Over the last year, I have compiled some poetry in my journal. These are the first poems I have ever written; I have always been somewhat scared of poetry. As I re-read them, they are all pretty sappy and pretentious. But I'm not going to edit them. They are what was on my mind at the time. Here they are, including one I wrote today:
3/25
I hope to see the world with you someday
To walk in unknown valleys and wade in streams of grace.
But today we remain here, doing the simple things
That he assigns us.
So while it is still light
Let us go out separate ways and live our day,
That tonight we may rejoin and break bread,
And afterwards, walk on known streets under moonlight,
Dreaming of those unknown streets and far-off lands.
4/17
Inside the tent, the children dance.
It is safe there, and as they move with the music
Their lives are not yet burdened by the worries of life,
Their consciences not yet muddled with doubt.
The tent isn't real life. (Or is it?)
I get the feeling I was made to watch them dace.
To participate myself (but not yet)-
Ever becoming like a child.
When I think about the beginning and the end
The here and now begin to make sense.
I get another feeling--
That one day I will not be so self-conscious.
That I will have no sense of self,
But of someone else.
Can I take your hand?
Will you accept me as I am?
As the music stops, and the band breaks,
As we go our separate ways,
I need to know that you will be here when it starts again.
Not that you will never fail me,
Only that you will try to help me.
Let us join the children,
Dancing in the Father's grace.
6/6
Sunday morning.
The light shines through the trees
Reflecting slant-wise as it falls to the earth in grace.
The trees hold their applause
Waiting for the final morning.
But they have already revealed their secret.
Giving hints and signs,
They help us through the day
And remind us of the redemption that is coming.
The day runs its course, and later,
Through the cedars I see a house, old and sturdy.
Light shines from the windows, and children run to supper.
6/9
For many years I have dreamed
Of a field of grass, green and trimmed.
Hills roll across horizon, dream-like.
I am walking alone,
The sky overcast but not threatening.
It opens up. A rain begins to fall.
A light shower at first, as in April, morning.
For reasons unexplained, or beyond my explanation,
I start to run.
A light jog at first; I am in no hurry, my destination unknown.
But the rain quickens, and so does my pace.
I do not think I am clothed, and I do not think I feel shame.
Drops pound against my face.
The field stretches ever before me,
I do not get closer to the horizon,
I never grow tired,
Thought I sometimes stop,
Not to rest but to lift up my hands.
In my dream, I wish the rain would never stop.
6/24
I am tired of trying to create moments
That i will remember forever,
Of trying to capture everything at once,
Instead of accepting it as it comes.
So this morning,
As the sun eclipses the trees and the morning mist
Separates in the shaded valleys
I am content to let it all happen.
I have no part in it,
(I had no say that first morning)
To be able to listen is all I ask.
12/15
I
like
to say
things like
"At the end of the day"
As i wait for
A day that
will not
end.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Welcome Back. Happy Holidays. Enjoy a Short Story.
I have always heard that "absence makes the heart grow fonder." I could not agree with that more, and I have been reminded of that recently in a myriad of ways. It is time for this blog to be revived. After talks with the co-writers of this blog, expect a face-lift and more regular posting. Christmas is a special time and we are convinced that, yes, it too, is biblical. To get you back into the swing of things, I thought I would share a short story that was written about a year ago at this time. Jordan and I have a number of short stories that include the same characters that we hope to one day make into a story. It has grand potential thanks to his abilities, and maybe the blogosphere will get a taste of it and raise some publicity for it. Until then, I invite you to entertain the following and enjoy home-cooked meals and shear laziness in this first week post-final exams:
It took me while to garner the courage to break the seal of the letter. I was terrified it was going to overly complicate things- it was rural and professional all at the same time. I sat, pondered, over-analyzed what it might say. I always read the salutation and then lept immediately to the last line or two of a letter, so I can know how it ends. If you know how something ends, how something is going to end, it changes everything regarding how your present actions are carried out. Vision produces patience, legitimizes longevity. Well, it was a happy ending, to say the least. A memory was triggered in medias res. This wasn’t just any memory. My mind began to head down the rushing river that was the night of March 24th. Maybe we do in fact have the same thought process about things. I couldn’t start assuming that though; that would be the end. The climax of this trip down memory lane was identical to the final pit stop this letter took, the concluding thought, before it went back in the envelope.
It was a stormy night. I love bad weather. Lightning lit up the night on several occasions as if it were high noon, or Mother Nature’s excitement about Anne finally wanting to hold my hand- she didn’t know us that well, so that’s projecting. I also don’t believe in Mother Nature- I was a Presbyterian. There is the elementary, fairy tale idea in every girl’s mind that being kissed in the rain is one of the necessary steps to love; without this experience, you might as well get a desk job and prepare for lonely nights filled with ice cream, red wine, and romantic comedies. I am sure that Anne wouldn’t have minded it, and I know I would have enjoyed it- I am just a cynic towards it because I have never had the opportunity to sweep a girl off of her feet like that. I thought twice about it, and selfishly chose to opt out and enjoy the storm with her. This was a first- she reached out for my hand. It was sweaty as I held it. Either it took that much courage to grab my callused hand or the humidity outside the room permeated in- the pressure on the inside must have been less than that of the storm.
Music has a way with people. For some an escape, for some a love language, for some an art form, and for some a relational Bible. For me, music was vision inducing; it applied to my life and explained my thoughts more eloquently that I ever could. We were listening to the new Justin Vernon record as rain fell on the tin roof. An event like this was hallowed in my mind, right up there with seeing my wife and child waiting on me. When “Skinny Love” began to play, we both ceased conversing, channeling our curiosity to the bon iver. I think we listened to the song on repeat for nearly an hour. It was funny having to try and find the spot on the record to place the dial to start at the beginning of the song. Anne was better at things like this than I. The best thing about music is that the same song, the same lyric, the same melody resonates with different people in different ways. I knew there was a special place in her soul for this song, and I didn’t know why.
