Imperfect Cogitare

Goodbye, Cogitare

2010-03-07T20:40:00.000-08:00

This is my 60th post, and sadly, the last.

While making attempts to revive this blog, I realized that I couldn't. It was like trying to revive a cockroach that is missing all of its legs.

So, allow me to redirect you to my musing place, Reaching for Sirius. It is much the same as Cogitare, only more evolved, since my writing style is yet evolving. Morphing. Whatever.

***

Goodbye, dearest Cogitare.

Political Polarization

2010-03-05T20:21:00.000-08:00

(This is an illustration of how much I loathe word limits. The original essay was a little over 2,000 words. I had to cram it into 330, and the result pains me. Nonetheless, it is a fascinating topic.)

***

In spite of President Clinton’s attempts at political centrism during the 1990's, America continued the trend of political polarization, establishing the accepted politically partisan environment that we’re familiar with today. American communities are politically lopsided, and in the 2000 presidential election “when George Bush and Al Gore were virtually tied nationally, 45.3 percent of voters lived in a landslide county.” (Bishop) Political polarization, which began developing after World War I, became extremely prevalent in the mid 1990's. Violent discriminative protesting, as evidenced in the murder of James Byrd, Jr., and the attack of Matthew Shepard, resulted in different interpretations of these events. The political left saw this as further proof that American needed hate-crime legislation, while the conservative political right claimed it was merely the result of an overly permissive society. With conflicting world views on current events, the culture moved into set political dogmas, with a chasm between them. (Schultz)

Political polarization doesn’t just cause a chasm in the culture. As party loyalty becomes more defined, counties push their representatives to make more extreme stands on issues. Legislative compromise, which is a key part of any successful political career, plays less of a role. And as political polarization becomes more integrated in the culture, communities are more apt to continue the trend of voting for the same party as the generation before them. Bill Bishop says, “Sixty percent of Republican voters live in counties that have voted for the Republican presidential candidate in every election since 1980.”(Bishop)

A professor of law at the University of Chicago made the statement, "Our democracy is supposed to be one where people learn from one another and listen." (Bishop) I believe that the conservative and liberal wings of politics are two necessary halves to the whole picture, and at times both can be wrong. When people vote for a candidate just because he’s in their political party, they display a lack of mature patriotism. Mature patriotism was displayed by our founding fathers when, in spite of their fiery disagreements over the formation of government, they united to form “fiercely differing perspectives to forge a better form of government than any side would have created alone.” (Gruder)

Schultz, Kevin, “HIST: Student Edition”, Chapter 29: America in the Information Age

Bishop, Bill, “Articles on Political Polarization,”

Gruder, David, “”Mature Patriotism in an Era of Political Polarization,

Movie Review: The Shawshank Redemption

2010-03-02T08:33:00.001-08:00

In 1947, a banker is convicted of murdering his wife and her lover during an affair. He pleads innocent, but the evidence is stacked high against him, and his quiet, distant manner wins him no stars with the jury. Andy Dufresne is sent to Shawshank State Penitentiary, a corrupt prison run by Warden Samuel Norton, who has a pride that eclipses all the evil within his prison.

What follows is the story of one man's struggle to exist under hopeless conditions. Andy is coerced into laundering money for the Warden, commenting to his friend Red, "On the outside, I was an honest man, straight as an arrow. I had to come to prison to be a crook." During his first years he is sexually assaulted again and again by a gang of men known as "The Sisters", who finally rape and beat him to the point where he is commuted to the infirmary.

At one point, Andy takes a young inmate, Tommy, under his wing -- trying to help him get his GED. After hearing Andy's story, Tommy says that he knew a prisoner who had bragged about killing a banker's wife and her lover. Andy runs to the Warden with this story, and his hope of a new trial, and the Warden--fearful of Andy's knowledge of his illegal activities--gives him two months in solitary confinement.

In spite of this backdrop, this is a movie primarily about hope and redemption. Andy is befriended by Red, a smuggler who can acquire almost any contraband for the prisoners. Red points out Andy's differences, his struggle to hope in a place where most grew to depend on the walls surrounding them. Andy does whatever he can to feel civilized again, and then uses that civilization to bring hope to his inmates. In my favorite scene, he aquires a record player, and after locking the guard in the bathroom, he broadcasts The Marriage of Figaro over the public address system for all the prison to hear. Red notes, "It was like some beautiful bird flapped into our drab little cage and made those walls dissolve away, and for the briefest of moments, every last man in Shawshank felt free."

This is not an entertaining movie. This is not a movie to kick back and watch some Saturday night with friends. I recommend watching it alone, because it's too brutal and too real to risk fearing what someone else is thinking. It deserves its R rating, with both violence and language. But the movie is a realistic work of art, like a window into a world few of us see. The soundtrack, the performances, the cinematography...everything culminates in this moving story of one innocent man in a living hell.

My favorite movies are all sad ones, but I don't think of them that way. I love The Mission because it portrays two sides of love; fighting and holiness. I love Equilibrium because it shows how much we need pain and sorrow, in order to have joy and happiness. I love The Village because it shows that sometimes we commit small sins in order to avoid bigger ones, and that through those wrongs, love continues to run--overreaching all.

The Shawshank Redemption also gave me a glimpse into something--that hope is active, risky, desperate. To quote Ms. Solnit, "Hope is not a lottery ticket that you can...clutch, feeling lucky. It is an axe you break down doors with, in an emergency." Hope is more than a lifeline we cling to, it is not just our defense, but also our offense. When we dare to hope, we also dare to put ourselves on the line, to risk everything for that hope.

In another scene of Shawshank that I love, Andy risks severe punishment by giving the Captain of the Guard some advice about his taxes. At one point, Captain Hadley is holding Andy over the edge of the building (Hadley is known for beating the prisoners to death). Andy takes his foothold a step further, and offers to help the Captain with his taxes, in exchange for beers for his coworkers. The Captain grudgingly agree's to it. Red comments that Andy may have been trying to buy friends with that risky act, but he believed that Andy did it just to feel human again. And later in the movie we see that it was hope that drove Andy to risk his life, all he had left, for a few beers for his friends.

I cannot emphasize enough that this movie is brutal. But there is a beam of hope that comes through Andy Dufresne, a hope that, in the end, wins out over all the darkness. Sometimes I believe we need to push ourselves over the edge of our comfort zone, and look at the pain around us. Had this movie been strictly about that pain, I would have come away hating it, depressed at the darkness. But this movie also let us see a triumph over pain, a humanity within inhumanity, an abused peace that held fast to something bigger than the wounds it suffered.

Blowing Off the Dust

2010-02-23T16:31:00.000-08:00

Yes, at long last I have returned to this poor, forgotten blog. It is not that I stopped writing -- far from it. Since this summer, I have begun sharing more than ever, just opening up my heart to people and showing them it's contents, both good and wretched.

So before I post any new thing on this blog, I am going to take a moment to chronicle all I've written in my absence. (Posted on FB notes, which has been my 'substitute blog'. Since I don't want to lose my readers on FB, I will be posting all future writings both here and there.)

some more poems.

Thoughts of a Student at 12:07 AM

why I write Love on my arms

Significant

My Life is Music

Thoughts on Beauty & Imperfection

Single On Valentines Day

Chewing What I Bit Off

Weird Day, the Third

some rambling about selfishness, predictable lives, and the stars.

Crushes Are Peculiar

Carmina Burana and the Wild Buffalo

Imperfection

Friend. Here. Wow.

2009-05-03T20:48:00.000-07:00

At the risk of sounding incredibly pathetic, I must take a minute to marvel how incredible it is to have a friend with me. I mean, actually here, with me -- and not through a phone or a chat box. I've become too used to being alone lately I guess, that's it's almost a little overwhelming to think, "She's here. I can hug her, talk to her, share things with her anytime I want." She's the kind of here that entails cleaning a kitchen together, and trying to ward the scary family off of her. The kind of here that means looking at one another over mugs of coffee and trying to prioritize all the many things I want to talk about with her.

Because the sad part is, Mary (or AF or Raen as most of you know her) will not always be here.

I was riding in my eldest sisters van today, and I happened to look back and see Mary sitting in between two of my nieces -- and an incredible jolt of reality hit me. Unlike a few other unfortunate cases, Mary doesn't seem in the slightest disturbed by our kooky family. For that matter, she doesn't seem disappointed in me either. I'm so used to hearing from people, "Oh, you're not at all like you seemed online," that I brace myself to let people down. But she's taken everything in stride -- and already graced our home so much. It's amazing to have someone to listens to me -- yes, really listens and not just stares blankly into space -- and doesn't tell me to shut up or talk about something interesting.

Even though I border extroverted at times, I'm something of a loner by circumstance. It's hard for me to find my place, even online actually. My interests are so eclectic, my personality just a little eccentric, and my life so utterly unpredictable, that I find it difficult to sustain friends over long periods of time. Of course some (you know who you are) are persistent, and refuse to let me drop them. And some are just magnetic, and no matter how many times in my life I'm distracted, I always try to reestablish contact, because I must. Mary has been like that. I followed her from forum to blog to forum again. And now, she's in my home.

Sometimes God is amazing. He couldn't have put a more perfect week in my summer -- a week that is only extra special because of the struggles that preceded it. Even by her mere presence, Mary is a moral support to me. After the funeral on Thusday, I wondered if I could go any further. If I would even be able to enjoy her visit. I felt so drained of enthusiasm.

But it's impossible to stay that way when God gives you a friend to be enthusiastic over.

I Know Who Holds Tomorrow (Ira Stanphill)

2009-04-28T09:21:00.000-07:00

...And the path that be my portion,
May be through the flame or flood.
But His presence goes before me,
And I'm covered with His blood.

Many things about tomorrow,
I don't seem to understand;
But I know Who holds tomorrow,
And I know Who holds my hand.

Soli Deo Gloria, even when it hurts.

2009-04-24T09:10:00.000-07:00

Today I dropped out of GCO University.

I had to make the decision two weeks ago. It wasn't as easy as typing this post. (And believe me, typing this post isn't easy either. It's humiliating.) I cried for about two hours straight, I begged God to work some miracle that would allow me to stay enrolled, and I made myself sick with grieving. Then I mentally berated myself for being such a baby and got over it. I guess it's one of the more difficult lessons in growing up, learning to at least act okay even when your world is crumbling.

This post could easily turn into a long whine, a cry for the injustice of life. I'm going to try to keep that from happening.

GCU changed their policies on financial aid students. My original plan was to pay for my education in part, and fill in the gap with scholarships. But due to some changes our country is taking in the financial realm, GCU can no longer allow that. Their policy is that all financial aid students must be completely financial aid. Either you completely pay for your education -- up front cash. Or you completely rely on scholarships, grants, and student loans. You can't have scholarships and up-front cash.

My choice was either to drop out or to get a loan. There is no way I could afford to pay up-front the completely expense. I talked a lot with people older and wiser than me, and while loans seem so innocent, I can't bring myself to get one. I've seen too much bad come of them.

So that brings me to where I am now. A University drop-out. It has such a lovely, loser ring to it.

I've come to grips with the fact that my life is never normal -- nor will it ever be -- and the things I want never come easy. But I'm not going to mope. (And if I ever do, remind me that I said I wasn't going to.) I'm going to keep fighting, because more than anything I want this. College can't evade me so easily.

I actually do have a back-up plan for University (actually an in-state one which I will attend) -- but it involves another year of waiting, saving, hoping something will go right for a change. I'm holding on to it like a raft at the moment... putting all my effort into praying for it, working toward it, testing out to see if it will hold. (If you're family or a close friend, feel free to ask about it so you can pray too.)

My pride has taken a blow to the head. That's a good thing. Everytime someone asks me if I'm in college and I say, "No," it's going to throb. But I need to be reminded that I'm fallible, and that my plans for myself don't always equal God's plans for me. I really don't want to go to University and be two years older than the rest of my classmates. But God apparently doesn't take my ego into consideration, and I'm so glad for that.

In a sense, my life is exciting, because it never follows the worn trails. No, I get hauled off into impromptu trips across the ocean, meet people who ask my hand in marriage before knowing me 2 hours, survive hurricanes and weeks without electricity. Sometimes I want a little bit of predictability. But, I have to admit, it may make for a great book someday. So I won't complain. Or mope. (Keep reminding me.)

Part of growing up is accepting life as it is, no refunds. We're all victims of circumstance, when you think about it, and we probably all have reasons to hate it. In one of my university class discussions several weeks ago, I made the observation that success should be measured in terms of effort, and not end result. At the moment I can't see what the point was in my all-too-short experience of University. I'm sure there was one, and in a bittersweet way, I'm not sorry that I had at least six weeks.

