When I'm 28...

With my 28th birthday coming up just around the corner, I took some time to reflect while running in the rain tonight, on what I want to do, see, be at 28.

When I'm 28, I want to dress like I'm 28. I have no earthly clue what that means, but I want to figure it out. I want to look nice at work, look fun on the weekends, look put together always. I don't want to wear things too big, too small, to long, to tight...I want to be classic, stylish, but not too trendy. I may need a personal shopper and a big birthday present to pull this one off.

When I'm 28, I want to be healthy. Really healthy. Not obsessive, gross-looking healthy, just really healthy. I started running this summer (and completely love it). I want to keep on running, more and more often. I want to go to every yoga class possible. I want to stay away from junk food and embrace fresh foods. I want to glow. I want to be hot. I want to feel really good about myself.

When I'm 28, I want to BE love. I don't just want to act with love, or look a little like love. I want to BE love, all the time, with everyone. I want to be thoughtful, share joy, surprise people. I want to be a reflection of Jesus' love in the world.

When I'm 28, I want to be the very best me. It's going to be a great year. :)

Running mantra for the night...

Tonight, I decided to slip home just before sunset to try to get a run in. This running this is really catching hold of me. I seriously love it. But tonight, I decided that since I didn't have much time before the sun went down, I'd try to run a shorter distance faster than I had before. 

Toward the end, I was getting pretty tired, and I could feel myself beginning to slow down. But just as that started to happen, I began to think, Persistence. Form. Trust. 

Persistence: Your brain will always take your body further than your body can go. Push yourself. Conveniently, this is also a great mantra for life - persist through the tough parts because there will be better days ahead. 

Form: When I get tired in a run, I find that I get sloppy. My arms start to flail side to side, I kick my own ankles, my feet hit the ground funny. This is how bodies get sore. This is how injuries happen. So, when I am at my weakest, that's when I need to focus on form the most. Strangely, this is also true in life. When the going is good, good form is pretty easy to come by. In tough times, it's easy to get grouchy, mean, short with people. Tough times are when it's most important to have and keep good form. 

Trust: Sometimes I find it hard to trust my own body on a run. What if I can't make it that far? What if my legs get sore or my shins suffer? What if I have to walk home? But the worries are, so far, unfounded. My body always gets me home. I can make it as far as I am willing to persist. So far, my legs have held up just fine. Trusting in my own abilities, my own strength is important. I was made to do this right now (sounds a little like life, too, come to think of it). So, I just need to trust that I can. 

Persistence. Form. Trust. Good for running. Good for life.

Dare I Say...

Tomorrow marks the half way point of August. There's lots of work to be done, and lots of big things happening on campus yet this month. But dare I say, I'm doing more than just surviving August this year. I'm finding that I'm actually enjoying it! I'm at work a lot. I even worked most of today...a Sunday. I'm not bothered. 

I'm finding myself proud of what I'm able to accomplish and shrugging off some of the things I'm not. Today, I finished a nightmare of a bus logistics schedule for a trip for 440 or so students and faculty. Finished it. I was pumped! My email is not a mountain, maybe just a molehill. Yay! My car's kind of full of random work junk. So what. My house is untidy. Such is life. My lawn needs mowing. Maybe tomorrow. My office can still be traversed from door to chair and back. A big plus. I'm eating well and working out more than once a week. Big deals, really. 

Looking back of the past three Augusts that I have just barely squeezed through alive, all the terribly long days with short, sleepless nights, starving my way from day to day, missing meals and other such good-for-me things that should not be ignored, I am quite pleased with my ever-so-gradual learning curve finally catching up. 

Those that came before me gave up far too soon. They got tired. I have somehow hit my second wind. I'm not tired. In fact, maybe I'm better than I was when I began. I've grown, matured, learned a thing or two. 

So, here's to a fantastic August. One with no whining, no tears, no temper tantrums. One with some fun, some health, undoubtedly some extra coffee, and a little indulgence here and there. What a joy, what a surprise, what an August!

Running could be...

Running could be a great personal challenge to take on at this point in my life. Not that I necessarily need another challenge. For most people, working 60 hours a week; going to grad school full-time; trying to participate in church, relationships, and home would probably be challenge enough. But I happen to think that pursuits and challenges feed off of one another. The more that's in front of me, the more I seem to be able to accomplish. 

Running could be a great physical adventure. I like to push my body and see what it can do. I love yoga, mountain hiking, and volleyball for the same reasons. How far can I go? How consistent can I be? How many days, weeks, months, years can I maybe keep this habit up?

Running could be wonderful prayer and thought time. I'm finding even early on in my attempt at becoming a runner that my mind wanders from one topic to another, thinking about things that are current, troublesome, joy-filled... And I find myself drifting in and out of prayers, thanking God for relationships in my life, then recalling funny things my friends say; telling God my worries and fears, then deciding how I might best tackle them; asking God for things my heart desires, then pondering into the future about what my life might look like over the next few years. 

Running could be very representative of life struggles. As I strive for another few minutes at a time, all I can muster right now, I can't help but think of the tough times that lie ahead of me in school and at work, and there will certainly be some. Running can easily represent those hard things. And if I can push through another minute on the trail, then I know somehow I can push through another day of craziness in the office. And on the days I don't really want to run, I get up and do it anyway because sometimes that's just how life works. 

Running could be a real pain in the legs. There's a reason I haven't run before now. And that reason in my shins. They always seem to revolt upon the very thought of running, jogging, or even briskly walking with any sort of consistency at all. A flat arch and some tiny legs have certainly always been to blame. But, in all honesty, I could get three weeks into this running thing and have to give up completely because my legs just won't sustain such a lifestyle choice. And if that's the case, then I'll have to move on to something else. What, you ask? I haven't a clue. I've tried P90X, and I got sick of watching the tapes. I do yoga, but usually only once a week. Volleyball is seasonal and a minimal workout on our team's best days. Running just seems a natural choice, especially when the goal is to tackle something consistently that I can dual purpose with thought/prayer time and intentionality. 

Running could be, at this point, either a really good or really bad idea. We'll know for sure in a few weeks' time when I've either fallen in love or abandoned it completely.

Thoughts on Being the Baby

It has been a rare occasion that I have been the true baby of a group. In grade school, I fell fairly middle-of-the-pack due to my fall birth date. I was briefly one of the younger ones in my first job, but we were all within a few months. In my grad program at UWL, we were all close with a few exceptions on the older scale. But I found out today, that not only am I the youngest student in my doctoral program, I am the youngest by multiple years. I am the baby of the whole group. 

In my cohort, there are fifteen students. In three total cohorts this year, there are around forty-five of us. We were all in a room together for three days. Walking in on day one, I saw the few familiar faces from my interview and a whole room of people from all walks of life that I had never seen before. I was nervous. So was everyone else. I couldn't help but think that I must be one of the youngest. Others were worried about how they were certainly the oldest. We're all a little curious how we're being perceived, judged, analyzed by other students and the faculty. 

As the baby, even before it was confirmed that I was indeed so, I found some of my normal actions became things that I was a little self-conscious of. When my shoes came off and I found "indian style" the most comfortable seating arrangement, I suddenly glanced around and noticed all the other professionals in the room with their shoes clearly still on their feet which were clearly still on the ground. I twirled my hair and thought of the noticeable critical mass of mom-cuts surrounding me. 