From time to time we will sit in silence until the other one knocks on the door of our mind. It is “our thing”- a few taps on the temple signals “let me in to what is going on up there”. It’s beautiful. I could never call it “beautiful” in front of Anne, because she treats her words with reverence that doesn’t allow for words such as “beautiful” to be overused. It was beautiful though, no matter what she says.
I said please talk to me/Won't you please come talk to me/Come on, come talk to me/I did not come to steal/This all is so unreal/Can you show me how you feel now/Come on, come talk to me/Come talk to me, come talk to me
Anne was reminded of her father, and of the brokenness that laid there between their love for one another. She was holding all the tickets, while he owed all the fines. I wanted to cry for her as she was not ready to take that big of a leap into vulnerability with me at this point in the game. I understood. The more she talked, the tighter my grip became as I took hold of something I knew that I never wanted to let go of. I knew, I was certain.
She asked why this song had a way with me. I lied. I didn’t lie, I just only told half of the truth as if that was the whole truth. I couldn’t say all of that yet, though I knew she would enjoy it. I smiled as I finished, knowing that one day I would be able to tell her. I also knew something else. I knew that I was going back up to the Mountain for one reason. There was no doubt in my mind; I just had to be patient, I had to be fine with my decision, I had to be balanced; If this “skinny” was going to last, I had to take a risk. So I did. I signed the dotted line the next day.
As I lay in bed, in a room of both old and new friends, I realized that night was a defining moment for me. I knew that I loved a girl. Paul O’Connor loves a girl. I regained my composure. I got to the last line of the letter. I carefully folded the letter, just as she had, and placed it back in the envelope. I put it in my Bible, which lay in my shelf. I now had the strength to make it through another day of training.
“In the morning I will be with you Paul. I will finally be back on top of the Mountain. We will be together.”
The thing about Anne was that she made simple statements that changed the world for me, and she took things that were changing my world and made them simple. I wondered what I was going to say tomorrow. At this point, there is only one thing I want to say. I had been waiting for this day. I had been waiting for tomorrow. I was ready.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Spontaneous Girl
Hello blogosphere. Long time no talk. Or, I haven't really talked to you in awhile. You don't really talk back.
Today I would like to introduce you to 'Spontaneous girl'. Do you know her? Maybe. Does she know you? Probably. Will you feel like you know her by the end of this post? For better or for worse, I hope so.
A working definition: Spontaneous girl is a hypothetical college co-ed who is commonly characterized by fun-lovingness, flakiness, finding her identity in randomness, and causing annoyance to her immediate friend group.
(Note to my faithful readers: Spontaneous girl is an idea, not an actual person. If you begin reading this article and start thinking "OMG I totally share like 90% of Spontaneous girl's hobbies / tendencies / psychological make-up" and begin wondering "Is Jordan talking about ME???" then stop thinking and wondering such things. First of all, I'm not observant enough to write a post about one person. Second, you're not important enough to have a whole post devoted to your life.)
Spontaneous girl is, in the initial analysis, perhaps best understood by her facebook profile. After all, she's an avid social networker, and more than a little concerned about her online image. (difference between me and spontaneous girl: both are avid social networkers. But I am not exactly worried / concerned.) Common characteristics include, but are not limited to:
1) More than 65 pictures in her profile picture album.
2) TMI in her personal interests, activities, favorite movies, etc.
3) An 'About Me' section that looks something like this:
'Hey I'm ashley and I'm really fun-loving and I love trying new things!!! I love meeting new people, so if you have any other questions, just ask!!!'
(The exclamation points here are important. I hate unnecessary exclamation points. I don't necessarily hate spontaneous girl, though.)
4) Notes. No one writes notes, except spontaneous girl.
SG's calendar is comprised of numerous lunch dates, trips to the farmer's market or other exclusively organic food sources, and hours devoted to facebook stalking. Spontaneous girl loves the outdoors...or does she? SG leads her extended friend group in number of mid-week "Hey would y'all wanna go hiking this weekend?" ideas. The problem is, if the hiking trip actually happened, she probably didn't go. Secretly, she hates the outdoors as much as the random blonde actress that plays Lindsay Lohan(s) potential step-mom in the Parent Trap remake. (Score. I have now successfully related to my female followers born within 3 years of 1990.)
She's a serial dater, but never a "serious" dater. (i.e. since earning her learner's permit, she hasn't gone more than 3 months without having a boyfriend. But after each break-up: "things weren't really that serious anyways. It's just better if we're friends.") Spontaneous girl is also known to be obsessed with the thought of road trips. Every other weekend, she's "sorta talked to a few girls about just like driving to the beach for the night." If you go to Wake, think random out-of-the-blue trip to Myrtle Beach. Maybe not even spend the night. Just DRIVE THERE, SEE THE OCEAN, and DRIVE BACK. (SG, the ocean might not be there next weekend; you need to make sure it's still there.) Among other things, SG is also the queen of "It just fell through". Weren't you going to the beach this weekend? Yeah, but it fell through. Mountains? It's supposed to rain all day. Cabin? We wanted to save gas money. There's one thing you can always count on with SG: you can't count on her. It's not even necessarily a flaw; it just is. She's always one spontaneous step ahead of you, and there's nothing you can do about it.
I have detected two underlying forces for her spontaniety. The first is FOMO, the fear of missing out. Here's the thing: the grass is ALWAYS greener on the other side of spontaneous girl's social calendar. Her weekend options are filed into "potentially fun", "potentially more fun" and "potentially most fun". Multiple options are the spice of her spontaneous life. By considering all options, maybe she didn't miss out on any of them. What is more, she's sneaky...
Ask spontaneous girl on any given Wednesday what she's doing that weekend. What's that? You're intimidated by her? Okay, I'll ask her, reluctantly...
"SG, how ya doing?"