For now, I learn. Not in University, no. But I learn how to work harder, to hope stronger, and to trust my God. And for now, that is enough.

Twilight: Now an Educational Resource? Um...

2009-04-23T09:28:00.000-07:00

I'm confused.

I know it's just a huge marketing effort -- considering Twilight's fanbase -- but advanced vocabulary studies? I know Meyer used a few interesting words -- but nothing that really expanded my vocabulary.

Kids, a word of advice. The SAT isn't easy. Not even the vocabulary. Do yourself a favor and don't depend on Twilight for learning new words.

Two Measures of Rest

2009-04-22T08:38:00.000-07:00

It's getting close to our orchestra concert. The pieces are starting to come together and sound musical. The musicians are learning to work with one another's strengths and weaknesses, our conductor is trying her best to lead and move us to greater effort, and my stand partner is doing her very best to help me where I still need it.

I have issues with rests. Especially small rests; just a semiquaver of absolute silence and stillness. Sometimes I even ignore them, and will just go pppp and hold the note out softly. (I know, I know... blasphemy... blatant musical rebellion... unthinkable lack of musicianship. My conductor has told me.)

There is one particular place I hate -- two measures of second violin silence during a Beethoven piece. I usually take it to run over my fingerings real quick, stare at the difficult measures ahead.

But last night, I tried something different. I embraced and enjoyed the silence, enjoyed the music flowing out of the other sections. In a sense, I became the silence for a moment. For just a moment in a beautiful piece -- silence was my music. It was beautiful.

***

God has given me amazing, beautiful, and talented friends.

Some of them are intellectuals beyond what I could ever hope to be; some of them speak Latin and Greek and Hebrew, teach advanced Calculus, and can read Sophocles like he was paperback fiction.

Some of them are musically brilliant; some of think in terms of quavers and andante and Clementi, some of them can make their teacher's cry through their performance, and some of them eat Liszt for breakfast.

Some of them are naturally artistic; some of them scribble up portraits that go beyond realism and actually encompass the soul, some of them write and awe like the two are eternally intertwined, and some of have rhythm woven into their muscle.

Some of them are all three.

Most of the time I am so proud of them. (And wondering why on earth they ever chose to be friends with me.) But sometimes I just feel a little intimidated.

***

I have my moments where I play out and surprise myself, hard times where I just barely make it through, and hard times where I don't make it through at all and have to jump back in when I can.

And then I rest.

I don't always have to shine. This life isn't about me anyway. It's a gift that's being handed to me, precious moments where I can stand in awe of those I love and feel blessed by their talent.

When you actually take the time to enjoy it, it's beautiful to hear what everyone else can do.

Me, Myself, and I... and a random kid and Aragorn.

2009-04-13T06:35:00.000-07:00

Or this is why you don't want to be around me in between the hours of 5-7 AM.

My Pirates of the Caribbean ring tone alarm went off at 5 am, as usual.

I staggered out of bed, shut it off with a deft flick, turned on my light, and lay back down on my futon.

"So Joy," I asked myself, "How much do you really want that cup of coffee this morning."

"Pretty badly," I answered honestly. "Oh that hot, black, sugarless mugful of pure delight. I can't live without it."

"Addict," my other side sneered. "So get up and make you some."

I was so tired. I just lay there immobile for a bit, entertaining mental images of the perfect cup of coffee. In my mind I was curled up in my bowl chair, drinking it, and reading a VOM magazine.

Suddenly there was a child on my floor. I was too tired to pick it up.

"I'll get it when I make myself coffee," I said.

"What?" screamed my other voice, "You've got to be kidding! Leave a poor, defenseless child on the floor? What are you thinking?"

"I'm tired," I whined.

"You dreadful person! Do you think Aragorn would leave a poor, defenseless child on the floor?!"

"What does Aragorn have to do with this?" I grumbled.

A third voice joined the mayhem. "There is no child. There is no coffee. You're lying on your futon... and you're delusional. Get up and make something of your life."

I looked at one of my many clocks. 5:18 AM. The child had vanished.

"I think I'll have sugar in my coffee this morning," I said, crawling off the futon.

"Aragorn wouldn't take sugar," grumbled the voice. "Weakling."

"I'm not Aragorn!"

"But you're in love with him!"

That made me stop for a moment. I considered many responses, none of them very nice. Finally I settled on, "Shut up."

The child looked at me with large eyes.

"Great, you're back," I sighed. "Want some coffee?"

The kid's lip quivered. He crawled on my futon, and wrapped up in my special blanket, with his grubby fingers. Nothing I'm not used to, what with so many nieces and nephews.

I poured out the old grounds. "You're a figment of my imagination. Too many eight-hour days working in elementary I guess. What's your name?"

"Asphalt," he said.

"Cute."

"Listen, I need to go to work," I began, but he interrupted me.

"Aragorn is taken."

"Hah," said one of my inner (and did I mention annoying?) voices.

"I'm not in love with him! He's fictional! I'm real! At least, I hope I am. Anyway, I can think of a dozen fictional people I love more than Aragorn!" I protested loudly. "What is it with you people?"

"Shh," said the voice, "You're going to wake up Joanna."

I turned back to the kid, but he'd vanished again. My coffee was finally finished.

"Kids," I said, shaking my head, and taking a first sip of my steaming mug.

Clever Idiots and Survival of the Fittest

2009-04-10T19:08:00.000-07:00

The most interesting things happen on the book aisle at Walmart. You should try spending a few hours there. I've met 80-year-old women who read Twilight, men who gave away half of the plot of a book to me before saying, "But I'm not going to spoil it for you," and young boys with headaches trying to figure out which Gossip Girl their girlfriend hinted that she wanted for her birthday.

The other day a boy and a group of his friends ambled onto the aisle. I had my nose in a Naruto manga, but not so much that I didn't eavesdrop (it's a truly bad habit I've developed lately). For a few minutes they flipped through magazines, talking flippantly about school, girlfriends, and the next big game.

One of them -- a mop-topped 13-15-year-old-ish with converse shoes -- made his way over to me. He pulled out a book from the little "classics" section. The Count of Monte Cristo. "You ever read this book?" he asked me. "I thought it was pretty good."

Immiediately his friends stopped their talk. Before I even had time to answer, they swarmed us like flies over cut fruit.

"You read that book, Andy?"

One of them snorted, elbowing the other. "Geek," he muttered.

Andy threw his book down. "No," he protested. "I... didn't read it."

The teasing didn't let up. I kept my nose in the book... but I was almost ready to give them a piece of my mind before they'd finished with him. They haressed him about reading, them they began haressing him about a good grade he'd made in Pre-Algebra.

"I like Algebra," he muttered.

Their laughter made him flush.

But it was his eventual respond that really astonished me. Instead of keeping up the defense, he began laughing with them. He began doing a clever imitation of what I assumed was their Algebra teacher. The others doubled over. He began making light of the plot of The Count of Monte Cristo, making it seem a hilarious, fluffy comedy.

They ambled off the aisle as they had come -- friends.

I knew what he was doing. I knew it so well I almost followed him and begged him to stop. Only I still do it sometimes, and that would sort of make me a hypocrite.

Even with Hollywood's more favorable portrayel of the "smart kid" in recent years, those of us who express any interest whatsoever in things scholarly usually get mocked for it.

Last summer I took a road trip with my brother-in-laws youth group. I can still remember sitting in the back seat, scribbling down a story idea in my Idea notebook.

The boy squished beside me looked incredulous. "You write?" he asked.

I was too involved in the idea for a response. I gave him a nod.

"You write... outside of school?" he asked.

Another nod.

"Wow." He stared out the window, and then blurted as if he couldn't help himself, "You are a freak."

I used to be terribly embaressed about the teetering piles of books I carried out of the library with me, because inevitably I'd run into one of the kids who came in to use the internet. They would eye me down, and then take a step back, almost revolted.

So, I learned that when I was with those who didn't share my love of learning, it was best to feign idiocy. Be a goof, a childish cookie pick-pocket. I learned that the reason that most teenagers dislike anyone with good grades is because they themselves hate to feel dumb. I was making people feel inferior by just using a wider vocabulary.

So, I developed another personality. One that I became very, very good at. I learned to make the person I was with feel good about themselves. I would pick around -- find that one thing they were good at -- and then let them show it off to me. I would play down any trait of mine that might make them feel less smart.

That personality is almost default for me now. I rarely let myself take on the old let's-talk-about-life-the-universe-and-everything, intellectual, ponderous side when I'm with those my own age. (That's why sometimes I really crave the company of those older than me.) It's a sort of social survival of the fittest. Just, instead of a limb, I've evolved an extra personality.

Or maybe I just took to one that was already there, and little explored.

Either way, what are your thoughts? Have you ever tried to act... well... dumber than you are to make another person feel less nervous around you? And is this a hypocritical thing to do, or just another peculiar way of life?

M7

2009-04-08T16:19:00.000-07:00

I saw this on Bonnie's blog, and then had to do it. I'm very amused at the result. The cool chord? ...well, no one ever said Facebook quizzes were renown for accuracy.

A Day In My Life

2009-04-07T12:54:00.000-07:00

(I'm studying time management in one of my classes at the moment. I had to carry around a notebook for an entire week and write down every single thing I did every fifteen minutes, and then summarize it and send it to my Prof. Seriously. So I thought I might as well share on of the days on here... let you get a peek at an average day in my life.)

Tuesday, March 31, 2009

5 am - Rose, searched about blindly in my closet for a clean pair of socks, and made really strong coffee.
5:15 - Had devotions, read ten chapters in Judges.
6 - Exercised pitifully. Laid on the floor for about five minutes after trying to do ten push-ups (I can only make it to seven.)
6:45 - Rushed through a piano piece. Packed my lunch. (PB&J... again.)
7 - Drove to school.
7:30 - Logged in the DAEP. Got school papers in order and checked over student files.
8 - Started the Junior High and High School kids on their course work. Graded English papers.
9 - Began individual tutoring in Algebra. (Never thought that I would be doing that.)
11 - Lunch break.
11:30 - Back to tutoring in Algebra. (A lot of kids need serious help in this subject.)
1 pm - Reviewed Spanish lesson.
1:15 - Began individual Spanish tutoring.
2 - Held class discussion on Antigone. (Was horrified to find that they pronounced it Aunty-gone.)
2:30 - Gave test on Antigone.
3:15 - I'm free! I mean... school's out. Drove home after a short stop to get study materials at library and deposit last months pay check.
4 - Studied for Communications Quiz.
5 - Violin practice. Started new Vivaldi piece. Oh joy.
5:30 - Orchestra rehearsal. Slightly more enthusiastic for that.
7:30 - Drove home while listening to Spanish II lecture.
8:15 - Had dinner. Thom called and provided more entertainment than a movie with his 'Twilight' commentary. Procrastinated studying and talked to him.
9 - Got off phone, and began to write paper in APA format. More joy.
10 - Tried to log on MSN, but realized that I hadn't practiced piano. Dragged self to keys and ran through Rachmaninoff and Bach pieces. Did minor key scales.
11 - Was told to "Stop the racket and go to bed." Obeyed.

Of Dating and Such

2009-04-06T20:59:00.001-07:00

Only a day after my 19th birthday, and already I feel the single-girl blues.

It happens like this. I log onto facebook, and try to find my way out of a veritable avalanche of prom pictures. I get snarky; because last year I didn't have to endure this. Last year all of my friends seemed to have sense enough to enjoy their singleness.

I log off of facebook, unable to handle the, "So, who do you like Joy?" -- pressure.

Because truth be told (I can't believe I'm about to admit to this) I do like someone. Only... he doesn't really know I exist (I was shocked to find out that he actually knows my first name... how sad is that?) and has a girlfriend who he seems to be obsessed with. My point is, that I'm very, very human, and seemed to be forced to be subject to all the silly whims, crushes, and fleeting attractions that most girls my age endure.

The good thing is, my 13-16 year old friends still seem blissfully unaware of the need to date at the moment. So if any of you wonder why I'm currently gravitating towards the younger crowd, that, ahem, is why.

Anyway, to cheer myself up this evening, I wrote a bit of poetry. Kind of romanticist. I don't know why it cheered me up, but it did.

If I die today, I won't regret
The times I held your hand,
Or stole a piece of your lovely laughter --
To wear around my neck as a trophy.
If I die today, I will have
Loved to love, and
Lived my own life.
Sunrise and sunsets.

I overthink.