I think there's great value in having such varied perspectives in one program. I think I'm at the biggest advantage as the newest professional - so much to learn from the experts. But I can still offer a lot, too! I know cool technologies like Prezi that I can wow my classmates with and make them all seem really hip and with it with their colleagues. I can bring endless energy, heart, and freshness. I can bring just a touch of crazy. 

Baby or not, this doctoral thing is going to be a lot of fun...a lot of hard work...a lot of frustration...a lot of research...a lot of fun. And I'm awfully excited about it.

First Day of School Jitters

Yesterday was my first day of school. And although this is something like my twenty-first first day of school, it seems they all begin the same. With jitters. Nerves. Anxiety. This first day of school was no exception. In fact, as I left my dad's cousin's house (where I'm staying while in Madison) I thought I actually might be sick. I was sweating, antsy. On my way to school, at first, I was just dwelling in the anxiety. But the drive was short, so I couldn't dwell for long. So, as I pulled up to the building, I began a little self-talk to try to pep myself up. You're just as smart as everyone in this program. You deserve to be here. You got into the program just like everyone else. 

But what I found when I got there was a room full of people that all had to do the same thing. They were all nervous too! People from all walks of life, all experience levels, all ages, all nervous. And for some reason, that little fact in itself makes everyone feel a little better. 

Despite the initial jitters, I am so excited for this journey. I am excited, believe it or not, to do an extended period of research on a topic I enjoy. I'm excited to get to know my cohort group. It's going to be a tough, long, quick, fun journey. And I am so ready for it.

Just an Idea

Is it just a girl thing? Or do guys do it, too? Or is it maybe just a me thing? Single gals, you may need to chime in and comment here to set me straight.

This has happened on more than one occasion. I have begun to "fall in love" with the idea of someone....someone, in fact, that I have never met. I have seen a picture or two, heard a story once or twice, and there I tumble. The daydreams begin. As does the googling. The looking for just one more photo. The hoping for another story. 

I don't plan to ever meet this man of my imaginary dreams. I won't ever even probably ask to. It would probably be far to disappointing to meet the actual man after building a fictitious one in my mind. 

Do all women do this? Well, the single ones at least? Are we supposed to grow out of this phase at some point? The looking longingly at his first name. Sneaking his last name behind your name just one time. Dreaming of hopelessly romantic proposals and weddings. Imagining Christmases with the family. 

Sorry if this post is really strange. Every woman I know that reads this is probably shaking their head in bewilderment wondering how in the world I got to be so strange. And if that's the case, well, at least I'm going down honestly. 

And in an only slightly related note, where in the world is the real man that will make my heart melt in reality rather than in dreamland? How do I go about finding him outside of my imagination? Twenty-seven years, and I still don't think I've come anywhere close to figuring this out. 

And in truly unrelated news, on Wednesday, I start school one more time. I have first-day jitters worse than the first day of middle school tonight already. Time to prepare for another great adventure!

Living Off the Land

What exactly is so very satisfying about living off of the land? I mean really? 

Last night after work, I went out to the garden, picked three summer squash, a large hand full of peas, a half a dozen onions, and an entire ice cream bucket full, no overflowing, with green beans. I couldn't even wipe the goofy grin off my face walking back toward the house with armloads of fresh food. 

Some of the neighbors were out in the backyard, and I couldn't wait to share the bounty with them. I told them to take whatever they'd like, and Mike promptly started pulling things out of my container. "What's this?" he'd ask. Summer squash? You've never seen that before? Weird. "Can I have some of these?" I did start with instructions to take whatever they'd like, right? Then Karen started to scold him for taking too much. As if more isn't going to grow. That silly contented grin just kept creeping in. 

Late into the evening, I washed green beans and snipped ends and bagged them up, and somewhere in there, I cooked up some peas that were still growing just minutes earlier. And tonight, I blanched and froze up all of those wonderful little beans while roasting up some summer squash for dinner. 

I don't have this kind of love affair with store bought vegetables, you know. I don't eat only vegetables multiple meals in a row. I don't giddily rush home to get to other chores. I don't risk bug bites, ticks, bird poop...for almost anything. But this time of year, when the whole garden is in bloom, it's all I can do to not go out and just watch it grow...to not seek out something to pick, pull, or pluck every single night. 

I think I may have to expand this living off the land thing and figure out how to do even more of it, for the very joy of digging in the dirt, witnessing things grow, sharing with loved ones, and eating well!

Risk and Reward (a.k.a. Passion-Gap Containers)

Why do we have hobbies? What makes a person pursue something that is just for pleasure (whether or not it actually appears to be pleasurable) even at great personal risk, effort, and time? And how do we get to our hobbies? Some people settle into quilting, classic cars collecting, model building while others are attracted to racing, sky diving, triathlons... 

This year, I spent hours working out to get into shape for my trek out West with my dad to hike in the Rockies, then rode fifteen hours in a truck to get there. Then, for four days, I allowed five 14,000-foot peaks kick my butt as I tried to conquer them one by one....as a hobby. 

Prior to this year, I never really stopped to think of how risky such a hobby was. For three years now, we've been driving to various locations around Colorado, hiking for a week or so fairly uneventfully (a great time with great memories), then driving on back. But this year, there was a series of events that made me stop cold in my tracks and really think about what it was that we were doing. 

For the most part, we had a beautiful week to hike, and the peaks we had selected were within our ability levels. We had proper equipment, food, and hydration with us, a GPS preloaded with maps for all of the trails, good shoes, and layers of warm clothing as we usually do. But on the second day of hiking, I saw a story on the local news of some missing hikers. You hear of this sort of thing from time to time, and I've heard stories from other hikers on summits of injuries, lost hiking partners, instantaneous blizzards or lightning storms, but nothing ever hit as close to home as the story on the news. 

A father and daughter hiking pair went out hiking on Wednesday, June 22 for a day hike up Missouri Mountain, a hike that would normally take somewhere between eight and twelve hours to complete. They were considered expert hikers with several years experience, and even some published articles on safety equipment and trail safety. At the end of the day, the hikers did not come down. They did not go back to their vacation home in town for dinner. They did not text or call loved ones. They didn't come back the next day either. Or the next. After three days, the ex-wife and mother of the hikers became concerned. So did the daughter's boyfriend. Finally, after five days, a search was started in the Collegiate Peaks Wilderness, an area that encompasses 167,584 acres of mountainous terrain, dense forest, and eight peaks over 14,000-feet. Helicopters, hiking teams, dogs, friends, and family all searched in vain for six or seven days. On Saturday, the bodies of the hikers were both found, 500 feet from the trail they were supposed to be on on Missouri Mountain, and only a few miles from the trailhead they started from. From Mount Belford's trail, my dad and I watched the helicopter land on a small flat space near some snow fields to pick up the last of the active search crews. News reports today indicate that they could have fallen as much as 2,000 feet from near the summit of Missouri. 

And if that wasn't enough, we also heard on Saturday that a woman fell to her death on Mount Princeton on Thursday, a peak that we had tackled just the day before. 

This is not some simple sport, not just something people pick up once a year or on the weekends for kicks. It's dangerous. Every peak offers life-threatening opportunities at many turns...exposed cliffs and walls, slippery scree fields, disappearing trails... So why do we do it? Why do we keep making plans and getting in shape and buying equipment, investing time, money, blood, sweat, and tears to go out and participate in the great risks that are clearly present? Something in us is designed for hobbies. Some place in us where passions meet irrationality. Where pursuits become personal vendettas against things that never did anything to us in the first place. Where your gut tells you, Yeah! Keep going! and your brain promptly agrees.