"HEY JORDAN! (She's overly excited to see me. She can't be THAT excited.) Not much! I just got done getting my hair cut (TMI) and now I'm just meeting some people for lunch." (Is she really meeting people? She didn't mention names. Do I care what she's doing? I asked how she's doing.)
Trying to act interested. "Sounds like fun. Where are y'all going?"
"Oh, we haven't really decided yet." I should have known.
"I gotcha."
"Yeah." Spontaenous girl pauses, waiting for the "weekend" question. I can't help but ask.
"So what are you up to this weekend?"
SG shows a facial expression resembling a child on Christmas morning who acts excited about opening a present she had secretly opened on December 22. She acts like she hasn't even thought about the weekend, that she never thought you'd ask. She has thought about the weekend; she was hoping you would ask.
"You know, I really haven't thought about it! I've talked to some people about going to Zach's cabin, but I'll probably decide something last minute."
What does this even mean? Don't these statements contradict one another? Is it possible to "not think" about a weekend, but "talk to people" about it? Does SG even know Zach? Let us dissect.
SG has been throwing out her lines since Monday morning, in preparation for this weekend. Whatever, whomever, lands the biggest bite / sounds like the "most fun" alternative, she will do this weekend. She has probably already decided her Friday night, and your fate. But SG wants you to think she doesn't care that much about the weekend, that she's secure in "whatver ends up happening", that she'll "hang out with whoever". To plan, but appear not to have planned--that is her formula. She is a living contradiction, a mystery that has haunted my conscience for...minutes.
For whatever reason, SG thrives off of appearing to be random and spontaneous. Why? You tell me.
Other characteristics / FAQs:
'What kind of ice cream does SG order?' Rainbow cream, or rocky road with gummy worms.
'Is she a vegetarian?' Yes.
'Is she obsessed with being a vegetarian?' Yes.
'How many times has she told you about it?' 5-6
'Is she really a vegetarian?' No. She eats at Taco Bell when under the influence.
'What kind of music does she listen to?' Check her facebook. "ALL KINDS!!!" In reality, she listens to 'Chicken fried', Usher, and way too much Justin Beiber.
'Has she read the Twilight series?' She skimmed them, and then saw the movies.
'Physical exercise?' 30 minute run with mini Ipod, followed by swimming.
(Speaking of iPods, she has lost more than two ipods in the last 5 years. Or she has broken them. Her parents continue to buy her new ones. This fuels her spontaneity.)
'Did spontaneous girl exist before today's technology?' Does batman exist without his cape?
'How long has it taken you to come up with spontaneous girl?' Next question.
'Would you date spontaneous girl?' Give me a 6-digit annual salary, and we'll talk.
In closing, I will give a (key word) hypothetical situation that altogether summarizes SG's life:
You are having a party next weekend. I don't care what kind of party it is; use your imagination. You make a facebook event page, to make sure everyone is invited. Most people ignore the event page; they've heard about the party already. Some people RSVP, but this only serves as a rough estimate as to who will actually show up. Spontaneous girl regretfully clicks "not attending". What is more, she is the only one of the 157 people you invited to write on the 'event wall'. She has to make sure everyone knows WHY she won't be there. "Wish I could be there!! Have to pick my brother up from the airport. Ugghh have so much fun though!!" I will not speculate as to whether the other guests are relieved to see that SG will not be attending. What is certain, however, is what ends up happening the night of the party. 45 minutes in, after most of the guests have arrived, Spontaneous girl miraculously shows up. "Oh my gosh Ashley I thought you weren't coming!!" "Yeah I wasn't gonna be able to, but my brother's flight got cancelled!" Likely story. "I'm so glad I could come!" We are to. Spontaneous girl lives to randomly float through another day.
Today I would like to introduce you to 'Spontaneous girl'. Do you know her? Maybe. Does she know you? Probably. Will you feel like you know her by the end of this post? For better or for worse, I hope so.
A working definition: Spontaneous girl is a hypothetical college co-ed who is commonly characterized by fun-lovingness, flakiness, finding her identity in randomness, and causing annoyance to her immediate friend group.
(Note to my faithful readers: Spontaneous girl is an idea, not an actual person. If you begin reading this article and start thinking "OMG I totally share like 90% of Spontaneous girl's hobbies / tendencies / psychological make-up" and begin wondering "Is Jordan talking about ME???" then stop thinking and wondering such things. First of all, I'm not observant enough to write a post about one person. Second, you're not important enough to have a whole post devoted to your life.)
Spontaneous girl is, in the initial analysis, perhaps best understood by her facebook profile. After all, she's an avid social networker, and more than a little concerned about her online image. (difference between me and spontaneous girl: both are avid social networkers. But I am not exactly worried / concerned.) Common characteristics include, but are not limited to:
1) More than 65 pictures in her profile picture album.
2) TMI in her personal interests, activities, favorite movies, etc.
3) An 'About Me' section that looks something like this:
'Hey I'm ashley and I'm really fun-loving and I love trying new things!!! I love meeting new people, so if you have any other questions, just ask!!!'
(The exclamation points here are important. I hate unnecessary exclamation points. I don't necessarily hate spontaneous girl, though.)
4) Notes. No one writes notes, except spontaneous girl.
SG's calendar is comprised of numerous lunch dates, trips to the farmer's market or other exclusively organic food sources, and hours devoted to facebook stalking. Spontaneous girl loves the outdoors...or does she? SG leads her extended friend group in number of mid-week "Hey would y'all wanna go hiking this weekend?" ideas. The problem is, if the hiking trip actually happened, she probably didn't go. Secretly, she hates the outdoors as much as the random blonde actress that plays Lindsay Lohan(s) potential step-mom in the Parent Trap remake. (Score. I have now successfully related to my female followers born within 3 years of 1990.)
