Jairus' Daughter

And here's to all the women of Greek fraternity,
Whatever creed or motto, wherever they may be.

I came across an old sorority photo today as I was walking through the garage.  It was from my first week of college, when I had just pledged.  I had forgotten I had it.

There we all were.  When I hardly knew any of the people embracing me.  When I still thought being in a sorority was about sisterhood and ideals.  Before any of it went downhill.  But there next to me in the picture stood my best friend, only she wasn't my best friend at the time.  We met because we pledged the same sorority, and we bonded because we both became disillusioned with it.

Still, to be able to gaze at the picture and go back to that instant made me happy.  It was the most fun we ever had.

Divine Appointment:  Thurs., 7:00pm

We had an interesting conversation at my uncle's house last night.  He and his wife are self-proclaimed atheist-leaning agnostics; my parents are clergy and devout layperson.  Not having been privy to one of these controversial discussions before, I took the role of observer and tried to bridge the gap whenever possible.  Even though I whole-heartedly agree with and support my parents on spiritual matters, the last thing I wanted to do was to set myself up as another spiritual antagonist to my aunt and uncle.  Not that my parents have done that, but I have a feeling that's how they are viewed.

The conversation veered toward the dreaded topic of <shudder> God when my uncle expressed his discomfort about all the Christian influences in His environment:  "It's like it's not politically correct to not be religious these days."  We thought that was pretty interesting, since we find exactly the opposite to be true.  Everybody in the room felt like he or she was in the minority of society, being careful not to offend anyone and seeking not to be offended in the process.  The shared experience of feeling outnumbered opened the door to a very candid discussion about many things faith-related.

I don't think it's a quirk of fate that my aunt and uncle find themselves lately inundated by Christianity, nor that my parents and I were available to talk about it, when they felt prohibited from bringing it up to anyone else.  Something is happening over there, and I just hope I will get to see it come to fruition.

Thanksgiving

I used to think Thanksgiving was a stupid holiday, but that was only because in preschool, my mother made me wear a construction paper pilgrim costume.  Hat, collar, cuffs--the whole deal.  It took me a while to get over that.

When I truly began to ponder the significance of Thanksgiving, I realized that it is the only uniquely American holiday dedicated to honoring God.  Though we may be the most decadent nation on earth, I find it reassuring that we continue to acknowledge our Provider and who we are in relation to Him:  the recipients of His blessings.

What am I thankful for this year?  For the privilege of knowing my Creator.  For Jesus Christ, who made that possible.  That I have everything I need.  And that I don't have to wear a construction paper pilgrim costume ever again.

Double Shot of Arrogance

I hate being smarter than my professors.

That is all.

Death to "Cinchy"

For some reason, I woke up this morning carrying a mental relic from 2nd grade.  I don't think I've thought about this since it happened.

Back then, some of my classmates had taken to saying "cinchy" instead of "easy."  It's a logical derivation:  "That's a cinch." => "cinchy."  I don't know where we picked it up.  Perhaps it's just one more instance of children being creative with language.

My second-grade math teacher, Mrs. Roland*, however, put a stop to that.  Apparently, the word cinchy had become her pet peeve.  We were no longer allowed to use it anymore.  Ever.  Of course I bowed to her imposing authority (I don't think I had ever said the word anyway) without giving a thought to the injustice of it.  I figured cinchy must really be a bad word if a teacher wouldn't let us say it.

If I were a 2nd grade teacher and my kids came up with a variation like that, I'd be thrilled!  But maybe that's just the linguist in me.  Come to think of it, they probably wouldn't let me near a class of second-graders; I'm not a big enough proponent of censorship.

When you just can't say it with mace...

I need some sort of man-repellent.  No, that sounds like I have a different sort of problem (one that I may not want to solve in such a hurry!).  Rather, I need to repel one sort of man--the sort that sits down next to you in crowded places and comes up with excuses to touch you in conversation.  Elbow wars?!  Give me a break.

He is the kind of man who makes contact too often and for too long, and who apparently feels no compunction about it whatever.  It's frightening, really.  What's to stop a man like that from committing rape?  Certainly not his respect for women.

Maybe the invisible fence thing can be modified for the socially inept.  All those pathological huggers getting a shock if they cross the boundary into my personal space--I would definitely pay money for that.  Of course, I would suspend my defenses for genuine hugs (from people I trust), the kind that don't make my skin crawl.

Meanwhile, the rest of the American people are voting with their wallets.

I usually try to stay away from politics as much as possible because it just irritates me.  Today, however, I will get my hands dirty.

