Jesus is coming again someday...

Could be tomorrow, could be today...

Have you ever wondered what you would do if you knew Jesus was coming back within the next twelve hours? All cynicism and doubt aside...if someone told you that Jesus was coming back today, and you believed it, what would you do?

I don't know if it was the influence of Advent sermons talking about Jesus' return, or if it was the spaghetti and garlic bread I had for dinner last night, or the glass of wine and slice of gingerbread that I had as a late night snack...or a combination of all three...but I had a dream about this last night.

I dreamt that someone told me and everyone else at work that Jesus was coming back that day at 11:30 pm sharp. I thought, "Yes, Jesus is coming back tonight." Everyone else at work believed it, too. We even put it on the calendar: "11:30 pm--Jesus coming back". And then we left work, because work is really the last place you want to spend your last hours before Jesus comes back.

I went home and cleaned my apartment. (Everyone knows that it is imperative to have a clean apartment when Jesus comes back...he might want to come in for a cup of tea.) As I cleaned my apartment, I was also praying: "God, I'd like to see Jesus and all, but it'd be really great if he didn't come back today. I just started dating this really nice guy and I'd really like to see if it's going to go anywhere, and if Jesus comes back, I'm not going to have the chance to do that. So, can't you just wait to come back?"

Then, finally, it was almost 11:30 pm, and I was outside waiting, sitting at a picnic table with my computer in front of me. At 11:35 Jesus still hadn't come, and I was thinking, "HA! He listened to me! He's not coming back tonight after all!" Then I got an email from Lee, asking a question about work (of all things), so I emailed him back the answer and also said, "So I see you're still awake, too.... :)," and I'm still thinking that Jesus isn't coming back. Then I happen to look up at the sky.

And all of a sudden, a light starts growing, and there was Jesus...standing in the sky with pink and gold glory lights streaming around him, and his golden hair curling on his shoulders. His hands were held out at his waist, palms out, and he looked like he was going to step right off the clouds.

I stood up, because you shouldn't be sitting down when Jesus comes back, and my first thought was, "Dang, he came back! So much for having another date." And then I thought, "Wow, it looks just like the Sunday School pictures always showed."

And then I woke up. I looked around and thought, "Huh. Only a dream. I guess Jesus hasn't actually come back. Oh, well."

It's incredibly sacrilegious, I know, but as I was getting ready for work this morning, I couldn't help laughing about it. I think it's one of the funniest dreams I've ever had.

COLD!!

It's cold here! Right now it's 30 degrees, and that's warm compared to last night and earlier this morning! We got to come to work late today, but I'd rather have stayed at home wrapped in blankets.
I finished my finals last night!!!! Class was canceled (it was sleeting), so we just had to email our final to the professor. Mine was awful, but I stopped caring this week. I'm just glad to be done! People keep asking me what I'm going to do with my free time since I'll just be working. They think I'm not going to know what to do with myself. But I've been planning since October what I would do with my break: reading books for fun, writing for fun, renting movies, and maybe even doing some cooking. It's going to be great!

Pledges

Today was Pledge Sunday at church.

I don't like Pledge Sunday much.

It's not that I mind making a pledge...I don't mind at all. Knowing that I've committed to giving so much money to church each month keeps me from spending that money on something else.

What bothers me about Pledge Sunday is the way it's handled. In the couple of years I've been a member at this church, it hasn't bothered me, but this morning it did.

Pastor's sermon started out great. He talked about giving time and talent, giving yourself, etc. And then, towards the end, someone stood up at the back of the church and said, "Excuse me, pastor, but aren't you forgetting someting?" It was totally planned...obvious that he was reading from a script. He proceeded to tell everyone about how we're also supposed to give our money. Maybe it's just me, but the way he said it seemed to nullify everything else pastor had said...as though if we don't give enough money it doesn't matter how much time and talent we give. He said that our faith can be measured by what percentage of our income we give, and he tried to back that up with scripture. I can't remember what scripture he used, but I have a problem with that statement. Does that mean that because I don't give 10% of my income, I don't have enough faith? Does that mean my faith is less than that of someone who does give 10%?

And how do you quantify faith, anyways?

So I put my envelope in the offering plate as it passed, and I made my pledge, and I felt guilty about it. Because it's not 10%. I wish it was. I wish I was able to give 15%, or more. In this matter, it's not my faith that lacks, it's my checkbook.

I left church feeling guilty, judged, and angry. That man asked me to put a dollar amount on my faith. I've been having a conversation with God about this all day, trying to figure out if he is asking me to do more. No answer has been reached yet. I'd like to be able to give more money to church.... I'd like to be able to give money to Camp Lone Star.... I'd also like to get out of debt....

My apartment used to be a home...my haven. It was my place to relax, to live.

Now it's just a place to sleep, shower, and occasionally (but only when absolutely necessary) to do laundry.

Last time I spent a Sunday afternoon at home: October 30.
Last time I cooked: October 22.
Last time I cleaned: October 21. (The only reason I know the date on these last two is because they coincided with the last time I hosted the girl's mentor group from Concordia.)
Last time I spent a Saturday afternoon at home: September 3. (Maybe...that's the most recent Saturday on my calendar that doesn't have anything on it.)
Last time I got home before 9 pm during the week (not counting Fridays): September 15.

I work full time and then some, I travel (which is technically working), I go to school half time, I play the piano about twice a month at church, where I also serve on two boards and just agreed to co-chair the board of communication, and where I'm trying to be active in the young adult group. And once or twice a month I host a group of girls at Concordia who are participating in a new mentor program.

So, what does all this amount to?

I'm busy.

And I don't know how to say no.

But here's the thing...the things I do are things I want to do. I'm enjoying school. Most of the time I love my job. I enjoy traveling, especially when it brings me to, or close to, places where I my friends live. I love playing the piano at church (since I started playing, my mom has stopped reminding me of how many thousands of dollars they spent on my piano lessons). I enjoy being on the youth board and the membership board. And I'm so excited about co-chairing the communication board (my goal is to give the church's website a makeover). I love hosting the mentor group. All of these things challenge me, and feed me. And they're my ministry. I can't say no.

The Saga of my Air Conditioner

Two weeks and three maintenance requests later, the air conditioner in my apartment finally works. After the first request, they did something, but it didn't work. After the second request, they replaced both the indoor and outdoor units, but that didn't work either. After the third request, they realized there was a freon leak and a line needed to be replaced. They replaced it Friday. Now my air conditioner works very well. And all it took was cutting a giant hole in my ceiling.

When I got home on Friday, it was covered with black trash bags duct taped in place. Very classy. And everything in my living room was covered with a layer of chalky sheetrock dust. My lungs are probably coated with a layer of dust as well. By Saturday morning, the trash bags had fallen off and were in a tangled heap on my floor. I didn't bother to try to put it back up, and I stopped trying to clean. They're supposed to come back "Monday or Tuesday" (as the note they left said) to fix the hole. I imagine they'll make just as big a mess in repairing it as they made making the hole. I spent tonight moving my stuff out of the way and covering my furniture with sheets. I don't want to see dusty fingerprints on my dark blue couch again.

Fun times at Sherrah's home....I'm glad I live in an apartment because it means I don't have to pay for any of this.

A Seth Story

I haven't told a Seth story in a while and this one is too good to pass up. (Almost as good as when he was dating a 21 year old Baylor student and hadn't told Mom and expected me to keep it a secret from her--which I did...Mom still doesn't know that I knew before she did--and then finally told her on the 4th of July after she'd had a few margaritas..... This story is about as good as that, but in a very different way.)

So...Seth was on the debate team at school a couple years ago, and was pretty good at it. He did not do debate last year, but rejoined this year. It's a zero-hour class, which Seth is not actually enrolled in...he's not getting credit or a grade for it, it's just extracurricular. So, when the teacher told them that she needed them all in class the day of See You at the Pole, Seth skipped and went to See You at the Pole. When the teacher asked him why he did that when she had specifically said she needed them in class, I don't know what exactly Seth's reply was, but I think it involved him calling her a heathen. (At open house/parents' night, she told Mom & Dad she didn't really appreciate that.)
From what everyone says, this teacher likes to joke around and argue with the students, but one day recently she took it too far. She was telling one of Seth's cheerleader friends that she's stupid and all the teachers get together and talk about how stupid this girl is. (Horrible thing for a teacher to say, huh?!) The girl cried and left the room. Seth got mad and told the teacher she couldn't talk to them like that. She argued. He argued back. She told him to leave. He quit debate. Since then, she's asked him to come back, but he refuses to. She should really just save her breath. Seth is by far the stubbornest of all the Holobaughs.
I have to say...I'm proud of Seth for standing up for himself and for his friends. I think he's a little derranged sometimes, but I'm really very proud of the person he's growing up to be. It just makes me laugh to remember Seth as a kid and to see him now. The personality is still the same; it's expression is just a little more mature.
I also have to say that I think he should go back to debate. There comes a time when just the act of trying to prove a point overshadows the point you're trying to prove. The point itself should be the focus, not the proving of it, if that makes any sense.

