double dosage

So I read this comic and started laughing outloud because I thought, "Ah, the future of all English majors!" And then I stopped and realized, "I'm going to be a missionary." Which is worse...? :)

Good thing I have a Friend in the finances department!

my hero (I MET HER!!!!)

During Genres this week, one of my classmates mentioned that Anne Lamott would be in Seattle this week, doing a promo for her newest book Grace (Eventually): Thoughts on Faith. This totally rocked my socks off because I was introduced to Lamott's writing this semester via Genres.

I've only had the privilege of reading Traveling Mercies: Some Thoughts on Faith, but it was like reading a journal of the inner workings of my mind at some points. Her genuine spirit, her willingness to be bluntly, candidly real in her books shook me awake to authenticity. (We need so much more of it!)

Well, tonight, I went to hear her speak at First Baptist Church in Seattle. (For future reference: First Baptist is on the corner of Seneca and Harvard. [And online directions suck.]) Meghan came with--yay!--and we met up with Princess there. Unfortunately, as Seattle has the most ridiculous street layout ever imagined and produced, and since online directions SUCK, P missed the lecture/reading/q & a since she was driving around for an hour.

HOWEVER: we all met Anne Lamott. I repeat: WE MET ANNE FLIPPIN' LAMOTT. And she is everything we pictured her to be, and nothing like how we imagined at the same time. (Quote borrowed from Meghan.) In her short dreads and pink Ross vest, she seemed like the world's coolest mom ever--down to earth, but creative and willing to be straight with you at all times. (Thank you, Sam Lamott, for sharing her with us all!)

So Anne Lamott signed Princess' Ketchikan bag, shook Meghan's hand, and signed my copy of Traveling Mercies. We were so giddily foolish at having met her that everything we said made no sense, and Princess and Meghan both shrieked and jumped around once we were outside of the building. (Meghan: I can still feel her thumb on my hand! Princess: She signed my bag!!!)

Afterwards, we decided to find a place to eat. Meghan and I got to the area two hours early, so we ate dinner beforehand. Note: we ate at a restaurant called The Rosebud. Also of note (and correct me if I get this wrong, Meghan): there was a newspaper clipping proclaiming the Rosebud as a runner up in some "best gay restaurant in Seattle" contest. Thing. Honestly, I wouldn't have noticed anything if Meghan hadn't pointed that out to me. I'm so blindly naive in American culture!

Anyhow, the food was pretty good, a little unusual, and it was a fun setting. Our waiter was so over the top sweet in serving, and just a great guy. When we were about to leave, he asked us first if we were over 21, then told us about a show that he's playing at next week at Chop Suey. He described his band's style as "dark wave, sort of ghostly, sexy and romantic" and I'm leaving out a bunch of adjectives, but I give him props for self-promotion. I doubt I'll go since it's during the week and I'm way too tired these days to try to take in a rock show, let alone one that sounds so experimental. But my curiosity is indeed piqued.

But back to the three of us finding a place to eat after meeting Anne Lamott. (WE MET ANNE LAMOTT!!!) We decided the B & O Cafe was a good choice, so we headed off in search of it. Walking through Seattle is always an experience, and I love running across the interesting characters that make the Emerald City their home. For instance, we passed a goth guy who looked like a cross between Edward Scissorhands and something anime. I give him props for the vinyl trenchcoat.

The problem with choosing the B&O Cafe is that we kind of knew where we were going. So we wandered for awhile with no success. I texted a friend to figure out the street location. That helped sorta. Then we called another friend who looked up the address online. On Olive and Belmont. (The name makes sense now!) Problem: there is an Olive Street and an Olive Way, both of which cross Belmont. So...we ended up asking a Middle Eastern convenience store clerk how to get there. And then we hiked through a bunch of alleys and finally got to where we wanted to go.

