

But, I guess what bothers me about the voyeuristic aspect of the testimony is that it's sort of like watching Springer. If you're at all familiar with the tour de force that is Springer, you know that it's basically the same thing over and over. The same topics come up again and again, but, in just watching Springer, we don't stop to ask why those things keep happening. We accept that really unattractive men without jobs always have large women fighting over them. That's just how it is. We don't stop to ask why or step in to try and change things. We get immune to those stories, to the fact that they shouldn't happen all the time.

Same with testimonies. We forget to ask why someone ended up addicted to drugs or alcohol for years, why someone had to finally hit rock bottom to realize that his life was a complete mess. I guess I just wonder where the "good people" are while all those people are hitting rock bottom.

My second problem with the testimony is that they're not all about hitting rock bottom. In fact, there's a lot of interesting stuff going on before the bad stuff hits. Hearing enough testimonies assures a young person that there's a whole lot of fun to be had before walking the straight and narrow. I mean, how fun is it to have the testimony that simply says, "Well, I went to church all my life, was a dedicated Christian, followed all the rules, and then got married and had a nice life. By the way, I also have exactly two children, a boy and a girl. And we have a family dog named Spot." I almost fell asleep just writing that. No, that's not fun at all. You want maybe some hookers in there and definitely some cocaine. And then the Saul on the Road to Damascus story because we know how this story ends. So, my second problem is that it makes the time before the conversion experience seem a bit too exciting, a bit too illicit and fun.

I'm not sure why I just wrote all of that, probably just to assure you that I'm not the kind of schmuck who normally falls for conversion stories. I'm actually pretty hardened to them by now, but I thought Lauren Winner's book sounded promising, and I was right. In fact, I knew I was right when this book started with Winner attending an academic conference, post-conversion and then proceeding to get drunk off a bottle of Maker's Mark--all within the first six pages. The thing is, for me she's human. She's someone to whom I can actually relate, and I think she's someone who's pretty relatable to many people who are normally put off by conversion stories. And, it's especially relatable because she lets us know that, despite having converted to Orthodox Judaism in college, she had trouble following all the rules of Orthodox Judaism. And, she also lets us know that her subsequent conversion to Christianity didn't prove a cure-all for these difficulties either, that neither Orthodox Judaism or Christianity had the power to make her more than human, more than fallible.

The thing about this book is that you do learn about struggles she has with her conversion to Christianity but that, within Christianity, she finds grace. You learn that she's not good at following the rules but that she really tries and that she really believes in them, in the value they offer to a community and to an individual. I guess what I have been accustomed to is a story that has a neat ending, a story that finishes with the former sinner leading a life in which we almost expect a halo to be permanently hovering over his head. Winner works hard to seek forgiveness and redemption for her sins, but she's not perfect. She's a real person, coming to a new religion as an adult and learning how to live within it as someone who has much life experience aready.

The other things I like about this conversion story is that it's theologically grounded while still speaking to the very personal experience of conversion and learning about what it means to have a relationship with Christ. The grounding in theology is largely owing to her study of Judaism, and she provides a good link between Old and New Testaments which is often lacking in Christian writing, a fact she notes herself, reminding us that the Bible doesn't start at Matthew. But even more than providing a good grounding in theology, I like the way she speaks to how understanding Christianity changed the way she lived her life, how it made her think about how she spent money or how she treated people. But, more importantly, she speaks to the immense love that this gives her, this feeling of being loved and of being able to love.

Also important to note is that Winner does a good job of explaining the difference between fundamentalist and evangelical Christians, referring to herself as evangelical. Winner points out that evangelicalism need not be associated with political affiliation and actually sees this link as a dangerous one. I think her way of explaining evangelical Christianity allows us to question the link between politics and faith in a way that opens us to a concept that political affiliation may not be a reliable indicator of religious faith and vice versa.

So, despite my distaste for testimonies, I have to say that this one is different. It doesn't end neatly, and it doesn't make me want to go out and have as much fun as possible before becoming one of those "good people" who listens to testimonies. What it does is give a very real way of looking at faith, at what happens when people are living out their faith and sometimes struggling to do so. So, if you are interested in something fun, witty, and challenging, I highly recommend this book!