I caught part of an interview with the Dixie Chicks on the Today Show this morning.  They were upset about some comments by the president following their little debacle.  He said, "The Dixie Chicks are free to speak their mind.  They shouldn't have their feelings hurt just because some people don't want to buy their records when they speak out.  You know, freedom is a two-way street."  I thought to myself:  how true, and what a generous position for him to take in the face of personal insult!  The Dixie Chicks, on the other hand, felt that it was just an attempt to shut them up, and that it belied the ideals of our country's founders.  I've got news for you, girls, our founders believed that freedom came with responsibility, that one must accept the consequences of one's free choices.  What could President Bush have said that would have made you happy?  "You know, I'm ashamed that I'm from Texas, too.  I think every American should be sure to pick up a copy of the Dixie Chicks' music, so they'll know that you want them to make disparaging remarks about their president in foreign countries during wartime.  Because that's what makes you an ideal American."

It's only a no-brainer if the TV hasn't melted your brain.

"What do you do in your spare time?"

It doesn't sound like a terribly hard question, and yet, I had no answer.  I dangled on the other end of the telephone speechless as I mentally inventoried my activities of the last few weeks.

"Do you just watch TV and veg out and stuff?"

Gah!  No!  I do things!  Really exciting and enviable things!  I just can't think what they are right now.  But I know I do them.  I HAVE A LIFE GOSHDARNIT!!!  But yes, I watch TV (when I can fit it in between the other exhilarating things that I do!).

Thinking back on the conversation, I suppose I could have said I spend time online.  I have a blog.  I'm a productive citizen of the information world.  Although it depends on the listener whether that sounds hip or geeky.  Maybe I should just stick with my original persona as the oh-so-glamorous human vegetable.

Happy Rebirthday!

Last night I had the singular privilege of being present while someone prayed to accept Jesus into his life.  It is a humbling and awe-inspiring occasion to witness.  I didn't feel like I deserved to be there--I barely knew this guy and hadn't had a real conversation with him, let alone a spiritual one.  Nevertheless, Someone saw fit to include me.

The emotions I felt, I imagine, are genuinely similar to those experienced in a hospital labor and delivery ward.  He started asking questions, which came out of the blue like labor pains.

"What does it mean to 'be saved?'"

Call the hospital, this is it.  We were all jarred into the reality of what was happening.  Excitement and fear both came into play, along with a palpable feeling of anticipation as the conversation progressed.

"So how do you get saved?"

Time to move to the delivery room; this baby is gonna be born whether we're ready for it or not.  We left the party raging in the living room and went into the dining room, away from the curious glances of fellow party-goers.  There the male representative of our group led our friend in the Sinner's Prayer.

This young man became a born-again Christian right before our eyes.  I was moved by this brand new beginning, full of hope and promise.  And I realized how vulnerable he would be now.  There was so much I wanted to tell him, to share with him, to dispel and clarify for him...  But I had to realize that this is just the first day.

"I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it."  - Voltaire

My parents are particularly persnickety people.  It took me a long time, and a good bit of interaction with the world at large, to realize that they are not the norm in this respect.  The conversation topic of choice at restaurants is always how the service and/or food is lacking.  Sunday morning worship is not complete until they pick apart the sermon.  And heaven forbid anyone should have a body piercing or an unacceptable haircut.

Growing up I always felt bad for the victim du jour of their criticism (especially when I was it).  For this reason, I undertook the lifelong quest to Not Be Like My Parents.  I seek out the good in people and situations, rather than the bad.  I try to be content in all circumstances, and I avoid making unnecessary value judgments.  Some things are important and I stand firm on those:  theology, morality, truth.  But others are a matter of individual preference, and I relish the things that are different about us all.

The irony of my resolution to be as unlike my parents as possible is that I have to accept them and their idiosyncracies the same as everyone else's.  Even though I am opposed to their predisposition to negativity, I must embrace it as that which makes them who they are, as valid a choice as any.  To indict them for their critical attitude would be to go against my guiding principle of non-judgment.  This self-improvement gig ain't easy, man.

20/20 Hindsight

Children are expected to be 90% intelligible by age three.  That's really important.  At least, my professor sure thinks so.  That question stumped me on the test today and now I'm all bitter because I went back to my notes and, sure enough, there's a big stupid asterisk by that information.  I don't usually use asterisks.  I can only surmise that the me of September 5th was trying to send a message to the me of today.  Pay attention, McFly, you might need to know this.  Well, I didn't get it.

Whither thou goest, I will go.