She's a serial dater, but never a "serious" dater. (i.e. since earning her learner's permit, she hasn't gone more than 3 months without having a boyfriend. But after each break-up: "things weren't really that serious anyways. It's just better if we're friends.") Spontaneous girl is also known to be obsessed with the thought of road trips. Every other weekend, she's "sorta talked to a few girls about just like driving to the beach for the night." If you go to Wake, think random out-of-the-blue trip to Myrtle Beach. Maybe not even spend the night. Just DRIVE THERE, SEE THE OCEAN, and DRIVE BACK. (SG, the ocean might not be there next weekend; you need to make sure it's still there.) Among other things, SG is also the queen of "It just fell through". Weren't you going to the beach this weekend? Yeah, but it fell through. Mountains? It's supposed to rain all day. Cabin? We wanted to save gas money. There's one thing you can always count on with SG: you can't count on her. It's not even necessarily a flaw; it just is. She's always one spontaneous step ahead of you, and there's nothing you can do about it.
I have detected two underlying forces for her spontaniety. The first is FOMO, the fear of missing out. Here's the thing: the grass is ALWAYS greener on the other side of spontaneous girl's social calendar. Her weekend options are filed into "potentially fun", "potentially more fun" and "potentially most fun". Multiple options are the spice of her spontaneous life. By considering all options, maybe she didn't miss out on any of them. What is more, she's sneaky...
Ask spontaneous girl on any given Wednesday what she's doing that weekend. What's that? You're intimidated by her? Okay, I'll ask her, reluctantly...
"SG, how ya doing?"
"HEY JORDAN! (She's overly excited to see me. She can't be THAT excited.) Not much! I just got done getting my hair cut (TMI) and now I'm just meeting some people for lunch." (Is she really meeting people? She didn't mention names. Do I care what she's doing? I asked how she's doing.)
Trying to act interested. "Sounds like fun. Where are y'all going?"
"Oh, we haven't really decided yet." I should have known.
"I gotcha."
"Yeah." Spontaenous girl pauses, waiting for the "weekend" question. I can't help but ask.
"So what are you up to this weekend?"
SG shows a facial expression resembling a child on Christmas morning who acts excited about opening a present she had secretly opened on December 22. She acts like she hasn't even thought about the weekend, that she never thought you'd ask. She has thought about the weekend; she was hoping you would ask.
"You know, I really haven't thought about it! I've talked to some people about going to Zach's cabin, but I'll probably decide something last minute."
What does this even mean? Don't these statements contradict one another? Is it possible to "not think" about a weekend, but "talk to people" about it? Does SG even know Zach? Let us dissect.
SG has been throwing out her lines since Monday morning, in preparation for this weekend. Whatever, whomever, lands the biggest bite / sounds like the "most fun" alternative, she will do this weekend. She has probably already decided her Friday night, and your fate. But SG wants you to think she doesn't care that much about the weekend, that she's secure in "whatver ends up happening", that she'll "hang out with whoever". To plan, but appear not to have planned--that is her formula. She is a living contradiction, a mystery that has haunted my conscience for...minutes.
For whatever reason, SG thrives off of appearing to be random and spontaneous. Why? You tell me.
Other characteristics / FAQs:
'What kind of ice cream does SG order?' Rainbow cream, or rocky road with gummy worms.
'Is she a vegetarian?' Yes.
'Is she obsessed with being a vegetarian?' Yes.
'How many times has she told you about it?' 5-6
'Is she really a vegetarian?' No. She eats at Taco Bell when under the influence.
'What kind of music does she listen to?' Check her facebook. "ALL KINDS!!!" In reality, she listens to 'Chicken fried', Usher, and way too much Justin Beiber.
'Has she read the Twilight series?' She skimmed them, and then saw the movies.
'Physical exercise?' 30 minute run with mini Ipod, followed by swimming.
(Speaking of iPods, she has lost more than two ipods in the last 5 years. Or she has broken them. Her parents continue to buy her new ones. This fuels her spontaneity.)
'Did spontaneous girl exist before today's technology?' Does batman exist without his cape?
'How long has it taken you to come up with spontaneous girl?' Next question.
'Would you date spontaneous girl?' Give me a 6-digit annual salary, and we'll talk.
In closing, I will give a (key word) hypothetical situation that altogether summarizes SG's life:
You are having a party next weekend. I don't care what kind of party it is; use your imagination. You make a facebook event page, to make sure everyone is invited. Most people ignore the event page; they've heard about the party already. Some people RSVP, but this only serves as a rough estimate as to who will actually show up. Spontaneous girl regretfully clicks "not attending". What is more, she is the only one of the 157 people you invited to write on the 'event wall'. She has to make sure everyone knows WHY she won't be there. "Wish I could be there!! Have to pick my brother up from the airport. Ugghh have so much fun though!!" I will not speculate as to whether the other guests are relieved to see that SG will not be attending. What is certain, however, is what ends up happening the night of the party. 45 minutes in, after most of the guests have arrived, Spontaneous girl miraculously shows up. "Oh my gosh Ashley I thought you weren't coming!!" "Yeah I wasn't gonna be able to, but my brother's flight got cancelled!" Likely story. "I'm so glad I could come!" We are to. Spontaneous girl lives to randomly float through another day.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Observations from the Pit...
(If you don't go to Wake Forest, you may want to discontinue reading...or you will be severely confused and bored)
"And here we have the Wake Forest cafeteria, affectionately known as 'the Pit'. And no, it's not called that because the food is bad (jia jia jia)...It's because it's under Reynolda Hall. Our students love the Pit; they really do."
If I had a dollar for every time I've heard a Wake tour guide say this (walking backwards, big purse over shoulder, sunglasses and dress even though it's cloudy and 59...) I'd have enough money to build a rival cafeteria with fast omelet stations and desserts all in one place.
Okay, you caught me, I'm 100 words in and I'm already complaining about the cafeteria. Actually, I did it to prove a point before I get in to the dynamics and logistics of the Pit. Here's the point: students LOVE TO COMPLAIN ABOUT THE PIT. It's probably number 2 most-complained-about thing at Wake Forest, right between how many tests you have this week and how terrible you look in that picture Dean Shore tagged you in from the football game.