There are places in our lives where we get to pour passions, gifts, and abilities. For many, careers are the receptors. For many, it's family and children. For others its volunteering and serving others. For some of us, it's all of the above. But there are voids, gaps, where we still have passions leftover, gifts and abilities going unused. We seek out containers for the passion gaps, something with which to catch where those parts of us ooze out when left alone. Some seek out creative things, others things to get dirty and messy, still others to be able to just let loose and be free, some need a thrill or a rush, some a personal challenge.... And as these passion gap containers fill up with the drips of our gifts, passions, and abilities, we can peer into them and learn a little more about ourselves.

This week, I learned that although stubborn and bullheaded, I do have a cautious side. Ultimate freedom is too much for me. Boundaries, fences, and trails are good...even if they need to be pushed and challenged. They keep me focused. I learned that pushing myself expands my abilities and gifts to areas that I didn't even know they could be. Are those lessons worth the present risks? Because every hobby has risks...whether it's pricking a finger with a sewing needle, bug bites from the garden plot, a scraped knee falling off a bike, a parachute not opening with the ripcord... We were wired to seek out hobbies in order to seek out who we were created to be...making the risk completely worth the reward in every endeavor.

Be careful what you wish for...

I do not know the origins of the phrase, "Be careful what you wish for!" But lately, that phrase has been ringing truer than usual in my life in a number of situations.

The other night, I went on a blind date of sorts - a set up by my next door neighbor. My neighbors are wonderful people who I adore and am very thankful for. But when a neighbor tries to set you up with someone (they've never met), one should not always accept the offer. But I guess I did invite it. I tell all people that know me well that if they know of people that I might get along with, they should introduce us. Perhaps some people are a better judge of personalities than others.  (Long story short, the blind date did not go well...at all. We each brought several friends out for drinks so it was at least low key. But I got a text the following day asking if the friend I brought with me might be interested in a call from him. Neat. And she would not.) I need to be far more careful what I wish for!

At work, I'm getting a new assistant director to help me out with Student Activities. Awesome! But that means that in the next few weeks, I have to figure out how to hire, train, and get fully functioning a whole person...and myself. I can't even get myself organized for the fall most years! I am so very grateful for finally getting the help I so desperately need. I have no idea how I'm going to get everything done before students come back. Lesson learned - I need to be careful what I wish for! 

I'm leaving on vacation in a few days. I love vacation. I love seeing my mom for a few days and my dad for a few days. (No, they're not divorced. We just like to do different stuff together.) I love the challenge of climbing to the tops of mountains and the relaxation of shopping and girl-time. Work is tragically busy right now. I have publications coming out of my ears. I'm way behind. But I want this vacation. Looks like I'll be dragging mass quantities of work along with me to Colorado. Oh, and my house needed some major cleaning before it would meet minimum-mom-standards...so that's what I got to do tonight. Okay, I get it! I guess I should be careful what I wish for! 

This summer is shaping up to be one of the busiest, craziest, most wonderful summers ever. I'm excited, thrilled, calm, tense, and through it all, in remarkably good spirits. I have to keep reminding myself that I indeed did ask for much of what I'm experiencing this summer. I wanted a garden, thus I need to commit to weeding and keeping it nice and canning or freezing everything once it's ready. I wanted some help in the office, so I need to figure out how to get them here and give them a great experience. I want a husband, so I need to learn to take the bad with the good all as a part of the process...either that or figure out how to find him all by myself. 

Perhaps the lesson, "Be careful what you wish for!" is really code for, "For every decision you make, there is a consequence. You're going to have to deal with that." :)

Like a fight with a boyfriend...

The past few weeks at the university have been tough to say the very least. It's been a lot like being in a fight with a boyfriend. There has been frustration at every turn, and I walk away from this week feeling defeated. 

First, after playing middleman between Admissions, the Registrars Office, and Technology. The reason for me being in the middle? Well, mainly because it was all my idea. (What idea, you're asking yourself...it doesn't really matter.) But I ended up smack in the middle, and the only way my brilliant idea was going to take off was for me to stay right there doing tasks that I frankly had no business doing. But, I took it as sort of a challenge, and I went about my additional work willingly and with a smile. But today, out of left field, it all came crashing down. One part of the department triangle decided that what we were doing can't be done, then the other starting asking all sorts of questions, and then it all collapsed. We would just no longer do what we were doing. The end. Crushing. I worked so hard for that, and one person can just cabosh it? Just like that? 

And then there was the whole issue of my personal reimbursement. I purchased a significant amount of Visa gift cards with my own credit card for a student organization (about as much as my entire monthly paycheck). It launched an entire barrage of questions about the legalities of the whole thing and requests for more and more information, none of which I could really provide, at least not on solid truth. I tried my dutiful best to get that information, I really did. At first, the entire reimbursement was delayed a week (reminder: about as much as I get paid in a month), then it was agreed that I would receive a portion. Then the rest was delayed for three more terrifying, terrible weeks. I will receive the last of it tomorrow, but not without a whole armload of scoldings and warnings. So, even though I didn't do anything wrong, I certainly felt like I did in the end. 

I feel terrible about how these weeks have gone. I love what I do, and I love where I get to do it. But the past few weeks challenged that love in a real way and caused me to question why and how I do some things. I no longer maintain a blind faith that my campus will always take care of me and have my best interest (or students' best interest for that matter) in mind. There is a new layer of skepticism that I don't want to be there, but as a matter of self-preservation, it will probably have to remain for a while. 

Like a fight with a boyfriend, the past few weeks have left me with some open wounds that I'll have to continue to deal with. It lingers much longer than just these weeks. I'm very glad that I will only have to make it through a half a day more this week. I need some healing time this weekend in order to gear up for next week.

Ahead and Behind

Can someone please explain to me how I can simultaneously feel so far ahead and so far behind on things lately? And not just a few things. It seems like everything is suspended in this weird cosmic taffy pulling machine. 

I've been seemingly cruising along nicely in all things New Student Orientation - getting a theme to the University Relations folks, setting up the schedule, making plans to change things from last year, getting quotes and contracts tidied up... But then I stop and think about all there is to do yet - completing said contracts, working out the kinks in my budget, getting training planned for the mentors, getting faculty and staff on board, planning meal menus and traffic flow patterns and information delivery methods...Oh how very much there is yet to do! 

And the same ahead/behind theory applies to my home and personal life, too. I've got my garden planted and veggies springing up everywhere, but I don't have a single herb in a planter or my flowerbeds weeded. I managed to mow but not trim this weekend. The laundry's clean and folded but all over the living room floor. See what I mean? Ahead and behind. 

And well beyond simple and mundane tasks, the theory seems to still hold true. Look at all I've accomplished already in life! I joke frequently about getting to live three times the amount of life that everyone else does just because I pack so much in. And it's a wonderful life if I do say so myself. I'm not even thirty and somehow I've found the career path that I plan to stick with in one form or another, I have a house that I love, I (usually) can pay all of my bills and live a fiscally competent life, and I am about to embark on the educational journey of completing my doctorate degree. But there are, several things that I feel have been left far behind, for one reason or another. My ability to build and maintain healthy, strong, lasting relationships with others (friends and loves) always seems to suffer to one cause or another. 

Perhaps the solution to this whole mess is that I take a break or slow down on some of the things I'm so very ahead on in order to play catch up with the things I've fallen behind on. Simple concept in theory, right? Somehow I think that if it was that simple, I would have already figured it out by now... 