I'm a Survivor!

I have just survived what I expected to be the busiest, craziest week of the semester. I was in St. Louis over the weekend (which was so much fun...catching up with old friends, Oktoberfest at the seminary where the desperation is so thick you can taste it, playing with my favorite almost-two-year-old girl who exclaims "oooh, wow" over everything...I could have stayed another few days). I got home Monday evening, went to 2 college fairs on Tuesday, gave a presentation that night (a feminist interpretation of Hemingway's "The Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber"), went to 2 college fairs on Wednesday, gave a presentation that night (a biographical report of Mary Shelley), worked all day Thursday, then drove to LaGrange for a college fair (where everyone asked me when Concordia was moving to Giddings), went to work this morning, left at noon, and wrote a paper (over the presentation I gave Tuesday), and emailed it to the professor about thirty minutes ago. On top of all of that, I had a flat tire Tuesday morning because I ran over a nail left in the parking lot by the roofers reshingling the apartment complex. Also on Tuesday was a broken air conditioner, which was fixed by the time I got home Tuesday night but broke again on Wednesday. It still hasn't been fixed...found out today that they're going to have to replace the whole unit but they won't have the part until Monday. But, "a cold front has come in so it's supposed to be cooler this weekend."
Considering all that, it really hasn't been that bad of a week. I lost my mind Monday night when I got home from the airport. I was exhausted, my apartment was a mess, and I still had the whole week ahead of me. I completely gave in to stress and panic, which is so weird, because I NEVER get stressed out about school. Before this semester, I only got stressed out about school once that I can remember...finals week senior year at Concordia...I think I wrote about 200 pages worth of papers that week. But after Monday, I relaxed and did what I had to do. My panic-stricken prayers of Monday night were answered with a pervasive peace. God is good like that. He is faithful.

Maya

I heard Maya Angelou speak this week....beautiful.
You can read my thoughts about it on my new grad school blog.

I'm on another trip...this time in Chicago. Beyond my work obligations (college fairs & high school visits) I have no plans other than cloistering myself in my hotel room to write a paper over Mary Shelley that's due Wednesday. I'm finding that grad school has an amazing way of taking over every spare minute of my time.

Beyond

Driving home from work today, I heard a song on the radio that really made me pause and listen. I've heard it before, and have even sung along with it, but today I really listened to it. I don't know the name of it, or who sings it, but the chorus is: "Word of God speak, won't you pour down like rain, washing my eyes to see your majesty. So be still and know that you're in this place, please let me stay and rest in your holiness." (I was at a stoplight for a while, so I had time to write down the words.)
There's another line in the song that says something like, "The last thing I need is to be heard, but to hear your voice." That one brought me up short, because so often in my prayer life, I find myself saying: Listen to me, God.... Hear what I'm saying.... Do you hear me talking to you? I fill up my prayer time with words. With noise. And I don't stop to listen, to hear what God is saying to me. Sometimes I'm afraid to listen to God. If I listen, I'll have to do what he's calling me to do. He has such a compelling voice...how could I not do what he asks? But what if he asks me to do something scary?
So my prayers consist of me talking, talking, talking. (Which is kind of funny, because, as many people can attest to, I'm not a very talkative person.) But, "The last thing I need is to be heard..." The last thing I need.... In Sunday School we hear that prayer is how we talk to God, in Bible studies we learn the power that prayer has...and yet, talking to God is the least of it. Hearing him speak to us is what prayer is about. "Beyond the music, beyond the noise" is his voice. And that's really what's most important, isn't it? God's Word to us. Those are the words that have power.
"Word of God speak, won't you pour down like rain, washing my eyes to see your majesty. So be still and know that you're in this place. Please let me stay and rest in your holiness."
And finally, the last line of the song: "I'm finding myself at a loss for words, and the funny thing is, it's okay."

Denver

I'm in Denver. This is the view from my hotel room. I think I might go to that IHOP for breakfast tomorrow. I think I'm also going to find a mall. And then I'm going to sit by the pool and do some reading/writing. I might also go see a movie, and then have dinner somewhere. On Sunday I think I'll find a church to go to, and then maybe go drive in the mountains before my college fair tomorrow night. And do some more reading.
I have a ton of reading to do before Tuesday night. I have to read Freud's perspective on the interpretation of dreams. And do a psychoanalytic interpretation of a Hemingway story. Ick.
Maybe doing it by the pool will make it more enjoyable.

My rental vehicle for the week is a truck...a Dodge Dakota 4x4 with a dual cab. It's big. Much bigger than what I'm used to driving. I've decided that it's probably best if, when I next go car shopping, I probably shouldn't buy a truck. I'm dangerous in a truck. I've decided that this one is named Grendel. Because it's a monster. (I thought Seth would appreciate that, seeing as how he seems to have enjoyed Beowulf.)

Worship

Tonight I was at Super Target (one of my favorite places), and I bought the latest Chris Tomlin CD.
Wow.
I haven't paid much attention to his music in the past, but that week I spent at camp, we sang one of his songs a lot ("Holy is the Lord"), and I really liked it, so I started paying attention when I heard one of his songs on the radio. Decided to buy the CD, and...wow. It's so worshipful. I love music that brings me into a spirit of worship.

Twos

You know how "they" say that things happens in threes? I myself have often cliche-ishly said, "Third time's a charm!", but ofr my own life, I think things happen in twos. Several years ago I got a speeding ticket on Highway 71 driving home from a weekend at camp. A few months later I got another speeding ticket on Highway 71 driving to camp. I haven't gotten one since. (I just knocked on wood.) Several years ago I dated a guy named Jason. A couple years later I dated another guy named Jason. I have since sworn of dating Jasons. A couple months ago I was in a wreck. I was in another one a couple days ago. I have no intention of ever having another one.
That's why I'm REALLY hoping that my theory of twos is correct.

Collision, again

I think I need to get a bumper sticker for my car that says: "Please Hit Me!" or "I Love Wrecks!"
Driving to work this morning, I was rear-ended. Fortunately no one was hurt. And the damage to my car is minimal...cosmetic only. His car is a different story. It's not drivable at all. And he doesn't have insurance. Or a driver's licence. And he doesn't speak English. Great start to my day, but I feel like I'm becoming a pro at this whole car-wreck thing.
I'm not so sure that's a good thing.

So...grad school started much more smoothly than I thought. Parking is not going to be a problem at all. Traffic is. Especially getting home. There's so much road work being done in the evenings between San Marcos & Austin that it's really slowing me down. It took me an hour and a half to get home after orientation Tuesday night. Class on Wednesday was good. Because I'm sure I could get super geeky talking about classes, I've decided to chronicle my grad school adventures elsewhere.

Fears

I think I've just about hit panic mode in regards to grad school. I'm not nervous about being in school, about the classroom/homework/papers/ reading part of school.
Well...not so nervous.
I do have these random, ridiculous fears like: what if I'm not smart enough for this, or what if I don't read critically enough and everyone else is finding these super-deeply profound things in the reading and I'm just enjoying the story and how pretty the words sound together, or what if I've forgotten how to write a paper, or any number of similar what ifs.
When I'm being reasonable it's easy to dismiss those fears.
The fears that are not so easy to dismiss are even more ridiculous, like: where am I going to park, what if I can't find a parking place and have to park illegally and then my car gets towed and I have no way to get back to Austin, what if traffic is worse than usual and I'm really, really late to class, what if I don't have enough money to pay for all the gas I'm going to be using driving to and from San Marcos 2 nights a week, how far am I going to have to walk from my parking space (wherever it is) to my classroom, what if I get lost while walking from that illusive parking space to my classroom, what if I get kidnapped or murdered while walking back to my car after class at 9:30 pm, etc. etc. etc.
Most of my fears have to do with parking. It's bad enough trying to find a parking place at Concordia (I didn't find one this morning...I ended up parking on the street a block north of campus). What's it going to be like finding parking on a campus 5000 times bigger than Concordia??? (Panic mode induces extreme exaggeration in me....)
I have orientation tomorrow night. I'm imagining that the only people who will be there are the panicky, uptight people like myself, and people like that just annoy me. (I know, it's a paradox, isn't it?) BUT...people like that usually ask the same questions I'm wondering but haven't gotten around to asking yet, so I'm hoping to get answers to all my parking fears tomorrow.
And then, class starts Wednesday night. I've already started my reading for the first week because I'm afraid (another fear!) of not being prepared for class. I wasn't sure if "First week's reading" in the course description meant what we need to have read by the first night of class, or what we will be reading during the first week of school and need to have read by the second night of class.
School has a tendency to bring out my over-achiever qualities.