I would just like to say that hanging out with Meghan and Princess tonight was the best thing I could have done. It's not that I completely disappear when I'm busy and stressed, but especially for people who aren't in the dorms, I have a hard time getting together with them. And, well, this semester has been busy and hard. Not like LAST semester, but still not super easy. Either I'm more compliant with God these days, or He's just not pushing as hard. Maybe both.

But right now, I'm too tired to contemplate or say anymore except that it was amazing, and if you ever, ever, EVER have the opportunity to hear Anne Lamott, drop everything and go.

irreplaceable

I need to be reminded that I am irreplaceable. This is something that I want to grasp and embody so that next year, I'll be able to encourage the girls on my floor to see themselves as such. It's pretty difficult to convince someone that about herself when I don't believe it for myself. If there isn't conviction behind statements, they're just words.

RA-ness (see also: flipping out!!!! [but in a GOOD way])

We went on our RA retreat this weekend and...OHMYGOODNESS!!!! It was so incredibly amazing! I was excited to be an RA before, but now that I know what floor I'll be on (600), who my brother floor RA will be (David), and have gotten a better feel for the position, I'm so stoked!!!! The stokage could also be from hanging out with Steen and Maggie after getting back, but I'm still really, really, really, REALLY looking forward to next year!!

*breath*

Okay, on a slightly more serious note, I was completely blown away by God this weekend. I had some qualms about some of the RAs chosen--including myself!--but after getting to know them better, hearing their hearts, and getting to talk out our visions for the floors next year, any doubts that I had are completely gone. I know that this team of RAs is going to be very strong and that we're going to have such a blast next year!

(And, for all you "I shall rain on your RA parade" people out there, don't. If you have anything negative to say, or cautionary warnings, I don't want to hear about it. Thanks!)

I'm a little overwhelmed by the amount of planning I need to get done and by the very short amount of time I'll have to move in to the floor and get settled before all the new students come for orientation. Oh the planning. Yowsers! But I have some ideas for floor themes already. I've been thinking about theme ideas since Thanksgiving, when I still wasn't positive about applying. Pray that God gives me a more specific plan for the floor--I could really use a lot more guidance in this!

I know that the next year or so of my life is going to stretch me a lot. Oh my...so much! This summer, this coming school year, it's going to be a challenge. And for once, I'm looking forward to it. I'm excited to grow and stretch and learn and pass that on to those around me! People, I get to HELP people! I get to! I have that opportunity and privilege and I feel so blessed and honored. (And nervous and scared too!) But mostly, *girly squeal* I'm just so excited!!!

no time for this

I had an epiphany last night. Several thoughts/recollections/scenarios led up to it, but the point that illuminated above my head was that I don't have time for this ridiculous popularity competition that is continuously being played in life around me.

I think it's downright asinine how common a trend it is at my school to conform to the same outward standards. One must dress in the Abercrombie/Forever 21/Gap/Nordstrom's/Hollister/[insert any trendy store name here] style in order to be socially acceptable. One must maintain a preppy dress code at all times. For a girl, one must spend three hours getting ready in the morning...for an 8 o'clock class. One may not be caught wearing the same clothes two weeks in a row. God forbid that one's wardrobe is not large enough to accomodate a different outfit every day of the month.

Okay, for me, I find this lifestyle incredibly impractical. I have neither the time nor the finances to live like that. $100 for a pair of jeans? $60 for a blouse? $15 for a compact of eye shadow? I honestly don't care to waste my money on such trivial things. (And yes, I recognize that I spend $5 for COFFEE. *slaps forehead*) And as for the time issue, I'd so much rather SLEEP than waste time on making my outside look good. If I don't sleep, my insides are going to be nonfunctional, so what's the point?

I feel very indignant that there is pressure to conform to this socially acceptable "norm" at NU. I didn't realize that coming to a private Christian university would be so much like becoming a clone. I've somewhat conformed, and it bothers me. I am uniquely made, why do I feel like I need to be like everyone else? There are students on campus who, as my manager puts it, "march to the beat of a different drum," and I absolutely love that about them. They dress the way they want to, act the way they want to, and they don't care about the standards preset by the large majority of the student body. Kudos to individuality!