Post-Non-Rapture Funk

I did not believe the rapture was coming yesterday. Not even for a second. However, having a publicly professed rapture date by some "prophet" that thought he really knew what was up, did lend itself to some interesting conversations in the neighborhood. For instance, everyone assumed that I would be the only one to go on our street. That may indeed be true, but how did they arrive at this conclusion? Are they all that sure of their own fates of being condemned without life with Jesus? It seems to me a very sad account of life, but I suppose then that they wouldn't necessarily believe in any sort of judgement or rapture at all, so maybe it's not so sad for them. 

At one point last night, I had said something to the effect of, "If Jesus is coming back, I'll be with him," and the seventeen year old son of my neighbors said, "Well, isn't that thinking awfully highly of yourself." Well, no, it's not. I am just confident in my standing with Jesus. I know that I'll be in heaven someday and certainly by nothing I've done on my own, but by the grace of God.

However, today I find myself in a bit of a post-non-rapture funk. I woke up this morning convinced it was Monday. I mean fully convinced. The first thought on my mind as I heard my alarm (set for workday wake up time) was that my polo for work was still in the washing machine, so I promptly got up, went downstairs, and put the wash in the dryer. My next thought was that I had agreed to be at work a little early to finish up a project that didn't get done before the end of the day Friday, so I hurried myself up to get through the shower quicker than usual. Then I was mad at myself for not buying candy that I knew I needed for work. Then I started making mental notes of how many copies of things I needed to make for my morning meeting, if my credit card had enough room for some office purchases I'd be making, and things I needed to email my boss. All very Monday-like behavior. But I had this weird nagging thought in the back of my mind that something didn't feel quite right. What was it? Finally, out of habit, I checked my phone to see what time it was. There, right on the main screen was "Sunday, May 22, 2011." Earth-rocking moment. I hadn't been to church yesterday. I hadn't had a whole weekend. It was indeed only Sunday. 

So even though I feel like I'm in a bit of a funk from the non-rapture day yesterday, I also feel like I've been given a bit of a bonus day to fill with whatever I'd like. For now, the plans include mowing, folding laundry, and planting a few flowers around the yard.

On Being a Dubuquer

Today, after living in Dubuque for two years, I finally became official. For the first time really, I did some very "Dubuque" things. Some things, I've done before, and in and of themselves, are not particularly Dubuque-like, but when you put them with everything I did today, they were certainly a very Dubuquian sequence of events. 

Last night, I found myself at a concert at the clock tower downtown. I haven't done that before. It was a pretty good band and the atmosphere was pretty cool, people just hanging out every old place. After that, a quick stop at the Busted Lift, where of course, a friend and I run in to the same retired ER doctor that we had run into the last time we were there. Then it was a leisurely night at home in the 'hood with the neighbors just enjoying the night and the company. 

Somehow, this morning, the neighborhood gang had all decided that we would get up and go to the farmers' market together. And why not? This is one of those things that doesn't appear to be so specifically Dubuque-like, but after some wandering around the market, we did what only Dubuquers can do after the market - we went to the Sunrise Cafe for breakfast. Now this, I've never done. Great, funky little diner that I'd go back to if given the opportunity. 

After the diner, we went to Bluff Street and did a little shopping: Brew Haus (for neighborhood homebrew supplies), Calico Bean Market, a vintage place, a local artisan shop, a furniture store. Then, what else is there to do but ride the Fenlon Place Elevator for a single dollar to the top. And while we're at the top, why not start the old home tour? So, to the old home tour we all went and saw five amazingly old and lovely homes around town. It was full of not only history and stories of renovations and riches and families but little kid lemonade stands, wonderfully kind old people, and a perspective of town on foot never experienced before. 

And if that wasn't all enough adventure for the day, the neighborhood crew continued on to the Art Fair downtown. Then finally back home to Frog Hill, the community that brought us all together in the first place. 

Here's the thing I learned about being a Dubuquer: it doesn't matter what type of person you are, we can all be Dubuquers. At every event, I saw quite the mishmash of people - hippies, families, truckers, country boys, prim and proper old ladies... Somehow at Dubuque events, everyone fits in. No one is left out. This weekend has made me realize just how much I love this town. In fact, I almost bought a t-shirt that read: I fleur-de-lis Dubuque (like I Dubuque, but just a different symbol, you know)...Okay, so maybe you just need to be from Dubuque to get it. :)

It all seems a little silly.

Last night, a few friends gathered in my backyard with a single purpose: plant my garden. I didn't need the help necessarily, but it just seemed like it could be way more fun with others around. It had been a pretty drizzly day, and the evening wasn't particularly pleasant, filled with intermittent sprinkles, cool air, and lots of bats as the sun went down. There was even a few frantic-ish moments toward the end of the night, trying to find all of the tools in the grass, staple the last of the fence corners tight, and gather all of the seed packets strewn all over the yard. 

When it was all said and done, cucumber seeds, summer squash seeds, peas, six rows of green beans, 200 or so onion sets, four rows of carrots, four tomato plants, and six pepper plants made it into the ground. Climbing fences and bunny fences were secured. It was, if I do say so myself, a pretty valiant effort for a few soggy evening hours of work. All that's left is herbs and lettuces in pots and marigolds around the veggies, and a lone hasta that needs a home somewhere. 

I suppose it all seems a little silly to outsiders looking in. Heck, sometimes it seems a little silly to me. Gardens are a lot of work. And they'll produce more food than I will be able to figure out how to store or consume. This little project will occupy my entire summer, every free moment. I will curse at the weeds and creeping charlie trying to overtake my plants. And I will curse when too many veggies come up at once. Okay, I probably won't really curse as that's not my usual practice. But regardless of the silliness, there's still something nearly intoxicating about the idea and even the practice of gardening. I just love it. Regardless of the endless hours spent babying along seedlings since early March, raking grass clods out of the new plot, dragging tools in and out of the garage and shed, planting, weeding, harvesting, cleaning up, there's just something about gardening that feels good. And it's not just a solo project. I mean, sure, it could be, but it's way more fun when it's shared. And frankly, I think that's the main reason why I'm growing so darn much - just to share it with others.

So, cheers to the silliness of gardening and all that comes with it! And a big thanks to the friends who have already taken part in sharing and who will share in it in the future!

Random Song, Certain Failure, and a Really Big Bird

So, I must confess that what follows is actually three posts in one. Sometimes a person just has more to say than others. And since it is my official 300th post (if you factor in saved and never published drafts), I figure I can do what I want. Enjoy.

Random Song

For UD's Baccalaureate service last week, our gospel choir chose to sing this song: I Don't Feel Noways Tired. It wasn't this version, but this was one of the least annoying versions I could find online. For some reason, this song has kind of stuck with me throughout the weekend. I can't quite figure it out, to be honest. The first line of the song is, "I don't feel noways tired," but I can't figure out if the writer of the song was really saying that he wasn't tired because God always gave him the strength to move forward or if he was more trying to convince himself that he wasn't tired even though he knew full well he was, but somehow he still knew that God would give him the strength to more forward. The end result, I suppose, is still the same - God giving you the strength to move forward, but the song takes on a completely different tone depending on what it's really saying. 

I either totally agree with the author, in that I'm totally exhausted, but there's moving on to be done, so God will get me through, or I can't really quite believe the author in that he is simply really not tired. I feel tired. Exhausted really. I've survived another year of working with and fighting for college students, and there were indeed many battles to be fought, and I feel tired. But somehow I still don't doubt that I'm the place that I'm supposed to be and that God will give me what I need to keep going. 