Sara: Inventor of the Already Invented

What some may know and even fewer may believe, is that I am a brilliant inventor. Specifically, I do a great job of inventing that which has already been invented. I have two major inventions. The first is MTV; the second is the Bible. I invented MTV about three years ago; the Bible I invented earlier today.

The invention of MTV was simple enough. I was grading papers back in the day when I had bajillions of papers to grade, and I needed some distraction. Now, I'm completely incapable of watching TV while I work, but I like having some sort of picture on the screen. I can sort of listen to music while I work. And then I thought, "Oh my! There it is! Pictures on a screen while music plays in the background! I'm brilliant!" This epiphany was quickly followed by a confused moment in which I thought that my idea sounded suspiciously familiar, as if it had already been done. And, then, of course, I remembered MTV.

My invention of the Bible was equally inspired. Lately, I've been giving much thought to religion, specifically to Christianity. And, more specifically, I've been wondering how such a belief should affect how I live, the choices I make, all of that good stuff. All of that stuff that's difficult and sort of scary all at the same time. But it's also the sort of stuff that's good, that forces me to actually live a belief rather than rest secure and apathetic in it. So, anyways, as I thought about how religion and a belief in the Triune God should influence my life, I thought, "This system of praying and waiting seems entirely inefficient. It would make a lot more sense if there was a book I could consult that would give me answers to what God thinks about various things." And that, my friends, is how I invented the Bible.

I feel sort of stupid relating either (and, actually now, both) of these stories. But, I'm not sure I'm a total idiot for wishing for either of these things. When I think of MTV in its current state, I don't think of pictures on a screen with music in the background. More likely, I think about really skanky dating shows or The Real World or something. And, I wonder if MTV really plays music, aside from TRL. Moreover, as I inch toward 30, I wonder if I'm even allowed to watch TRL. I certainly never do, and, for all I know, it may not even exist anymore.

Likewise, my invention of the Bible isn't that absurd either because the Bible wasn't even what I was thinking of, really. What it comes down to, is I want the ease of email in my religiosity. I want to be as sure of what Christianity means in my life as I am of what a friend says to me in an email. I want to say, "Hey, is this the correct path for my life, or is the other way better?" And then I want to get a witty and heartfelt reply, and I think maybe God could have some cool e-mail handle, too. Maybe God would IM as well, and that could be really handy for crises of faith, major catastrophes, conversions, and the like.

But, the important aspect of this would be that you would always get a reply in writing. I mean, writing you can take to the bank. Writing you can show people. What it comes down to is that writing makes sense, and, quite frankly, much of faith does not. But, in some ways, I suppose the not-knowing, the uncertainty is as much a part of the experience of living out a faith as those rare moment of total certainty, and sometimes it's in those moments of not-knowing that important things are going on.

That said, I'm giving up on MTV ever being what it could be, and I'm giving up on e-mailing God as well, though I may try to at some point. You never know when a catastrophe might happen!

odd post

this will be an odd post. as in, this post will have nothing to do with shopping or shoes or makeup or cooking.

this is just to say that i think i've give up on ethical relativism. taylor's ethics of authenticity got me started on this kick, so here i am rethinking ethical relativism. and i'm also thinking that maybe there is a good life; like, perhaps there's more merit to that concept than what i've given it.

anyways, i highly highly recommend taylor's book. it's problematic in spots, but, overall, it has really beautiful things to say.

so there.

ps-i'm still into shoes. i just bought a cute pair the other day. i wore them to allerton park.

Fashion Friday!

Okay, this is my first Fashion Friday blog. But, I think it would be nice to talk not so much about fashion but about something every woman will probably struggle with at some point in her life. Namely, buying lingerie for someone who is not yourself. This dilemma usually presents itself in the form of shopping for a wedding shower gift.