2009-03-29T18:58:00.001-07:00

If you're talking on the phone to me, and we come to a random lull in the conversation, this is usually what goes through my mind. Yes. I am a bit of a paranoid kook. I can't help it.

Inside my mind...

*insert name here* has been silent for about three seconds now. Scientific studies say that a typical person cannot endure more than a four second pause in a conversation.

Well, it's definitely been four seconds now. I should say something.

But maybe this is one of those comfortable silences one reads about in books. The kind that signify a really good, strong friendship. Maybe *insert name here* just feels so comfortable with having me as their friend that we can enjoy comfortable pauses to bask in one another's friendship.

Or maybe this is an awkward pause. Maybe *insert name here* is thinking, "Geez, I wish Joy would say something."

Yeah, I should say something.

Maybe they are mad at me.

Silence sometimes means anger. Maybe they actually hate me, and are so engrossed in preparing a horrible demise for me that they have forgotten to say something.

Eep! I'm ruined!

Maybe I should say something to make them love me. Something witty and lovable.

Cats are witty and lovable. Maybe I should meow.

Oh good grief. I sound like a nutcase. Seriously. Meowing? Hello Joy?

But what can one say that's witty during a random interval? I could say something like, "Did you know that Hitler wanted to be an artist when he was young?"

Hm.

I'd probably just sound like a know-it-all jerk.

Maybe I should talk about the French Revolution. That is my comfort zone.

...oh gosh no. That would just give them more idea's to aid in the gruesome plans they're plotting for my death.

Help?

Unknowing (aka the emo poem)

2009-03-25T20:40:00.000-07:00

Light inside of silence calling,
Masked behind the fear of falling.
A realization that you've already fallen.
Angel, rip untimely wings from
Their sheath.
And fight without knowing who
you are.

Hope consumed by what you're feeling,
Shadowed by the curse of stealing.
A realization that you've already stolen,
Child, dance until the blood runs
Quite clean.
And believe without knowing who
he is.

Radiant presence is always paling
Beside the sound of crimson failing;
A realization that you've already failed.
Loner, vote for confidence
By love.
And run without knowing how
this ends.

Home-Colleged

2009-03-25T14:06:00.000-07:00

In a way, one could say I'm home-colleged. My course work is completely online. Everything is learned at my cozy desk, fickle computer permitting.

Assuming from all the snide remarks I've been hearing about, "Not brave enough to go to real college," and, "Just taking some easy courses on the internet," most people do not consider online college real college.

Ahem. I'd like to say a word, if I may.

I am enrolled in Grand Canyon University Online, which is one of the top-ranking online colleges in our nation. (Number Five, if my memory serves me right.) Their learning system is very tidy and efficient, but by no means "easy".

Foremost is the technical knowledge necessary. Navigating tricky systems such as the Angel Classroom may seem easy at first to the observer. But remember the first internet forum you ever joined? Remember than panicking emotion of, "What to click first?!?!" Take that feeling and multiply times ten. And then combine it with the confusion you feel when first trying to navigate your campus... online without a map or roomie to aid you.

That's the first day of virtual college for you.

Another concern we online students have is trying to squeeze inhuman amounts of reading into our schedule. At GCU, we read about three times as much as the average college student, trying to make up for lack of lectures. Only, we have lectures too -- virtual ones with PowerPoint slides. Not to mention the online forum discussion (which we're supposed to participate in at least twice daily.)

But these are petty, trivial whatnots compared to the daunting monster every online student faces... self-motivation. We have no roomies to wake us afer a late night, no handy friend to pop in and say "Back to studying!", no hands-on experiences to enhance our love of learning. No, the online student better have an incredible love of learning to begin with, or else they fall flat on their face in the first week (and I've been watching some poor, unfortunate students do this.)

College students are constantly being told that they are responsible for their own learning experience. This is especially true for online students. We push ourselves on.

So, as a matter of fact, I do consider myself a real student. Sure, I may be missing out on the college social experience (which isn't much, in my opinion) but missing out on learning? Not in the slightest.

A Title, just for you Hana =]

2009-03-12T15:41:00.000-07:00

Earlier this week, to my shame, I was quite put out by some of the people in my online University orientation. I went complaining to my mom at about 1 am, because they were whining about not understanding how to use the computer and online Angel Classroom. In my too-logical mind, one wouldn't enroll in a college completely online unless one was quite familiar with the computer.

And then today -- after a few tedious hours of trying to format a test paper in APA (I'm not very fond of APA) -- I got lost in the tangled web which is my classroom. I was hunting for the APA Format Handbook... and somehow I ended up on the tutoring site for Trigonometry. I spent about a half hour trying to find my way back to the APA Handbook.

It was quite humbling. I shall never complain about those poor people again. I can now empathize. It just goes to show that you can lead a horse to water, but you can't eat it too.

(Click the link if you need to smile.)

February Reading List

2009-03-06T08:02:00.000-08:00

First time reads:

Nicholas Nickleby by Charles Dickens (Absolutely love. Nicholas is very fangirlable.)
The Darwin Conspiracy by John Darton
Airman by Eoin Colfer
Writing Sci Fi and Fantasy by Crawford Kilian (Actually a very good resource. He had some excellent predictions on the future of science fiction...)
Anansi Boys by Neil Gaiman
Enders Game by Orson Scott Card (It was everything it's rumored and so much more... this will be reread in the near future.)
Mr B Gone (Do not recommend. Very depressing in a bad way.)
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou
1984 by George Orwell (Enjoyed this one so much more than Animal Farm.)

Rereads:

New Moon by Stephenie Meyer (I'm not sure why I decided to reread this. I was sick. Delusional maybe?)
A Well Timed Enchantment by Vivian Vande Velde (Light fluff that still cracks me up.)
Princess Academy by Shannon Hale
Dating Mr Darcy by Sarah Arthur (I still want a book called Dating Mr Bingley.)
The Crucible by Arthur Miller

(As a side note, I'm terrible about these things I said I would do every month... and it's only March. Beg pardon. I shall try to keep up with as many as possible... but life is crazy, y'know?)

but it's so fun to act immature...!

2009-03-05T08:32:00.000-08:00

This morning, when my cell phone alarm started boinking at 5 am, my first impulsive reaction was to run to my closet because I thought it was aliens invading.

Seriously. This is what I get for staying up too late playing Irish reels on my violin.

Once again, proof that I am not the responsible, 18-going-on-30 type that most adults think me at first.

In fact, my family would probably tell you that, personality-wise, I'm a bit immature. I still get a kick out of the silliest things.

On Monday we went out to eat with some friends. There was a lull in the conversation - and so I got a drop of water in the end of my straw, and began to stare at people through it. Joanna and Bryan (a 16-year-old friend) followed my example, until one of his older siblings chastened me with, "Do you know how silly you look? What on earth are you doing?"

"Staring at tiny people through the end of my straw," I replied.

She made a disgruntled noise.

In some respects I'm a very mature person. I really am. I respect authority and can command authority when the need calls for it. I know when it is time to be serious, and enjoy thought provoking conversations.

But sometimes it is so fun just to throw all ones cards in the air (even if you're playing Rummy or Crazy Eights) and cry, "Uno!" Just for the joy and glory of it.

Don't you agree?

I write by ear...

2009-03-03T14:04:00.000-08:00

Me: And then they find a spaceship full of replicates of themselves.
Heather: So how does this happen to your characters?
Me: They don't know. Um, and neither do I.
Heather: Oh good, you can both be in ignorant confusion together!

***

Me: I finished the first draft of The Angry. It's 9,800 words.
Ally: Awesome! What was your main characters name again?
Me: Um. He doesn't have one yet.
Ally: You mean you wrote an entire short story without naming your MC?
Me: Yep.

***

Mark: Do you ever think about your plot before you write?
Me: Not much. It just sort of happens.
Mark: That is why you disturb me.

February Short Story

2009-02-24T19:42:00.000-08:00

February's short story is going to be a really long one, to make up for my neglect of last month. But I'm not going to clutter up my blog with it - instead you can read it here.

I'm writing this story as a project for a writers forum, which involved "adopting" a plot thought up by another writer. The plot I adopted was:

Have a space ship manned entirely with people that have emotions for names sail off into "the void" a large, suddenly empty part of the night sky trying to investigate and see what they can find. They find the scattered, foreboding ruins of an ancient civilization, that seemed to have scattered across teh planets without getting high tech. ie: They have technology comparable to the Mayans/Aztecs, and yet the same civilization is on a bunch of the planets they find on their way. Then, plot twist happens, and they find out how the hole in the sky and the old civilization are connected! Dun dun DUN?

It will be in six installments, and under 6,000 words. So far I have the first two installments... check the above link for future updates.

Oh, and one other thing. If you read this and don't even give me one word of feedback or opinion or something? Then you deserve to eat cold sausage on stale bread with hot mustard for the next six months. I'm completely serious.

Overthinking Fantasy

2009-02-13T08:53:00.000-08:00

A few days ago I was reading a book of fairy tales for children, trying to find one suitable to repeat to my story-starved nieces and nephews. After skimming through several of them though, I had to set it down in disappointment; these were not fairy tales. They were realistic tales with badly disguised morals set in a glittering, fantastic landscape. Worse - there were explanations for everything. If one of the characters had defining powers, they took at least three paragraphs explaining how he had come to obtain such powers.

I like realistic fantasy. I like being able to look at a complete world and think, Yeah, this makes absolute sense. But sometimes I miss the world where the fairy godmother could show up and turn a pumpkin into a carriage without having her motives explored or the scientific elements of her wand explained.

I once read a definitive differentiation between science fiction and fantasy, which claimed that, "Science fiction is a genre that can be explained by elements of reality. Fantasy requires no explanation." I like this statement a lot. Sometimes, I think we overthink ourselves in fantasy, and miss the heart of the story because we are too concerned with details.

Current Favorite Lyrics

2009-02-11T19:13:00.000-08:00

If love is an ocean wide,
We'll swim in the tears we cry;
They'll see us through to the other side
We're gonna make it.
When love is a raging sea
You can hold on to me,
We'll find a way tonight.
Love is an ocean wide.
Ocean Wide by The Afters

All you need is a sunrise,
Just a moment of dawn.
If you're lost in the twilight
Close your eyes and move on.
When you're tired in the waiting,
Even though it's gonna take you
A little more time;
Just a little more time the sun's gonna find you.
Sunrise by Brandon Heath

And the tears come streaming down your face,
When you lose something you can't replace,
When you love someone but it goes to waste:
Could it be worse?
Lights will guide you home,
And ignite your bones.
And I will try to fix you.
Fix You by Coldplay

Friends of All Ages

2009-02-07T20:41:00.000-08:00

I spent an entire day in Houston with: a 16 year old, a 15 year old, an almost-13 year old, and a 9-year old. And at one point, in the car, we were all poking one another with straws and acting like 3-year-olds. And I absolutely, and completely enjoyed myself.

One of the things I find most distasteful about our education system is the way we unwittingly segregate young people. If I had grown up surrounded by people within a four-year radius of my age, I would have missed some incredible friendships. I would have never met my 90-something "grandfather", and accompanied him to Israel. I would have never met my "twins" - and never been provided with countless hours of entertainment by their escapades. I would have never started up correspondence with Gwen Lawless, the 43-year-old widow woman I met at VOM who changed my outlook on life for good. I love my teenage friends; but I will forever be an advocate of variety.

In fact, I think I can boldly claim that homeschooling has made me more socially ept than the average public schooler. Most kids probably couldn't carry on a conversation with a construction worker from New Jersey and - here's the catch - actually enjoy themselves. But age is irrelevant to me. I'm just as likely to become best friends with a girl my own age as a 6 year old. Yes, I'm being completely serious.

I love my young "tween" or young teenage friends. At my age, most young adults are moving on - learning to enjoy the company of college students and other adults. But I've always enjoyed the college kids who would actually stoop to talk to me, and I love being with adults. But that's not all. In fact - though perhaps a very small reason - that's one of the factors that made me decide to opt distance education. I can't bring myself to desert my friends still in high school for a world they can have no part in.

It's a good thing to be socially secure, I'm sure, and have a whole spectrum of friends to hang out with in your age group.

But isn't it a much better thing to be able to finger paint for a hour with a toddler, and the next moment enjoy a deep conversation with a friend of your parents?

The King of Attolia Blend

2009-02-03T20:53:00.000-08:00

February's graphic of the month comes early. Once again, from one of my favorite books, The King of Attolia. I used the cover art, and a quote from the book. I'm going for simplistic here... but I'm wondering if it's a bit too simple. What do you think?