For some reason this quote/saying from camp/Concordia days came back to me over the weekend: "All women are evil temptresses."
I don't remember who it originated with, but Dave Moerbe's use of it led to my being known among the daycampers as "Evil Sherrah". I don't think the 7 & 8 year olds quite understood what temptress meant, which is probably a good thing....

Dorms

Classes start this week at Concordia. Students start moving into the dorms tomorrow. I always like this time of year. It brings back lots of memories.
I remember moving into the dorms my freshman year. I'd had these ideas that my roommate and I would be best friends, and we'd do everything together and be in each other's weddings and one day our kids would play with each other..... Those ideas went out the window when I met my roommate. Almost everything she brought with her was black, and she was sullen and had absolutely no desire to be there but her parents were making her.
She moved back home at the end of the semester and I got a new roommate for the spring. During the summer, roommate number two decided not to come back, so I was already on roommate number three when I moved back into the dorms for my sophomore year.
Number Three was a freshman from Maryland who was originally from Hong Kong. There was a night that first week when we were about to turn off the lights, but all of a sudden she screamed and jumped across the room from her bed to mine, yelling that something with a tail and stripes across it back had just run across her bed and that I had to get rid of it. It was a gecko. I hate geckos. Their tails fall off and wiggle and totally freak me out. I grabbed a wad of paper towels, picked it up, and, I'm sad and ashamed to say, I flushed it. (I was already in my PJ's and didn't want to have to walk downstairs and outside. It was easier to flush it.)
Number Three and I lasted one semester and decided we'd be better friends if we didn't live together, so I moved in with roommate Number Four during my fourth semester of school.
When we came back for our junior year, Number Four and I were still roommates. That was a fun start to the semester. During the first couple days in the dorms, a gas leak was discovered, so they had to turn off the gas in the dorm, which meant that we had no hot water. If we wanted to take a hot shower, we had to either go to one of the other dorms or to the locker rooms in the gym. That lasted for about two weeks. At the same time, we were having electricity problems and could only have one major appliance plugged in at a time, so it was either the refridgerator or the TV or the computer. That lasted a couple weeks, too.
Number Four and I were still roommates when we came back for our senior year, but we had moved to a new dorm. Three years in Studtmann Hall was enough for us, and we'd decided to try out the old Inn. I moved in the day before Christine did. I had accumulated so much stuff that Mom had to follow me to Austin in the station wagon. She was not excited about me living in the Inn. "Are you sure you want to live here? Don't you want to go see if they can move you back to Studtmann? You're so close to the highway. Someone could break your door down without even trying...." And many more such comments. I'm sure Mom & Dad both prayed for my safety every night that year.
Those were fun times.....

A Travelblog

I love to travel, but good grief, it's exhausting. This is my big Washington, DC/St.Louis tip, and I'm now on the second half, so I'm tired, and the next few days are going to be even more tiring. A good thing: I'm sitting at a St. Louis Bread Co. using their free WiFi, and I just finished eating a Turkey Bacon Bravo sandwich (my favorite!). I LOVE St. Louis Bread/Panera Bread! I wish we had one in Austin.
So, Washington, DC...very cool city. I'd love to live there. I'd have an apartment downtown, and I'd walk to work every day at the Library of Congress. And I'd shop in Georgetown, and in the evenings, I'd sit on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial and read or write, or just watch all the people walking by.
Here's all the places we saw:
the Lincoln Memorial
the Washington Memorial
the Vietnam War Memorial (so powerful!)
the Korean War Memorial (also powerful)
the World War II Memorial (not as powerful, but beautiful)
the White House (just walked by & saw from a distance)
the Library of Congress (I wanted to lay down on the floor in the middle of the main entrance hall and just stare at the mosaic ceiling...it was beautiful! We didn't go into any of the reading rooms, which was probably good because Kristi would never have been able to get me out, but we did see several of their exhibits...I seriously want a job there.)
the National Gallery of Art
the National Archives (saw the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution, and the Bill of Rights...very cool stuff)
and the National Cathedral. Which was probably one of the strangest buildings I've ever been in. It was beautiful and impressive, but why do we even have a National Cathedral? Most of the statues, instead of being of religious figures, were of important people in American history. There was a giant statue of George Washington & another of Abraham Lincoln. And the stained glass showed as many (if not more) scenes from American history as it showed religious scenes. It struck me that it was built to glorify America rather than God. Very, very strange.
We also walked by a bajillion buildings like the Capitol Building, the Department of Justice, the FBI building, the IRS building, etc., but didn't go in any of them.
I'd love to go back and do more exploring when I have more time and don't have to spend most of the daytime hours in a conference.
And now I'm in St. Louis, trying to pass some time until I can check into my room at the seminary for the youth conference I'm participating in. This is my third year helping with this conference, and the schedule hasn't changed a bit, so I know exactly what I'll see: the Synod's International Center (woohoo), the St. Louis Zoo, and the Arch.
Home again on Tuesday.

Please excuse the extreme silliness that's about to come...

This is a story about Sherrah & her alter-ego Lydia.

This morning, Sherrah woke up...a little later than she intended. She showered, dressed, and tried on a couple different pairs of shoes, but they all iritated the blisters she has on three toes, so she decided to wear a pair of flip-flops because they were the only shoes that didn't rub against the blisters.

This morning, Lydia woke up...later than she should have, but she did that on purpose. She showered, dressed, and decided to wear flip flops to work just to be rebellious. After all, she had already rebelled by sleeping in, what was a little more rebellion???

At work, Sherrah went straight to business. She has a lot of stuff to do. Lydia desperately wanted to goof off, but the reminder that she's going to be out of the office most of next week and the next kept her on task.

Sherrah & Lydia were both saddened by news that came by email in the late morning. A Concordia student serving in the Marines in Iraq was killed yesterday. Neither Sherrah nor Lydia knew him, but they both knew of him. He was going to be a DCE.

Around noonish, Sherrah left campus for lunch. She went to Jason's Deli and ordered a Club Royale. The guy taking her order mumbled something, so she said, "Say that again?" Apparently he asked for her name, because he said, "Alright, Miss Lydia, your Club Royale will be right out." Sherrah was going to substitute her chips and pickle for fruit, but Lydia was so shocked that a total stranger knew who she was that she couldn't say anything to make the change.

Back at campus, Sherrah was going to go right back to work after eating, but Lydia decided that she still had about 30 minutes left of her lunch hour, so she decided to write this post.

Sherrah understands that very little of this makes sense and she wants you all to know that she's sorry, but she's completely lost control of her alter-ego. You can thank the guy at Jason's Deli who interpreted "Say that again?" as "Lydia".

Campy Thoughts

I have a lot of different thoughts tumbling around in my head right now. Not sure where to start....

Camp. It was a great week. I know there are people who think I'm crazy for taking a week of vacation to go work at camp, but I can't think of a better way to spend vacation. It was physically exhausting (I came home and slept 12 hours Friday night and another 12 hours Saturday night), but it was spiritually refreshing. And it was just fun. It was great to see old friends again and to play with them. We even had a mini-reunion Thursday night when the Neuhaus's & Goeke's came to visit. It was very cool...there were about 15 of us, and the last time we'd all worked together was 1999, and most of the counselors on staff were our campers.

I started reading Kathleen Norris' The Cloister Walk while I was at camp. It's one of the few non-fiction books I've ever read that has drawn me in so much that it's hard to put it down. In it, she talks a lot about community and communal living, which makes sense since she's living in a monastary as she's writing the book. Reading it at camp made me draw some parallels. Camp certainly isn't a monastary, but it is the same kind of cloistered, God-saturated community full of individuals working towards a common purpose. That's one of the things I always loved about camp and that I find myself missing.

The book has yielded many good quotes...I love a book that makes me pull out my pen and underline passages and write in the margins. There are only a couple that I've ever done that with. Madeleine L'Engle's Walking on Water and Philip Yancey's Reaching for the Invisible God.

Speaking of books...I read Harry Potter #6 over the weekend. Simply shocking. I found myself loving and hating it simultaneously. And now I'm waiting for #7 to see how the story ends. In the meantime, I'm intensely jealous of J.K. Rowling and hope that one day I'll write something that's even a quarter as popular and widely-read as Harry.

Last night I went to my women's Bible study group for the first time since mid-May. We've started a new study on prayer...we're reading Stormie Omartian's The Power of a Praying Woman. (They had originally planned to read The Power of a Praying Wife but chose the other, for which I'm grateful.) Realization: My prayer life needs some work. I've decided to read the Psalms. They are, after all, prayers. I'm reading Psalm 8 today. It's one I've always associated with camp: "O Lord, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth! You have set your glory above the heavens....When I consider your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars, which you have set in place, what is man that you are mindful of him, the son of man that you created him?" I can't look at the night sky at camp and not think of those verses.

There are still other thoughts rolling around, other realizations I've come to recently. But I think this is enough for today. I'll save the others for another time.