I'm currently in the midst of the pre-wedding season, and I know I will face lingerie shopping pretty soon. I'm guessing I'm not the only one. You find yourself at the VS or in the lingerie section of some store, and then you wonder, "What on earth am I doing here?" It's not like shopping for yourself where there's the possibility of trying the stuff on. I mean, trying on the little lace something-or-other your friend will wear on her honeymoon? That's a little weird. Actually, it's a lot weird! So, you do the trick we all do, holding it up to yourself to see if it sort of looks like the right size...never works, does it? And how do you figure out sizes? Heaven knows you don't want to go too small. If you do that, your friend will just put it on and feel gross, but if you go too big your friend will wonder what kind of a cow you think she is. I assume this, because those are exactly the reactions I would have.

The thing is, I actually find the shopping kind of fun, but it does leave me perplexed. I suppose I will have to brave the lingerie section sooner or later, as we all must! I wish you all luck!

Product Review! Fun with Burt's Bees

I have been a long-time fan of Burt's Bees, ever since I first tried a lovely pot of their lip balm, purchased at a Restoration Hardware. Instantly, it's fabulous tingliness worked its way into my heart, and I vowed to love Burt's Bees till death do us part. Okay, it might not be that big a commitment on my part, but I do love their stuff.

Unfortunately, I am not a super fan of their Honey Lip Balm. I spotted it a few months ago and thought, "I love Burt's Bees, and I love honey. With those two things together, this lip balm should be unstoppably good. Post-purhase, I smeared a little on, but there wasn't that familiar tingle, and the smell was a little weird. I'm not completely sure why, but this stuff just doesn't float my boat.

However, I would be remiss if I were not to mention how great their Therapeutic Bath crystals are. They are perfect after you've worked out or if you just feel run down (or over) in general. I'll also give a big shout out to their Citrus & Ginger Root Body Wash. It's great as a body wash, but it also makes a nice bubble bath, and the smell is really lovely! So, go out and get either of these; light a few candles; and settle in for a wonderful, hot bath!

Catching Up and Talking About English

It has been a bit since I last wrote, and I have to admit, as I'm sure you might have noticed, that I have yet to post a "Fashion Friday" blog. "Fashion Friday" was meant to be a super addition to the line-up, which, in all honesty, needed a bit of work. By that I mean, there needed to be more of a unifying thread throughout the blog.

I would say that, at this point, I resolve to never again let another Friday go unfashionable. I would say that, but it's probably not true. In fact, as I write this, I can't help but feel that this very Friday may be quite unfashionable. In case you were wondering, I'd originally planned to debut the "Fashion Friday" blog with an in-depth look at the high heel shoe. Perhaps it could have been titled: "High Heel Shoe: Friend or Foe?" Okay, that's a bit too pedestrian, but I think you catch my meaning. You know, a really hard-hitting analysis of the high heel and its place in our lives.

I'll transition those thoughts with three yesses and a no. Yes, I am serious about the high heel shoe blog. Yes, I am hoping for a Pulitzer. No, I'm not serious about the Pulitzer.

My next topic is English, as in the major, as in the thing I spent an inordinate amount of time working on (time that might have been better spent learning to decorate cakes or ballet dance, but I digress). Anyways, I always found it interesting when people would ask what I was majoring in. Then, of course, I'd have to say,"English." People generally respond to that by asking, "Do you plan to teach?" To which I would say, "No." I probably felt annoyed by that when I was younger. You know, always being asked the same question, always getting the same follow-up question, always getting the same perplexed look. I think that I wouldn't take it so terribly now. I mean, now that I really do teach. I'd probably just feel guilty and awkward that my teaching is limited, and probably always will be limited, to the university classroom, to those students who have made it past at least one sizable gatekeeper and into the university. Now, is that where the gatekeeping ends? No, of course not. I'm well aware of that, but I know that I'm not teaching in the sense that those people asking the question meant "teaching."

So, that is one response to the "major" question. Another response is for the question asker to suddenly become very aware of his or her own speech, with particular interest to grammar. The question asker always lets you know of his or her discomfort. Then I have to admit that I don't really care. Do I care about grammar? Sure, in some sense I do. But, I care more about the comfort of the conversation than I do about checking someone's ability to speak "properly." Who cares about that so much in casual conversation, really?

Anyways, as gesture of my not caring, I (a terrbile typist) have decided not to edit the blog. BEWARE. Typos and mistakes lurk throughout!