See it here.

More Sadness, Piano, and Glissando's

2009-01-30T14:57:00.000-08:00

No story this month. Sorry. To make up for it, I'll give you two in February.

Instead, you get to hear what I'm currently working on in piano. (If anyone dare suggests boring, be warned that I'm an expert throttler. Piano isn't even compatible with the word boring. And you try teaching yourself Rachmaninoff, Liszt, Chopin, and hymn improv without a teacher.)

For hymn improv I'm currently working on: There Is A Fountain, At Calvary, Sweet Hour of Prayer, and O Come, O Come Emmanuel. At Calvary is the most fun at this point, since I'm doing a boogie bass. (Ahem. No, I'll probably never play it that way in church, but it's still fun.) And I like playing Sweet Hour of Prayer in a minor key, for the record.

Classical has me working on three pieces specfically: Consolationby Liszt (though I'm beginning to wonder why even the most simple pieces, such as this one, feel complicated;... guess it's just Liszt, huh?); Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring by J.S. Bach (lovely, simple... and I get to perform it at a wedding this summer...); and Prelude in B Minor by Chopin (also simple... but I missed out on a lot of Chopin, so I'm making up for it now.) Technically, I'm also 'touching up' the Prelude in C Sharp Minor by Rachmaninoff, which is about as awesome as a piece can get.

And randomly, I'm learning this and this
for myself. (Yes, I'm going to force you to click the links to find out.)

And a random question for those who play the piano: what finger do you use for a glissando? I've always been taught to use my thumb nail, but recently I've been noticing people who use their index or middle finger, or a combination of the two. What is the correct way?

A [Rather] Sorry Photo Post

2009-01-27T18:45:00.000-08:00

Before I begin this post, I think I need to arm myself heavily with apologies and good intentions. Ahem. Anyone know a nice, second-hand Good Intentions shop?

See, I was planning on giving you an epic picture post from the month of January. Snapshots from orchestra, string ensemble, KB's visit, Joy's visit to Jamie, TSO concert, and all good things like that. But. Er. Life was so fun and all that I kind of... forgot to take pictures?

Don't hurt me! I do bear some pictures in this post after all!

...some horrible quality pictures of myself via webcam. Ahehe. I was slightly bored a few nights ago, and took some screenshots. It was fun... for me at least. I pity my poor blog readers who put up with me and my vanity.

But, you must have pictures. Ta da. Pictures.

January Reading List

2009-01-26T09:55:00.000-08:00

First Time

The Pianist - Wladysław Szpilman (Five stars and recommended. The most precious memoir I've read since Rocket Boys.)
Proof of God's Existence - Richard Wurmbrad (Four stars and recommended. The most challenging book I read this month, but a must for any Christian philosopher.)
Music, the Brain, and Ecstasy - Robert Jourdain (Three stars. It would have got four, but he overused a few horrible analogies, and that almost ruined a few chapters.)
The Screwtape Letters - C. S. Lewis (Five stars and recommended. Very thought provoking and simultaneously entertaining. How does he do it?)
The Martian Chronicles - Ray Bradbury (Four stars and recommended. Certainly a book to make you think, not at all typical sci fi.)
So Yesterday - Scott Westerfield (Two stars. A very engaging book, unique writing style - the constant dodging of copyrights was hilarious. Yet, it struck me as pretty shallow overall... nothing too emotional or deep.)

Rereads

The Queen of Attolia - Megan Whalen Turner (Five stars and recommended. No words can express how much I admire M. W. Turner... she never fails to take my breath away.)
Breaking Dawn - Stephenie Meyer (Three stars. Slightly better the second time around, but still disappointing. I do like the Jasper Fear Factor... heh.)
A Walk To Remember - Nicholas Sparks (Four stars. The ending still strikes me as really rushed. Nonetheless an emotional read.)
Great Expectations - Charles Dickens (Five stars and recommended. Pip has got to be one of my favorite of Dicken's creations...)

Inkheart Movie

2009-01-25T13:43:00.000-08:00

The Bad

The movie came across as very rushed, though I half expected it would be, and I really can't blame them. That is one huge novel to cram into a single movie. Nonetheless, I am an Inkheart purist (haha! it feels so awesome to say that) and I thought that some of the things that were added for the movie could have been cut to make more room for some of the missing book scenes.

There was one thing in particular that bugged me, and that was the changed ending. The ending came across overly happy and cheesy in my opinion. It lacked the potency and homesickness that made it so real in the book.

Farid and Dustfinger's relationship was not very strong. (Probably to make their parting easier?) But I missed the sweet Dustfinger "father" moments. And I hated the fact that Farid was as very attatched to him, but more interested in the fire.

The "Silvertongue" being the name for all the bookreaders... meh. No. "Silvertongue" is Mo's special title. End of story.

The Good

Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger Dustfinger...

*takes breath*

Dear Paul Bettany,

Please forgive me for doubting you. I take back everything I said about your hair. I also regret my critisizing of your acting abilities. You took my breath away, end of story.

In all seriousness, I was very impressed by the casting. Bettany and Frasier were certainly the dynamic duo, and alone they made the movie worth seeing. They really made the characters come to life. I love the extra attention that was payed to the character of Dustfinger. In my opinion, they almost couldn't have done better.

Also, I like movie Farid better than book Farid. Most of the time book Farid just struck me as clueless and annoying, while movie Farid was perfectly adorkable. I loved the scene with the modern clothes.

Andy Serkis was made of win. In fact, the only character that struck me as oddly cast was Fenoglio, because I had always imagined him less feeble. But even he was awesome.

I actually liked the bit with the "great storm" from the Wizard of Oz. That was very creative and fun.

Meggie and Farid's "crush" was downplayed... really downplayed, which I appreciated. That would have really ruined the movie if they would have made it into this big, teenage, dramatic thing.

And lastly, the book whispering was a perfect touch.

Overall

The books are better. Duh.

But the movie is worth seeing, especially for the character portrayals, and certain sweet moments that I won't spoil for you. I cannot emphasize enough how incredible Paul Bettany was as Dustfinger. Just... wow.

Randomly About The Books

I know that some of my subscribers (coughRaenandMarkcough) only read this first book of the trilogy. Ahem. Allow me to say, very lovingly of course, since I am an Inkheart fan, that the first book wasn't exactly... good. I mean, it was a decent, fun book and all, but it was nothing to rave over.

But believe me when I say this, they get better. Inkspell is amazing and Inkdeath... well, it just blew my mind. Inkdeath was like the epitome of my favorite fantasy novel, and it deserves to be read by everyone. So don't ignore the rest of the trilogy just because you disliked the first. Please.

The Book Thief Blend

2009-01-22T21:02:00.000-08:00

So here is your graphic of the month! It took me a little over an hour to make, and even longer to find stock pictures. I'm not exactly happy with the ones I found, but they were the best to be had. (Credit: Liesel and Rudy stock.)

You can see the blend here.

Hope you like. Please give me critique and whatnot. And read the book! It's amazing!

Now President Barack Obama

2009-01-20T11:15:00.000-08:00

President Elect:
Nation waits,
Holds it's breath.

Middle initial to hide the name,
Hated name.
Handsome man who leads us on
No such connection should endure.

Stumbling through the lines
That tie him to his destiny.
Now President Barack Obama.
Our President.
A winning smile,
A nervous nod.
Destiny is sealed.
Be remembered forever,
Building, not destroying.

Obama may not have been my choice. I may not agree with him on many issues. But I believe with all my heart that God chose him as our nation's authority. My authority. And from this day I will do everything possible to honor, respect, and obey him. Disobeying only when it conflicts with the higher authority of my God. I do have a certain amount of pride for my country in overcoming so far it's racial prejudices. And I hope, and will daily pray, that God lead both our President and our country in the next four years.

Music Appreciation: CCM Rarities

2009-01-17T22:04:00.000-08:00

Sleeper by Wavorly

I've been keeping an eye on Wavorly since their debut. I mean, how often does one come across a rather heavier rock band with intense melodies and lyrics subtly influenced by C.S.Lewis?

Only recently has this song in particular began to mean something to me. One of the lines in the first chorus declares, "I've been dreaming life away," before breaking into the chorus which exhorts, "Sleeper/ No deeper/ Lift your eyes/ Awake from dreaming/ Sleeper/ Arise/ And you will find life."

Like some of Wavorly's other pieces, the lyrics are what really attract me. They seem to deftly steer clear of that trap so many fall into, the 'typical Christian lyrics', which must always include, it seems, something about love or forgiveness. Instead, Wavorly composes poetic messages with undeniably Christian meaning.

I also especially like the way the instruments compliment one another in this song. The violin and electric guitar harmonize so perfectly, they almost seem to be one instrument rather than two. The piano rises and falls, carrying with it a certain emotion. The rythm actually has some variation. (Gasp! Can such a wonder be true?) And best of all, they do not overwhelm the breathy yet strong vocals.

Overall, on a scale of 1-10, I would give this piece an 8. Yes, I really like it that much.

Honestly by VOTA

Okay, so, honestly I don't really know anything about VOTA. I've never heard them before this song. But I can't resist promoting such a beautiful little piece, despite my obvious ignorance.

The first attraction is obvious; the song is clearly piano-driven. It weaves in and out throughout the song, always there. The chords on the chorus are beautiful, but nothing compared to the delicate harmony in the verses. In the latter half of the song, it is also complimented by some gorgeous strings reinforcing the strain.

Musically, I would put this song on level with anything Coldplay could produce. It's just well-crafted. Flowing like a river without interruption.

Admittedly, the singer's voice is less than original. He sounds something like a cross between Michael W Smith and Chris Tomlin, in my opinion. But this can be forgiven, because his vocal is strong, and he does some cool stuff with his voice. (Forgive my ignorance... I need to learn more musical terminology.)

The biggest star goes to the lyrics. Honestly addresses a sorely neglected topic in Christian music: the very fragility of our humanity. And then it - boldly - suggests that perhaps in order to be the light we are called to be, people first need to see the darkness that was first in us. These lyrics are heartfelt... sure to strike a chord in any person.

"Let the light escape/ from this wounded place inside my soul/ Honestly."

I'm definitely going to be looking more into VOTA in the future. I'd say this song, alone, merits a 6 1/2.

My SAT score doesn't define me.

2009-01-02T10:41:00.000-08:00

A few days ago I was (typically) simultaneously studying and agonizing. It seems the more I study, the stupider I feel. After three straight hours of studying theorems, I wanted to curl up with a fluffy novel and pretend the world revolved around love and not mathematics.

(As a side note, the world does revolve around math, actually. I discovered this in a rather peculiar moment of revelation, suddenly realizing that math is perfect. It never varies, never falters. It's the foundation of the universe, and without it, this whole broken world would slide apart. That certainly gave me a new appreciation for the horrid subject.)

But I wasn't driven by the desire to learn, or even to do well on my SAT (Which I will take at the end of this month, incidentally. I should have taken it earlier... but there was a rather unfortunate series of events involving a hurricane, and canceled tests, and whatnot.) My train of thought went more like this.

Being a known writer someday = being smart = being smarter than the average high schooler = proving that smartness to the rest of the world = proof via a written test = high SAT scores.

Equals pride.

Now my thoughts don't always go like this, I assure you. More often than not, I just want to write because I love to write, and because the stories inside of me will strangle me if I do not let them out. I like telling stories because they provoke emotion, and because I know what it feels like to be overwhelmed with emotion because of a story. It's one of the best feelings in the world.

But sadly, often I rather slide downward into the evasive "good writer" worship. I would sacrifice anything to be said good writer, even my love of writing. (As contradictory as that sounds, it's quite possible.)

But it struck me, as I suddenly saw my train of thought from another perspective, how absolutely idiotic it was.

My SAT score is very important, no mistake. It can influence scholarships and job opportunities. It can prove to the government that I wasn't a shiftless homeschooler who only ate cookies and watched tv.

But on a completely different (and higher) level, it doesn't define me, as a person. Joy Elizabeth Clark. If I miss every single question on the test, (oh heaven forbid) it isn't as if my life is over. I will still love to write. I'll still want to be a writer.

In fact, I'll still be really good at remembering historical events and sight reading piano music.

My challenge to everyone this new year is to not let modern society define your intelligence, beauty, or talent. A pretzel-selling mall vendor can pursue excellence and influence lives just as easily as a respected politician. Study, and study hard, but don't study to impress the world.

Because in the end, they're only impressed by whom they feel like being impressed by. JK Rowling, Stephenie Meyers, and Christopher Paolini (forgive me for lumping them all together) aren't necessarily the greatest YA writers on earth, just the most noticed ones.