Let me add that I don't look at those students who have seemingly conformed and think in disgust, "Ugh. Clones." I don't think that these students are bad people. I don't think that they're brainless or shallow. (Well, some of them are shallow, but not most.) Y'know, if you can afford the time and money to primp yourself up every day--several times a day--go for it. I commend you for your time management skills.

I still don't see the point in expending that much energy into an outward appearance that is not exactly useful to God. And here's where my thoughts got deeper. I recognize that, as my grandma Ella put it, beauty is only skin deep, but ugly goes straight to the bone. No matter how much I put into how I look outwardly, to God, it's not what is important. He sees my beauty and admires it--He created me, after all--but what is more important is my heart. I need to spend MUCH more time working on my inward beauty--a kind and gentle spirit for starters--before I can be much use to God.

This does not mean that God cannot use me as I am. He is GOD, after all, and He can use everything and everyone as He pleases to do so. It is really in my best interest to work on lasting beauty instead of striving after the meaningless physical qualities that will fade in time. My "girlish" figure? Once that first kid hits, it'll disappear. The unwrinkled skin? It'll only take a few more years before I start pruning up. But what will last is my character--good or bad. I think it's time for a radical makeover.

beef with art

In a lot of art, Bathsheba is portrayed as some sort of temptress.

Why?!

Along those lines, women need to stop being blamed for men's downfalls. (Dude, Adam, man up already and admit you chose to eat the apple!) Overall, humans need to start owning up to their own foolish choices instead of blaming others.

encounter

I was sitting outside Starbucks this evening. Although it was so cold out that I could see my breath as it came through my nostrils, I wasn't cold since I'd been walking. My fleece was dotted with raindrops, and I could see out of the corners of my eyes that my hair was frizzing like a fright wig.

Most people were inside the establishment, but someone else sat out on the patio like me. If I'm not mistaken, he's a homeless man who typically frequents the 'bucks. He was wearing a green stocking cap and a warm looking coat. (I'm glad he had something.) He had his guitar slung over his shoulder in a brown canvas carrier. We sat at opposite ends of the patio, avoiding the dripping eaves.

I was in no mood to talk with anyone at the time, which is why I chose to sit so far away. I hope he didn't take offense. :S He seemed nice enough, but he was also quiet, and I think we were both very much lost in our thoughts.

He got up at one point and walked past me. Once in the parking lot, he stopped and came back. For a second, I thought he might stop to talk with me, but he kept going to the table where he'd been sitting. I noticed that as he walked past me again, he was carrying a glass bottle. I thought that was extraordinarily polite of him not to leave it behind for the 'bucks employees to pick up. (Okay, maybe he needed the bottle for future use and wasn't just being nice.)

I almost wish that I had sat near him and talked with him. I probably wouldn't have been so lost in my thoughts, and he probably has a lot to say about life. I wish I hadn't missed the opportunity.

I don't want to "memoir" Salome and Herodias

Instead, as I'm collecting my thoughts, I decided to look up tap dancing on youtube. Ah, youtube, the font of procrastination!



I have no idea where this clip comes from, but it's fascinating. I'm sure within the context of the film from which it is taken it makes a LOT more sense. :)

Another tap dancing video with an interesting setting. (I didn't know tap was a style in the harem...)

random facts

Random fact #1:

Of all the plants in the world, I think Elphaba is the best at rebounding. I've often come back to my room--especially this summer when it was so hot--to see the plant wilted over the brim of its pot, gasping for water like a fish.

I came back from spring break, a little surprised to see that not only was Elphie wilted, but she had dried up and her stems were shriveled as well. "I've killed it!" I thought. To my surprise, she seems to be springing back, regardless of an inadvertent attempt at herbicide. It took a lot of water and most of the day spent in agony that she was truly a goner before she decided to drink some of the water and perk up a bit. Not fully back to herself, but closer than she was!