Going Home

I'm on vacation!
And I go to camp tomorrow!
I feel like I'm 12 again, going to camp for the first time. I feel a little bit silly, getting so excited about going to a place I've been going to for the last 15 years. But I am. I've been looking forward to this week all summer. And as we've gotten closer, I've become more anxious to be there. I think part of the reason is seeing so many old friends who I know will be there. There's going to be an incredible group of volunteers...plus one who I hear doesn't want to work. (Can't wait to see you, Jim!) :-)
It is kind of amazing to think that I've had some kind of connection with camp for fifteen years. It's been six summers since I last worked there, but in those six years I've managed to go there in some form...for BBQs, to drop off/pick up a brother, or to volunteer. And every time I go, it kind of feels like coming home. There's something about the place that realigns me...that straightens me out and reconnects me. At camp, I feel God's physical presence more strongly than I do anywhere else. Probably because it was during my summers as a camper and a jr. staffer that God truly became real to me. My faith went from just believing in Him to having a personal relationship with Him. And that relationship grew and strengthened during my summers as a counselor. No matter where I am in my faith, whenever I go to camp, I'm reminded of where I've been and how I've grown, and that's what realigns me.
You know what I can't wait to do when I get there?
See the stars. I always loved to sit out by the lake after evening devos, and just look at the stars. I miss the stars in the city.

Brothers

I always wanted an older brother. I had a friend in jr. high and high school who had an older brother (who, by the way, was HOT). He always watched out for her and took care of her and was nice to her annoying friends. And I wanted an older brother to do those things for me…not that I needed taking care of. I just liked the idea of having someone who would stand up for me and protect me if I ever did need it.
I never got that older brother. (Big surprise there, huh?) I ended up with three younger brothers. (The picture was taken 5 years ago. They're all a lot taller than me now.) I am finding, though, that as my younger brothers get older, they get more protective of me. It really strikes me as funny, especially that the oldest of the three is being protective. Josh and I haven't been exceptionally close in a long time, and we don't exactly talk a whole lot, but yesterday, I think he was ready to drive to Austin and start knocking heads together on my behalf.
My car has was in the body shop for about five weeks being put back together after the wreck I had in May. Five weeks is a long time to be without a car, and it was very frustrating, but I finally got it back yesterday evening. I called home to tell my family I finally got my car back. It was Josh's birthday, so he was there and I talked to him for a minute...the whole "Happy Birthday" etc. thing. While we're talking, he asks who these people are who've had my car for so long. I told him I got it back, yada yada, say goodbye, then talk to Mom.
Apparently they'd been talking (I think they were taking bets to see how long it took for me to get really mad)... and Josh got outraged that they'd had my car so long. "Someone's got to do something," he said. He asked why Mom & Dad hadn't come to Austin to take care of this for me. I seriously think he was ready to give the people at the body shop a call. Mom had to remind him that I'm 27 years old and perfectly capable of taking care of myself and that if I wanted their help, I'd ask for it. It really kind of amuses me. I almost feel like I've finally gotten that big brother I always wanted.
In other brother news, the middle one has let me in on a secret. If Mom finds out that I know about this and haven't told her, I'm going to be feeling some heat. (Seth, if you're reading this, TELL HER SOON!)
And my baby brother (who I'm sure totally appreciates that I refer to him as such) is jr. staffing at Camp Lone Star this week & next.

Plane tickets from Austin to Washington, DC, to St. Louis, and back to Austin: $485

4 nights in a swanky hotel in downtown DC (within walking distance of the White House): $600

Seeing our nation’s capitol in style at Concordia’s expense: priceless….at least for me. :)

I love having a job that allows me to travel and that pays my travel expenses!

1965

From an article on a page of The Buffalo Evening News that I found lining the bottom of an old trunk in my Grandma’s attic:

Astronomer Predicts U.S. Will Land on the Moon First
But Dr. Levitt Says at Buffalo State That Soviet May Make the First Lunar Orbit
By Ralph Wallenhorst
Russia may be the first to put a manned reconnaissance ship in orbit around the moon but the U.S. will be the first to land on the lunar surface, Dr. I.M. Levitt predicted here Friday.
The noted astronomer forecast that a Soviet astronaut will circle the moon next year. Landing on the moon requires booster rockets with greater thrust than either the Soviet or the U.S. are now using, Dr. Levitt said.
The lunar landing is scheduled for 1971 but the U.S. may bring it off two years earlier because the giant F-1 rockets now being tested have proved so trouble-free, said Dr. Levitt, director of Philadelphia’s Fels Planetarium….
The U.S. could start building an orbiting “space station” by 1967 and will almost certainly do so by 1970….
Future space vehicles will be rotated in flight to provide an artificial gravity….
A space ferry, powered by nuclear engines, will be shuttling between satellites above the Earth and the moon by 1976.
“In this fashion, we will be able eventually to build up a civilization on the moon.”
We’ll put a reconnaissance satellite in permanent orbit around Mars by 1969, to photograph the red planet through an entire “growing season.” By 1976 we’ll land a man on Mars….
Later we’ll land on one of Jupiter’s moons. By the end of this century, we’ll be sending space ships “to the end of the solar system.”
Pluto, the most distant known planet, is 75 times further from Earth than is Mars.

The date on the article is July 24, 1965. The rest of the page is the want ads. The most expensive car listed is a 1965 Ford Falcon for $1868. There are also planes for sale. A 1963 used Cessna 150 cost $5350. My used Neon cost twice that.

Pauline

I’m home, and you know what I missed most on this trip? My toilet. Does that sound weird? Yeah, it does, but really, it’s not so weird. Let me explain: My great-grandmother doesn’t like to sit on a cold toilet seat, so she has this fuzzy toilet seat cover. And it’s gross. It stinks. I was very happy to get home and use my own toilet that doesn’t have a stinky, fuzzy cover.

That said, it was a good trip. I can’t say that it was fun. It wasn’t really meant to be fun and I didn’t really expect to have fun. But it was good…time well spent. It was necessary, I think. I’m still processing it all, and it helps me to process if I write it, so bear with me. I promise there will be some humor in the processing. My family is kind of crazy.

I’ve seen my great grandparents maybe five times in my entire life, and one of those was this last week. Even though I’ve spent so little time with them, I can see so much of Grandma in myself. I’m not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing. I love my grandmother, but the woman is a loon. Sure, some of that is old age and some of it is probably due to a lack of proper oxygenation. (Mom said that her oxygenation levels were so low when we got there it was a miracle Grandma hadn’t had a heart attack…as of last Wednesday she’s now on oxygen 24 hours a day, and she’s hating every minute of it.) But most of it is just the way Grandma is and always has been. (Keep in mind the fuzzy toilet seat cover.)

She has a stubborn streak bigger than Texas, which apparently runs in the family. She’s a Lux, and everyone in Springville, New York, knows that all the Luxes are hard-headed. And on top of that she’s unbelievably independent. The woman would rather die than ask anyone for help. Another Lux Family trait, I’m told, and four generations later, it hasn’t been watered down any, at least not in me. Mom jokes that my first full sentence was, “I can do it myself.” It may not have been my first full sentence, but it was certainly one I said a lot, and still do. I think that independence is a good thing, but it can be not so good in excess. My great-grandmother is excessively independent. I hope that when I’m her age, I’m able to accept my limitations and ask for help. I hope that no matter what my age, I’m able to accept my limitations and ask for help when I need it.

Okay…enough introspection; here’s a funny story. One night last week I was alone with Grandma for about twenty to thirty minutes and she told a story about going to a dance with some girlfriends of hers. On the way home, they had a flat tire. Grandma was driving, it was late, and they were only a few blocks from the house, so she kept going. And she got pulled over by the sheriff. He accused her of drunk driving, but she swore she only had a couple of very small cups of beer and told him that if she were any younger, she knew he’d be taking her over into the bushes to take advantage of her, she knew how he was, she’d heard stories, yes sir. A few weeks later she had to appear in court and lucky for her, the judge was an old family friend who told the sheriff that he better not ever mess with Pauline again.

While she was telling me this, I was picturing a younger Grandma, a Pauline in her late teens before she got married, or maybe in her twenties after my grandmother was born and she had divorced her first husband. So I asked Grandma how old she was when this happened. “Oh…about sixty.”

I don’t know how much of this story is true. Grandma has a tendency to exaggerate a bit, but the essence of Grandma is there…her brashness, spunk, sass, independence…. I couldn’t dream up a character like her if I spent my whole life trying.

To Grandmother's House we Go

There’s something so wonderful about waking up without the aid of an alarm clock. It’s a peaceful, luxurious waking, made even more luxurious when your first coherent thought is, “I’m on vacation!” But less peaceful when your second coherent thought is, “My mother and grandmother will be here in a couple hours and I still have to pack.”
Today at 2, my mother, grandmother, aunt, and I fly to New York to spend the week with my great-grandparents. I’m praying for a peaceful vacation for all of us….