The Snow is Here!

Happiness is a snow day...when you're 28 years old and still a student, specifically when you're 28 and waiting to see if you must-must-must make it to an undergraduate class for which you TA. That has been my morning--looking out the window, wide eyed and amazed at the amount of snow accumulated and the amount of snow still falling. I can't even see my street or tell where the yard stops and where the street begins.

Before moving to the great North, I'd seen some snow. It snowed in my hometown when I was six, and I'd played in the snow a few times when visiting my grandparents at Christmas. But, this is a completely different type of snow. There are these huge, fluffy snowflakes coming down, and I bet I can make a decent snowball out of it when I get my lazy self outside. In fact, I made some snowballs yesterday as I walked to dinner after class, and then I rather pointlessly threw them at nothing or at the trees along the sidewalk. What can I say? I've never had much of a chance to make snowballs, so I take the opportunity when it presents itself.

So, along with getting the chance to make snowballs, this snowy land has introduced me to a whole snowy culture, an entire etiquette built around how to handle the cold weather. I sort of watch cold weather behavior, like an anthropologist studying the habits of an as yet unknown people, and then I replicate the behavior, figuring these people know what they're doing. Like, when you walk into a building, you stomp your feet on the doormat. This sounds silly and obvious, but I never think of snow being dirty, so I wouldn't have done this. From what I can see, stomping your feet on the mat serves a few purposes: 1. It gets rid of excess snow and salt so that you don't harm the floors; 2. It helps you have more traction on slicker floors; 3. Stomping of feet is a cultural practices and to not partake in this cultural practice has the effect of making the non-stomper a cultural Other. Um, okay, maybe number 3 is a bit of a strectch, but I'm not taking any chances. I will stomp.

There are other cold weather things I've learned here as well. For example, many people take their shoes off when going into houses. I have always been a bit anti-taking shoes off. Partly, this is due to being kind of short and feeling vulnerable when some of my height must be checked at the door. So, I just sort of stand in the entryway, all Carrie Bradshaw-like, thinking (while motioning up and down with hand) "BUT! This is an outfit!" True story, I have difficulty with the way fashion becomes the unwitting victim of function in these parts. I'm trying to reconcile this. I find that perusing neimanmarcus.com keeps my brain in check. It is a vain endeavor, but the things are so pretty! And, I figure I"m still being good because I don't actually buy any of it.

Okay, as you can see, a snow day means a lot of writing. I think it might also mean curling up in bed for a little while longer and watching some silly morning shows before getting onto some real work. So, stay warm!

Sometimes Happy Tunes are Just Good!

I consider myself pretty much the queen of the guilty pleasure. I think I've seen all of VH1's "I Love The" series, and I may have seen one or more episodes of "Flavor of Love." Foodwise, I have been known to partake in that oh-so-nasty combo of plastic orange cheese and noodles known as Velveeta Shells and Cheese, and the burrito is my all-time favorite food, tied only with a giant sundae from Shake's (specifically--vanilla custard, hot fudge, salted pecans, three cherries on top). And if you heard the rumor that I nearly reduced a Shake's employee to tears just before I moved to the great North, this might also be true. Okay, in truth, there were no tears; there was, however, a free giant chocolate malt on account of their being out of the beloved pecans and my eminent move.

Now that I've set the stage, it should come as no surprise that my love of the guilty pleasure extends to the world of music. I'm guilty of the occasional dance to Culture Club as well as singing along to some Gwen (B-A-N-A-N-A-S, embarrassingly enough). But, lately, I've started to hugely love Corinne Bailey Rae's "Put Your Records On" and Feist's "Mushaboom." Both songs are infinitely infectious and make me almost burst with smiling whenever I hear them. So, I highly recommend giving these songs a go. Listen and Love!

Fashion Friday!

I've decided to take a turn and introduce "Fashion Friday!" to the mixed up files. The thinking behind this introduction is that it'll be fun to think about my favorite thing (fashion, sorry M) on my favorite day (Friday, sorry other days of the week). I may or may not have been influenced to do this during my Friday ritual of watching What Not to Wear.