Some of the oddest people have influenced my life. Like that rather goofy college student from Kieve, Ukraine. Just by a few words, and an immense amount of unselfishness, he challenged the way I thought about everything. There have been writers (whom will probably never be published) on fictionpress.com who taught me about myself, even though they didn't know me.

And before this ramble goes down any more rabbit trails, I'd like to conclude that I intend to do very well on my SAT indeed. And if I do, somebody make sure and slap me - hard - just as soon as I get the scores, in order to keep my pathetic little head from swelling.

Some 2009 Blog Changes

2008-12-30T19:34:00.000-08:00

(This is more to remind myself than to broadcast to anyone else. Because I'm growing terribly absentminded in my old age of eighteen.)

There will be some new features on this blog, beginning in January of 2009. Including...

A monthly reading list. (Idea stolen from Maureen.)
A monthly picture load.
A monthly short story.
A monthly graphic.
A monthly short music appreciation post.

Katy Pwincess

2008-12-30T16:38:00.000-08:00

When she had reached that grand age of 4, she declared that her name was no longer Havilah, but Katy Pwincess.

(Not Katy the Princess, or Princess Katy. It was more of an inherent thing than any title. As though she'd always been Katy Pwincess, and just now chose to acknowledge it.)

And she acted just as she envisioned Katy Pwincess would. She sang incessantly. Even at meal times, while her family chattered and ate, she would quietly hum to herself, taking small bites and using a napkin.

She was above arguments, and when someone pinched her or snatched a toy, she just smiled a sort of aloof disapproval, and walked away.

I was fascinated by Katy Pwincess, and begged the honor of taking her picture, but she just giggled and said, "Well you can call me Havilah."

Two Christmas Presents

2008-12-24T16:49:00.000-08:00

It's not like I don't already worry about money incessantly for a teenager. I toss and turn every night, unable to sleep because of concern. I thrive on a bit of independence in finances, and I can't stand the uncertainty that is plaguing me lately. For about a month now, I've been trusting in a short-term tutoring job that I'd been hired for - it was going to pay well, and give me the much needed money for violin lessons, and my deserted vehicle fund, as well as necessities such as clothes. This job was my morning star. And it's been extinguished.

I found out this morning that the job was a scam, though happily I discovered that before the guy got any money out of me. I felt despair and anger in turns, and then I hated myself for being such an idiot to be taken in senselessly. Of course no one would hire an 18 year old merely based on their GPA. I had been deceived because I was so desperate for my fairy tale job to be true. I should have seen the signs from the beginning.

It was the worse Christmas present anyone's ever given me.

After lunch, while my family visited in the living room, I curled into a ball on the bed and crumbled inside. These past weeks have been anything but peachy for me, and I felt as though this was the final blow - a low one at that.

God... why? I cried into the pillow and my one year old niece watched me with wide eyes, offering me candy when I raised my tear streaked gaze to her. I needed that money.

Incorrigibly the reply came. Do you really? What do you need?

Don't be ridiculous. How am I supposed to pay for college or a vehicle or music lessons or clothes or...

I Am.

It hit me with such force that at first I thought I'd actually heard a voice. I remembered a song which proclaimed "In Christ alone." Everything, solely dependent on God for joy, love, life.

And there and then I was given the best gift I've ever received, and I cried more knowing it was the only gift that really mattered in this fragile, fragile world.

All I need is You.

And that you have.

This holiday season, you will be disappointed. You will be hurt. Pedestals will be knocked over, fairy lands will fade, and kingdoms will crumble. But God will be, a gift given eternally and never snatched away. Cling to him, and let your heart be merry.

Holiday Playlist

2008-12-11T15:46:00.000-08:00

12 Days of Christmas - Straight No Chaser

Straight No Chaser is my all time favorite acapella group, and although I generally find most "Christmas" ear-worms rather annoying, I think this version is brilliant. Cookies to you if you can guess my favorite "bit." (It shouldn't be that difficult if you know me well.)

What Child Is This Anyway? - Sufjan Stevens

What Child Is This? is my all time favorite carol, and Sufjan's version of this song, while eccentric to say the least, is possibly one of my favorites. Sufjan continues to defy all modern musical standards, with combinations of instruments not normally accepted, and irregular harmonies that manage an appeal straddling both ethereal and whimsical.

The First Noel - Josh Groban and Faith Hill

It's Josh and Faith! Enough said. This is one of the most gorgeous duets Josh has done yet in my opinion, her rich voice blends so perfectly with his. I can't listen to it enough... I was also pleasantly surprised in finding who is directing the choir. (You can guess this too.)

Hibernation Day - Jars of Clay

Cute, cute, cute. I don't think this song has recieved near the attention it should. I like the relaxed holiday feel, while still managing relatively original lyrics. And the jazz... very fun.

Little Drummer Boy - Jars of Clay

I like their version, even though I think I might like it better if it was completely acoustic. There's something about JoC's eclectic style that I really enjoy, perhaps it's the knowledge that I may be surprised at any moment. And their Beatles-like harmony (so says Joanna) is irresistable.

When The Christmas Baby Cries - Annie Moses Band

Gorgeous. I really lack the adjectives to describe... I'm a new Annie Moses Band fan, but nonetheless a huge one (especially after having met them, they are such a lovely, fun family!) While I don't have a link to their video, you can use the drop down menu to go to This Glorious Christmas on their music page, and listen. I highly recommend.

Trans Siberian Orchestra - Carol of the Bells

The holidays just aren't the holidays without TSO. So the grinding guitars may nto be everyone's thing, but personally, I'm fascinated.

Chanukkah - Marty Goetz

This song is gorgeous. I'm hoping to learn it for our family's Hanukkah and perform it on the piano. The lyrics are really meaningful, and I appreciate that some people out there do see the beauty in a Jewish holiday.

Oh Holy Night - Shane & Shane

Not necessarily my favorite version, still catchy nonetheless. These guitar masters demand awe not only for their mad acoustic skills, but their unique blend of voices.

Still, Still, Still - Vienna Boy's Choir

I just learned this beautiful song, with it's simple melody, this year. I'm still impressed over this breathtaking version. Almost lullaby like.

Peace on Earth

2008-12-08T21:03:00.000-08:00

"Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called sons of God." (Matthew 5:9)

Tonight I need to remind myself that the heart of God is not strife and anxiety. I have been an emotional bungee cord for those who revel in drama, lending myself as the go-between for people who wish to pull apart and snap back together.

But is peace really peace when making peace for others results in the agony of my own heart?

Often I offer human peace, like vegetable oil spread, so resembling butter, but nothing at all like it. It spreads on thin. The peace I can offer is band aids and shoulders to cry on, but it never resolves, it never heals. Sometimes, when the heat is turned up, it dribbles off the edges.

But I've seen their faces when they know God's peace. God's peace is a war that is won, not a war that never happens. God's peace is justice, honor, holiness, bubbling joy, and righteous anger. It's a still knowledge that there is a Higher Hand in matters, and the pot won't bubble over because Someone will intervene.

It is this peace I look to. So should you. Don't come running to me for band aids, because I'm very nearly out. God's iodine may sting a little, but it's what you need to take the infection out.

Validation

2008-11-20T21:04:00.000-08:00

Possibly one of the most adorable short films I've ever seen. Instantly a favorite. And it's positive. Whoever you are, watching this video... you're great.

Seven Random Things

2008-11-16T12:20:00.000-08:00

(I was tagged by Night and Melda and The Not-So-Pink, so I figured I better do it before anyone else tags me.)

Seven Random Things About Myself

1. Just this morning, I acquired the most darling little green tea set: with four mugs, a teapot, and a sugar dish. (It's missing the creamer, sadly.)

2. I can, against all scientific probability, lick my elbow. So there statistics.

3. Fifty percent of my extremely small CD collection consists of three artists. The Annie Moses Band, Josh Groban, and Rachmaninoff.

4. Periodically, I go read the most horrible, pathetic, painfully written novels I can find on FictionPress; just to make myself feel better about my own rather under average writings. (Is that not the most nerdy thing you've ever heard of?)

5. My very favorite candy in the world - besides dark chocolate of course - is banana lollipops. And it makes me very sad that these are so hard to find.

6. Sometimes I find myself so wrapped up in a book or story of some sort, that I have trouble distinguishing reality from fiction. (No kidding. Go see the Christian novel Paperback Writer by Stephen Bly if you want to understand more how this works.)

7. And I am hopelessly in love with east Texas at times. Our state, our glory, and our little sub-culture... it doesn't necessarily appeal to me all the time, but I love it all the same. It's, well, home.

(And almost everyone I know has been tagged... so yeah.)

Requirements for a future suitor?

2008-11-13T19:26:00.000-08:00

Well, seeing as everyone else besides me (almost) has done this, I thought it was time I gave it a shot. Just to see if I could come up with an actual list.

Let me acknowledge here and now, that I am completely against deciding on a perfect or ideal male, and then sticking by that standard in spite of all the wonderful 'imperfect' boys that are much more than just words on paper.

This is by no means law. This is just an idealized list of some very practical aspects I would appreciate in a guy. This does not mean I will not pursue a relationship with someone who does not meet every requirement. I believe people who do that are, to put it bluntly, waiting for a Romeo or Prince Charming. I am waiting for an Adam, who is fallen and human and often makes very bad choices, and yet is created in the image of God, and seek to follow him.

And with that, I present to you my rather romanticized list.

1. A thriving relationship with God.

2. A sense of humor, even when all the pipes have busted and water is spewing all over the house and his new boss shows pays a call and his favorite shirt was eaten by a rat. Especially then.

3. Spontaneous. the sort of person who would randomly join me in a duet if I burst out into the middle of a musical in Walmart.

4. Must have beard (seriously, facial hair is just... awesome.)

5. Would go with me to the Renaissance Faire wearing a KILT. If, you know, I gave him permission to wear one.

6. Holds convictions and yet keeps an open mind. (Rare duo.)

7. Likes classical music.

8. Is not afraid to go against mainstream popularity.

9. Enjoys quiet, deep conversations about things like science or politics over a cup of tea or coffee. (And offers me extra sugar when things get heated.)

10. Will dabble in the absurd in order to insure a healthy amount of insanity. Like, wearing a striped shirt with plaid pants, eating ketchup-covered popcorn, or swinging on a park swingset, no matter how old.

11. Chivalrous and protective, especially of me.

12. Sings in the shower.

13. Enjoys children for their own sake, without expecting anything of them.

14. Won't be afraid to tell me if I'm being an idiot.

15. Will let me have free reign in housecleaning, and not constantly interfere and criticize. (I'm a very organized person by nature, and would hate to constantly butt heads.)

16. Merciful and forgiving.

17. Not opposed to dancing, or learning how to dance.

18. A strong determination for the things he desires to achieve, and will not give up even in the face of opposition, setbacks, trolls, enormous lizards, and barbaric cynics who hate mac and cheese.

19. Will understand how very intertwined my life is with my writing, and not judge me when I cry over a characters death, dance about the house starry-eyed over a 'first kiss', or pretend to combat villains with my spatula in the kitchen.

20. Believes in himself, so I can believe in him too.

21. Can name all the constellations by memory.

22. Won't be afraid to try new things... especially new food, new styles of clothes, new music, et cetera.

23. Will hug me when I am sad. (And not just a cheap little pat on the back either!)

24. Will NOT want any small dog, cat, or other typical housepet... and will be sympathetic with the way such entities fray on my nerves.

25. Will allow me to rave endlessly about my favorite books, and maybe even share my enthusiasm for some of them.

26. Must be humble about any good thing he does, and not broadcast it to the world.

27. And finally, will be the sort of man who will allow me to love him more than anything else on earth, and obsess over him, and stalk him, and everything like that.

Laughing at my NaNoWriMo No

2008-11-06T17:47:00.000-08:00

My very favorite YA author of all time, Shannon Hale, said "I believe the only way to get through this life is laughing, mostly at myself."

As most of you know, I've been doing National Novel Writing Month this month. (For those who don't know, it's basically just a challenge to write a 50,000 word novel in a month. And let me tell you, it's a lot harder than it sounds.) Shannon Hale's quote works very well for us NaNoWriMoers, I think.

See, when you're jotting down words as fast as you can think them, and forcing yourself not to go back and rewrite anything, most of it comes out sounding like utter garbage, if not nonsensical jibberish. Believe me, you should try it sometimes. And then simultaneously in the back of your mind you are trying to juggle plot and character development, while scrambling to meet your daily word-count. Believe me, it's insanity.