I'm feeling a little nostalgic.

On Mother’s Day I talked to an elderly couple I’ve known since high school. They told my mom and me that they’d just recently celebrated their anniversary…63 years. I saw them again this past Sunday; I didn’t get to talk to them, but I watched them as they went up to the altar for Communion and as they went back to their pew. They held hands the entire time, and he treated her as though she were the most precious thing in the world to him. Sixty-three years and their love hasn’t diminished; if anything, it’s intensified, especially in the time that I’ve known them.
I saw my grandmother on Sunday, and she told me that she’s 69. This couple has been married almost as long as my grandmother has been alive. My grandfather, her husband, died at the age of 69…12 years ago. I always knew he was a lot older than her, but I’d never really thought about how much older he was.
My grandfather and the man in the couple of 63 years used to play in a band together. They were called the Midnight Cowboys, and they played in nursing and retirement homes. Many years before that my grandfather was in a band in Memphis called the Snearly Ranch Brothers (I think), and my grandfather played back-up guitar for a singer named Warren Smith on an album produced by Sun Records. My dad once told me that my grandfather used to be a regular guitarist for Sun Records and that he once (and maybe more than once) played with Johnny Cash. A couple years ago I found that Warren Smith album on E-bay and bought it for my dad. Unfortunately, my parents no longer have a record player so we haven’t been able to listen to it yet.
But more recently my dad found some old recordings of the Midnight Cowboys and put them onto CDs. I never knew my grandfather could sing until I heard these CDs. I always knew he could play the guitar, but not that he could sing....
He used to love listening to me play the piano. Any time he was at the house, I had to play, and he would just sit and listen, and when I was finished, he would sit down at the piano. There was only one song he knew how to play, and I’d give anything just to know the name of it. Whatever it was, he loved it, and it was amazing to watch his old, gnarled, arthritic fingers as they touched the piano keys. “Ticklin’ the ivories,” he would say, and that’s exactly what it looked like he was doing.
I’m sitting here listening to these CDs, to my grandfather’s voice, and I’m flooded by memories…going to Dairy Queen, just the two of us, and eating ice cream while he told me stories of when he was in England and Germany during World War II…him recording my first piano recital…when I was 8th grade he told everyone he introduced me to that I was president of the jr. honor society…when I was in 9th grade and no longer in the jr. honor society he still told everyone I was president….
And I remember his last months, from the time I found out he had cancer to his death about 4 months later…visiting him in the hospital…him telling us that everything was going to be okay…and holding his hand the night before he died, when he told me that there’s a reason for everything, even for dying, and part of living was to discover that reason....
He was something else, my grandfather. So full of life and love. He once told me that when it came time for me to choose a career, I should look to my hobbies, because if I made a career out of something I loved to do, I'd never have to work. I'd always be doing something I loved. It's good advice. I hope some day I'm in a financial position where I can do that with my writing.
Wow...so this isn't at all what I set out to write tonight. I had something completely different in mind, but I guess I'll be saving that idea for another day. :-)

Something to Celebrate

At 5:15 this afternoon I completed my Latin final, which completed my second semester of Latin, which is all the foreign language I need to meet the language requirements of my graduate program.
Vale Latina! (Good bye Latin!)

Something Purple

Thanks to the Knouses, I have now entered the uber-cool world of nalgene water bottles. And all I did was pet their cat Farmer and feed and play with their dog Frankie while they were out of town on Saturday. Who knew it was so easy to become cool?! My bottle is a violety-purple to help me show off my Tornado spirit. WHOOSH!

Something Accidental

It's amazing the damage that is caused when a little Plymouth Neon and a bigger Nissan Pathfinder collide with each other. Well, the damage done to a Neon is rather expected...they're not known to be especially sturdy. I've always thought my car had a bug-like appearance; it now looks like a bug that has had one of its eyes gouged out. Not nice.
Fortunately, no one was hurt in this accident. Well...at the scene of the accident it was determined by myself, the other driver, and two witnesses that no one was hurt. Someone else is saying otherwise now.
Thank God for insurance. I'm still deciding if I'm thankful for insurance companies.

And Something Fishy

So…the fish still has no name, but he is still alive. Thanks to all who had a suggestion. There were some good ones, but they just aren’t working for me. (For example, when I think of the name Earl, I hear the Dixie Chicks song “Earl’s gotta die”.) There’s a line from an old song that keeps going through my head… “I’ve been through the desert on a horse with no name…” Anyone know what song I’m talking about and who sang it?

The Beta Chronicles

Part One: Felipe the Frozen
A few years ago my grandmother gave me a fish for Christmas, a little turquoise and red beta. He looked very festive, like a fiesta, so I named him Felipe, which was the first festive/fiesta-sounding name that came to mind. I had Felipe for two years, then I went out of town for Christmas, and it got very cold while I was gone. Betas are tropical fish and don’t like the cold. He was dead when I got home....

Part Two: Eliot the Infected
About a month later I bought a new fish, a dark blue one that I named Eliot after one of my favorite poets, T.S. Eliot. I’m not really sure what exactly happened to Eliot, but he got sick. One of his eyes got infected and bubbled up (it was really gross) and then his body took on this really strange contorted shape, like his spine (do fish have spines?) was crooked. He only lasted about a month....

Part Three: Iago the Starved
Fish number three was bright red. I named him Iago…not after the parrot in Disney’s Aladdin, but after the villain in Shakespeare’s Othello. I had Iago for a while, but I went out of town a lot that summer. Before I left for each trip, I dropped a food pellet into the water that was supposed to be enough food for a week, but Iago just didn’t catch on to the whole eating thing....

Part Four: Mr. Darcy the Asphyxiated
Fish number four was another turquoise one I named after my favorite Jane Austen leading man, Mr. Darcy in Pride and Prejudice. I was traveling a lot the fall that I had Mr. Darcy, so he was neglected a bit. His bowl didn’t get cleaned out as often as it probably should have. When I finally did clean it, I put too much water in it and there wasn’t enough room between the waterline and the cup holding the ivy that grew in his water. Betas actually need oxygen, and Mr. Darcy didn’t get enough....

Part Five: The Fish With No Name
I bought fish number five last weekend and I'm so happy to say he's still alive. I haven't decided on a name yet, but I’m considering Frankenstein in honor of one of my first graduate classes I’ll be taking in the fall (we'll be studying Mary Shelley, who wrote Frankenstein). I’m also thinking about Cicero or Virgil to commemorate the Latin I’ve been taking this year. I am open to suggestions, though, if anyone has any. Let’s just hope Number Five has more luck than his predecessors.

Livestock

This morning's sermon was about Jesus the Good Shepherd, and of course that meant that comparisons were drawn between sheep and people. I've heard similar sermons before...the ones that go into detail about the idiosyncrasies of sheep, etc., and I have to confess: my mind started wandering. I didn't tune out altogether. I just wandered.
When I was in elementary school, my family lived in a trailor house on some land we rented from our neighbors. They had a lot of sheep, and one cow, and our front yard was separated from the pasture by a flimsy wire fence with barbed wire across the top. Over the years we lived there, my mother came to the conclusion that when a pastor compares people to sheep, it's not a compliment. Sheep are DUMB. And most of the time they were incredibly dull to look at it. They stood around in big clumps and did nothing. My brother and I used to climb over the fence and run around just to stir them up. We thought they needed exercise.
Then there was the cow. Her name was Baby, and she was a big brown cow. She was pretty dull, too, but every now and then she managed to cause some excitement. I remember one night I was in bed and heard something outside my window. I looked out, and there was Baby looking right back at me, her face as close to the window as mine. There were several repeat performances over the years. As often as that cow managed to get loose, they should have named her Houdini.
We lived there until I was 11, when we moved to the house where my parents still live, in a neighborhood that is more suburbia than country. And while I'm definitely a city girl now, there's still a little country girl in me, and I think that some day I'd like to live in the country again. Although, I don't want to own livestock. No matter how often it happens, you never quite grow accustomed to opening your window and finding yourself eye to eye with a big cow.

Keep Austin Weird

Having lived in Austin for about 9 years now, I've become accustomed to seeing the occasional bizarre sight. Even so, the bizarre never fails to make me shake my head in wonderment.
This morning, as I was driving to work, I saw a man walking down the street wearing a red, ankle-length cape with a hood covering his head and face. If I had been downtown, or even close to Concordia, I don't think I would have even noticed, but this was in North Austin near my apartment complex, which is a fairly normal community.
A couple weeks ago as I was driving home, I saw a line of vacuum cleaners in the front yard of a duplex. There were about eight of them standing in a straight line in a meticulously mown lawn.
I think my favorite, though, is something I saw several years ago. It was dusk, and I passed a man standing on a street corner in true Superman stance...feet shoulder-width apart, hands on his hips, chin raised as he surveyed all of 51st Street. He was wearing sweat pants, with a pair of denim cut-offs--very short denim cut-offs--on top, and a t-shirt of some sort. The crowning glory was his cape...a blanket tied around his neck like little kids do.
I love Austin!