So, Fashion Fridays will bring you my loves and loathes of fashion. Stay tuned!

oh, cooking!

so, i've been quite the cook over the holiday. and, you know what? most of it has been fantastic. i say "most" because the swiss chard was not so fantastic. i think (as does my mother) that the chard's lack of fantabulousness was owing to the quality of the chard itself. true story. i made it tasty, but i was working with less than stellar stuff.

that means that i've made a lot of really good stuff. what kind of good stuff, you might ask? okay, here's a list:

1. fudge
2. brownies
3. cookies
4. blackberry bread pudding
5. pasta carbonara
6. gorgonzola mashed potatoes

so, yes, i can cook. i can cook without killing people or making them think, "well, this is gross." and, here's hoping this good cooking streak will continue!

Denied!

Dear Reader(s),

To update you all on the progress of my struggle with SAD, I must add that there has been some disbelief that I truly do suffer from this horrible affliction. Said disbelief comes from the most unexpected camp.

M--formerly my resident psychologist extraordinaire--has expressed the opinion that I do not suffer from SAD at all and that my problem might be self- rather than weather-inflicted. I see this as a blame-the-victim mentality that is completely inexcusable, and this is why I'm no longer attaching "extrordinaire" to his descriptor.

In short, SAD is a real problem that should not be taken lightly or attempted to be disproved with the use of an article found in a shoddy college newspaper. No. This is not acceptable. SAD sufferers must be treated with kindness and caring because their struggle with the weather is very painful and very real.

Thank you,

Sara [President, People for the Fair Treatment of SAD Sufferers]

Oh the weather outside...

Well, it's that time of year again. Yes, folks, it's time for the yearly update on my battle with Seasonal Affective Disorder. That's right! SAD.

It should be noted that this is a self-diagnosis made by, well, me. I consider myself a qualified psychologist, having spent years reading advice columns in magazines and newspapers, studying literary criticism, and watching a fair amount of Dr. Phil and Oprah. And, as such, I feel able to diagnose myself as suffering from SAD.

My battle with SAD started last year during my first winter in the Midwest. It was a time that found me questioning the reason for total darkness at 4:30pm, cursing like a sailor at the cruel Illinois wind, and spending an inordinate number of hours conducting on-line research in an effort to cure my illness.

On-line research proved only moderately helpful because SAD is an actual problem, requiring the ability to gain access to equipment that only real-live doctors or tanning bed operators can get, as the first cure I found was light therapy. Not having any source of light therapy myself and not wanting to risk skin cancer (or becoming the owner of a lot of creepy coconut-smelling tan booster) by heading to the tanning salon, I decided my best bet would be the grocery store. It's light; it's bright; it's full of cheesy music from the 80s that really speaks to my SAD-afflicted soul. So, I tried that out. It seemed to work pretty well, though I ended up spending a lot of time at the local grocery in the middle of the night.

I also ended up heading to the local Wal-Mart looking for light. This just ended with me contemplating the use of synthetic fabrics in the lingerie department but also thinking that sparkles could be a sexy addition to any girl's trousseau, a pretty good indicator that I was heading in a downward spiral the end of which was nowhere in sight.

In truth, I sort of lied about this being the first cure I spotted. There was one before that, but I almost needed a therapist to get over the trauma induced upon reading about it. The cure was found on some family-friendly site. They suggested playing board games. Those who know me well understand the trauma. Those who don't should keep my wine glass perpetually filled at a party and then, after a few hours, ask how it was to be an only child. Specifically, reference Pictionary.

So, anyways, I know this all may sound silly, but I really do hate this time of year in the Midwest, and I find it almost impossible to be cheery when it's so grey outside. Usually, I just want to shuffle around my apartment in my jammies, wishing I was somewhere warm with blue skies.

On the up-side, I just have a few more years of this. And, like my mom said, "Just imagine how bad it would be if you lived somewhere really cold. Like Alaska."

Sleeping

Sometimes I think sleep is the greatest thing ever.

I mean, as long as I'm not listening to my nightmare-inducing mix.

