Pause the crazy... just for a second...

hi :)

it's so nice to peek in here once in a while, see what's going on with  y'all. what's new?

I think I said I'd post about robotics. Seeing as last Tuesday was ship day... might as well post now :P

Starting with what-in-heck-is-robotics-anyway:

FRC stands for FIRST Robotics Competition. FIRST stands for "For the Inspiration and Recognition of Science and Technology".

FRC is a competition between teams of high school students; every year FIRST introduces the teams to a new game, demonstrating how to score, what the penalties are, and other aspects of the game. Then the teams are given six weeks (you read that correctly) to build a fully functional robot that can work with  two other robots against a team of three robots to win that game.

This year, the game is similar to soccer; each team has two goals, and teams can score by getting soccer balls into their own goals. However: there are two speed bumps that separate the field into three equal sections... one for the blue team, one for the midfield, and one for the red team. We can only have one of our robots in the opponents' side at a time... so the blue team can only have on robot on the red side, and vice versa. Once the balls are scored, they're put back into the game; we have two minutes and fifteen seconds to score as much as we can. If you'd like to see an animation, click here

Moving on :)

 Our six weeks are up. We shipped away the robot so that FIRST knows we haven't touched it after Ship Day. We can still work on software and such, but not as much as we could during build season. Then we have a competition in Phoenix in March, and a competition in Long Beach two weeks after. If we win either of those competitions, we qualify to go on to the National Championship in Atlanta.

And there it is.

Throughout this whole time--from the beginning of build season to the end of the Championship--I get to be with other robot nerds, both peers and adults, and learn together. We get to dig into physics and how things work and math and computers and logic. We get to laugh and tease each other and eat at McDonald's. It's surprising how good McDonald's can taste at robotics. We have competitions to see who can make the tallest stack of Big Mac boxes, and who can make their measuring tape reach the ceiling, and who can kick the soccer ball the farthest. Not to mention who can run the farthest to get the soccer ball back. We work together every weekend for three months, and every night for a week. We yell at each other and forgive each other and struggle with communication. We spend an hour working on something that (always afterward) someone else shows us how to do in a minute. We try out new ideas and surprise ourselves when they work. We realize that being wrong is okay but being right is nice, too.

There if anywhere else we realize that humans are fallible--and how amazing it is that God is perfect.

I don't think I CAN sum up what robotics has given me... but I will try.

My team has given me a safe place to make mistakes in, and to grow in.
My team has given me people who are like-minded and caring, who won't let me give up on myself.
My team has given me a chance to learn how I react to people.
My team has given me time to practice living in the real world while still under protection.
My team has given me a headache. A year-long headache at that.
My team has given me space to write! and the people to help me refine my writing.
My team has given me a push, made me work to learn and to experience.
My team has given me the opportunity to be wrong and not condemned.
My team has given me friends.
My team has given me frustration.
My team has given me a chance to excel.
My team has given me sore fingers from fixing machine chain, headaches from paint fumes, backaches from lifting 133-lb robots, and heartaches from stilted relationships.
My team has given me something to be excited for, something to motivate me.
My team has given me people to love, and to learn about, and to know. People to experience.

My team has given me eyes to see one aspect of love.

and all FIRST's promotional material, websites, rules, and ideals could not have done that.

...


~{^>^}~

in-verse

Here, you thought
Spring is here
It IS almost March, after all
But the leaves fall
And fall
And you know, really,
It's just autumn in disguise.

Now, you thought,
Peace is come
A respite-time to grow and keep
But the waters rage,
And rage,
And you know, really,
It's just anger in disguise.

Come, you thought,
It will get better,
And the skies clear,
And my eyes clear,
But it rains,
And rains,
And you know, really,
It pains.

f (x) means do to x whatever f means
and f^(-1)(x) means do the opposite.

If seasons were functions
I'm stuck in the inverse
universe.

This week, basically...

Oh Spontaneity

The moon stared at the earth, at the tiny busy people moving, moving, never stop. She glanced at Him, as He watched beside her, then looked back, leaned down—

…

A child followed his mother around the marketplace, his little red hat bobbing and swaying as he turned, stopped, what’s here? What’s that? Zip, zap, zoom: he’s off! Tubby legs runrunrunrun, little arms swing, swing.

His mother turns in worried circles, frantically searching for him.

Oblivious, he crawls up a ladder, where does it go? looks up, and sees Him.

