Category Archives: Just for Fun

Another Day But Not Another Dollar

Today was another day. I didn’t find a dollar, and I can’t find the ten dollars that I took out of the account to purchase coffee with Lyn the other day. I put it back in my pocket or something and now it isn’t there. The part that sucks is I didn’t even need it because Lyn bought my coffee for me. It was actually hot chocolate and it was good, too. I remember it well. I had a great time today with the students who stay after for Write On! Huh? (as they’ve taken to calling it because they didn’t get the Write On! reference). This group of students is amazingly talented, and I am so excited to see how this literary magazine turns out. I have high hopes for it, and I hope it is even more amazing than I imagine. I have a feeling it will be, knowing this group of students.

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Exercise: walked the dogs three miles, ran three miles, rode my bike to SBUX then to Burris then home

Breakfast: banana, oatmeal, juice, milk
Lunch: Clif bar, apple, decaf Americano with honey and cream
Dinner: Pasta with mushrooms, parmesan, broccoli, and olive oil; two pieces of bread
Snacks: 1 oz. of cheese, spinach salad with poppyseed dressing and sunflower seeds

I need to get more protein. Any creative suggestions?

Write two pages about …

a time when you were reluctant to go home.

When I was in middle school, I took the Lord’s name in vain because big, fat loud-mouthed Laura, whose locker was next to mine, yelled into my ear. I had yet another case of strep throat, my head was already throbbing, and my ears ached from the drainage. She literally put her mouth next to my head and yelled down the hall to her boyfriend, tall, skinny, loser-boy Ivan-Covered-With-Hickies. So I turned to her and screamed in her face, “Jesus Christ, Laura. Shut up!”

My school had just started cracking down on “cursing” with Joey L. being the first victim. He straight-faced told our principal to fuck off. He got paddled. And never shed a tear. I had to sign the referral and made the Amazon on my cheeks. I cried so hard the neck of my sweater got wet.

I know it seems like a ridiculous thing to be afraid of going home because I took the Lord’s name in vain, but I was. I was afraid because of one simple phrase repeatedly uttered by my mother, and sometimes agreed upon by my father: “If you get in trouble at school, you better know you will get in just as much trouble at home. Maybe more.” I was terrified of the maybe more. I wasn’t even sure what punishment the school would dole out to me, but I knew whatever they could possibly come up with wouldn’t compare to the punishment in store for me from my parents.

The next day, I got called down to the office. I have always had a knack for unfortunate timing, and this was no exception. A few Sundays before had been confirmation Sunday at my church. This detail wouldn’t even matter where it not for the fact that my principal happened to go to Grace United Methodist Church as well.

“Young lady,” I loved it when adults called me young lady, “Can you tell me why you are here?” So much like a police officer, my principal looked down his long dumb face at me.

“Well, I said Jesus Christ in the hallway upstairs.” I had never been one to mince words. I did it. I admit it.

“You didn’t just say Jesus Christ, you screamed it.” He sat there smugly tapping his finger tips together. “Weren’t you just confirmed a couple fo Sundays ago?”

“Well, yes, but I don’t see—”

“That has everything to do with this,” he bellowed, “What do you think He would think of this?”

“He would forgive me?” I countered.

“Are you sassing me?”

“No, I just thought Jesus was about grace. I already prayed about it. I think he forgives me.” I think saying this was a two-fold device: I could potentially get out of trouble, and I could slyly let the principal know that whatever punishment he could give to me would not compare to my own mental and spiritual anguish. I think it was more of the former.

“Well, nonetheless, you will serve one day of in-school suspension. You serve on Friday.”

EDIT: This is the beginning of the draft. I will write more later.

I Misspoke or I Was Taken Wrong

I have been told that many people read this blog, which is true. I can tell by the number of hits it receives. Apparently, I need to correct a few things I have said and one big idea that some people misinterpreted from my blog because they have been taken incorrectly by the people I have said them to, or who have read them.

  1. Do not simply study twelve texts for your comprehensive exams; however, you will only use twelve on the actual test. You should study several from each time period and be intimately involved with at least three or four from each time period outside of your own. By intimately involved I mean that you should know everything you possibly can about them, writing down what questions you could use them for would be helpful. Hopefully, the rest of your education will fill in the gaps that are left. This is risky, so make sure you are well-rounded in your knowledge to start with.
  2. Make sure you study the periods, movements, genres, forms, and other general information. This is the key to success. You don’t want your oral exams committee to wonder if you really know about Modernism because you have to stumble over yourself, cobbling together the main tenets of that particular literary movement.
  3. I did study, but I wish I would have studied more. I wish I would have studied more thoroughly and smarter. I wish I wouldn’t have had to paint my house, remodel my house, go on two separate week-long vacations, have people staying at my house, and most importantly, I wish I could have majored in English in my undergrad so I would have had a better foundation for all of this. My insecurity in passing my exams lies in the fact that I am afraid: one day will everyone discover that I am a fraud?