Random fact #2:

I have an unfortunate, irrational fear of earthworms. This originated from a shocking encounter with them when I was probably three years old, maybe a little younger. Anyhow, every time it rains here in the great northwest, earthworms seem to sprout from the pavement, and their bloated, squirming, slimy selves ooze everywhere.

They absolutely disgust me. They give me the creepy crawlies. I'm pretty sure if I ever had a close encounter with them--as in actually touching them--I'd probably go hysterical. (No, not in the original sense of the word! My womb is staying put, thanks much.) *shudder*

profanity

Every now and then, I slip out an expletive or two. Typically "tame" language. It always sounds so bland coming from my mouth. It never sounds impassioned. It never sounds like me. It's very odd. I think that I'll just stop using it.

And you'd think that an ENGLISH MAJOR would have a better vocabulary, right? Well, the brightest English majors that I know use the most colorful language...

technology sucks

In particular, OLD technology sucketh hardcore. I am trying to figure out parking for Thursday evening. My sister was concerned about parking in Hollywood, so she was going to force her husband to drive with us, wait elsewhere while we watched a 2hr45min show, and then drive us back to Brea. I THINK NOT. I am no sissy who needs a man to protect me--or my sister--just because my sis is paranoid. (Plus, I do NOT want to ride three in the front of a pickup all the way there and back. No way, Jose!)

[Excerpt of telephone conversation about said trip]

Me: It's Hollywood--it's not the ghetto!
Sister: It's the same thing!
Me: Whatever...
Sister: You've only seen it during the day with tons of tourists or on the awards shows.
Brother-in-law (in the background of the phone call): They get rid of all the homeless people, the drug addicts, and the hookers for those things. They have to make it look clean!
Sister: Exactly. It's a totally different place at night.
Me: ...would it make you feel better if we bought pepper spray? *grin*
Sister: No.
Me: What if we can find a parking garage right there? Then would you be okay with it?
Sister: Okay...

So I get online after the phone call ends and begin my investigations. Turns out there are parking lots adjacent to the Pantages--independently run--and that I can even print a $1 off coupon to said lots. Hooray!

But herein lies the rub: I encounter OLD TECHNOLOGY. Of DOOM. Said technology, a remnant of the stone age, is my grandmother's printer. I swear this thing has little birds inside, chiseling out the pages on stone tablets--only they miraculously turn into paper when they come out. The point is that this printer is the bane of my existence. It is now finally printing off the page that I needed, but it forced me to wait through about 30 minutes of hemming and hawing before it decided that it could actually produce one page of print.

ARGH. It doth make me turn pirate-ish, matey!

Anyhow, I now have a coupon and am armed with information about a good parking lot. This means that we can ditch the brother-in-law in Brea and truly have a girl's night out. And if we happen to run into drag queens along the way...I'm taking pictures. :)

no TJ for me

I am saddened deep down to my belly button lint. Being on spring break in southern California--yay for WARMTH--I was hoping to con one or more of my relatives into going south to Tijuana at some point. It seems very unlikely that this will happen. Why? Because all of my family are boring and they seek not adventures.

Granted, TJ is apparently not that great. Why would I want to go there? It's dirty. It's crazy. It's dangerous. Half-naked drunken college students go there. Precisely why I want to go! (Except I could pass on the half-naked drunken college students...) I even brought down my passport with me in anticipation of a random hop across the border.

But sadly, having no transportation of my own and being subject to the beck and call of my relatives at this point, I am unable to go on my own. (Oh my mother would die if she heard that I went to Mexico on my own...oh and my sister, and my brother-in-law, and my grandma would skin me alive.) So TJ is not going to happen this break. No Mexico for me. !Que triste!