Either way, I think it a bit of a strange song for a Baccalaureate service to be singing such a song. Sure it embodies moving forward and God being with you and such, but should a new college grad really be contemplating exhaustion at all? You just wrapped up the best four years of your life. What could you possible be so tired over? But maybe that's just me.

Certain Failure

Today I felt as though someone was trying their darnedest to align all possible controllable circumstances against me so that I was doomed to certain failure. How, you ask? I was supposed to give a presentation to the faculty today about the First-Year Experience program that I along with a team of fantastic people have worked really hard to build. I created a draft of the presentation and showed it to my team. One of the members responded like this: "Ooh, could you take this one part out here? That idea was presented to the faculty last month and was met with a lot of resistance." I, of course, said no. I couldn't in good faith take that part out. It was one of the most important parts that couldn't be peeled away from the rest no matter what. 

After some significant reworking of the presentation to frame it in a way that really talked about benefits to faculty while still highlighting the services and goals of the program, I apprehensively brought myself and my presentation to the faculty meeting this morning. I met several administrators in the hallway, and they said this: "Well, we're running about a half hour behind...and they're pretty much done being willing to listen to, well, anything...they're just so tired you know." Great. Please, feed me to the wolves. Oh, did I mention that I was slated to be the very last session before lunch? Did I also mention that I was originally given a twenty minute time slot that two other presenters were added to last minute? So, please feed me to the grumpy, tired, hungry wolves with a presentation that ran right at seventeen minutes each time I rehearsed it with a negative ten minute time slot to do it in...as the smell of freshly delivered pizzas wafts into the room. 

How much more could be stacked against me? Seriously. So, after about a half hour of nervous pacing and jumping around the back of the room as I watched several others (some that didn't even have agenda slots) present to the hungry, grumpy wolves, I got called to the front of the room and was instructed to present...quickly. 

Quick prayer, flash a smile, crack a joke, and get moving.

"If you've ever seen the movie Over the Hedge, today I will be playing the role of the squirrel on the energy drink, so hang on tight, you get this presentation in hyper-drive." Laugh elicited from grumpy crowd, check. 

After breaking the ice, I pretty much gave my entire presentation in a single breath, no break, no pause, no asking for questions. I think once, I paused ever so briefly to make sure everyone was tracking with me and no one had become motion-sick due to my very motion-filled visual presentation at it's new pace (laugh elicited mid-presentation, check). 

When it was all said and done, I finished my perfectly timed seventeen minute presentation in something like ten and a half minutes. And at the end, I received thunderous applause and more laughter as well as a full round of congratulatory messages during lunch. 

I'm not sure what to do with all of this tonight. It was what it was, I suppose. The information was presented, faculty either cared or they didn't. And that's the end of that. 

A Really Big Bird

Tonight, I decided to take a trip to Platteville to share some ice cream with Megan. We had both been really good and worked out, so we felt as though we deserved a reward. Shouldn't all workouts be rewarded with ice cream? I think so. Anyway, I was driving along highway 151 at my usual seventy miles per hour, when from the far side of the other direction of traffic, I see this huge bird gliding in my general direction. My thought process went a little like this: 

 
Wow, that is a really big bird. Is it a pheasant? No, it's too big to be a pheasant. Could it be a turkey? I don't think turkeys can - THWUMP. WHAT?!? Did I really just HIT the bird? How in the world did I just hit the bird?!?

But the best part was when the car that was behind me passed me, the passenger turned all the way around in her seat to see if the giant bird had left any damage on my car where I had clearly run smack into a slow gliding, easily visible, massively huge bird. Oh yeah, and the huge scuff that goes from headlight to side mirror is nice too. 

I'm still not really clear on what exactly it was. It was probably five feet in wingspan but fat and round through the body. If turkeys can at least glide, although I thought them to be rather flightless by nature, then I would estimate it to be a turkey. If not, then it was either a mutant pheasant or perhaps a bald eagle...I don't remember seeing white...but clearly I wasn't really watching all that close...since it hit my car. Is killing a member of an endangered species a federal offense?

Well, there you have it. Three posts in one for my 300th post. What a crazy day it has been.

Angst

It's been twenty three days since my interview with Edgewood College. Twenty three days of hearing nothing from them. When I departed from my interview, it was thundersnowing something terrible (that's not really all that important to the story, more of just a fun fact), and the wonderful faculty left us all with the reassuring thought that they would certainly contact us "as soon as we can." I knew then that there was another interview date (coincidentally today), but I hadn't given much thought to the fact that I may actually have to wait until after the final interview was conducted. Now, twenty three days later, I still sit and wait. 

But I must confess that the angst I currently feel is not centered in the weight of their possible rejection. No. As I explore my anxiety, I have come to realize that what I'm most afraid of is that I actually may get in. Although I'm sure I weighed the consequences of applying to graduate school heavily, the very reality of what graduate school means seems to have eluded my consciousness. Now, I find myself having conversations with myself (only in my head, of course) that go a little like this:

"Do you remember your masters program?" Of course I remember. I remember almost dropping out after missing two thirds of an entire term while trying to deal with the most difficult year of my professional life. I remember studying and writing papers into all hours of the night. I remember taking work time to log on to chat forums to complete assignments. I remember it being genuinely awful. "Yeah, that's right. What exactly were you thinking applying for a doctoral program? You don't really have any business applying to a doctoral program." 

Ugh. My heart beats a little faster and my palms suddenly find themselves a little bit clammier just thinking about my previous experience with graduate school. But I have to check myself a little bit here. There are reasons, good solid vocational reasons that I wanted to pursue more schooling. I'm not crazy (right?) for wanting to go back, and certainly now that I'm a little bit older, wiser, and more experienced, this round will go a bit smoother (right?). My letter of intent to Edgewood (which at the very least did not preclude me from receiving an interview), summed up why exactly I want to receive a doctorate:

It is in living out my purpose that I know I must pursue doctoral study. It is not a matter of feeling obligation or pressure from others to earn a degree, nor is it a matter of competing for my place at the top of the proverbial employment ladder; it isn’t even about earning higher pay or the respect of my peers. Rather it is a matter of deep desire to do my very best at the things I’m being called to do, and in higher education and Student Affairs, I can work and serve better with more education no matter what position I hold. This makes the pursuit of higher education a holy pursuit, a chasing after God’s own heart while also increasing knowledge in my field; it becomes development of both mind and spirit.

I really do want to do this. And it really could be good. Right?

There is a sort of cruel irony...

There is a sort of cruel irony to having a love song stuck in your head when you're not in love. For the past week or so, a single song has been resonating in my head: Brook Frasier's The Thief. Check it out here.

The jaded cynic in me says that certainly these types of feelings aren't even possible. I've searched and never felt anything like the words of this song. But the hopeless romantic in me knows that songs like that don't get written because of make-believe or fairytales. They are written in moments of truth and vulnerability.

I hate to hear women complain about their husbands, children, mother-in-laws. It breaks my heart. I want to grab them by the shoulders, shake them, and proclaim assertively, You have everything I want! Cherish it! I don't usually do that, by the way. But the thought has crossed my mind more than once. I know no one's circumstance is perfect, and human nature is really good at making us want what we don't or can't have, but still...