As a general rule, I force myself not to reread anything. Because it makes me depressed that I actually am having to spit out words that aren't really there; usually coming out sounding lifeless, dull, amateur, or overly random. Especially the latter. But here is where Shannon Hale's rule of the thumb comes in handing. This is not the time to weigh out ones writing skills, but rather to find enjoyment just in the madness of the writing itself. NaNoWriMoers, don't be afraid to find amusement in the utter patheticness of what you're producing.

And now, not only have I laughed at my novel (numerous times today), but I'm generously going to offer it up for your amusement. One of my biggest problems, when I go to writing dialogue, is trying to keep my characters on track. They tend to get off on these idiotic tangents that do nothing whatsoever to advance the plot, while I'm standing frustrated on the sidelines going, "No, no, no! You've got to stay focused numskulls!"

In this particular scene, TK and James are supposed to be seriously discussing James unemployment situation. Um. Yeah. Not happening. Instead they start (of their own free will, I promise!) talking about this absurd cultus that TK participates in.

So for all you who need a confidence boost as to your writing skills, and for all you who need to know that your characters aren't as contrary as you thought, I present to you James and TK, the stars of the nameless novel by Joy Clark.

***

“Morning Muffin!” called the cheery, and swiftly becoming too-familiar voice of TK. “Everyone else is gone, they said I was to give you the run down of the place and take you on my missions.”

“I’m speechless,” grunted James, digging the doorknob out of his lower stomach.

“With delight?” asked TK. “That’s great. Because, I don’t need you talking and rambling and stuff and messing up my missions. I need to focus you know. I don’t have time for playing around.”

James had scraped himself off the wall for the most part, and allowed TK to push him up the stairs, while the latter rather ironically rambled senselessly the whole time.

“Alright, so Y told me to explain the cult to you and everything before taking you on a mission, that way you won’t senselessly say something that could ruin us. The cult hinges on the basis that man’s ultimate artistic expression is food, and that the ultimate mind of man can be seen through food. So in that respect, food, which is a product of the ultimate mind of man, is a glimpse into man’s most inner self. So in your case, your inner Woodsy is an apple cinnamon muffin.”

“And how did you deduce that?”

“Oh, I didn’t.” TK looked at James as if a more ignorant fool in the world had never existed. “We all have our special talents in the cult you know, and only few are gifted with naming what bread a person is in his innermost self. Jerome was one who was really good at it. He said he could smell a person’s soul.”

“What did yours smell like?”As soon as the words had left his mouth, James felt incredible foolish. He couldn’t believe he was actually feeling a tad interested in this idiotic nonsense!

“Meat loaf,” answered TK with a shrug.

“Meat loaf! That’s not even remotely a bread!”

“I know it,” admitted TK. “We’re still trying to figure that one out.”

Life of late

2008-11-04T18:20:00.000-08:00

To say life after Cayman has been a veritable whirlwind would be the biggest understatement of my life. Life has been nothing short of a tornado.

There was, of course, much celebrating my return home; including my two oldest nieces surprising me in the airport, a double layered chocolate cake, and a brand new living room. (My mom had failed to mention in her emails that our living room now looks like something straight out of a home decor magazine. Not even kidding.)

It was so good to see everyone at String's Class again; if it was possible to beam oneself to death, I would have done it. The only thing that dampened my jubilee was my teacher informing me that my bro-in-laws violin (which I've been using on an indefinite loan) should be given a decent funeral as soon as possible. Thus begins another quest for a new, cheap violin.

Last Thursday morning we went to Canton for a bit of holiday shopping... except, being hopelessly poor at the moment, I did little shopping. I did indulge in a $1 cup of hot chai latte though, which made the trip pretty much worthwhile. Well, that and the walkie-talkies that Joanna and I had brought, which proved to be insanely fun in the crowded flea market.

We spent the night at a friend's house, who played the ideal hostess. Besides just enjoying the company of adults (ah, I love being homeschooled! Makes it so much easier to talk with those outside my age range...) and the delicious hot meal she prepared, I also read about half of the 'Charlotte Mason Companion.' Ever since I started high school, I've been using the Charlotte Mason method, and I must say, I'm completely sold on it by now. I can't wait to have children of my own so I can invest in them all the love and joy in learning my mom invested in me.

Friday evening I was dropped off at my eldest sister's house, and I accompanied her and all nine kids to a Fall Fest Party at CJB. I had a blast! I stayed on the cake walk almost all night - just like I did last year - and again like last year, won nothing. The ladies hosting it were quite amused at my misfortune. I doggedly walked around and around the table again, sometimes with fingers crossed, but never quite got anything. At long last there was nothing left but the Grand Prize, an enormous coconut cake that everyone's mouth was watering over. I wasn't surprised when I didn't win it, but I was surprised that my eldest nephew had slipped in the circle and won on his first try! Everyone laughed when, with an overly debounair bow, he handed it to me. Have I ever mentioned how much I love that kid?

Saturday I accompanied my sister to Beaumont, where she did the monthly shopping for their family. Shopping for a family of eleven (soon to be twelve!) is no joke. We had two buggies overflowing, and the poor young man who checked us out just stood and blinked when we told him that it wasn't commercial buying. Afterwards we went to Lifeway, and I stood and drooled over Josh Groban's Noel and the Annie Moses Band new Christmas CD and the new compiled Circle Trilogy. Curse my lack of a job and money to squander.

Sunday we celebrated Jochabed's birthday with an over-iced red velvet cake and coffee. While the adults sat around in the living room talking about the election (which, incidentally, I've gotten sick of hearing about... overrated things, Presidents) and the little girls had formed a semi-circle on the floor with their dolls, Moriah grabbed my hand and said, "Let's go for a walk."

I really should have known better, but I didn't bother with shoes. (And I've been limping ever since from all the cuts on my feet.) If you cut through the woods behind Jackie and Jon's house, for about a fourth of a mile or so, over a worn little path that little feet regularly travel, you can come out straight at the public high school recreation field thing. (I really don't know what they call them these days.) It's very handy, really. So we dashed through, only to find a bunch of annoying boys on the field playing football. I was all for turning back immiediately, but Moriah insisted we hide among the bushes and see if they left soon. So, for a good while we waited.

"We could go out," suggested Obadiah, "And freak them all out. 'Eeeek, barefoot people just came out of the woods!!!!' It would be just like the village."

I held them back from such foolishness, until Malachi joined us. "Watch this!" he whispered. Ah, how many times I've heard those words before some tragedy falls! Oh-he-who-fancies-himself-a-ninja immiediately set about climbing a tree silently, and masked himself well in the leaves. And then he made noises. Really, really strange ape-like noises. The faces on the highschoolers playing were worthy of a painting.

And then, today. Nothing much of consequence has happened today, except I spent a good hour or so cleaning out our busted water heater, and getting covered in cold, wet rust. And then I fell in the chicken pen and got covered in much. As I pushed myself back on to my feet, the thought struck me that over 90% of my friends are in college right now, studying to their heart's desire, learning all sorts of interesting things about life and the universe and everything. And for the millionth time I asked myself, "And why am I still here?"

It's a fair question, one I get asked a lot by others, especially my peers. Truth be told, I hardly know myself. I mean, I know that God has called me to serve my family, and I do not doubt my place in this home at this time in my life. But honestly, sometimes I feel like the feminine equivelent of the 39-year-old loser still living in his parents basement. It just goes to prove how mainstream thinking attacks even the best of us. Heaven knows I wouldn't trade cleaning out the rusty hot water heater for all the Plato in the world. Honest.

And now, I sit here watching the election results... so it's pretty certain Obama shall be our next president? Well, no need to be gloomy over it. I mean, it's not the end of the world. Not yet anyways.

Bittersweet Sorrow

2008-10-24T21:35:00.001-07:00

I'm going home tomorrow.

Indeed, Shakespeare had it right when he said "parting is such sweet sorrow." Tonight at youth, there was a lot of people hugging me, a lot of tearful "I don't want you to leave's" and "I'll miss you's". I can't believe I'm already leaving, when friendships have only just begun to blossom into something wonderful! I can't believe that these faces which I've learned to look forward to seeing all week, these voices which have impacted my life, these smiles that have been my light on many a dark day - these things won't be an active part of my life anymore.

Maybe traveling isn't such a brilliant thing. I meet people, grow attached to them, learn to love them, and then they are snatched from me by the cruel fingers of time. All I have left is shadows and memories.

Oh, but memories.

Jonathan's '30' miles an hour; my long, deep discussion with Steph, drinking 'bubble tea' with Bayley, kicking Cary when he hugged me, teasing Shanelle about her drawings, stealing Spencer's books, almost getting in a wreck with Susy, coloring with Tori, ramsacking Harrison's house for pictures. All of these things will remain vivid in my memory forever, to recall when I need to smile, to tell my children about on rainy days.

I cannot wait to get home tomorrow, to hug the very life out of my family, to have a cup of coffee out of my coffee pot, to plunge back into my crazy life and all it's random glory. I can't wait to share secret jokes with Joanna again, to talk for hours on the phone to Heather, to play with my nieces. Work in our garden, be among my books, prepare for Thanksgiving, and sit up late drinking tea and writing.

But I don't want to leave either.

See my predicament?

Thus the bitter sweetness. People come and go in our lives, and for those of us who tend towards emotional attached, the 'go' part is never easy. But God put them in my life for a reason, I believe and embrace that with all my heart, and I supposed even if I never get to see them again, I shall always be grateful for the way they impacted me. And who knows but that our paths may cross again?

Texas, family, friends, here I come. You may all expect a life-threatening hug from me sometime in the near future.

Ray Boltz comes 'out' about sexuality

2008-10-22T12:27:00.000-07:00

This morning, as I was listening to various music, I stumbled across this.

I've never really liked Ray Boltz's style, and my poor sisters had to put up with endless complaining on my end when they would listen to his music, and yet still this article hurts.

I lost faith in the CCM movement years ago; and my life has actually been one giant rollercoaster of, "Well should I listen to Christian music or not?" I do listen to some artists now, though I'm extremely picky.

But why? Why do the Christian artists of this world have to be so mediocre, so easy to conform?

And why does it still shock me anew every time I hear it?

Marvels

2008-10-21T18:48:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I just have to lean back and marvel. Not eloquently or dramatically, but simply, just a humble act in itself of recognizing the marvels in life. Tonight is definitely one of those times.

For the sake of my readers, I've tried to present the prettiest sides of my days here from their very best angle. Don't get me wrong, I'm completely honest in everything I write... it's just like a photographer works with a situation to catch in it's most ideal moments.

Of course you're all humans. You all live in the real world. And I'm sure you're all award island life is anything but a ideal fantasy. Perfection is something we'd all be fools to expect.

But yesterday and today have been pretty close.

Yesterday afternoon I spent at Stephany's house (a very sweet Canadian girl who was the first to befriend me and the boys here.) We started on light topics... but eventually drifted to the deeper one of love, romance, and the whole dating vs courtship debate. I have never found someone I could relate to so much in that realm as her. It seemed that every experience I brought up, she could empathize perfectly with; every single aspect of her relationships in that way I completely understood. It was incredible. We found so much strength knowing one another had similar high ideals, were facing similar struggles, and had been in similar awkward situations. We ended up talking for three hours over it. I just... I have no words to employ in how much strength and encouragement I drew from those hours.

Around eight o'clock yesterday evening, Stephany and I were picked up by another girl here who had invited us to spend the night. After the drive to her house, I launched into one of the most fun nights I've had in months. We made pizza together (yes, I now believe pizza is better when eaten in the middle of the night), a great, giant, conglomeration of absurd toppings to suit all our cravings (pinapple, red pepper, canadian bacon, key lime, the list could go on...), and enjoyed bits of specialty chocolate while waiting. (Hey, it was girl's night - so incomplete without chocolate!)

While we ate our pizza, we watched an incredible movie - Martian Child. It has immiediately become a personal favorite with me. Not only could I complete relate to the main character's idiosyncrasies, I came away from watching with a fresh perspective on what really matter's in life. One line I loved was when the main character's sister lists all the things he's done in life; things like write a shelf full of novels, run a marathon, become something of a celebrity... and then asks him why on earth he wanted to adopt a child. He responds that it's because he wants to do something "meaningful." I loved that.