In other news, the rest of my break is booked. Wednesday, I'm heading down to Rancho Santa Fe to have lunch with one of my mom's sisters and her husband. Wednesday night we have dinner plans with my sister and brother-in-law who are coming down from Woodland Hills. Thursday, I'm spending some quality time with my sister. Thursday night, we're going to see WICKED at the Pantages. Friday, nothing during the day, but dinner plans with my mom's other sister and her husband. Saturday afternoon, I fly back to Seattle.

Boy, I'm booked. I guess it's a good thing that all I've done the rest of my break is sleep. Course, this means that I haven't gotten my homework done. But I've spent some good time with the cats and with family. I just want to sleep a whole lot more now...

plans

I like plans. I like making them and dreaming big dreams that I hope to see accomplished by the plans that I set in motion to get there. (What a convoluted way of saying that.) Plans equal security in their certainty. Of course, plans tend to go awry, which is precisely why plans come in letters (plan A, plan B, plan Q, etc.).

Contingency plans are a favorite of mine. "If such-and-such should happen, here's what we do..." Growing up overseas, I've been through multiple contingency plans. We had a contingency plan for what to do should our house be broken into. (This plan arose AFTER we were burglarized in Ghana.) We had a contingency plan on how to get to the Cameroon/Chad border should political unrest occur while in N'Djamena. In high school, we had terrorism drills. No joke. We also had fire drills, but the terrorism drills involved a massive siren, and huddling in the inner corridor of the school buildings until the siren stopped. (Similar plan enforced at a boarding school in Pakistan, which saved those students' lives.)

The point I want to make is that I like to control my life. I like to make the plans. I like to follow them through. I like to bring about my own results. Happy little world constructed by happy little me. But when I structure my own life, I box myself in, and I have a tendency towards claustrophobia. Recently, I've had two stories--told separate from each other--cross my path to remind me of this.

My mom told me the first story in an email. She reminded me of when we were on our way back to Ghana for our second term. One of the missionary families near Accra had recently moved, and their house was in a prime location. It had hardwood floors, a decent yard, split level--very much an American house smack dab in the middle of Africa. We were planning on moving into the recently vacated Tesano (named for the suburb in which it was located) house, even down to having measured the windows for mini-blinds. We were so set on the house that when it was given to the Ghanaian general superintendent just a few months prior to our return, our family was, well, not devastated, but disappointed.

However, God knew what was best for our family, and a new housing opportunity opened up in another suburb of the capital, in Dome New Town. This house was beautiful. It was only a few years old, both Gwen and I had our own bedrooms, we had a school room, a guestroom, an office for Dad, a sewing nook for Mom, an atrium in the center full of plants, and a huge yard. Also, the most amazing dog came with the house.

The second story I heard--just a few days back--came from CJ the mailman. I've known CJ a few years now, and since I work at the bookstore, I've seen him almost every day for these years at NU. He's a good guy, full of spunk and laughter. And he loves God with all his heart. Well, he had come into the bookstore, left, then came back and said, "I felt this burden to tell you something."

"Okay, shoot," I said.

"Sarah and Hagar."

"What?"

"Sarah and Hagar," he repeated. "Sarah wasn't content waiting for the plans that God had promised her and Abraham. So she tried to force the plans."

So it took the second story for God to really sink the point in. (At least this time around. Pretty sure I'll have to learn it again eventually.) I finally realized that I've been trying to make all these plans for my life, fitting these pieces together just so to achieve just the right effect. Why do I think for even a second that the plans I create can even come close to God's plans for my life? My plans are like a Lego world in comparison to the grand adventures God has had planned for me since the beginning of time! I keep trying to figure out my life when God already has it figured out--to the very last detail. (Boy, I sound Calvinist right about now... ;) )

Now what does this mean? Well, this means that I'm releasing the tight grasp I have on my Legos. I'm stepping beyond the self-made constructs of my life to walk in the certainty that God guides my steps. I don't know what the future holds. (Not a clue!) But God does, and His love for me has created an incredible story. Now all I have to do is follow Him to see what it is.