Having said all of that, I wish adult life could be less similar to middle school. I wish we could stop talking about each other and telling stories about others to make ourselves feel better. I wish we could each be secure enough in our attributes to recognize the beauty in each other rather than exploiting the shortcomings.

Still Twisted Up in My Midsection

This is how I feel. Like a puddle of yuck by the side of the road.

I_see_this_colour_by_dev1n

I am still a bit twisted up, but for different reasons. I am finished wasting away over not studying for my exams as thoroughly as I should have–barely at all–and still passing them. I do occasionally, like right now, feel guilty about my ability to get by, but more importantly,  I think I am disgusted at my apathy. I assume one day my ability to get by will cease to exist, and then I will be stuck not knowing how to do it any other way. I just want to finish school, to get a job, and to do what I think I love, which is teaching, though sometimes I still wrestle with what I perceive to be my calling into ministry. What am I doing with that?

Really, I just want to find what it is that makes me happy. I think it is teaching. I love it when I am teaching, but can I see myself doing it forever? Yeah. But, I want to sense that passion that I see in other people for doing what they love. I want to be in a position where I can do what I love and not worry if it makes money. I suppose that is what everyone wants. I guess I am not finished stressing about any of this, but I have just added more stress on top of it. And, as always, I have shoved it all down so I don’t have to deal with it. I suppose one day I will explode. Then I will really look like a puddle of yuck by the side of the road.

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I am struggling right now with being a Christian and not liking my pastor. I feel sort of shallow for disliking him, because he hasn’t really done anything wrong. He just doesn’t wrestle with the text in an intellectual way. He processes it emotionally and thinks it is okay to stop there. I want a pastor who stresses himself or herself out over a reading of Scripture that s/he can live with, not who moves solely by emotion to interpret it. I want exegesis and hermeneautics. You know, intellectual wrangling, cultural application, and faithful interpretations. I don’t want Muppet videos, funny voices, and jumping up and down. I can get excited about a life-changing, hierarchy-smashing ethic without fireworks. If God’s word doesn’t have the power to change and shape my heart and my mind, no amount of emotion is going to either.

Does this mean I am above emotional response to Scripture? By no means. I simply mean that I don’t think hearts are changed through emotive blasts of performance, but they are changed by the Truth of the words spoken. If the words spoken contain few Truths, it doesn’t matter how excitedly they are spoken. If the words are empty, they bang hollow off the back wall of the church and resound slowly around the room. Their hollowness is not masked by their magnitude or frequency. They are still just words.

So, please give me solid spiritual food. I am finished with the milk. Or am I? Maybe this is my problem: I am not finished with the milk. I am still trying to figure out whether I follow Paul or Apollos. As Paul writes:

Brothers and sisters, I could not address you as spiritual but as worldly—mere infants in Christ. I gave you milk, not solid food, for you were not yet ready for it. Indeed, you are still not ready. You are still worldly. For since there is jealousy and quarreling among you, are you not worldly? Are you not acting like mere human beings? For when one says, “I follow Paul,” and another, “I follow Apollos,” are you not mere human beings?

Is this my problem? Am I still so worried about the human I follow that I deserve to still drink milk? Maybe, my goal in addressing this problem should be changing my own attitude about it, rather than expecting some type of external change. After all, it makes Bec happy to help lead worship, so I guess I should try to change my own heart before bailing out. I should change my heart to follow Jesus rather than being so needy and leaning on a man who is merely God’s servant. I am sure he is trying to do what he thinks is best. I am sure there those who didn’t like Paul, Peter, Apollos, James or any of the other apostles or early teachers of Christianity, but their dislike for their human leaders did not dissuade them from being part of the Church.

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At times like these, I am especially grateful for my relatively new athletic endeavors.

Swimming is going well. Last night, I swam 1000 yards in under twenty minutes, which isn’t bad for me. I was going to time myself on a mile, but I didn’t have much time to swim because I had to get a ride from Bec. I didn’t ride my bike yesterday because my bag was too heavy, and I didn’t want to walk home in the dark. Still, I swam 1600 yards in about 35 minutes. That should count for something.

Running is going okay. I ran five and a half miles yesterday, and I am scheduled to run the same tomorrow morning. After I ran yesterday, my feet felt like I had been hitting the bottoms of them with a hammer. I need new shoes, so I will go get those since I finally got paid. I hope they have a pair of the same ones I got last time. If they do, I will just buy them so I don’t have to try on a bunch of new ones. I could really use new trail shoes, too, but I only have enough money for one pair.

On Sunday, I am going to run with Adam. We are going to run the five miles that we will run together in a race on November 1. Apparently, the race is grueling and Adam wants me to run the trails before race day. Either way, I am running it. I may come in last, but I will finish. If I have to walk, I will finish. The race and practice run should be good times. And good stress release.I am surprised I don’t run more, fueled by my stress.

This I Believe Draft

I have been called a communist. I have been called a socialist. I think communalist or Christian describes me more accurately than either of the other two words. But I won’t balk if anyone calls me a communist or socialist.  I embrace these two names because of the things I believe.