The end of the movie found some of us crying (coughs) and all of us talked about it afterward, and the thoughts it impressed on our mind. None of us were really ready to go to bed... and so Bayley (the other girl) hooked up a Wii (my first time to play one!) and we played Mario Cart for a bit. That was a bit of absurd funness; I was absolutely horrid at it, never having played a Wii before... but somehow I managed to win a few games! (And gloated to no end about it... naturally.) Bayley made us something she's dubbed 'Superamazing popcorn!' It was, without doubt, superamazing. I don't think I've ever eaten so much popcorn at one time in my entire life. It was just delicious... buttery, salty, fluffy goodness in a bowl.

Afterwards Bayley and I sang for a bit together, while she played her guitar. We actually sang Stephany to sleep (almost), before both curling up ourselves on their couch. I slept one of the most delicious sleeps I've ever had - until ten o'clock the next morning! Her parents very graciously had been tiptoing around us all morning. We had a quick snack of a breakfast, got fixed up, and then Bayley requested that I play for them a bit on her violin.

Turns out she really didn't need to persuade me all that much; she owns a Stradivarius copy! My fingers tingled for hours after holding that hallowed instrument. I played on it for an hour or so... feeling pretty unworthy the whole time. Bayley joked that I was beaming like I'd fallen in love.

And then, they tore me away from the music, and we spent some very fun hours in Bayley's gorgeous backyard... endless amounts on entertainment there. Leaves, a tire swing, a wall, a dog, and lots of laughter. We played without being held back by social status or reputation or pride... it was amazing to be with friends who don't care for such things. (The only other friend I have with such ready abandon is my very best friend, who you all should know about by now.)

We were all a bit sweaty when coming in, but by that time we'd decided to spend the rest of the afternoon at Stephany's house, so we cleaned up, and her dad came and picked us up and drove us there. One could easily recognize how much Stephany enjoyed playing hostess, she immiediately assumed the role with ease as soon as we entered the door; making us lunch, playing us some beautiful background music.

Afterwards we decided to watch a movie (since it had started raining) which I had never seen before. (Stephany was appalled, since it's her favorite movie.) We snuggled on the couch together and watched The Day After Tomorrow which turned out to be one of the most intense movies I've ever sat through, but I enjoyed it a great deal. Once it was over we had 'Tea'; a custom that is pretty acceptable here since this island is a part of British territory. I almost keeled over from happiness when I found out that Stephany had bought me chai (for those who might not know me as well, chai tea is one of those rare inanimate things which has a strange power to make me perfectly happy even on the most miserable of days.) She insisted I take cream in it - which turned out to be more delicious than I'd ever mentioned. So while sipping chai tea, enjoying cookies, they quizzed me on American life and how it differed from theirs. I hated to let down their picturesque idea's... but I think in the end they were secretly pleased at how high my opinion of Cayman culture is.

The rest of our time together was spent doing very girlish things; painting nails, playing piano, taking pictures. I've never really had 'girl' friends in that sense, beside my sisters. I mean, being friends with girls who enjoy doing specific girl things. I seem to be surrounded more by guys my own age in Texas, some of them very good friends, but hardly persons to indulge in my feminine need for tea times, opera, and conversations about vanity and beauty. The girl friends I do have are perfect for my tom boyish side (growing up in Texas rather does that to one) but... I don't know. And the only girl who shares my mixture of girl and tomboy, Heather, The Best Friend, sadly lives too far off to really enjoy it a lot with her.This was something completely different. Very, very I girl. And I can't believe how utterly I enjoyed it!

Since it was still raining when I decided to walk home, Stephany insisted on walking with me, holding an umbrella over my head. We parted with a tight hug, and I realized with a sinking feeling that once I leave, I may never see her again in my life. But, despite this, I wouldn't have traded knowing her for anything.

And now I ponder, now I marvel. Why would God give me such a lovely friendship, such moments spent just completely in good, healthy fun? What have I possibly done to deserve this? I came to Cayman expecting to help my sister, to be with my nephews, to be a servant to my family in love. All of these things I've done... and yet with every hour I give, it seems God just gives it to me back, more wonderfully than I could have ever imagine.

Sure, sometimes it gets a bit wearisome helping potty train Wesley, I don't always have the best attitude cleaning up his accidents. Sometimes I find myself complaining about the lack of personal space, the sleepless nights on the couch waiting for Hunter to retire. There are complete days where I go without one truly loving or encouraging word to my family, days when I focus so completely on myself I fail to see any of the beauty of life. So why does God completely bless me? I draw the conclusion that others have come to through the ages; that God's love is a marvelous, unexplainable, mysterious wonder and marvel in itself.

And there I leave it. Undeserving though I am, God showers me with blessings on every side. What a marvel.

Innovative Cuisine

2008-10-18T16:08:00.000-07:00

This evening Hunter and Joani went out on a 'date'... spiffed up, and smelling nice; I watched as the boys pressed their noses against the window and pondered quietly what their parents would get to eat.

It's not always easy, living on a student budget. I joke that suddenly our food pyramid consists of Ramen Noodles, rice, oatmeal, and soup.

So, the thought hit me, why not do everything possible to make this a special food night for the boys too? Ingredients are extremely limited of course... but necessity is the mother of invention. Even when it comes to dining.

Poochi (the Cuban neighbor who lives below us) had given us a whole container of already cooked rice. This was to be the main staple of the evening... Joani had intended to just serve it plain, as is customary, but I decided to spice it up a little with... Italian salad dressing. (Don't ask how we obtained said salad dressing without any salad... it's a long story.) Reminiscing about my dad's delicious stir fries of the past, I coated a skillet with the dressing, and proceeded to fry (fry, is that the term to use?) the rice.

I promise you, it was absolutely delicious.

But I wasn't done... no special meal is complete without dessert, eh? Well, there are a few special untouchables that Hunter has for snacks between class; popcorn, and peanut butter for pb&j. I helped myself to a package of the former, and a small spoonful of the latter.

In a small saucepan I melted the peanut butter and added some oatmeal, glopping in together in a delicious smelling mess. And then, crunched up the popcorn, and stirred that in as well. I made an attempt to form little balls, but they rather fell apart, and we ended up eating it like trail mix. The boys thought half the fun was in licking fingers. (I guess I rather agree.)

Cayman has now equipped me with a lot more invention in the culinary department than I formally possessed, for sure. Even better, life is simplicity in itself... and I have regained the wonder at bits of life which went before unobserved.

Like messy fingers and peanut-butter smiles.

in the eye of the beholder

2008-10-16T16:26:00.000-07:00

Yesterday at the pool, my nephews were live role-playing Age of Empires. In the pool. With a football. Don't ask me how it works, but I assure you I was fascinated by this complex system. The mind of little boys never fails to inspire me.

Why This Weekend Was Lovely.

2008-10-12T17:30:00.000-07:00

Asking God something in personal prayer, and then having my question directly answered in Sunday School Class.

Lying on a sunny beach for hours without getting sunburned.

Getting to eat falafel again.

Spending time with teenagers who accept me for who I am, differences and all.

Racing along the beach like a five year old.

Crossing the street with two tiny, perfectly trusting hands in mine.

Realizing again and again, that this really is the Caribbean.

Knowing I will be hugging my family again very soon.

Bursting out in song, in a public place, just because I can.

Seeing the light of my nephews smiles when I bought them a rum cake.

Getting a new book to read, when I've only had two for the past five weeks.

A glass of milk after a hot bowl of oatmeal.

The fragile smile of a new friendship.

A rich accent, dulcet and unique.

And smelling a storm, just before it hits.

No Words.

2008-10-10T21:54:00.000-07:00

I just had one of the craziest, most absurdly fun, and utterly story-worthy nights of my entire life. Almost as good as the Library Story... I kid you not.

Definitely too hallowed for a blog post. But next time I see you (or catch you on MSN), force me to tell you about it. I promise that it will at the very least be as entertaining as a cheap comedy.

A little appetizer you ask?

I broke into the home of a sweet elderly Irish lady who collects swords and pipes. (The smoking kind.)

And that my friends, is all you are getting out of me at the moment.

some musings on mediocrity

2008-10-09T13:55:00.000-07:00

The other day, for a very small, weird moment, I realized I was merely 'existing'. Just going through the motions of life, on cruise as it were, and not really bothering myself about anything else.

I'm living on an island right now, for goodness sake. You'd think I'd be a little more enthusiastic. But here I was (or there I was, rather) wallowing in mediocrity.

Revelation 3:16. "Since you are lukewarm and neither hot or cold, I am going to spit you out of My mouth."

What exactly is so despicable about mediocrity? It's not exactly sinning, it's not blatant disobedience or shameful blasphemy. Is it the glazed-over mask with which one regards everything? Is it the lack of emotion, passion, fervor, and interest... the very sparks that set us apart from bird and beast? Just existing: it's so easy, and so dreadfully wrong. Like purposely refusing to see colors, denying the existence of music, walking through a crowd of crying people and not recognizing a single tear.

It's not what mediocrity is, it's what mediocrity isn't. And this is what I see so much in my own life; a lack of things that should be there. Tears unshed, smiles buried, passion smoldering under a thick layer of carelessness, weakening for want of fuel.

To be passionate is a choice; you wake up even though you want to sleep, you sing though you'd rather be silent, you allow your heart to ache though you know how much it will hurt.

I seek again the passion that has slipped through my fingers. I want to do everything whole-heartedly, to run an extra mile to catch a falling star if I must. Perhaps just existing is sufficient, but it is never enough.

The singing medical student.

2008-10-06T17:31:00.000-07:00

It's like School House Rock for those in college.

The Clothes Saga

2008-10-05T19:12:00.000-07:00

Saga One

In my very first post on this blog, I mentioned that I had a small suitcase. Ergo, I couldn't pack very many clothes (aproximately six outfits, if you must know.) Early this week, I was really, really desperate for clothes. My shirts were covered with sand, Ramen Noodle stains, and Wesley's dried drool... my skirts were full of these nasty little Cayman thorns that are everywhere... and as for my shorts... you don't even want to know the disgusting state they were in.

"Joani," I stated finally, "I hate to be demanding... but it's been weeks. I really, really should wash my clothes before the odor overtakes me." (Well, I didn't say it quite so eloquently, but you get the gist.) Joani agreed that yes indeed, washing was top priority for me at the moment.
We live on the second floor of a miniscule apartment building ('The Shoebox' I've dubbed it.) On the bottom floor is a little dumpy, dirty wash room with washer and dryer, where you can insert eight quarters for a fairly big load, and it comes out smelling like the dickens, but tolerably clean. I hauled all my clothes down there, tossed them in one of the rusted antiques, and ran back upstairs for some quarters.

"Joy," Joani said, "Bad news. We only have seven quarters."

The boys were already on a mad search through their jean pockets, and I dumped out my suitcase. There just had to be an extra quarter available somewhere... like a sudden zap of electricity, inspiration hit me. "I'll look under the machines!" I announced as I bolted back down the stairs. From my childhood, I've learned that many filthy rich (or just plain lazy) people drop quarters under vending machines and whatnot, and then don't feel like rolling around on the public floor in order to retrieve them. I felt confident that the washing machine would be no different.

If I haven't made it clear before, let me restate to emphasize; this room is pretty nasty. The kind of room that has never seen a broom or mop, the kind of room that poor hapless crabs wander in and smother in the dust bunnies. In this room, I laid down on the floor and began my hunt. I stuck my hand into the dark shadows of Under There, I shivered as little legs ran over the tops of my fingers, but valiantly reached in further. After pulling out three dead crabs, two lizards, and enough cobwebs to weave a dress with, my fingernails scratched something hard and metallic. It was a coin! It was... a Cayman penny.

The search resumed... it had lost some of it's initial excitement, and after nine false adrenaline rushes over moldy pennies and dimes, I was feeling pretty disillusioned about the whole thing. But I'd yet to search behind the dryer. So, determined to see this thing through the the end, I gingerly pushed the machine back, and slid myself behind there, in a tight little nook where I could squat down and peer closer. I grimaced as I lowered myself into the spider heaven, just as I heard the low buzz of anger.

A few inches left of my head was a big, scary wasp nest. Just the thing I needed to make my day so much brighter.

So, being the girl I am, I closed my eyes and wished it would go away when I opened them again - and when it didn't - I slithered out of there on my belly. That's when the search for a coin under the machines ended. (I'd pretty much covered every inch anyway.)

Happily, Joani offered to walk a few miles to the grocery store and get change, so my clothes did get washed that today - but unfortunately, not able to wear them for another complete week. That, however, is another story.

Saga Two

Right behind our apartments is a clothes line (actually, it's just a thinnish rope, but clothes line is more of a descriptive term and thus I use it liberally here.) It just makes sense, living on a tight student budget as we are, to use the line instead of the rusty dryer. So, after my clothes were done, I hung them out in the backyard field of junk (literally) and draped a tablecloth over, ahem, certain items that I didn't feel comfortable putting on display for the rest of the world.
In the Cayman sunshine and unrelenting heat, things dry fast. I was happily dreaming of having a clean, sunshine-fresh outfit to don in the morning.

