Reason Breeds Insanity

I know sometimes we go through dark nights of the soul. I know that it is always darkest before dawn. I know that millions of people have it worse than I do. I know that I am extremely happy that my dark night is over. I am happy, no joyful, to be reveling in the light of a new day. I don’t get excited about the good stuff enough. Sometimes I feel like such an inadequate Christian because I am such a realist. You know, I am not one of those Christians who walk around permanently blitzed because Jesus died for me, and that is enough. I never was the kid at church camp who wrote in the letter that I would send to myself how happy I was that I had found Jesus and now my troubles were over. Very young I knew better.

If I am happy or filled with joy about one thing, another very real fact always gets inside my head and sticks there. For example: I am not difficult to please. People say that I am hard to buy presents for, but it should be pretty easy because I even love Happy Meal toys. Anyway, I love the simpler things in life like hardback books, black raspberry slushes from Dairy Dream, good clove cigarettes, an excellent cup of African coffee, or a nap next to an open window with the breeze blowing in. But, while I enjoy these simple things my mind never stops processing. How many people cannot read? How many days of food could I buy for someone using the money I spend on coffee, slushes, or cloves? Who grew the coffee? How were they treated? Who harvested the tobacco? How many pesticides are in it? What effect are they having on the global environment? How fortunate am I to have a window to feel the breeze through rather than praying for a breeze to cool me down because I live in the weather instead of in a house? Why can’t I just be happy? Why can’t I be content? Why can’t I be one of those “Smiling Christians”?

While I was cleaning today at the mission, the woman who works with the families with children said, “I never knew I should be grateful to have a bed. If I had twenty beds, I could give them all away tomorrow.” It seems that several people have come to the mission who have been sleeping in sleeping bags on the hard floors of their houses. Can you imagine having enough money to buy or rent a house, but then not having enough money left to buy a bed? How sad.

I was reading my friend Sarah’s blog the other day, and I must say I applaud her for taking a stand against tradition and choosing to write her honors thesis from her heart. I know she will write from her head, too, using every bit of knowledge that she has spent a lifetime collecting, but her heart is her guide. Her deep emotions, not the superficial, oh I think I’ll wear lip gloss today emotions, but her real heart wrenching, soul clenching, life changing emotions, are so into this project. I can see that her longings for a better, more just world are forming her project. I would love to be so in love with a cause, a project, a people group, that I am willing to risk everything to make a difference. That is what I see her doing. I am not exactly sure what the complete idea of her thesis is, but I know she struggles with many of the same things I do. We are so privileged. What are we going to do with it? Leading with our hearts is the first step. I recommend checking out her blog, just click on Sarah.

I digress, and I ramble. I am tired. I am overjoyed. As David Crowder sings: “You are my joy, you are my joy, you are my joy!” I am joyful, but contemplative this evening. Good night.

I am listening to old school Christian music. DC Talk. The song What If I Stumble always makes me think abotu my life. How many times have people been watching me when I have stumbled? What if I stumble and I can’t get up on my own? What if I don’t want to get up? What if I like lying on the ground flailing around in misery? What if I care more about people seeing me stumble than I care about actually stumbling itself? Sometimes I feel like I care more about what people think about me than I care about doing the right things. I care more about looking like I know how to walk than actually walking that way. So many times when I was a youth pastor, I had this fear that I might be being watched by a student and screw it up. Would that student lose his or her faith in God because of my mistakes? Would that students lose his or her faith in me? For that reason alone, I wore my heart on shirt sleeve. I was as honest with them as I could possibly be. About my past. About my present. About my future. Honesty didn’t make it easier. I still worried that they might see me fall and not get back up again. I say all of this because I think the whole point of life is the necessity to see others fall, to see others stumble, and then to go help them up and walk beside them so they don’t fall again. And if they fall again, to help them up again. And again, and again.

I am so excited to begin the PhD program, but I am also scared shitless. This is it. This is where my intellectual buck stops. This is where I have made my decision about what I will do with my life. I commit. I decide on the end to the means. I choose books. My only reservation is: What does reading and writing about literature do to improve the world? What could I do to better serve my God? Have I missed [Their] bus? Have I taken the wrong one? Does God want to use me to reach someone through literature? What is the meaning of this?

I love you all! I just have to say that once in a while bcause you support me so entirely. I am looking forward to being relaxed for the rest fo the summer. I don’t even care if I end up in the poor house. I still owe Kecia several hours for the assistantship, but I am willing to work all summer for that. I am not worried about it, but I am worried about paying for school in the fall. I guess maybe Cole is right, Sex and Drugs. I could sell both and then I woudl have plenty of money to go around! Anyway, back to my two “handsome” women–Kate and Mary. Gotta love turn of the century feminists! 😉

I got into the PhD program, but I didn’t get an assistantship as of yet, so I am a little stressed about how I am going to pay for it. If you have any suggestions, let me know!

Okay, so I figured out why the old paper was taking so long to write, aside from the fact that I can’t type—it was the wrong paper! I found this great book about women at the turn of the 19th century and I thought it would make a great framework for my paper, so I started re-writing it last night at 9PM. I can tell you that in an hour and a half I wrote as much as it took me a whole day to write on the other paper. The essay is still the same general content, I just have a theoretical frame for it now. The frame is a bit problematic because it is older (1979), and the writers don’t mention race or sexuality or class, which is not current scholarship because everyone talks about race, sexuality, gender, and class! BUT the two women about whom I am writing were upper-class, mostly heterosexual, white women, so I think the theoretical portion will still stand. Besides, I have other essays to use to support my points that are more modern and do explore the avenues of sexuality, race, and class. Augh!

I also am doing better as far as Pippin is concerned. Lily is doing a great job of letting me hug her and cry on her fur. You have to understand, Lily is a lot like I am and she doesn’t really like to be touched, so her letting me lean over her and snuggle her like I used to Pippin is a big stretch. I am still warming up to the little Monster, Sydney. He is cute, but he is definitely Bec’s dog. He just looks at me like I am pathetic and then pees on Lily’s head. Slightly disgusting, but he is pretty cute. I also saw an add for Chow-Golden mix puppies. I thought about saving the number and calling to see if they have any left after we move.

Today is my mom’s 60th birthday! I nearly forgot that she was turning 60, and I was just going to take her to a fundraiser dinner at church, but I suppose I should take her somewhere a bit nicer, like the BSU library to pick up the book I need. Just kidding, I suppose that a nice restaurant is in order, maybe one of her favorites. I hate it when I forget things. So far this month, I forgot Merideth’s birthday, Ed’s birthday, my mom’s birthday, and Father’s day. How? You tell me!

I sort of feel like Stewie in the Family Guy movie in the scene where he is driving the semi and he is cranked up on caffeine pills and is driving through the desert: “West Coast Turn Arounds!” His eyes are all blood-shot and he is sort of twitching nervously. Family Guy is VERY CRASS, but I think it is funny nonetheless.