I've been through many phases of my single self. I've been happy and even proud to be alone, self-sufficient, and selectively single. I've been singularly focused on becoming not single in any way possible, desperately love-sick for the man of my dreams. And I've been all sorts of places in between. Today, I find myself melancholy, happy with where my life has taken me but knowing something still lacks. Counting my blessings but yearning for just one more. Excited for the possibilities of the horizon but cautious of what the next day might bring or not bring. And battling the irony that sits quietly beside that beautiful love song stuck in my head for another day.

Quite Some Time

It has been six weeks or so since I've even looked at this blog, and not for a lack of things going on. My days have been full to overflowing with family, friends, colleagues, work endeavors, educational pursuits... Where to start?

At the end of March I went to the regional NACA conference where we typically book the majority of our entertainment for the year for students. It was a great trip, and I came home extremely proud of my students. I did a little "mobile blogging" (you know, with a pen and paper?) while I was there, and I stumbled upon it today:

Thursday, March 31...But what surprised me, I mean really surprised me, was a tiny little moment before our first meal together. We all sat down around a table set with salads, water, baskets of bread, and a plethora of extra forks. Everyone sat. No one moved. Everyone looked around then looked at me. Silence. Then a quiet voice asked, "Did you want to, um...pray?" I couldn't help but beam a little, okay, a lot on the inside, which I am only sure leaked out to the outside. "Why yes, I'd love to. Amongst the hustle and noise and activity of nearly a thousand students, the seven of us quietly praised God for His goodness.

April has been nothing short of a veritable tornado of activity personally and professionally. I don't know how many days I've said, "I have a love/hate relationship with April. Today, it's more hate." Heres' a brief recap of some of the things I have survived (although I feel like I could write entire posts on almost all of these):

• I started an intense workout program called P90X which I love, but when caught up with the rest of life in the tornado, I can't ever seem to dedicate quite enough days to it. I have two main goals in working out nearly six days a week, an hour a day or more: 1) rocket to the summits of multiple 14,000-foot peaks with ease as opposed to my labored, exhausting attempts of years past, and 2) rock a string bikini shamelessly, even if just for myself.
• My students pulled off two formal balls on back-to-back Saturdays, both with varying levels of successes and failures. My only free Saturday in April was the day before Easter, as this weekend I'm headed on a bus trip to Chicago for a White Sox game.
• I have been at work at least four out of every five (well, six with all the Saturdays) nights a week, pulling some marathon workdays out of thin air (with the assistance, of course, of significant amounts of caffeination and endless prayers of supplication). Somehow through it all, I still really do love my job.
• I applied to a doctoral program at Edgewood College in Madison, Wisconsin and interviewed just last week for admission. I am still awaiting word on my acceptance. Being admitted would begin a three year journey of simultaneous full-time grad school and more than full-time employment that I am undoubtedly clinically insane for attempting and will assuredly result in being over-educated, under-paid, and deeply in debt.
• I attended the funeral of a man my age that I attended college with. He was married to a woman that I was a friend and RA with in Wilgus Hall, and it was a stark reminder of just how unstable and unpredictable life can be despite our very best attempts to make it both stable and predictable.
• I spent Easter weekend with family, which I will probably write another post about later. It was a lovely weekend, but some interesting reflections came out of the time. 
• And as we march on toward May, the Student Life department is quickly dwindling as individuals seek out more promising employment and educational opportunities elsewhere. I'm sure, at some point, I will also reflect on this, as the implications are potentially huge and terrifying, but we trust God's guidance for the security of our future. 
• I made not one, but two new friends. The administration on campus interviewed a candidate for the Health, Recreation, and Wellness program, and before even offering her the job thought of all of the similarities between her and I. I am thankful that Dr. Ward stepped out and asked me to help her find a place to live. She is a great new friend. And the campus chaplain introduced me to a new associate pastor at a local church and she's full of sass, spunk, and sarcasm. It has been years since I made an honest to goodness new friend, so that has been very nice.

And there you have it. You're all caught up. With so much going on, and finally making the attempt to put some reflections down on paper, I'm sure more will follow. It's kind of like working out or eating well. You know it's good for you, but a little lull in the action tends to make it easier to forget just how good you feel after you've done it.

Things I don't not believe

This morning in church, our pastor did something that in six years, I had never seen anything close to. He started the service sitting down in a chair on the stage holding a wireless microphone. He let us know that he had no notes for this morning, no sermon prepared. He explained that in recent months the Spirit of God had been using him in ways he couldn't explain or control. His body sometimes moved without explanation or desire to do so, he could feel power and pain and healing passing to and through him. 

As he spoke, his body began to move in bizarre manners, going from sitting to standing, to tip-toes, to arched. Men of the church went up to assist him to be sure he didn't fall. He went from standing to the ground, face down, back to standing and arched. And then when it was over, he went and sat back down. 

I didn't know what to feel. I know I believe that the Spirit can move in the very ways I witnessed this morning, but that doesn't keep me from feeling confused, skeptical. And the pastor urged us to check his words and actions against scripture, of which I'm quite sure I will find no conflict. I really do believe this stuff can happen. I don't not believe any of itI believe that people can speak in tongues, heal others, hear words directly from God; I believe in the presence of demons and angels, spiritual warfare... So why went it actually happens, do I doubt, shy away, feel skeptical? 

I've never seen anything quite like what I saw today. And my guess is that the guests I brought to church this morning will not opt to return with me anytime soon. 

Strangest Analogy Ever

Today, I was offered one of the strangest, but perhaps most apt analogies anyone has ever offered me. A bit of a background story: A colleague/friend and I had just finished up a long, fairly emotional conversation about an issue of which we each had personal conflict with each other. It's been a project we've worked long and hard on together, and in an instant, last week, it all seemed to come to a screeching halt. We didn't talk for nearly a week, but today we got back together. We had to. We had one last meeting before we present the big project to the big wigs on Thursday. So, we came to a resolution together after some soul searching, a few tears, brave moments of honesty, and a certain heartfeltness that only comes from being both friends and coworkers. 

And after it was all done, she says to me, "Well, this is your baby. It has been all along. And you need to think of Thursday like a birthday...your day to deliver the result of all of your hard work to the world. So, take your vitamins, get some sleep, and on Thursday morning, be ready to push." 

At first, I found this analogy to be extremely awkward, but frankly, the more I think of it, the more sense it makes. This last week, I've been all sorts of emotional as things get stretched, stressed, and put to the test here toward the end...having not ever actually been pregnant, I can only assume a certain amount of emotional volatility develops as one nears the end of that long nine month road of developing, protecting, and growing that precious baby. And now, a few days before the big day, I'm getting nervous, excited, anxious to see the result out in front of me, laid out for everyone to see. And the work of getting this whole big project even presented in concept to the big wigs is, well, work. Hard work. Strenuous, nerve-racking, frightening work. A little like labor, right?

So, I guess my friend wasn't all that far off. On Thursday morning, I will have no choice but to be ready to deliver the precious cargo I've been carrying for nearly the last two years. It will be, in no uncertain terms, a very big birthday. 

You know, the metaphor may be right on, but I can't seem to shake the disturbing mental image of me actually giving birth in the conference room with seven or so colleagues and administrators sitting around watching. *Shiver* :)

Restorative Exhaustion

Can there be such thing as restorative exhaustion? A day that makes you feel tired, worn out, and old, but yet somehow fulfilled and restored? This week was a pretty tough week for me, as I reflected last night. But today, in my twelth hour of about sixteen at work, it only takes one student saying, "You really do go above and beyond for us...and I don't know how you do it." or one alum that has heard of my efforts to rebuild the social Greek system at UD and tells me, "It's so great to hear of what you're doing for the Greeks. It really is about life-long friendships." And I somehow feel like last week was kind of worth it. Like it wasn't maybe just so bad. 

