Salutations

1) Hear: "Hey! How are you?"


2) Part A: Think: "Hello. I appreciate how much originality you put into your greeting--it truly communicates how much you care. I exist through the grace and power of God just as I have before now and just as I always will. 


Really? I'm tired.


It's so nice to see you--your smile makes my heart glad. You remind me that God is bigger than my circumstance. And you don't even try. I'm amazed at how unique and wonderful you are--what God has wrought in you. But what's going on in your life? What are you struggling with? What makes you happy, and what makes you sad? Is there anything God has shown you recently that has totally transformed your perspective?"

2) Part B: Realize that might be awkward.

2) Part C: Say "Oh, I'm good. You?"

There are words for no words...

I wish I had something to say once in a while
that made sense, and you loved me.

I wish my heart could love once in a while.
Could break out of myself, and I see you.

God knows why I have no tears for you
slipping out of my heart, drop--pattering on the carpet

But I hear something blurry,
Your fuzzy pain fills my thoughts--
and I have nothing to say.

I'm sorry.

Help.

Reverence. Fear. These aren't words I normally use towards God. Yet I firmly believe in their importance. Without proper respect and acknowledgment of WHO God is--I gravely misstep in my thoughts toward and conversations with (or are they at?) God.

I want to die having lived a life pleasing to God.

As a culture, and as a generation, we're losing our ideals--the good guys aren't the good guys anymore. The bad guys aren't bad. Evil is not evil--it's a friendly devil, an affectionate death.

God isn't God anymore.

We've copied our stories, images, thoughts, and feelings so many times that they no longer have meaning. We are souls without faces.

What is love, again? Oh, and none of that nonsense, please. The REAL thing. Since all the other REAL things weren't actually real.

We are blind; we have no eyes to see God for who He is and what He requires.

And what is goodness?

Goodness is neither kindness nor righteousness; goodness is speaking in a politically correct manner, having a well-paying job, raising a family, taking a vacation every summer, playing team sports. Goodness is "coopetition"--everyone wins, even though only one gets the gold. It doesn't matter if we don't win; we justify our condition. We don't want to win anymore--doing okay is good enough.

--GOOD ENOUGH. As if there were such a thing--

We are dying. We are weakened. We cannot see it--or maybe we would be healed.

I don't want to sound overemotional. I don't want to glamorize the situation. I am exhausted of living according to what I think is life.

Goodness used to be selflessness: pursuing the good, true, and beautiful, then spending one's life giving it away. Loving the unlovely enough to give them the means to find true beauty.

Goodness used to trust that the missionary pleading for funds was not out to steal your money--but out to heal lives.

Goodness used to remember that God is God.

Remember.
That.
God.
Is.
God.

Not haunting our steps, waiting for us to mess up.
Not lovingly patting us on the head no matter what we do.

He is God: He shows His love to all yet does not let the guilty go unpunished.

...

Who are we now? What have we become? Us who have seen his love and not understood his justice?

...

I long to be a godly woman of purpose and ambition to see God's will done on earth. I have never before felt so lacking in character.

LORD, have mercy on me, a sinner.

And thank you for men like Booker T. Washington.

Sea of Red.

Hello and warm greetings--

I write at precisely 2:13 am from a dorm room in Hope Hall at Biola. I must say (no, but I will say) that I love it here. I feel welcome here. And, somehow, at home again. Especially at Singspiration. Dude (somehow that keeps creeping back into my vocab *glares*), if worship was always like that, I'd never leave. I'd lose my hearing after two months, but I'd never leave.

It would be so awesome if I could stay here.

I'm quiet tonight, wrestling with some hard thoughts. You, my dear eyrie, are probably going to hear them soon.

BUT I am too tired tonight (this morning??) and posting right now would probably not be wise.

So, just an update.

Last week I found that working outside helps me jumpstart my homework.

Tonight I found that college kids + worship team + gym = amazing worship. Humble worship. Joyful worship.

Tonight I also found that one of the showers in Hope Hall doesn't drain... *groan*

I wonder if I should have said "last night" instead of tonight. Oh well :-D

Midnight Madness--so much fun. I am officially hoarse, but I proudly still carry my red pom-pom...

Love and good morning.

The bird.

The Flapping Endeavors of A Jumbled Mind.

Warm greetings to all—

So: Spaghetti Dinner passed remarkably well! We had a fun night, lots of leftovers (spaghetti at least enough for two dinners = YUM), and made a record for ticket-sales.

Onward and upward! I’m not going to apologize, because I like jumbledy posts, but I will warn you at least that I’m leaving this in my “language”—

I’ve found lately (okay, maybe not just lately but more lately) that my life tends to be jumbledy. And I like jumbledy. Problem: I need more order. I need more, consistent quiet time. I need to be still and listen to God—and my crazy haphazard way of finishing homework and chores leaves me just enough time to check all my email and websites but not enough to seriously think about God.

So I’m cutting out Internet for a week.

Starting tomorrow, I will not get on the Internet except for class. I will not check email, I will not go on websites: I will work on getting life in order. I’m going to see (as someone wiser than I once advised) what taking this out of my system does for me.

So before I take the dive, I’m going to celebrate my jumbledyness for what it is—this season in my life for what it’s been.

First. I just got an amazing new piano piece—Chopin’s Prelude in F# minor, Op. 28, No. 8. It moves me—the whirling, passionate 32^nd notes (32^nd notes!!! That’s what I said…) make my heart speed up, cause my breath to catch—

I love the piano.

However, my piano teacher groaned when she first saw it… “You HAD to pick the headache piece!!” But then she heard it and converted.

I love the piano.