But let's get real here...the Pit is to other college cafeterias as America is to all other countries (kidding...sort of).
Without further ado, the observations...
1) The Loser Tables.
There is really only once place where you can consistently go and eat lunch or dinner by yourself on a regular basis and still be cool enough to get a bid from a fraternity or sorority...and that is the loser corner. You already know where it is, but I'll explain anyways. It is dark, it is crowded, and it is in the back corner between the not-so-"Southern Kitchen" and the soft drink station. It is a mecca for those who want to fly solo, but not get Pit take-out. It is a safe haven for those who need a quick meal before they "failll theirrr organniccc chemmmistryyy testttt." Finally, it is a refuge for those who want to check their emails for half an hour and look really busy.
2) Breakfast-
Notice how I said in the last observation that the loser tables only apply to lunch and dinner...breakfast is a whole different ballgame. For breakfast, anything goes. I can go into the pit by myself in the morning, and no one will say a word. Heck, I could fly solo at a high table and no one would notice. Everyone is in their own world for breakfast. They know what they're in the pit to accomplish before their 9 o'clock class, and they do it. Maybe it's a bagel with peanut butter, maybe it's lucky charms, maybe it's "I Can't Believe Those are Eggs!" Whatever it is, it's 8:30, and unless I texted you about meeting me here, don't talk to me and let me be a zombie for 30 minutes before I walk to Greene.
2a.) 8:52 a.m.
This is the most depressing time one can ever experience in the pit. Sometimes, you can become so infatuated with your Smart Start or your breakfast date that you forget that you have class. Then, everyone starts looking at the clock and stampedes to the dish-washing line like the gazelles in the Lion King. From a high table, you can witness the event like you're on top of Pride Rock. It's fascinating, but equally depressing, because the reality of another day of class starts to hit...hard.
3)Table heirarchy (you and I both know it exists)
a) High tables (Okay, sorry I forgot to wear my Tri-Delt jersey...PLEASE let me still sit with you guys! We're still sisters...right??)
b) Booths (not including the booth by the emergency exit door between the months of November-March)
c) Seats next to vegetarian station ("Yeah! I've been a vegetarian for like...ever!" "No way, you NEVER told me.")
d)Long tables by TV / Athlete tables
("Okay, don't look now, but Al-Farouq Aminu just sat 3 seats down from you...He's gonna play in the NBA next year!!! Stop, put your camera phone away, I told you not to look...)
e) Circle tables next to Southern Kitchen- I don't have any clever parenthetical statement for these, maybe because I don't know why they're there.
f) The one table near the front entrance all by itself (Yeah, I mean...I guess we'll sit here. At least we get to talk to everyone that walks in / hope they tell us how tan we look after spring break)
g) Loser Tables- no explanation needed.
4) How to avoid an awkward pit date
Alright, so say some guy (ewww he writes blogs! so weird...) asks you to go to lunch at the pit. You freeze, and don't know what to say. After pulling out your planner, seeing you don't have a good excuse, and suffering a moral dilemma, you reluctantly say yes. But don't worry, the world is not coming to an end...There are numerous ways to say "I'm just not that into you" over a pit meal.
a) Go to the pasta line. This is guaranteed to take 15 minutes, and if you place a special order, you could make it 20 or 25. Leave blogger boy hanging out in the booth, and come back half an hour later and say "Oh my goodness...the pasta line was so long. Sorry."
b) Order an omelet. This is just like pasta, but for when it's a breakfast date...
c) Go to the sandwich line at lunch (10 minutes, 11 if you get it toasted), fix a salad (5 minutes, 7 if it's the best you've ever made), set your food down, and then get back up to fix a drink (2 minutes). At this point, you've already wasted 20 minutes. You can do this. In five minutes, just "remember that you accidentally forgot that you have to meet with a professor like 15 minutes before class starts", and you're golden. Sigh of relief, back to the dorm room, quick text to your girlfriend: "That was SO AWKWARD".
(Disclaimer: I've never heard of this happening, of course.)
5) Employee meetings
These happen around 9-10 am, usually on Friday mornings. Quarterback of the Fresh Food Co. Freshies huddles the team together, giving them the game plan for goodness knows what.
"Mike, showing up 45 minutes late is not acceptable."
"The ginger ale is always out of order. Monica, get on that."
"Guys, I know you don't wanna wash the cups out...but this is getting ridiculous."
"I know it's really easy/tempting to swipe the kids' cards like 9 times...but it's not really fair to their parents--I mean, them."
If you've never witnessed one of these meetings, they're almost as entertaining as puppies on the quad.
Honorable mention (or things I may discuss later, when my follower count actually reaches double digits): to-go boxes, the side entrance, monday night pit (pre- and post- chapter), Saturday morning pit, B.O.B., pit burgers, and "let's see how many middle schoolers we can invite to the pit" day.
"And here we have the Wake Forest cafeteria, affectionately known as 'the Pit'. And no, it's not called that because the food is bad (jia jia jia)...It's because it's under Reynolda Hall. Our students love the Pit; they really do."
If I had a dollar for every time I've heard a Wake tour guide say this (walking backwards, big purse over shoulder, sunglasses and dress even though it's cloudy and 59...) I'd have enough money to build a rival cafeteria with fast omelet stations and desserts all in one place.
Okay, you caught me, I'm 100 words in and I'm already complaining about the cafeteria. Actually, I did it to prove a point before I get in to the dynamics and logistics of the Pit. Here's the point: students LOVE TO COMPLAIN ABOUT THE PIT. It's probably number 2 most-complained-about thing at Wake Forest, right between how many tests you have this week and how terrible you look in that picture Dean Shore tagged you in from the football game.
But let's get real here...the Pit is to other college cafeterias as America is to all other countries (kidding...sort of).
Without further ado, the observations...
1) The Loser Tables.