Because I believe that people are inherently good, I believe we could easily live together in harmony if people were willing to do a few things differently. In other words, we need to make some cultural lifestyle changes. People are generally out for themselves because our culture forces them to be. Deep down everyone is generous.  Some cultures thrive by living in community; ours just happens to be more focused on individualism. However, a few small changes could cause big ripples.

I believe we should listen when other people talk. I had a professor who once said to someone in class, “Could you start over? I forgot to listen.” I think he was being honest about a behavior that many of us suffer from on a daily basis: we don’t listen to each other. Instead of having the decency, though, to admit that we forget to listen, we pretend that we are listening all along. Sometimes we even nod our heads as if we agree with the other person, not knowing what it is we’re agreeing to. If we, as humans, truly listened to each other instead of writing our shopping lists, planning our evenings, or thinking about that joke that someone told us earlier, then the world would be much less chaotic because we would all know what other people said instead of pretending like we do. We might also learn something about other people, which in turn might make us more compassionate.

Maybe this could be partially aided if people would return to using common courtesies in their speech, like saying please and thank you. It wouldn’t hurt if we would take the time to answer the question, “How are you?” with an honest answer instead of giving the answer that everyone expects: “Fine.” One day I want to say to someone, “I am not fine. I am dying inside and my soul hurts so bad.” And I want that to be okay. I want to be able to tell people when I struggle, but I also believe we should rejoice when there is reason for rejoicing. Life is good sometimes, most times if we try hard to see the joys. We should be able to celebrate the good and lament the bad together.

I believe part of this inability to connect to other people stems from the fact that we are too in love with our possessions. Especially as Americans, we love our technology, our cars, our houses, our gadgets, and gizmos. Perhaps if we were required each year to donate our one prized possession to a homeless shelter, domestic violence shelter, or children’s home, we would understand that the things are not where our attachments should lie, but that we should become more deeply invested in each other.

If your child could take his favorite toy, donate it to another child who lives in a homeless shelter, build a relationship with that other child, and see what it feels like to be involved in another persons life, maybe we could teach our children that the world doesn’t belong to them as individuals, but it belongs to them as a society. If you would take your computer (before it completely conks out) and donate it to a battered woman who is trying to get a job to get out of her abusive household, imagine the change in her life. Maybe you even have a great business suit you could include in the package. Something as simple as saving your hotel shampoo, lotion, and soap and giving it to men’s shelter makes a big impact in someone’s life. Have you ever tried to get a job without proper bodily hygiene?  Nearly impossible.

This is why I believe in feeding homeless people: we are one bad day from the fifth floor of the VA hospital. Most of us are one bad day from homelessness, too. What happens today on Wall Street could effect you, it could effect me, or it could effect someone we know. How many homeless people are living on the streets because of one bad day? This isn’t to say that some people don’t choose homelessness. Some do. Some people consciously choose to drop out of capitalism, drop out of society, or just fade into the background. I don’t blame them. All the keeping up is hard work. Never walk past another person without making eye contact. You are no better than the teenager with scars up and down his arms, living on the street. We are all  interconnected.

Maybe we should all eat out of dumpsters. Then we could look each other in the eyes. Maybe it is a blessing that we throw away too much. No, it is heresy. We could feed a small country with what we put in the garbage can each day. Each day Americans throw away more than most people eat in a week.  We should all be more frugal.  When I was in high school, my boyfriend and I dumpster dived many times. We foraged–no, gleaned–potato chips from the dumpster behind the Seyfert’s distribution center and sold them at lunch. We used the money to pay for dates, movies, and other things we wanted but didn’t have money for. Looking back, we probably should have just given the chips away and not worried about getting money for them. We didn’t disrupt the capitalist cycle, we just reinvented it.

Maybe I am communist, because I think all people should get paid the same amount of money. The big corporate executive would be nowhere without the people who work in her factories or retail centers, and they would all be no where without the person who cleans up after them all. Where would most people be without coffee farmers, trash collectors, ministers, rabbis, and teachers? Are professional sports and big-name actors or actresses of more worth than their elementary organization sponsors? If we all got paid the same amount for doing what we are good at, then we could go about doing those things without feeling the pressure of keeping up with the Joneses, never mind that the Joneses work no harder for their possessions than we do. I suppose if we weren’t obsessed with possessions, we wouldn’t care if we couldn’t keep up with the Joneses, though.

I believe no one should look at you funny if you make change out of the offering plate at church. God doesn’t care if you only have a twenty but can only afford to give up five for the Church. God cares more that you are giving something than nothing. Remember the story of the poor widow’s mite.  God will multiply your five dollars and use it to feed and clothe the masses. Haven’t you ever read the story of the loaves and the fishes?

That story, I will add, confirms what I have been writing: life is all about sharing, gleaning, feeding, and giving what you have to others. Call it communism if you must. I will call it being like Christ.