Second. After reading through Claviger’s screenplay, I was intrigued… I dug out an old short story that could use some touch-ups, and I think it’ll work just fine to turn into a screenplay. I’m eager to see how it stretches me—what it will require of me—what I will require of it. Keep a lookout for The Second Hatchling.

Third. I realized that I’d forgotten some situations that scarred me a couple years ago. And that forgetting allowed me to heal. I’m very thankful for that, but now that I’ve remembered I don’t want to forget where I’ve been.

Fourth. I wonder, why do we need reasons for everything? Why do we to some degree require order of our lives? Why does knowing a person’s motives change our opinion of their actions—whether their actions are right or wrong? What might it say about our natures?

Fifth. My rabbit came running to meet me yesterday—I was so happy that I jumped, and he ran away!

Sixth. I miss all you dear people most dreadfully. I love reading your blog posts and your emails—you seriously make my day. So thank you.

Seventh. I seemed to have failed, after all, to jumble this up—everything’s numbered! Botheration!

Eighth. My dad and I are looking for books about the history of the church—from apostolic times. Basically, we want to study how the church changed from Jesus’ day to ours—where all the denominations separated, etc. Do you know of any?

Ninth. Is anybody going to the Biola University Day? Anybody? Because there is a slight chance that I can go!

Tenth. As I was walking from the garage to the house tonight, a silver sparkle caught my eyes—the moonlight reflected off of the beautiful blue tiles on my mom’s new brick patio—shimmery, water-like: I stopped and stared. It was simply lovely.

Eleventh. I’m quite sure my mother will ask when I posted this.  Mommy, it is 9:43 PM, and I love you.

Twelfth. I don’t like Halloween. I don’t like scary Halloween movies, or how scary Halloween movies are the only things on TV on Halloween.

However, I love punkin-carving parties.

Thinking back on this, I probably should have made that thirteenth. Whatever…

May you have a sudden unexpected burst of joy and understanding—

The burd.

Enter Robotics, stage left.

The herald of the new robotics season has come: the annual Spaghetti Dinner.

Picture mountains of spaghetti, sauce, salad, and brownies... (ok, maybe an ocean of sauce instead of a mountain)... and last but not least, gallons of fake-but-still-yummy lemonade. Add in six mild-mannered teens to serve food, one not-so-mild-mannered teen who *cough, cough* always seems to get roped into being the emcee, and hundreds of hungry people, as well as booming music, cranky robots, and never enough tables. Oh, and don't forget the not-so-silent auction.

All for $8, ladies and gents.

I'm happy to be back :-D

A Pink Kink In My Think

I think pink
And you think green
I wonder
Did God make us different colors?
Living color?


She turns red
And he is blue
A living rainbow
Made of souls of every hue
Living color?


...


Thinking about light, thinking about color... and how human nature correlates.

Light comes into our eyes in waves--longer waves produce certain colors while shorter waves result in others. Slight differences in frequency--how many times a wave oscillates per second--and wavelength--the length of one oscillation--drastically change the color of the light we see.

Pick a color--any color. I pick green. How many separate shades of green exist? How many types? They all differ, to some degree. But still something about them is the same.

I find certain similarities in humanity. Though all people think in generally the same manner, each individual thinks within his or her own "language"--the unique thought pattern deeply ingrained into each person's nature. "Languages" differ slightly according to different personalities.

I wonder: if we were able to see ourselves in a fresh manner--to see the entity of our being in a new dimension--might we each be distinctly different colors?

I think of louder personalities as orangey-reds, bubbly social butterflies as perky yellows, and quieter spirits as deep, dark blue. No two match exactly, but they may share similarities.

My dad gave me a strange look the other day as I was telling him a funny quip from a friend; apparently I was unconsciously copying this person's facial expressions, tones, and mannerisms quite accurately.

But that's how I relate; how we all must relate. I translate my thoughts to others' "languages"--even in email sometimes. For instance: tend to leave out the subjects of my sentences when talking with Claviger. And, like when I'm talking to like one of my rather like trendy friends, like I add all these like "likes" like into my sentences!!! (Not to mention the triple exclamation points...) Sometimes... I talk... slightly, um. Slower. AndothertimesItalktwentymillionwordsaminute.

It's as if I change the frequency, length, or pattern of my thoughts to match others' thoughts.

Sometimes people tell me just to be myself--to speak my own language. But I beg to differ. How in the world am I supposed to relate to anyone else if I don't speak their language? Not to demean the significance of knowing one's self--but what is the purpose of speech if it does not communicate something? And translating my rather scatterbrained thoughts into the method of someone else's thinking patterns usually benefits my own understanding of what I think.

Somewhat like tuning to the right radio frequency to get rid of the static.

So I wonder; am I losing sight of my own "language"? Am I supposed to, as I seek to understand God's thoughts? Does contact with others shape my "language"? Should or can I let it? What do you think?

Rainsong.

Dip tappity tap
Dip tippity too
Dap tappita lap
Drip tippata do

One-step,
Two-step.
Back,
And forward;
Onward!
Downward!
Pressing forth,
Dive deep!
Sing long--
Live life!
Belong;
Hold tight!
Pray, fight!

For Right
Stand strong.

Tap dappida,
Dee doop
Tap dappida,
Dee dah dee
Tap dappida
Dee doop
Dee dah, dah doop
Dee dah

...

Either one loves Rain or one does not.
Either one treasures the rap-tappity, trap dap dun
or one does not care to.

Either the swirling drops entrance one, gently ease one into a dance,
a song, a rollicking joy!
Only to sigh, breathe,
Heave their heavy skirts onward,
one sighing, left behind...

Or they don't.

Tippity tap.