There is really only once place where you can consistently go and eat lunch or dinner by yourself on a regular basis and still be cool enough to get a bid from a fraternity or sorority...and that is the loser corner. You already know where it is, but I'll explain anyways. It is dark, it is crowded, and it is in the back corner between the not-so-"Southern Kitchen" and the soft drink station. It is a mecca for those who want to fly solo, but not get Pit take-out. It is a safe haven for those who need a quick meal before they "failll theirrr organniccc chemmmistryyy testttt." Finally, it is a refuge for those who want to check their emails for half an hour and look really busy.
2) Breakfast-
Notice how I said in the last observation that the loser tables only apply to lunch and dinner...breakfast is a whole different ballgame. For breakfast, anything goes. I can go into the pit by myself in the morning, and no one will say a word. Heck, I could fly solo at a high table and no one would notice. Everyone is in their own world for breakfast. They know what they're in the pit to accomplish before their 9 o'clock class, and they do it. Maybe it's a bagel with peanut butter, maybe it's lucky charms, maybe it's "I Can't Believe Those are Eggs!" Whatever it is, it's 8:30, and unless I texted you about meeting me here, don't talk to me and let me be a zombie for 30 minutes before I walk to Greene.
2a.) 8:52 a.m.
This is the most depressing time one can ever experience in the pit. Sometimes, you can become so infatuated with your Smart Start or your breakfast date that you forget that you have class. Then, everyone starts looking at the clock and stampedes to the dish-washing line like the gazelles in the Lion King. From a high table, you can witness the event like you're on top of Pride Rock. It's fascinating, but equally depressing, because the reality of another day of class starts to hit...hard.
3)Table heirarchy (you and I both know it exists)
a) High tables (Okay, sorry I forgot to wear my Tri-Delt jersey...PLEASE let me still sit with you guys! We're still sisters...right??)
b) Booths (not including the booth by the emergency exit door between the months of November-March)
c) Seats next to vegetarian station ("Yeah! I've been a vegetarian for like...ever!" "No way, you NEVER told me.")
d)Long tables by TV / Athlete tables
("Okay, don't look now, but Al-Farouq Aminu just sat 3 seats down from you...He's gonna play in the NBA next year!!! Stop, put your camera phone away, I told you not to look...)
e) Circle tables next to Southern Kitchen- I don't have any clever parenthetical statement for these, maybe because I don't know why they're there.
f) The one table near the front entrance all by itself (Yeah, I mean...I guess we'll sit here. At least we get to talk to everyone that walks in / hope they tell us how tan we look after spring break)
g) Loser Tables- no explanation needed.
4) How to avoid an awkward pit date
Alright, so say some guy (ewww he writes blogs! so weird...) asks you to go to lunch at the pit. You freeze, and don't know what to say. After pulling out your planner, seeing you don't have a good excuse, and suffering a moral dilemma, you reluctantly say yes. But don't worry, the world is not coming to an end...There are numerous ways to say "I'm just not that into you" over a pit meal.
a) Go to the pasta line. This is guaranteed to take 15 minutes, and if you place a special order, you could make it 20 or 25. Leave blogger boy hanging out in the booth, and come back half an hour later and say "Oh my goodness...the pasta line was so long. Sorry."
b) Order an omelet. This is just like pasta, but for when it's a breakfast date...
c) Go to the sandwich line at lunch (10 minutes, 11 if you get it toasted), fix a salad (5 minutes, 7 if it's the best you've ever made), set your food down, and then get back up to fix a drink (2 minutes). At this point, you've already wasted 20 minutes. You can do this. In five minutes, just "remember that you accidentally forgot that you have to meet with a professor like 15 minutes before class starts", and you're golden. Sigh of relief, back to the dorm room, quick text to your girlfriend: "That was SO AWKWARD".
(Disclaimer: I've never heard of this happening, of course.)
5) Employee meetings
These happen around 9-10 am, usually on Friday mornings. Quarterback of the Fresh Food Co. Freshies huddles the team together, giving them the game plan for goodness knows what.
"Mike, showing up 45 minutes late is not acceptable."
"The ginger ale is always out of order. Monica, get on that."
"Guys, I know you don't wanna wash the cups out...but this is getting ridiculous."
"I know it's really easy/tempting to swipe the kids' cards like 9 times...but it's not really fair to their parents--I mean, them."
If you've never witnessed one of these meetings, they're almost as entertaining as puppies on the quad.
Honorable mention (or things I may discuss later, when my follower count actually reaches double digits): to-go boxes, the side entrance, monday night pit (pre- and post- chapter), Saturday morning pit, B.O.B., pit burgers, and "let's see how many middle schoolers we can invite to the pit" day.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Houses Are Biblical Too
As I sit in Bottletree Bakery this morning, at this time of year, I am often reminded of the following quote by C.H. Spurgeon, “"Winter in the soul is by no means a comfortable season, and if it be upon thee just now it will be very painful to thee; but there is comfort, namely, that the Lord makes it. He sends the sharp blasts of adversity to nip the buds of expectations: He scatterth the hoar-frost like ashes over the once verdant meadows of our joy. He casteth forth his ice like morsels freezing the streams of our delight. He does it all; he is the great Winter King, and rules in the realms of frost, and therefore thou canst not murmur. Losses, crosses, heaviness, sickness, poverty, and a thousand other ills, are of the Lord's creating, and come to us with wise design."
I feel that when the weather provides little warmth to the world, the world provides little warmth to our own lives. It is far too easy to fall into a depression, being unproductive and wasting time during these winter months. I am from Mississippi, so I know that those further North know this far better than I. When I fall into these lulls, these depressing times where the hope of good things to come in my life is equivalent to the hope that I won’t have to wear a jacket to class, there are few things that I truly begin to long for that all happen to be rooted in one thing.