Then I'd rather just be shopping for shoes. :)

Not a Mix-Master

So, a few months ago, I decided to make a little mix of songs that would be good to listen to when I went to sleep. I occasionally have great trouble falling asleep, so I thought it would be worth a shot. And, perhaps this could be a natural way to fall asleep that would even trump those oh-so-nice pills I picked up in Paris awhile ago. [Editor's note: Said pills are totally legal and available over the counter, so I'm not getting too crazy even with those!]

French Pharms aside, the mix seemed a fabulous idea, so I set about putting together some songs that I thought would be nice and mellow. In truth, I'm pretty bad at remembering song titles, so much of the mix is comprised of songs that I somehow remembered to be slow and mellow.

Perhaps my terrible memory was at fault. I'll blame it on that. Because, on playing the mix, I had nightmares. EVERY NIGHT!

That's right. Terrible, horrible nightmares that I don't even really want to talk about, truth be told.

So, I'm not good at making mixes. I will never make you a mix, no matter how much I like you...maybe if I really dislike you though...

Oh, Thanksgiving!

Okay, this is where I admit that I love Thanksgiving. I know, I know. It's not at all right to like T-day anymore. But, I do.

And, here is why. I just like the very idea of being thankful. Of taking one day and being glad about the good things in life and being kind to your family and all of that stuff.

I guess my love of Thanksgiving is that I don't really associate it with anything. I don't feel overly patriotic or thankful for my country or any of that. It's not that I'm opposed to that; I just don't do it. I just feel glad to have my family around and to be able to see them and to, hopefully, manage to cook something that turns out. (fingers crossed, people! this year, it's a cheeseball--very retro and not at all something that goes in the oven. i imagine good things will come of this!)

So, I like Thanksgiving. I like the mad crush at the grocery store, and I like to see shopping carts full of earth-tone and orange foods that we normally never eat. And I like that everyone looks a little crazy at this time of year.

In the words of the icon of domesticity, it's a good thing!

Domesticity: The Brownie Debacle

So, the other night, spurred on by some odd domestic zeal, I decided to make brownies. I found a recipe in this month's Jane magazine and went for it. A short trip to the grocery store and I was making what looked like some really tasty brownies.

Only, they were not really tasty brownies. They were dry and tough and not at all sweet enough. In short, not tasty.

And the crazy thing is, I'm really good at making brownies. I'll admit that I'm not much of a cook in general. I do well to heat up soup. But baking is a different story. I can bake. Only, now it looks like I can't.

Oh well, I'm going to give this baking thing another shot, if only to save face!

Myspace as Personal Ad

Two things I find hilarious: (1) Myspace and (2) Personal Ads.

I find these funny for the same reason--people are terrible at describing themselves. Just think how difficult it can be to write something like a resume. Now imagine doing that in a much more casual atmosphere, but one in which you're expected to convey humor or make someone think you're the love of his/her life.

Anyways, what i find even more humorous is the use of Myspace as personal ad. It happens, really. And it's rarely good. But it's often funny.

I guess I find this funny because it makes me uncomfortable, as it's something I would never do. Maybe because I spend most of my time at home writing and stressing over coursework and, apparently, surfing Myspace for humorous profiles.

So, look for this odd use of Myspace. You may find it funny as well.

smells and such

dear friends,

as you may know, i am very affected by smell. the wrong smell can make me nearly double over with discomfort. this is usually produced when i smell a woman wearing too much cloyingly sweet perfume, the worst smell in all the world, i think .

so, anyways, being someone who is so affected by smell, it is really painful to me that my car has taken on an odor. i think the smell is dead mouse. i'm not sure how i came to this or why it strikes me as a logical conclusion. in fact, that it strikes me as a logical conclusion causes me no small self-doubt. i mean, who assumes dead mouse?

i have not yet fully investigated the smell, but i plan a full-on exploration of the car. i will keep you apprised.

until then, your smelly friend,

sara

beware the stalker...

i'm a stalker.

yeah. a stalker.

okay, i got on friendster. i looked up people, including the girl my high school boyfriend started dating right after we broke up (yeah, i'm a total weirdo, but why not?). they actually broke up years ago, so we’ll refer to her as ex-GF of ex-BF from here on out.