Go Bobcats

This weekend it has become very real to me that in a matter of months I'm going to be back in school. At a big school.
I took Friday off and drove down to San Marcos to take a look at Texas State. In the small section of campus that I walked through I probably saw more people than I see any given day at Concordia. It took longer for me to walk from the building where the English department is to the building where the graduate school offices are than it takes to walk from one end of Concordia to the other. And that was only one small part of campus.
I met with my advisor and got a ton of information about the program, including information on how to do a thesis proposal and a sample of the comprehensive exam I'll have to take during my final semester. I thought it was a little early to be getting such information since I haven't even started yet but at least I know what I'm in for.... I did get information on the classes being offered this fall. There are several of them that look interesting, but I only have time to take two. And of those two, one is required, so I really only get to pick one. So...do I want to take a class in Irish Comic Writers, Southern Poetry, the Renaissance Epic, American Autobiographies (which actually looks so much more interesting than it sounds), or the Romantic Movement, focusing on Byron, Keats, and the Shelleys? I know, most of these sound horribly dull to most of you, but I'm an English geek. They all sound fun to me!! I have until next Monday to decide.
After meeting my advisor, I walked to the graduate school offices to turn in some paper work. They were pretty much useless. I asked about getting a parking permit, an ID, and computer access. I can't do that until after I register. I asked how soon after registering do I have to pay tuition. They didn't know. I asked who did. They didn't know that either. ?!?!?!? I'd really like to talk to someone who has the equivalent of my job, but I don't think there is such a person in the graduate school. The only useful thing they told me was that I'd hear about the scholarships I applied for sometime in April or May.
I was very proud of myself that I was able to find my car again, and I even managed to find the way out of campus. No small feat...I think that place is a maze.
I did learn one really useful thing--I may be able to finish this degree within two years. I'm giving myself three, but two would be really nice.

Some other notes:
I got my financial aid package on Saturday. A huge chunk of it was a loan, but at least now I don't have to worry about how I'm going to pay for this degree.

This morning I got to church at 9:30 and was so proud because I was on time for Bible study. As I was walking down the hall, the bell rang, signalling that class was over. It was actually 10:30. I had no idea that the time changed this morning.

My pastor and his wife have decided to play matchmaker. They're not very subtle.

Holy Saturday Thoughts

Last night I went to my childhood church for Good Friday Services. The pastor of my childhood gave the sermon, and it was one of those that hits you right where you are and reminds you of what life is about. It was especially poignant last night. On Maundy Thursday last year my pastor's wife died, and as I watched him throughout the service, I could see that it was weighing on him. How could it not? The sermon was titled "Learning how to Die," and it was about learning how to die so that we can learn how to live.
I was convicted. I have not lived as I should. I have falled so short of living as I should.
But then I took Communion, and remember what this weekend is all about.... Jesus, and how he willingly went to the cross. For me. Because I fall short.
Tomorrow I'll go to church and be reminded of the rest of the story, my favorite part of the story. Resurrection, and Christ's triumph over sins. For me. So that I can live triumphantly.
Isn't our God so great?!

God's Newest Gift to Austin

Yesterday evening I discovered the most amazing new place in Austin...a new Half-Priced Bookstore. It has to be the biggest Half-Priced Books I've ever been in. When I walked through the doors, I had to make myself keep walking and not just stop and stare in awe. I think one of the cashiers noticed my wonderment and probably had a good laugh at my expense. I don't care, though, this place deserves the appreciation of booklovers. It had a large section of rare & collectible books...really old books that have been loved. Those are my favorite kinds of books. Old ones, with inscriptions on the inside covers and writing in the margins.
My parents gave me three such books for Christmas. I was with Mom when she bought them at a used bookstore. The woman who owned the store knew the history of the books, which makes them even cooler to me. They're all poetry: Shelley, Tennyson, and Browning, and they had belonged to an English professor at Baylor, and they have her notes scribbled all over them. The Browning has an article pasted in the back of it about a trip the professor took to England where she visited the places Browning had lived and written. Very cool stuff....
So, yeah, I'm a big nerd.

In other news...hello from Memphis. One thing I like about hotels is unlimited Internet access. I spent some time this evening flipping through the CUA blogring on Xanga. Got distracted on the LCMS blogring....found a few of my applicants. That was kind of fun. It's an interesting way to gather info. Hmm...just confirmed it again: I'm a big NERD. But, and this is fun, I managed to find my brother. Who knew he had a blog?!

An Old Dream

When I was 11 or 12 I had a dream that I was walking through the Walmart parking lot. It was night, so the lights in the parking lot were on, and it had just rained, so the pavement was wet. The lights shinging on the wet pavement made it look like water. In my dream, I thought, "Cool! It looks like I'm walking on water!" And then I realized that it was water, and that I was walking on it. Just like Peter. Just like Jesus.
It was the most amazing feeling, and it was so intensely real that when I woke up I was completely disoriented. And so disappointed to only be lying in bed and not actually walking on water.
I remember very few of my dreams the next morning, much less years later. (In fact, I can think of only one other dream that I still remember.) This one was so real that I sometimes feel like it actually happened, that it's a memory of something I did once rather than a dream I had once.
Ever since that dream, walking on water is something I've wanted to do again, but awake, not dreaming. There were so many times when I was lifeguarding at camp one summer that I was so tempted to just step off the end of the dock and go strolling across the lake. I never did (there were lives to guard), but I often thought about what it would feel like.
I imagine the water as cool and smooth as silk under my feet, but walking on it would be almost like walking on a trampoline...not bouncy but resilient. I don't imagine that I'd get very far. I'd probably pull a Peter and go splashing into the water.
But still, to have walked on water, even if only so briefly.... Can you imagine?

Home

I’m home.
Overall, I had a good trip. The sun came out Friday morning, so I spent about an hour sitting by the pool & writing that afternoon. That’s the kind of life I could easily grow accustomed to…. Sitting around, writing, soaking in the sun. It may sound lazy to some, but for me, it was time well spent. I got some good writing time in sitting by that pool.
I did not make it to the beach, but I did do some shopping. And a lot of driving.
I was hoping that on this trip I’d get a convertible for a rental car. That would have been fun. Everyone else in the office has had one at least once (Lee’s had a couple and he’s only been there 6 months!). I figure I’m due a convertible. No such luck, though. I got a Kia Optima, which is definitely not a convertible. Still, it wasn’t too bad. When I picked it up Wednesday night, it only had 5 miles on it, so I got to be the first person to drive it and break it in. When I took it back, it had about 350 miles on it. Kind of fun driving a new car, but still, it was not a convertible.
I saw “Jonnie V” on Sunday…went to his church & hung out with him that afternoon. It was fun catching up and reminiscing.
Then I came home.
And you know, there are few things nicer than coming home. I love to travel, but I think my favorite part is coming home, sleeping in my own bed with my own pillows that don’t smell funny….just being back in my own space.

On the Road Again

Hello from Orlando, Florida!
One of the things I've really enjoyed about my job in the last year and a half is that when I travel, I get to go to some great places. St. Louis, Denver, Chicago, now Orlando, and Memphis next weekend. I've been to some less cool places, too.... Little Rock (going back there next week), Omaha, Kansas City. I have nearly doubled the list of states I've been to, which is getting me closer to my goal of visiting all 50 states. I think I'm up to 13 (16 if I'm allowed to count states where I've had a layover flight.) After next week's trip, it'll be 14 (or 17). I'm trying to convince my mom that when we're in New York this summer, we need to take a day trip into Pennsylvania, then swing over into Ohio, cutting through a sliver of West Virginia on the way. She's not buying into the idea.
I'm noticing a trend with the travel I've done this school year. It has rained everywhere I've been this year. I spent most of today driving in rain, which is such a bummer. I'm in FLORIDA! It's supposed to be SUNNY so I can go to the BEACH!
I think the sun is supposed to come out by Sunday, just in time for me to leave.

So, Josh and Karl have both blogged about Cocnordia's proposed move. (Look at that! I figured out how create a link inside a post! I didn't know I had such geekiness in me!!) Here's an update on it:
Yes, this discussion has come up a couple times in the past, but this time it's much more serious than it has been previously. We've been offered a chunk of land (about 80 acres) in a great location. No decision has been made yet, and it's going to be a while before it is made. In addition to moving, we're looking at another option that would involve some serious improvements to our current campus. It would be really cool to move and build a new campus from scratch, with room for athletic fields, a performing arts center, more dorms, new classroom buildings, etc. At the same time, I can't imagine Concordia without our chapel, or Studtmann, or Killian, or even leaky Kramer.
Anyways, it's going to be a while before this decision is made, and in the meantime, I have students to recruit.
And right now, I'm doing that in ORLANDO!