If it happens that those thoughts don’t resonate with you, the following will. At the beginning of this year I had a bad a feeling, a pit in the bottom of my stomach. Without fail, every few years there is tragedy that strikes in the lives of those we love. Deaths, sickness, the loss of a job, divorce, or inner turmoil are just a few overarching examples of this tragedy I speak of. There are those times where you can do nothing more than stop and say to yourself, “That is just not right.” When these things happen, there are many emotional remedies we conjure up, but again I would argue they are rooted in one thing.
When winter in the soul and tragedy storm into our lives there is only one thing we want, only one thing we long for. We want to go home.
There is no better feeling than pulling into your driveway after a long trip, a semester at college, or just a rough day. When you walk through those doors, have the smell of your home hit you, and drop your bags to the floor, you can’t help but relax your shoulders and have this peace about you that, “You know, everything is going to be okay.” There are home cooked meals that we long for, not because they are gourmet, five-star meals (though some of us may be so fortunate), but because you break bread with your family and it was produced from ‘your’ kitchen. Nobody makes a better supper than their own mom. There is a sense of love, a sense of vulnerability that comes with being home, and is not present during the tough times mentioned above.
The sense we get when we pull into our driveway is a small, minute feeling of what it will be like when the trump resounds and the Lord descends. And yes, it will be well with our souls. That feeling is Biblical. We all have a longing to go home when times are tough, and even when times are pleasant. Even so, we are hard-wired as Christians to have that same longing, though far greater, for an ultimate home, a heavenly home.
Just as your mother cleans your room for you, does your laundry, and may even have a happy waiting on you when you come home, Jesus is presently preparing our room in heaven for us, waiting for us to join him. Though this is not just a room. It is a mansion in our Father’s house. No that is not a typo: a mansion within a house. I think this is also why we all love it when somebody plans something for us, we don’t know what it is, and they toy with our sanity by saying, “I promise you will like it, I just can’t tell you.” Once that happens, our thoughts are consumed with what it could be, what it might be, and if this person might be. This sense of wonder produced by somebody else’s preparation of something for us is fascinating enough to think about for a long time, and let’s press on.
Often times I fantasize over my ‘dream home’. I know exactly what I want it to look like. Tall ceilings, hardwood floors, wraparound porch, back patio, and a lofted study are just a few of these things that I dub as ‘essentials’ or things that are ‘perfect’, in my mind, for my house (I know I am speaking vaguely, but am practicing Proverbs 4:23 by doing so). Houses are Biblical because I believe that God is preparing a perfect house for us all, a place for us to dwell and worship him. I love thinking about my ‘dream home’. For one, I am selfish like that, and two because I know that when I get to heaven that there will be something even more perfect there, and I will be like “Gah, that is right, that's perfect.” The creator who created me, knows me perfectly, is preparing a place, a ‘dream home’ of sorts, for me in heaven. That is exciting.
Different rooms in houses are simply different experiences in our lives that we get to explore, enjoy, rearrange, and dwell in. The rooms contribute to the house at large, add character, add smaller stories contributing to the larger story, and each have their respective function. This is applicable to our lives in so many ways.
I could go on forever, and I have details about why I think all of this is the case, and how it applies to our lives. I feel like I could write a book about this. I have only shared all the details of this with a number of people that I can count on one hand. There is a method to the madness of my mind. I have more, much more. If you were to put a cup of coffee in front of me and ask me about it sometime, you might regret doing so; I think about this a lot. The Bible is filled to the brim with images and themes surrounding and built upon houses.
I say all this in encouragement. It is okay to want to go home; in fact it is Biblical. The places in this world that we go to and know that everything is going to be all right, the places where we can let our guard down, the places we have this euphoric emotion about us when we are in route to them, are our homes, our earthly homes, our homes away from home (Alpine, Oxford, Chattanooga, 2206 North Cheryl Drive). The funny thing is, that one day they just may be our heavenly homes as well, once Christ comes and perfects his creation. There is something great about that, and something to take heart in.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Why Breakfast is Biblical
There is something biblical about breakfast.
All throughout the Bible, people are getting up early. And I assume they were eventually eating.
No, the scriptures do not say that "In the morning, Jesus went up on a mountain to Waffle House" or that the apostle Paul--despite his interest in athletics--enjoyed a Denny's Grand Slam. But the fact remains, they were getting up early, they were praying and starting the day, and at some point, they got hungry (even Christ, because he was fully human) and they had breakfast.
On Sundays, I go to church at 5 o'clock. This is not ideal; I would rather go at 9:30. But it is what is is, and I must deal with the unconventionality. Thus, the productivity, restfulness, and set-apart-ness of my Sundays largely depends on whether I get up for breakfast. On days that I do not, I don't wake up until 10 or 11. Sunday is restful, but in the wrong way. My day becomes unstructured, and somewhat stressful. Because there is no routine, my mind is constantly fixed on what I would like to do, and my Sundays quickly become personal days.
On those Sundays that I get up for breakfast, things become more 'right'. My day starts off with that simple discipline that is waking up on time, and the rest of my day falls into rest and routine. The more 'routined' it becomes, the less I am mindful of myself, and the more I am reminded of what the Sabbath is all about.
How does breakfast make our lives so full? What makes it so biblical?
First of all, it is so very simple. Think about the things we eat for breakfast.... We eat eggs, we eat bacon; we eat sausage, we eat cereal. While the preparation of breakfast may vary slightly, the items of breakfast do not. It is constant; you know what you are getting. You do not send the bacon back to the kitchen to be cooked longer. You accept it as it is. It gives us predictability in an unpredictable world, and it reflects the constancy of Christ.
Furthermore, meals in general are biblical. Over the last year, I have been struck with how many meals Jesus has in the scriptures-- how much the gospel writers emphasize Christ sharing the table with sinners. There is something beautiful about sharing a meal with another human before you both go out into a messed-up world, to be able to share quietude and coffee before the day and its business begin.