And I guess that's what keeps me here, you know? It's that ability to measure the good against the bad, and again and again, determine that it's worth going through. Logical? Probably not. But for the past three years, it's worked. One day it may drive me to absolute insanity, but I guess it works, and it's a risk I'm willing to take. 

An Effective Attack

I haven't had a week like this in quite a while. Oh, what a struggle it has been. I feel so defeated. My view of my very worth has been attacked from all sides, and what an effective attack it has been. 

The week began with an honest but unexpected conversation with a colleague that shook my confidence on a major project I've been working diligently on for nearly two years. I've been fixated on it all week, usually worrying myself all the way to worst-case scenario mode, occasionally spontaneously bursting into tears, trying to figure out what I've done wrong or what I could have done better, second guessing all of my effort. An unnecessary work-up to be sure, but that's how attacks work I suppose. 

Then yesterday and today, I worked diligently to try to protect a student organization by attempting to set up a meeting with another professional on campus. There were some things that just needed to be discussed professional to professional, and I really thought I was doing the right thing for the organization and for the professional. Three times in two days, I set up a time and place, and three times in two days I was canceled upon. I found out too late that the reason I was being canceled on was because this professional was going around me to speak with a student from the organization instead. Then this professional proceeded to speak ill of me personally to the student. So not only did this person's actions speak clearly of their view of my worth, but their actual words spelled out their view of my worth. 

And topping off the attack on my worth, my week isn't even over. I will quietly work a sixteen hour Saturday with students, something I will most likely even enjoy, but it will undoubtedly go unnoticed by most, not that acknowledgment is any real sort of reason for why I do what I do...

Look, the fact of the matter is I know that I have worth. But that knowledge doesn't halt Satan's ability to attack it. He knows that all it takes is a tiny fissure, a little crack in the armor, and once he finds it, he can pick at it and pick at it until I'm just exhausted, affected, hurt. But it's time to attack back. I have worth. And I can prove it. 

Genesis 1:27 says, "So God created mankind in his own image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them." How could I forget that God fashioned me after himself?  

Psalm 139 says: "You have searched me, Lord, and you know me. You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar. You discern my going out and my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways. Before a word is on my tongue you, Lord, know it completely...For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb..." God thinks I'm worth enough to know everything about me. He dreamed me up and knows everything about me. 

Romans 8:15 tells me, "The Spirit you received does not make you slaves, so that you live in fear again; rather, the Spirit you received brought about your adoption to sonship." I am a child of God. I have worth because the Spirit living in me brings about my adoption. 

That is such a tiny start. Such a little glimpse into the worth that God sees in me. I haven't even touched the fact that Jesus died for me. He died for me. Because he loves me. I'm worth his life. His life fills mine with worth. So, take that, Satan. You don't define my worth. This week's attacks are temporary. They won't last. My worth in Christ is eternal. It will last forever. And because of that, I can endure weeks like this.

And Christians are just like, "Oh well..."

I recently posted about a conversation with a friend in which I had the chance to share the gospel with a friend. I've been playing bits and pieces of that conversation back in my mind ever since, mainly just because of the uniqueness of the situation and conversation. 

But one of the things that really has stuck with me was when my friend said something to the effect of: "I just can't buy that...that God would only accept a few people and not others that don't believe in Jesus. That would mean most of my family, 90% of my friends, and even religious leaders of the world. What about the people that are born in the Middle East and never have the opportunity to even hear about Jesus? And Christians look around, shrug their shoulders, and are just like, 'Oh well.'"

My response was probably not just exactly square, but I think I said something about God's view of justice and fairness versus our own. But perhaps I should have stressed the thousands of missionaries being supported by churches and families all over the world, the outreach efforts of local churches through countless ministries (homelessness services, medical clinics, home repairs...). Or maybe I should have made known how much a conversation like the one we were in the middle of broke my heart at some level that doesn't even have words to express it. "Oh well"? It's not an "oh well" issue. It's an issue of life and death. Is that what non-Christians really think when they look into the life of a Christian? "Oh well"? What a limited and broken view, a world-tainted view.

Now, please don't miss understand. There are indeed Christians that hold an "Oh well" attitude. There are those that choose to ignore the world, their friends, their family that do not accept Jesus' gift. And there are those that find safety hiding out in their Jesus huddles, refusing to reach out, finding it easier to just praise God together alone. And surely the world sees this...well, obviously it does based on my conversation with one friend that was not afraid to say it so boldly. That in and of itself fills me with some sort of call to action. I know I'll never be able to make up for a whole group of Christians refusing to love like Jesus, but certainly I can do all I can to be the living, breathing, moving, acting presence of God in the world. And I hope that non-Christians in my little sphere of influence see that, feel it, understand it. 

I do not accept an "Oh well" attitude in my life. I want to live as a pure reflection of Jesus to those around me so that there is no question.

Glory to God Anyway

I recently had the opportunity to present the gospel to an unbelieving friend. It was in the middle of quite the heated discussion about right and wrong, truth and relativism, and I somehow knew that what I was saying not only wasn't resonating with my friend, it was pretty much offending him. Ultimately, he let me know that my views were far too closed-minded for him. 

And although it was generally unpleasant to walk away from a conversation like that having made no noticeable difference in a friend's life, you know what? Glory to God anyway. I got the opportunity to express God's love to someone who hadn't ever experienced it. I can't soften his heart myself. I can't force him into knowing Jesus. God gave me the chance to plant a seed, and I did. Who knows how it may impact his life down the road. And what if none at all? Well, God gets the glory anyway.

"The bigger the change we hope for..."

I am reading a book right now called Culture Making with a group of about thirty-five other faculty and staff members on campus, and so far, I've really enjoyed the beginning of the book. But tonight, while reading through chapter three, I had to stop, reread, star, underline. The author was describing rates of change in culture. He argued that there are different layers of culture that change and impact culture at different rates of speed and significance. For instance, fashion is a part of culture but beyond magazine archives fashion causes no real significant impact. There's no longevity. One day, dark colors and wide flowy pants are the hotest items, and the next, skinny jeans and vibrant florals are in. One fashion statement does not build on a previous to create another. They just come and go as the breeze blows. On the other end of the spectrum, things like government systems provide for some of the slowest but arguably most significant changes to culture and society.

And then I came across the quote that had me starring and underlining and rereading and such: "The bigger the change we hope for, the longer we must be willing to invest, work, and wait for it." For some reason, this struck me as if it was a totally new concept. 

I am working awfully hard to construct new cultural ideas in a campus that seems to so desperately need them. I spend my days correcting foul language, trying to tame wild and unpredictable attitudes about people and services, counseling students through appropriate choices in lifestyle... I expend immeasurable efforts drafting documents, proposals, summary reports, arguments, rallying cries... All of this in an attempt to somehow make the campus a better place to live, to learn, to work, to serve. And I get so darn impatient! I find myself eternally frustrated when asked for yet another revision, or another cyclical conversation, or the many deja vu moments with students repeating myself like a crazed broken record. 

But the change I'm hoping for is big. It's not just a change in a student or two; it's how students live. It's not just trying to make programs better; it's using programs to change lives. All of the work is to make campus somehow better, somehow different from the rest of the world so that the people that leave this place go into the world and make the world somehow better. That's a big change, a big hope. Why would I think it would happen overnight? Why would I be frustrated with small amounts of change, progress, improvement? 