Four Generations

I'm planning a trip to New York this summer. My great-grandparents live in a little town called Springville about an hour southeast-ish of Buffalo, so I'm going to spend a week with them, along with my mom and grandmother who make a yearly trip together.
For a week, it will be me, my mom, her mom, and her mom, plus my great-grandfather. That's four generations of women in one small house for a whole week. (Poor Grampa.)
Four generations of very strong, rather opinionated, independent women.
Four generations of varying degrees of eccentricity.
I made this trip a couple years ago, but my two youngest brothers went and made very nice buffers for all the estrogen bouncing around. They're not going this year.
What struck me most about that trip was the role reversals going on...I saw Mom as a daughter and a granddaughter, and my grandmother as a daughter and a mother. It was very strange, especially seeing my mom in that light. I guess daughters just aren't used to seeing their mothers being daughters.
And I don't think my great-grandmother quite knew what to make of me. I've kind of broken the pattern set by these women. All three of them married very young and had children very young. I have yet to do either.
On this coming trip, I want to make both of my greats sit down and tell me stories about their lives. I know they have some great ones. Grampa was in the Marine's and served in Japan during WWII. Grandma was one of 18 children and grew up on a farm during the Depression.
When I was there a couple years ago, Grandma made a comment one day about not trusting banks anymore, not since "all them banks were closing, back in 1929, 1930." That was the Great Depression, Grandma! "Oh, yeah, them were bad times. It was a good thing we had herbs to eat...dill, dandelions....Yeah, them's were hard times."
I also want my grandmother to tell me stories, and my mom, and then I want to weave all of their stories together, along with my own stories, and write a book. There's a pattern that has been set by these women that I sometimes find myself repeating and sometimes breaking, and I want to explore that more. I want to find out what that means for my life, and for the life of the daughter I hope I have one day.

Los Brazos de Dios

From the time I was three-ish to the time I was six-ish, my family lived on the banks of the Brazos River in Waco. That river figures in to some of my early memories…fishing with my dad, swimming with my best friend who lived a little further down the river, and the time it flooded and came all the way up to our back door. As I grew older I learned that the full name of the river in Spanish is “Los Brazos de Dios”. The Arms of God. Is that not a cool name for a river?

A few years ago, I experienced what can best be described as a very dry time in my faith. I can’t say that I lost my faith or ever stopped believing in God, but I found myself in a place where faith had lost meaning to me. I knew but I didn’t feel anything, and that led to some doubting, questioning, and even anger towards God. I felt like—and I know this is a much-used metaphor but it’s so accurate—I felt like I was wandering in a desert. A vast, empty, silent desert. It was the silence that angered me so much. I was praying, begging God to just listen to me, to let me know that he was listening, to give me some direction, and to just be present in my life. But there was nothing but silence.

Occasionally I would catch a glimpse of his presence, I would see him working in someone else’s life, and I would be refreshed, if only briefly. It was like, wandering in that desert, I had come across a stream. But a mere stream wasn’t good enough. I wanted to find the river, the source of God’s mercy and grace. I wanted to see God working in my life and speaking to me. And in my obstinate independence, I decided to strike out and find it on my own. Kind of a silly thing to do, really. I should have just followed the stream. It probably would have led me to the river a whole lot faster than I’d get there on my own.

Eventually, that’s what I did end up doing…following the stream. And God led me to the river, and for me, it was a spiritual Brazos river, the Arms of God. I threw myself in and found that it’s only in the Arms of God, in the depths his Love, and Mercy, and Grace, that there was relief from the dryness. For a while there was still silence, but I know now, looking back, that it wasn’t really silence. God was still present in my life, he was still speaking to me, but he was teaching me through different methods than he had previously used. He was teaching me to walk on my own, to rely on him rather than my own emotions, and to listen to him in a different way.

Is the dryness gone? No, not completely, but I find that God does lead me to places of Peace and Joy. He is renewing me, and I'm trying to be patient and stay out of the way of him working in my life. I'm not very good at patience, but I know that is what he is calling me to be right now.

"I will give them an undivided heart and put a new spirit in them; I will remove from them their heart of stone and give them a heart of flesh....They will be my people, and I will be their God." --Ezekiel 11:19-20

My Family, in a Nutshell

I'm heading up to Waco tomorrow to hang out with "the fam". I found myself thinking about them a lot tonight...can't sleep (what's new?) and thought I'd share. They're hugely entertaining:

Caleb, age 15. He’s almost 6 feet tall and weighs 130 pounds (maybe). He's decided to participate in every spring sport his school offers: tennis, track, and baseball, though baseball is his passion of the three. He plays the trumpet (very well) and sometimes plays around with the guitar and piano (not quite as well, but he's talented, nonetheless). He likes to show his love for me by hitting me every time he sees me, especially when we're at church.

Seth, age 17. He takes himself entirely too seriously, which makes him much fun to laugh at. He plays bass guitar in a band with some of his friends, and plans to major in bass guitar jazz theory when he gets to college. He does have a nasty habit of driving the wrong way on a one-way street. He always gives me a hug when he sees me, even when his friends are around.

Josh, age 24. Most people don’t know there’s a brother between me and Seth, but there is. He’s always believed that Mom and Dad love me than they do him and feels that his manhood is threatened because his two younger brothers are taller than he is. He is very quick to point out that despite the difference in height, he could seriously wound them both at the same time with one hand. He just finished a six-year stint with the Marine reserves, where he learned to do things like that. He's currently living with his bikini model girlfriend who looks just like Barbie.

Mom, whose age I’m not allowed to say. She’s my hero, though I know I don’t tell her that often enough (i.e. ever). She's made tons of sacrifices to raise my brothers and me, including putting off her own dreams and goals for years. She started college when I was a sophomore in high school, took one class at a time for years, and graduated from nursing school a year after I graduated from Concordia. On numerous occasions, she tried to teach me to cook, but she has control issues and always ended up taking over because she felt could do a better job just cooking it herself. She never taught me to sew for the same reason. When she was my age, she had three kids.

Dad, whose age I’m also not allowed to say. He’s the best dad in the world. He once drove to Austin at 10 pm to look at my car that was making wickedly awful noises, and then drove back to Waco, getting at home around 1 am, and then got up to go to work around 6 am that morning. He sent me flowers on my birthday this year because I had just broken up with a guy I’d dated for nearly two years and he wanted to make sure I knew how much I’m loved and how proud he is of me. He’s my hero, too. If he was any more laid-back, he’d be comatose. He believes he was once abducted by aliens. Seriously. His proof is a little red dot just below his sternum and a matching one in the exact same spot on his back. It’s where the aliens stuck a needle through him.

Anyone else?

Please note, I've updated the links list. Hopefully no one is jealous anymore. :-)

While adding people, I couldn't help but notice that it's a very campy list. Is there something very camp-ish about blogging, or is there something about camp people that makes them blog?

Yahoo!

I received my acceptance letter to Texas State's graduate program in Literature this weekend. It's not really a surprise (their admissions requirements are not very difficulty), but it's nice to have official confirmation. Now I just have to figure out how many classes I want take while I'm also working full-time and occasionally traveling for work. I also have to decide if I really want to complicate my life this way. It's been so nice the last several years to be able to read whatever I want and to write whatever I want.
Now also is the part where I figure out how I'm going to fund this venture. According to the wonderful FAFSA, I can contribute $8315 towards my own education. If I had a dependent, that amount would go down tremendously, but I'm not really in the market for one of those. (That would REALLY complicate things.)
Anyways...I'm in!!! Yahoo!!

SUNSHINE!

When I woke up this morning, the sun was shining through my curtains. It's been so gray and gloomy the last week or so that I've forgotten how great it feels to wake up and see sunshine. What a difference it made in my waking up! I smiled and stretched and just laid in bed a while, basking in the morning sunshine. When I finally got up, I felt rested and energetic, and I never feel energetic right after waking up.
So, it's a beautiful day, and I have all sorts of energy, and you know what I have to do all afternoon?
Work.
I'm supervising student phone callers, but what I'd really like to be doing is sitting outside with a good book, or with a thick stack of paper so I could write.
Instead, I'm in my office, on a Sunday, when the sun is shining, gazing out my window and daydreaming of what I'd be doing if I were anywhere but here.

So, here's a funny story about my brother Seth. He's 17 and he plays the bass guitar in a band he and some of his friends have started. A couple nights ago he called to ask me to come home next weekend so I can see his band play in the high school talent show. He told me about a move he's been practicing where he swings his guitar around his head. The other night he was doing it and hit himself in the back of the head and nearly knocked himself out. He even saw stars, he said. He's going to try to pull this off at the talent show, and that alone is reason enough to drive an hour and a half next weekend.

Hic et Ille

Which would be Latin for “This and That.” (My Latin professor would be so proud…these two simple words are proving to be the hardest thing for me to remember.) Well, I think I’ve just done my homework for this evening.