so, i read her profile and realized that i would have been friends with her. now i plan to date men, break up with them, and then befriend the women they start dating. why not? chances are we'll have things in common, and chances are their relationship won't work either.

it's a plan.

here's the stalker part. i got an email showing me who'd been checking out my friendster profile. i thought, “weird. ex-GF of ex-BF checked me out.” so, my next thought was: "that's so weird that she checked out my profile because...i…just...oh my word...she knows."

so then i ducked away from the computer as if she could see me looking at her. the creepiest part is that i really did just want to check out friendster, so there is no info about or picture of me, no identifying markers, just a blank screen that gives my name and location. so i really am a friendster stalker of sorts.

okay, so now you know that i'm a stalker. but aren't we all in this high-tech age? i say that we are.

damn.

a stalker.

compulsive dieting=boyfriend

if you haven't gotten it yet, everyday food is a fun, tiny magazine that has yummy recipes. my mom sends it to me, but i don't really make any of it. they're the kind of recipes i like--yummy yet light with not too many ingredients or directions. so, they're perfect to look at and think about making, even though i know i never will.

the only thing that offends me is that they don't give nutritional info for all the recipes--just the single-serving recipes. like they're saying, "hey, single girl, you must be a real fatty!"

yes, that's why i'm single. i'm not single for the fact that i, like most third graders, still believe in taunting and physical violence as acceptable forms of flirting or that i strongly favor challenging and then beating men at competitions (or that, if said competition ends in a tie, i insist on telling them how i will kick their asses next time). no, those qualities aren't what's keeping me single, it's the fact that i haven't given everyday food's light-yet-tasty flounder a try!

that said, i think it's a fantastic little magazine, and you should definitely pick up a copy!

shower disaster!

okay, i've been doing some reading and some goofing around on the internet tonight...so i decided to wash my face to prepare for bed. i really like how clean my face gets when i shower, so that's the plan. in shower, faced washed, decide to use those scrubby gloves i got from miss cutie-B (not use them on my face, mind you, that would hurt).

anyways, you know that three-tier shelf system at the end of my bathtub? well, the gloves are hooked onto one of the metal prongs. i try to un-hinge them gently. barely a tug. not working. the tiniest, i swear, movement to unwriggle them.

and then it happens. a crash greater then the pre-depression stock market crash. the ENTIRE three-tier shelf system crashes into my bathtub with me showering in it. product goes everywhere. mario badescu is completely askew.

now for the element of human tragedy. those shelves are not light. i got pegged by one right on my lower shin. within a few seconds (seriously, not even a minute) it had swelled up and turned a weird color.

i had said to hell with it and left the mess for the morning, but i couldn't stand the thought of the one line of metal prongs that are still in the wall just smirking at me in the morning, so i took a screwdriver out and got rid of them.

It's Fall...Let's COOK!

Having never lived in a place that had seasons, I still get a little giddy with all this Midwestern change of seasons type stuff. You know--leaves on the ground in fall, cherry blossoms blooming in spring--that kind of stuff.

So, earlier today, I decided to embrace the fall-ness that surrounds me by cooking a squash. You heard me. Cooking a squash. That's fall-like, right?

The other day I purchased an acorn squash, and I've been pretty eager to put that puppy in the oven (wow, that sounded terrible). Anyways, today's delivery of this month's Real Simple got me all the more eager to cook up the squash, brown sugar and clove style.

Please don't let the subscription to Real Simple fool you. I am not at all domestic. By that, I mean that I can bake, but I'm pretty much a trainwreck at any other household chores. I basically had to suspend any disbelief I had in my domestic capabilities to even attempt hacking into the little acorn squash.

With the squash split open and scooped out, I commenced seasoning, tenting with tin-foil, and placing in oven to bake at 400 for 45-60 minutes. (All while carrying on a conversation about the CCCCs selection process and bathroom graffiti. You envy my life now. Just admit it.)

A few peeks and pokes with the fork later and I was ready to scoop out some squash guts and started mashing, all while adding a little pinch of this and a little dash of that. Now for a little taste...and...BLEK!