In a macabre tribute to the fallen deer of Monday's post, a McDonald's fries container frolicked recklessly onto the highway in front of me today.  I didn't see if it survived the crash; it was all a blur of red and yellow cardstock.

Fun with Marquees

This thing is the greatest.  You can make your own church sign.  Knock yourselves out.

Events of a Split Second

I saw a deer get hit yesterday.

I was supposed to go to DC, but I had a bad feeling about it.  (The deer didn't help any.)  So after I had driven about an hour, I turned around and came back.

I didn't see it very clearly, because I was almost past it when it happened, but it seemed to me that the deer didn't look real at the moment of impact.  It flew through the air the way a plastic lawn ornament would--frozen in a standing posture, somersaulting in a wide arc over the highway.  Absurdly graceful.  It seemed like slow motion, but that may be just a trick of my memory.

This is the best day ever!

I would like to send out a big HAPPY BIRTHDAY to my friend Patrick (my favorite SpongeBob fan).  He's studying law out at Stanford, a voice of reason amidst the liberal cacophony.  If anybody can set 'em straight, you can, Pat!

At Your Service Mercy

I am such a wimp.  I have agreed to tutor one of the undergrads who is having difficulty in the grammar course.  She was given my name by the professor; I didn't know her beforehand.  I'll be meeting with her for an hour twice a week.  The problem is... I can't bring myself to ask about compensation.  Did she think I would be doing this for free?  I mean, I want to help her out and everything, but my time is valuable (not to mention my expertise as a degree-holding linguist).  And it's not like she's a little 19-year-old who wouldn't be able to afford a tutor.  She's a returning student in her 40's.

I saw her today and she bought me a coffee since I didn't have any cash on me.  I laughed and said, "Ok, we're even," relieved that I didn't have to ask her to pay me.  But now I fear I've only delayed the inevitable so that it will be even more awkward when I do have to bring it up.  I don't even know what the going rate is for tutoring these days.  I wouldn't ask for a lot; I don't want to be cost-prohibitive.  Neither do I want to be a doormat.  Any suggestions as to how to broach the subject?

NaNoWriMo

I am amazed at how popular is this particular form of self-inflicted torture.  Masochism for the masses!  You don't even need to leave the comfort of your computer chair!  The truth is, I'm secretly jealous.  I'm jealous of all the born-novelists out there who have innumerable stories welling up in their psyches just waiting to burst forth and bless the reading population.  I'm jealous of those literary voices who just need an excuse and an incentive to put it all down on paper, who have to do it fast or won't do it at all.

I, in contrast, have nothing to say.

I am reminded of Meg Ryan's character in You've Got Mail, who can't even think of a synonym for blank.  This is why I blog.  Inspiration comes to me in little spurts, and I have to grab it while I can because if I try to save it all up for one month out of the year, I'll find that it doesn't keep that long.  Like manna:  here today; stale tomorrow.  Maybe someday the events and observations of my life will add up to something that needs written.  Until then, I will gaze longingly from the sidelines.

The Pompitous of Love

Ok.  Any insights into the male mind are welcome in response to this post.

I met a guy a few weeks ago.  I heard it was his birthday, so I made him a card, got his address from a friend, and sent it to him.  This he knows.

I was inspired to make the card during a bout of insomnia brought on by my inability to stop thinking about him.  The room I was working in looked like Normandy on D-Day by the time I was through, with ribbon shrapnel and glitter bomb fragments.  I called and left a message for my friend to give me his address, but when she didn't call back right away, I resorted to online stalking, trying every variation of his--and his roommate's--name I could think of, to no avail.  When my friend finally did call back with his address, it was T minus 1 day until his birthday, so I drove straight to the post office in the dark and in the rain because at least there it would get picked up at 4:30am, the earliest I could hope for.  About any of this he can only speculate.

Here is my question to you:  do you think he knows I have a crush on him?  And if so, how do you think he will react?

Public Service Announcement

When I decided to go grad school, I imagined myself keeping my readers updated with all the cool things I would be learning each day.  That hasn't exactly happened, mostly because the things I'm learning I don't believe to be particularly interesting to the general public.  However, this I will share with you:  I now feel completely justified in my utter disdain for cigarette smoke.  And you would, too, if you had watched videos of surgery and the subsequent rehabilitation after removal of the larynx (or voice box).  It is a gruesome thing to watch someone breathe out of his neck and try to talk with his esophagus.  You can't sing, you can't shout, and your voice quality will forever sound at various points "gurgly."  I found myself terrified to be in that predicament someday, and I don't even smoke.  I can't imagine how anyone could light up again after seeing that.