Of course, that evening there would be a thunderstorm.

And the next morning.

And the evening after that.

And the evening after that.

And... you get the idea.

It rained so much, that our yard flooded, and the boys and I had to roll up our jeans and drape our shoes around our neck if we wanted to go anywhere. I watched with growing despair as my clothes, now weighed down with immense amounts of water, drooped down to the ground, and became home to a chorus of happy tree frogs. I wore the same pair of Joani's jeans and a tshirt all week... Grime Deluxe was my name.

But Saturday dawned with a fresh sun and not a cloud in sight. My hopes rose... it was proving to be a sweltering hot day, and my clothes were drying fast. To celebrate the end of the Long Rain, Joani and I took the boys down to the (overflowing) public pool for a long swim.

I was enjoying myself underwater when I heard Joani say, "Are those rain clouds?" I surfaced immiediately, squinting into the rather gloomy-looking horizon, suddenly wishing very immaturely that I could control the weather.

"It's not fair!" I whined loudly, as I scrambled out of the pool and into my grimy, beraggled clothes. But Joani offered the solution.

"Some of them may be dry by now... if only you can get to them before the rain does." I barely caught her last words as, with a quick glance at the rain so quickly approaching from the east, I took off faster than I've ever run in my life. "Run Joy!"

It was rather exciting, racing the rain. In my peripheal vision, I could see it aside of me, the dark shadow coming over, the wind picking up sinisterly around me. I tore past all the villa's, like a person touched with insanity I cut through the flower beds of peoples private yards, determined that this storm would not best me. I nearly ran into a Australian guy on the sidewalk, who exclaimed "Blimey!" quite loudly as I shot past. The clothesline was in near site... almost there... almost there.

I ripped off clothes just as mom has taught me not to; clothespins flying everywhere as I yanked them off with possessive ferocity. Just as I was about halfway done, the rain hit. Cradling the clothes (and a disturbed family of frogs) I rushed upstairs, as Joani and the boys came racing into the yard, and congratulated me on my semi-success.

Admittedly, this island life complicates things a little sometimes, but one has got to admit, it does lend plenty of spice to the ordinary.

Paul thinks life is a musical.

2008-09-30T12:37:00.000-07:00

Dread heads with posh voices.

2008-09-22T13:20:00.000-07:00

From the first time I walked over to the church, solitaire, clutching my Bible like a shield to my chest, I'd determined not to be shy. I will jump right in and participate, I muttered. I will come out with witty things to say at the correct times. I will make them like me.

Ever since I was five and kicked a friendly teenager who intimated me, I can remember feeling like a cornered rabbit every time I get around a group of people. My siblings have all been blessed with the most beautiful, friendly natures - so I'm not quite sure where I went wrong. Perhaps it is something God instilled in me, for reasons only he know's and understands; but whatever the case, I have always found myself inclined towards shyness. When around a new group of people, I limit myself to awkward smiles, and cliche, fumbled attempts at conversation. (Generally regretting every word later.) As time has passed, God's grace has come and allowed me to be much more eloquent with the spoken word, not quite so clam-like around people.

But still, there are days when I just feel introverted, hermit-like, averse to being around another soulish nature. When I'd like nothing more than a cave, a pile of books, and perhaps a box of chocolate.

I especially struggle with effectively relating to people my own age, feeling clumsy and extremely aunt-like around them. There world is so much different than mine; and while I marvel that they can be so obsessed with sports and fashion, they're taken aback by my obsessive love of literature. I wondered what the Cayman teenagers would be like; how they would treat my skin, so much fairer than theirs; what would be their reaction to my conversative notions. I felt fear that I would spend my evening sitting alone, wrapped in my own discomfort.

Several craned to look at me as I walked through the door, feeling far too self-conscious. Let go, don't think about yourself, think about them, I pleaded with myself. I smiled tenatively, approaching a girl near the front, directly before being bombarded with hugs from all sides.

"You're the new girl?"

"Holy moley, is your hair real or is it a wig?"

"Welcome, want some candy?"

"Can I pet your hair?"

"It's so nice to see you, we lack girls around here..."

I was a bit stunned at first, and remained minorly so throughout the evening. It was as if they didn't even notice my differences; or rather, embraced me all the more for them. These teenagers were a different class altogether; diverse, accepting, beautifully humble and open.

I've lain awake many nights thinking about it, marveling at how much they differ from the majority of American teenagers, who cringe at anything that cannot be categorized. And finally it hit me, they are just as different as I am. Cayman teenagers range from rugby-obsessed giants to dainty music lovers, from kilt-wearing boys with accents to dread-heads with bling. They do not feel the need to copy one another, they embrace their individuality as well as everyone elses. This is an example that I would do well to learn from.

Like I've told many of you, Cayman is a cultural melting pot... each clinging to a bit of their heritage, some adapting the habits of others. (Such as a Jamacain boy I met this weekend with the most posh British accent imaginable.)

I shall very much miss these new friends when I return home, but at least I've taken a new lesson under my belt. If I shy away from others differences, how will they be able to accept mine?

What Do You Want To Be When You Grow Up?

2008-09-17T13:45:00.000-07:00

While I'm here, I'm teaching my three oldest nephews English. Besides the expected agonizing over personal pronouns, improper use of adjectives, and continual harassment about punctuation... I get a few amusing incidents every now and then that make it all worth while.

For instance, David's latest question and answer paper, the ever-popular, What Do You Want To Be When You Grow Up?

David answered "A snitzel stick man."

The next question was "Why?"

David answered, "Because it's funny, and yummy, and to make money."

The next question was "How can you prepare for this job?"

David's answer? "Buy a snitzel truck and snitzel sticks."

Moral of the story? Not every child wants to be a firefighter, a nurse, or a pilot. And that's okay. If our aspirations aren't big, at least they're colorful.

"Got Your Back."

2008-09-13T18:29:00.000-07:00

There is nothing like playing with your nephews for the boosting of a tired imagination. There have been epic battles, insane escapes, irregular characters, dramatic deaths, and lots of wacky humor. Even a typical true love's kiss at the end.

But in all these plays, certain theme's never change. Friends, true friends, stay together no matter what. (Incidentally, friends who prove to be false die tragically in the Cage of Reptiles.)

It has been so difficult to be away from my family and friends during hurricane Ike. I admit I've worried about all of you, but at the same time I've put my trust in God again and again to take care of you. Even though I can't physically be there to help with the awful aftermath, I want you to know I love you all so much and am in constantly in prayer for you. I hope everything goes as smoothly as possible under circumstances, and God give you the strength to carry on.

Love you all. Stay away from the MRE's.

Of Mechanical Pencils and Serving Three-Year-Olds

2008-09-09T10:42:00.000-07:00

At one point or another, all of us treasure things that aren't really treasures. We all have our special things - 'stuffies' as my little niece used to call them. Besides the obvious (books, books, books) I really like new mechanical pencils, chewing gum, and specialty hygenic items. These are my stuffies, my affordable treasures, and they are guarded with the fearsome ferocity due them.

Currently I am living in a two-room apartment with five small boys. Five small, rambunctious, curious, and determined boys. My world has shrunk considerably in three days time. Not a huge continent anymore, I'm living a mere speck of an island in a mere speck on an apartment. I rather feel like Alice when she found the 'drink me' bottle.

Reality about living here for two weeks, no privacy, no personal space, and no 'stuffies' has began to sink in.

It all started with my brand new mechanical pencils. (I do have one left. I stowed that one in my suitcase underneath a wet swimsuit. They'll never find it, ahah!) I was loathe to relinquish my brand new pencils to hyper-active drumming fingers. It was as if I could momentarily see the future; no erasers, no lead, probably chewed on. Worse yet, I might never see them again.

Well, I gave them up, but very grudgingly. And I was guiltily hoarding other treasures from small eyes when my eldest nephew put me to shame.

Jonathan brought with him three of the greatest treasures an eleven-year-old can have: comic books. And not just any old comic books; original Marvel comic books. I can only imagine how very precious these things are to him at this point in his life (being in a foreign country with very little familiar around him and only a backpack to call his own.) And yet I observed him graciously mete out one to each of his younger brothers, allowing them to look at them before bedtime. I was stunned. Not that my nephew had bested me in unselfish virtue, but that he had willingly shared, knowing what sticky little fingers could do to the beloved books. (In fact, one did end up with some milk on it, but that is neither here nor there.)

Our American culture is so "me-centered" that whatever belongs to us immiediately becomes something sacred in our eyes. Like humble tools that were believed to have been touched by the gods, we raise pieces of plastic and paper up to exalted positions, just because we esteem ourselves so highly.

When the Bible says to esteem one another better than ourselves, it makes no exceptions. We are the bottom of the totem pole, and every one else comes ahead (yes even that televangelist that you despise or that annoying cousin or the annoying waitress who cussed you out.) (On a random side rant: I'm so sick of hearing, "They are here to serve me," when validifying your actions towards certain people. As a Christian, you are here to serve them. Now act like it.)

For me, that means my impish nephews are to be served first, to have their needs and desires placed above my own. My treasure suddenly loses it's importance when I realize that the real treasures are the souls all around me every day. And likewise, my precious plastic can only become more precious when held in the grubby fingers of someone I am here to serve.

Serving a three-year-old?

Yes, Christianity is amazing isn't it? If we could only let go of our pride and self-worth long enough to grasp it, who knows what impact the glorious revolution of selflessness could have on our world.

Tossing Wanted Sundries

2008-09-04T13:19:00.000-07:00

This morning I faced a seriously impending fact, staring at the bulging edges of my suitcase, the pile on top of it yet to be packed. Everything I'd like to bring to Cayman, or even various sundries I believe I need, are causing a rift between the relationship between my suitcase and I. My suitcase feels abused and refuses to hold another sock (personally I believe this is a very silly attitude... but you try convincing a smallish suitcase that it's capable of more.)

So I tossed out a couple of tshirts, a woebegone pair of jeans, and The Answers Book. Still my suitcase persisted in whiny habits, denying me even an inch more of zipper. So I tossed out two of my piano books (it's doubtful that I'll have access to a piano while in Cayman, but I'm clinging to a desperate hope and bringing some books anyway), an Arizona Jean skirt, some notebooks, and all of my shoes except for the flip-flops and tennis shoes. (Here my mom protested loudly, "You must have church shoes!" To my shame, I cheekily replied, "Take it up with Suitcase.")

One last time I invaded it, tossing articles of clothing over my shoulder, piling an untidy mountain of hygienic items in my chair, repressing an ungrateful gurgle towards Suitcase for refusing to accommodate my towel. It really was being absurdly stubborn over the whole thing. But at long last, I sat on the top, pulled the zipper all the way around effortlessly, and ignored the fact that half of my 'necessary' items didn't make it.

And now if you'll graciously allow me to make a boring and redundant analogy.

Right now my life feels about the same size as my suitcase, as I pointlessly shove more and more things in to suit myself. Life, like my Suitcase, simply refuses to hold everything to my convenience. And so comes the process of elimination, tossing out places I wanted to be, people I wanted to meet, subjects I wanted to study. The continual sorting seems infinite, no matter how many beloved things I throw out, it's still not nearly enough.

Being human, I get sick of this far too easily, and childishly just kick the suitcase aside, and gather everything up in my arms, protesting that if it won't carry it all, then I will. (It's pointless really. If airport security didn't get me first, the poor person who had to sit next to me on the flight would.) That resolve never lasts long, naturally.

Some of us have a bigger luggage suite than others. Mine, quite simply consists of the smallest sized suitcase and my backpack. If I was going to live in Europe for a year (if only!) this is what I would bring, because this is what I have.

God calls for contentment, for simplicity and order. Maybe you only have a backpack, and the contents of your life are threatening to burst out at any moment. In fact, maybe it already has burst and you're looking at the scattered mess wondering, "Now what?" Don't be afraid to toss them in a chair and leave them. Prioritize. Tennis shoes are more important than gorgeous heels. Soap is more important than perfume. (And no matter what you have to toss, leave the deodorant!)

I reckon that sometime in the near future I'll be on the beach going, "Now if only I had brought that." But no worries. Regrets are part of life too. And better to have a little in an organized space, than a lot in a helter-skelter, straining pile. (And mom, I promise that if I have to look like a beach bum the whole time, I'll be an elegant beach bum.)