I'm not sure if was the this or the that. Whichever it was, my beautiful little acorn squash was a disgusting bowl of squish when I got through with it. Horrible.

That said, I'm not deterred from giving squash another go. Afterall, it's fall, and I've just gotta cook!

Little Dagger-Type Thing (A Front Porch Update)

Today, as I took my trusty terrier outside for her morning romp, I made note of the coffee table on the front porch.

Yesterday, the pumpkin had been sitting near the little dagger-type thing. Today, the little dagger-type thing was propped up against the pumpkin, point up.

Does the little dagger-type thing want to carve the pumpkin? Is that what's going on?

I'm not sure, but I'm keeping an eye out. If that pumpkin becomes a jack-o-lantern, I will be very perplexed. Surprised but perplexed.

The Front Porch (No Song Involved)

There's something odd about my front porch. This is not a new thing, as the front porch has been an oddity for sometime. Remember, dear friends, that the front porch is where I may or may not have been asked out by my downstairs neighbor in what was one of the oddest exchanges of all time.

Him (looking at grill on front porch): Maybe we could grill sometime?
Me (also looking at grill): Is that your grill?
Him (a bit crestfallen): Um, no.
Me: Oh.

And that, folks, is how one English major may or may not have been asked out by another English major. Awkward. Truly awkward. (And, for those keeping count, that's officially 752 odd exchanges I've had with members of the opposite sex. And, perhaps, 376 times I've thought to expand my horizons far beyong Liberal Arts.)

But, anyways, the oddities of late concern the coffee table that's on the front porch. Yes, we have a coffee table on the front porch, which puts us in the ballpark of white trash (though not so much as a deep freeze would).

So, this coffee table has been here the whole time I've been here. Until lately, it hadn't seen much use. Then, a couple of months ago, someone must have entertained on the front porch because I saw some candles on the coffee table. Three yellow candles sitting on magazine subscription cards, to be exact. Nice.

The next to appear on the table was a stick that had been fashioned into a little dagger-type thing. Very odd.

Just now, I went outside, and there's a big pumpkin sitting on the table. It's fall, so I understand the whole jack-o-lantern thing. But it's not a jack-o-lantern. It's a giantish, schlumpy pumpkin that doesn't even stand up straight. And it's sitting right next to the little dagger-type thing, near the three yellow candles sitting on magazine subscription cards.

I just wonder when this will end. Or, better yet, if it ever will. I mean, the coffee table is not very big and seemingly not very stable, so I'm not sure how much it can sustain. I will track this and make note for future entries...

Anyways, that is my front porch. It's weird, but, for now, it is home. Though I surely don't feel like singing about it!

In which I ask, "Should I be allowed to speak?"

Current Condition: Disgustingly overcome with nasty allergies

Current Responsibility: Going to school, trying not to break into spasms of coughing, wheezing, tearing up like my date on prom night after I informed him that I was, indeed, a nice girl

Current Desire: A nice, hot bath followed by some good, deep sleep

Okay, so the desires and the responsibilities are pretty incompatible right now. In addition, I'm beginning to wish that I would just lose the power of speech at moments when I'm about to say something weird or socially awkward.

Example:

Yesterday in class, having left briefly for an attack of coughing, wheezing, (etc, etc), I came back knowing that I shouldn't talk. As in, if I did, I would just begin the coughing/wheezing/crying cycle all over again.

Apparently, my look said otherwise. Apparently, my look said, "I have much to say on this subject. " Which, in truth, I did. But, well, you know what because I just told you. I knew I shouldn't.

So, of course, I got called on. Of course.

"I don't really have anything specific to say. Nothing specific. At this time."

Yeah, that's my reply. I've become John Cusack in Say Anything when he's asked his plans for the future. I mean, really, that's pretty much my response when I'm asked my plans for the future, too, but that's another subject.

Professor seemed surprised, saying that I looked like I really had something to say.

"I'm really just hoping I don't start coughing again. I just thought, 'Shit. I can't talk for another hour.'"

Honestly. That's what I said.

So, I ask you, should I be allowed to speak? Should I just spend classtime hiding under my desk?

I'll leave it to you, dear reader, to decide.