His eyes riveted, his jaw drops.

…

The mother looks here, looks there, where is he? Can’t stop! Must find… Gasp! How did he get up there? Climbing, climbing, don’t look down, don’t… look… down…

“Look, Mama.”

Her baby beams and points.

Quick glance… “Alright, let’s ge--… Wait…”

She, startled, stares aghast.

Beside the moon, He smiled.

…

The moon laughed shyly, turning to Him, and her giggles slowly subsided.

She gazed at Him in wonder.

“Who are You, God?”

They asked, all three.

Snippet

She took up a rag-pile of words—used-up, torn-up mouthfuls—

And snipped and snapped,

This way, that way,

Follow the shape in your head,

And let it lead you to your heart.

She sewed them up, bit by bit, and it—just—fit!

And he walked away proud, head high and shoulders

Back, clothed in affection.

Confused.

I am caged in glass.
My thoughts on full display to see--I try to catch them, pull them back--But they flit away giggling, and almost malicious.

I forget that my mind is not glass but walls; that my eyes do not always reveal my heart, neither the good or the bad, and I never know: Did you really hear me?

I knock on your walls, not knowing they are only cardboard, not realizing they have fallen on your head. I see brick, and stones, and cold, cold iron, icy marble, torpid and wary. I cannot see your frantic scramble to set your pride to rights.

Do you feel any better?

...


I see a light bright and glorious that reminds me of a day in the way a memory of the sun points to that glowing orb. But my fingerprints on the mental glass are greasy and black; they remind me that I am separated--but not for long. I push it over--it shatters! Jagged shame cuts deep--but I must get out! Step by step of agony to the light.

Practicing Relationships.

I sense a tension between the ideal of authenticity and the desire for others' good will. I wonder, do we really want to know others' true state of heart? Or would we, would I, rather just have them lie to me so that I feel appreciated--so that I feel accepted? I might readily accept the latter, I find to my dismay.

Are we supposed to outwardly appear to accept what inwardly we despise, in an effort to love?

From the one side, it's so hard sometimes to put kindly what I mean kindly--to let someone know that what they do offends me. Not that it's not worth it; I'm trying to figure out if it is worth it. If it is--then I must at least try to do it.

My struggle is that if they don't understand, it's so difficult to make amends. And if they do understand--it's still usually difficult to make amends. It seems to break relationships rather than fix them. But perhaps the breaking is part of the fixing--like re-breaking a broken arm that is healing crooked.

From the other side--in thought I would rather have someone tell me the truth, but in reality I am not sure. If the person loves me, cares enough to put it kindly, and help me learn to do better, than I would welcome it. If the person does not care, then in the first place he or she probably wouldn't bring it up, but in the second place would not try to say it kindly and probably hurt me.

How is love supposed to show itself? Is it more loving to gruffly let someone know I don't care--or to appear to listen while inwardly seething? How disgusting that I must ask the question.

...

How confusing our way of talking is! Yet it's so plain, teasing. We pretend to offend, pretend to be offended, and underneath the whole we love each other. And where we have to try to be kind, have to appear to accept--there often is the person we struggle the most accepting, and who senses it the least.

How strange it would be to talk without a mask, that really isn't a mask. Is a transparent mask so bad? Those who know me see through it, and those who don't don't care, usually.

...

I wonder why we don't notice the little things that show others we love them. Things so simple, so easy--but they require stepping out of our comfort zones, letting down our hair a little, letting go the "that's mine!" mentality, opening up. I never realized how private we are, how mine I've made the things I claim.

I wonder what meeting an open soul would be like--someone whose heart was open, and welcoming--and no matter what happened there--loving. Who knew when and how to overlook, and when and how to be overlooked.

Peeking Out From My Past--The Second.

The Forest.



In the forest, quiet and deep

Where some like to play, and others sleep

I like to sit and think awhile

Of thoughts and dreams that make me smile

And in the forest, dark and deep,

Where I like to think of things so sweet

There is a stream, a bubb’ling brook

In which I love to sit and look

Upon the lovely waterfall

And think not to be there at all

On eagle’s wings I fly away

To dream of things of coming days

For in the song of the bubb’ling brook

At whose waters it is a joy to look

Is a song of songs, a hymn of joy,

And Fantasy is a tink’ling toy.

A song of joy, soft and complete

For a dreamer-girl am I

And I love to lie, O dreamer I

In the forest, by the water’s side.