This: The Jesus Cupcakes
I play the piano a couple Sundays a month for my church’s praise team. There are some Sundays when we have an almost all girl band. I found out tonight at practice that our pastor’s 15 year old son, our drummer, has christened us the “Jesus Cupcakes”. Or the “Jesus Tea Party”, but I’m finding myself partial to Jesus Cupcakes (cupcakes come in chocolate, tea parties don’t). This Sunday, for the first time since I started playing with the group, I get to do a piano solo at the end of the service. I’m a little nervous about it…it’s been a long time since I had a solo…but at the same time I’m excited…I’ll get to show off a little and prove that I’m a better pianist than I sound like most Sundays.

That: An Ash Rash
Every Ash Wednesday, I’m reminded of an Ash Wednesday several years ago, when I was still a student at Concordia. I went to chapel that morning and received the ashes on my forehead. That evening I went to church, and once again received the ashes on my forehead. When I got home, I wiped them off before going to bed, only to discover, that my skin didn’t like the ashes so much. I had a nice little rash in the shape of a cross on my forehead for the next day or two.

And one last thing: Waiting
Two weeks ago I received a postcard from the graduate school at Texas State University that I would be notified of my acceptance (or denial) within two to three weeks. Well, it’s been two weeks…still no word. I’m fairly certain I’ll be accepted. I was told that as long as I meet the GPA requirements (which I do), I’d get in. I’m just anxious to have the official word. I’m not very good at being patient.

An Experiment

I’m currently reading a book called Rumors of Another World by Philip Yancey, who is one of my favorite Christian writers. He’s so open and honest and isn’t afraid to ask the really hard questions and to seek out the answers. In this book, he’s asking questions like: Is the world we see all there is, or does this world point to another world? If there are two worlds, a physical and a spiritual, then what difference does it make in our daily lives? How can we see the sacred in the secular?
I bought this book months ago and it didn’t immediately catch my interest. It’s been laying on the floor next to my bed since then, but one night earlier this week when I couldn’t sleep, I picked it up and suddenly found it resonating. Some of his questions are questions I have found myself asking lately, especially what difference does it make? Is just believing enough, or is there more to life than just the ordinariness of day-to-day living?
I want there to be more. I get so bored by the ordinary, repetitive tasks I have to go through every day. I want to experience the extraordinary. But I also know that I’m right where I’m supposed to be. I feel that I have been called to do what I’m doing. I also feel that I’m not called to do this forever. This job is merely preparation for something else, but I haven’t been called to whatever that is yet. So for right now, I’m here, and I have to go through these boring, ordinary things.
How do I reconcile the mundane tasks with the extraordinary that I want to experience? How do I see God’s hand in the things around me? How do I open myself up to allowing it to make a difference in my life?
Maybe it starts with making a conscious effort to look for God, to retain a sense of wonder, and to try to take the mundane things and dedicate them to God. Perhaps after a while it becomes a natural instinct and then we’ll see the beautiful and extraordinary all the time. For now, we get occasional glimpses of the glory that is there, but with practice, and prayer, we’ll be able to experience it.
I think this will be my Lent experiment: to find the glory in the mundane, the sacred in the ordinary...to, in a sense, walk on water.

To see a world in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand
And eternity in an hour.
--William Blake

Fixed

I spent the summer after I graduated from high school working for a day camp sponsored by Caritas and the Boys’ and Girls’ Clubs of Waco. It was not what I wanted to be doing, but I had declared myself too old to junior staff at Camp Lone Star and my parents had declared me too young to join the full time staff. Working at this day camp was supposed to be the next best thing, but it ended up being the most physically and emotionally draining experience I have ever had (yes, even more draining than all the summers that I was on staff at Lone Star). Almost all of the children were from very poor families, and had experienced a very different lifestyle than I had. Most days I went home and cried and then was asleep by 8 or 9.
This is not a sad story from that summer. Instead, it’s one of the funniest kid moments I’ve ever experienced.
It was toward the end of the summer, and I was in charge of a group of about 18 seven and eight olds. One day, we had finished our afternoon snack and were waiting for it to be time for us to move on to the next activity, so we were sitting around talking and the kids started asking me questions.
Kid: How old are you, Miss Sherrah?
Me: 18.
Kid: Do you have any kids?
Me: No.
Kid: Why not?
Me (trying to think how to tactfully answer): I’m not old enough to have kids.
Kid: My sister’s 18 and she has a kid.
Me: Well, I’m not married.
Kid: My sister’s not married.
Me (again, trying to be tactful): I want to wait until I'm married to have kids.
Kid: Well, could you have kids now?
Me (thinking, well, technically, yes, but considering that I'm not going to do anything which will enable me to get pregnant until I'm married...): Nooo....
Kid (in complete awe and wonderment): You mean you’re FIXED?

But it DOES Matter!

Tonight at a Bible study I heard something that really struck me. Some background: it’s a women’s study, and many of these women have been through a couple other Bible studies together. This was the second night of this particular study, but it was my first time to be there and I hadn’t done any of the “homework” so I mostly just listened.
One of the questions they discussed was something along the lines of “What do you think Jesus meant when he said ‘It is finished’?” The women started throwing out different ideas: it was the end of his suffering, the end of the old covenant and the beginning of the new, the end of his work on earth, the fulfillment of salvation, etc. One of the women commented, “What about Easter? Wasn’t it really finished with the resurrection?”
And here’s what struck me—another woman said that it’s Jesus’ death that made the difference. She always felt that the resurrection was more for our (or his disciples’) benefits just so we could see him again and that if he hadn’t risen, it wouldn’t have mattered. Salvation would be complete without the resurrection.
I saw a couple of women who looked like they wanted to respond to that, but we were distracted by a couple kids coming in and then when we regained our focus, we moved on to the next question. I would have liked a chance to respond, so here’s what I wanted to say:
But it DOES matter! Jesus’ resurrection makes ALL the difference. Anyone can die, but only one can raise himself from the dead. Certainly, it does take a very special person to sacrifice himself so that someone else can live, but dying is something we will all do one day. There’s nothing special about dying. If Jesus had only died, then he would have been only man, and how can the death of someone who is only man make any difference to my salvation? Only the death of one who is both God and man can make a difference because only God can conquer death, and that, to me, is what the resurrection is about—death being conquered, and through that, sin being conquered. If there was no resurrection, then death has not been overcome, and neither has sin.
From 1 Corinthians 15:14, 17 “If Christ has not risen, then our preaching is empty and your faith is also empty….And if Christ is not risen, your faith is futile; you are still in your sins!”
What would be the significance of Good Friday if there wasn’t an Easter Sunday? There would be none! We would still be dead in our sins if Jesus hadn’t risen! So again, my response to this woman’s statement is, the resurrection makes all the difference in the world.

Miss Fix-It

This morning I woke up (on time, which is quite an accomplishment) and got in the shower. To turn on the water, I have to pull out a knob and then turn it to the left or the right to adjust the temperature. Today, I pulled the stupid thing right off and almost lost the little screw that's supposed to hold it in place. I'm very proud of myself, though. Rather than panicking and wondering how I was supposed to shower if I couldn't adjust the temperature of the water (I do NOT take cold showers, ever), I stayed calm and found my screw-driver and fixed the problem.
Granted, this was a very easy problem to fix. Over the weekend, I faced a much larger problem. Sunday evening I noticed that the carpet in my dining area was soaking wet. And I could not find where the water was coming from!!! I laid towels over the carpet, but it was so wet that the towels were soaking in a very short amount of time. I hate calling maintenance out to fix things. I don't like having big men I don't know tramping through my nice little apartment. And I don't like admitting that I can't fix something myself (that whole independence thing, you know). This time there was nothing I could do about it and I had to call. It turns out my neighbor's refridgerator was leaking.
I suppose I come by this whole wanting to fix things myself naturally. In this way I am definitely my father's daughter. The only difference being that my father actually knows what he's doing...most of the time. There was a time back when I was in high school that he decided he was going to fix my piano. A couple of the keys were sticking and a couple others had wandering hammers that hit the strings of the key next to it, producing a very nasty sound. My father's job is to keep giant, complex machines running, and he thought that if he could do that, he could easily fix something as simple as a piano.
I remember being in my room doing homework when Mom came in and said, "Sherrah, you need to come see this." I walked into the living room, and the first thing I noticed was that my piano was naked. Dad had taken off the front panels and the lid so he could see inside it, and then he had taken off each individual key. The next think I noticed was the pile of piano keys in the corner. The only sound I could make was a very faint "eek!" followed by a "you better be able to fix this!"
Dad did manage to put everything back together, and the piano still worked, for the most part. But we did have to call a piano tuner to come fix the original problems, and the new ones that Dad had created. He hasn't attempted to fix the piano since. And I remain grateful for that.