Revolutions and revivals are exciting bursts of activity that make marks in history books for having existed, but they are either not the stand-alone events they appear to be or they are not really all that significant in the long-run. These moments are just the moment that the light switch is flipped and the lights come on. But they usually fail to take into account the countless hours spent wiring the house and checking the circuits that needed to take place for that switch to be flipped. So, I suppose, right now, I need to be okay, or maybe even excited, being the electrician wiring the house knowing that one day the lights will come on. 

The author drove home the point by saying, "Nothing that matters, no matter how sudden, does not have a long history and take part in a long future." (I know, English loving friends, a lot of double negatives going on there...but think about it, would you?) Things that matter come from somewhere and impact something. They can't not. 

Discernment

It seems that the Holy Spirit has been pressing on me lately to hone in on the topic of discernment as of late, and I have to admit that it somewhat caught me off guard. Having grown up a Christian my entire life, having been guided by sound biblical teaching, mentors, parents, consistent Sunday school lessons, I kind of thought that I had the idea of discernment all wrapped up.

As a mentor for the Wendt Character Scholars, I find that I often learn more than I teach, something I promised my small group on our first night together. This semester's topic is integrity, and we're reading together Steven Carter's aptly named book, Integrity. In the first chapter, Carter provides his working definition for the word in three parts: "1) discerning what is right and what is wrong, 2) acting on what you have discerned, and 3) saying openly that you are acting on your understanding of right from wrong." One of the mentors spoke eloquently about the three parts of the definition, but spent much time focusing on step one, discerning right from wrong. She asked the group to come up with other words that help us understand the not-so-frequently used word. The group came up with the following list: 

• filtering
• perceiving
• distinguishing
• considering
• determining
• establishing
• objectively evaluating
• discovering
• discriminating
• judging

The conclusion of all of these words: None of it is simply what I feel. Discernment is not just a gut reaction or a heart-pull in one direction or another. It's not going with the flow or jumping on the bandwagon. It's not assuming that just because a friend made a decision, that you'll come to the same conclusion. No, discernment, I'm afraid, is hard work. It requires a certain knowledge of ultimate right and wrong in order to conjecture right and wrong in specific situations. Not a societal right and wrong, not a familial right and wrong, and ultimate truth of some kind that is indeed where discernment can start. Without truth, where would one start on a journey of discernment? What measure of right and wrong would one seek out? 

Some may reason, Well, I follow my heart. Ah, but how much so can we even trust our own hearts? Our emotions, feelings, our guts? There are warnings against this very heart-trust in plain language in the Bible. Jeremiah 17:9, which I will be spending some significant time with this week states, "The heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure. Who can understand it?" So, my heart may want something terribly, but is it necessarily right? I may long for some desire, but it may not be in any form good. 

The speaker for the night continued to drive this point home with a quote that I will attribute to her since Google has not helped me locate it from any alternative source: "The heart is an important instructor only after is has been instructed." A heart by itself, as well intentioned as it might be, as much of a good heart it may consider itself, simply cannot discern right from wrong. It can only tell what feels good, what promotes self worth, what satisfies impulses and urges and yearnings right now. But a heart that is first instructed by the Holy Spirit can navigate those feelings, yearnings, decisions with a solid knowledge of unchanging truth. And the more I train my heart, the easier, though I would argue rarely easy, difficult decisions become. 

And how does one train their heart for discernment? The Word of God is where we find our truth, the unwavering, unchanging truth of right and wrong, established and inspired by God himself for his people. And when the Word is too difficult to understand on our own, we rely on the Holy Spirit living actively inside us to continue to instruct our hearts beyond our own limited understanding.

So, I guess at the heart of it all, is God. When I encounter a difficult decision, or something that seems to pull my head and my heart and my feelings and my knowledge all in different directions, the best thing I can do is go back to the Word of God, to dig into wherever it is God leads me, to learn from what he teaches me, and to listen to the interpretation of the Living God inside me. That's discernment. And that's just scratching the surface.

What I believe about the Bible...

I am eyeball deep in conversation right now. The topic? What exactly do you believe about the Bible? And believe it or not, that is a narrowed topic from where we started. I posed the following questions, and I feel that I should do my diligent best to answer the same at least: Think on what you know of the Bible. Have you ever read any of it? Do you have any interest in reading it now? What do you believe about the book if anything? Does the book or has it ever impacted your life in any way? 

I will be honest and admit that I have never read the whole Bible. I've never tried to read it cover to cover. I have been extremely unsuccessful at yearly reading plans and even any sort of daily or weekly devotionals. I find myself reading the Bible at random times like early in the morning when I first arrive at my office or when I'm in the middle of a thousand project list. But I find myself consulting the Word frequently for a quick verse reference or to remind myself of a story.

Some of my favorite books of the Bible include the letters to the Philippians, Ephesians, Colossians, Corinthians, Thessalonians, Galatians...They are letters, like something I would maybe write, to people, churches, loved ones on all sorts of topics - family, church business, teaching, reminders of what's right and wrong in Christian communities, helpful hints on how to pray, love, serve better...

What do I believe about the Bible? I believe that the Bible is the inspired word of God. Why do I believe that? Well, the Bible says so. For skeptics, that's the equivalent of saying that every word of a sports magazine is true because it says so somewhere in the pages. Well, I'm not a biblical scholar, but there are a few things I know anyway. First, not only does the Bible identify itself as the inspired word of God, but it does so repeatedly. Different authors from different periods of time all reiterate the same fact. This stuff comes from God. Now, I will admit that I'm not completely 100% sure what is meant by "inspired word of God." Does that mean that God whispered in authors' ears the exact words they should write? Does it mean that God actually emblazoned it on pages Himself? Does it mean once it was written He reviewed, edited, and approved? Was it merely selected by God? I guess I'm not sure. But no matter, it comes from God.

I also believe that the Bible is not a fairytale. It's a history book, a chronology of the work of God from creation to a while after Jesus lived his life out on earth. Does that mean that I think each and every story should be taken completely literally? I don't think so. Some stories and books in the Bible call us to use our sanctified imaginations. And some stories are just meant to not quite be figured out. The creation story comes to mind here. Was the world created in a literal six days followed by a literal day of rest? Perhaps. But doesn't it say something in the Bible about a thousand years being like a moment for God? Does it effect my view of the creation story? No. God created the earth from nothing into something with His hands, His creativity, and His love. That's enough for me.

Has the Bible impacted my life in any way? Ha, oh my yes. As a little girl, I grew up in Sunday school classes learning the fantastic old testament stories that taught me to be brave, to love others, to obey my parents, that God is always with me, that He listens to my prayers... Growing and maturing, the Bible taught me right and wrong, how to deal with others, how to develop relationships, what forgiveness means, oh so many things. And I know the Bible to be a tool to build and strengthen my relationship with God. It's His heart on paper. It shows me what He loves, what He hates, what He desires for me and all of His creation. The more I spend time in the word, the more I learn the heart of God. The more I learn the heart of God, the more I love what He loves, hate what He hates, desire what He desires... The impact of the Bible on my life is simply immeasurable.

I feel like I could write for days on what I believe about the Bible because it's not simple; it's complex and full of questions and ponderings. The Bible has been a part of my whole life, and it seems so inadequate to boil it down to just a few paragraphs. But there you have at least a start, a few thoughts to spur on a few thousand more.