This last thing may just be me--perhaps some of you out there in the blogosphere can relate-- but breakfast lets me know that everything will be okay. Have you ever awoke in the morning, post-alarm and pre-shower, and felt very cold and very alone? Days where the sole goal quickly becomes the pillow that night? I have many of those days, especially this time of year. The shower helps somewhat, but breakfast returns things to normalcy. It makes me recall the night and the days before, and it reminds me of where I am going. The Bible helps more, but breakfast points me in the right direction.
People, especially my age, love spontaneity. College, best four years of my life, yada yada. And I love it too. But I also love normalcy, and I crave routine. Maybe it is my own insecurity; I'll be the first to admit that that could be the case.
I also admit that my days often pass by wastefully. I do not do as T.S. Eliot wrote, when he said we are to "Redeem the time". Eliot got that catchy line from the apostle Paul. Paul had breakfast. I need breakfast too.
All throughout the Bible, people are getting up early. And I assume they were eventually eating.
No, the scriptures do not say that "In the morning, Jesus went up on a mountain to Waffle House" or that the apostle Paul--despite his interest in athletics--enjoyed a Denny's Grand Slam. But the fact remains, they were getting up early, they were praying and starting the day, and at some point, they got hungry (even Christ, because he was fully human) and they had breakfast.
On Sundays, I go to church at 5 o'clock. This is not ideal; I would rather go at 9:30. But it is what is is, and I must deal with the unconventionality. Thus, the productivity, restfulness, and set-apart-ness of my Sundays largely depends on whether I get up for breakfast. On days that I do not, I don't wake up until 10 or 11. Sunday is restful, but in the wrong way. My day becomes unstructured, and somewhat stressful. Because there is no routine, my mind is constantly fixed on what I would like to do, and my Sundays quickly become personal days.
On those Sundays that I get up for breakfast, things become more 'right'. My day starts off with that simple discipline that is waking up on time, and the rest of my day falls into rest and routine. The more 'routined' it becomes, the less I am mindful of myself, and the more I am reminded of what the Sabbath is all about.
How does breakfast make our lives so full? What makes it so biblical?
First of all, it is so very simple. Think about the things we eat for breakfast.... We eat eggs, we eat bacon; we eat sausage, we eat cereal. While the preparation of breakfast may vary slightly, the items of breakfast do not. It is constant; you know what you are getting. You do not send the bacon back to the kitchen to be cooked longer. You accept it as it is. It gives us predictability in an unpredictable world, and it reflects the constancy of Christ.
Furthermore, meals in general are biblical. Over the last year, I have been struck with how many meals Jesus has in the scriptures-- how much the gospel writers emphasize Christ sharing the table with sinners. There is something beautiful about sharing a meal with another human before you both go out into a messed-up world, to be able to share quietude and coffee before the day and its business begin.
This last thing may just be me--perhaps some of you out there in the blogosphere can relate-- but breakfast lets me know that everything will be okay. Have you ever awoke in the morning, post-alarm and pre-shower, and felt very cold and very alone? Days where the sole goal quickly becomes the pillow that night? I have many of those days, especially this time of year. The shower helps somewhat, but breakfast returns things to normalcy. It makes me recall the night and the days before, and it reminds me of where I am going. The Bible helps more, but breakfast points me in the right direction.
People, especially my age, love spontaneity. College, best four years of my life, yada yada. And I love it too. But I also love normalcy, and I crave routine. Maybe it is my own insecurity; I'll be the first to admit that that could be the case.
I also admit that my days often pass by wastefully. I do not do as T.S. Eliot wrote, when he said we are to "Redeem the time". Eliot got that catchy line from the apostle Paul. Paul had breakfast. I need breakfast too.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Perspective, small things, and the Lord of the Rings
"Do you remember the Shire, Mr. Frodo? It'll be spring soon. And the orchards will be in blossom. And the birds will be nesting in the hazel thicket. And they'll be sowing the summer barley in the lower fields... and eating the first of the strawberries with cream. Do you remember the taste of strawberries?"
-J.R.R. Tolkien
It is cold, it is rainy, and for the last week and a half I have done little but study. It is incredible how human beings get in ruts. Have you ever gotten in your car, made a phone call the whole drive, and arrive at your destination not remembering anything you passed? The weeks leading up to the holidays are like that in college. All the days blend together; one afternoon turns into the next morning. Then, one morning, it ends, and you don't seem to know how you got there.
I think I know how we get there.
"There are two ways of getting home; and one of them is to stay there. The other is to walk round the whole world till we come back to the same place." -G.K. Chesterton
During exams, I have sporadically watched the Lord of the Rings movies to maintain my sanity. To remind myself that what I am doing is not that important...or maybe that it makes all the difference in the world. I remember someone telling me (the Bible probably told him...) that we grow in the small things-- the decision not to complain, the extra hour of studying, perhaps actually being engaged in a conversation. As a type-A, Wake Forest college student, sometimes I feel like I have to change the world. 4.0, honor roll, destroy the ring. But what strikes me about the Lord of the Rings--about Frodo and Sam--is the small things that slowly get them up the mountain. Until we realize that the journey is long, and also that we will get there, we will miss the small things.
If you get on youtube, you can watch countless videos where people have taken clips of Frodo and Sam and turned them into male lovers. It's repulsive, and it's sad. Instead of experiencing real, intimate friendship, people watch these things and laugh, because they would rather sit in their offices taking breaks to check their fantasy football leagues and laugh at videos that will not outlast this world.
"I'm glad to be with you, Sam...here at the end of all things."
Friendship is a small thing.
When we get focused on a deadline, the world ends at that point. Everything, literally everything, leads up to and is centered around the deadline. Any thought of what's on the other side, well, that can't even be comprehended. It's a shameful thought. Lazy. "Don't think about the other side, Jordan. If you do, you'll never finish the race." If I don't think about the other side I'll never even start.
"Remember the shire."
Perspective is a small thing.
In the first LOTR, representatives of every race of Middle Earth meet in Rivendell to decide the fate of the ring. The dwarf argues with the elf, the men can't put aside their differences, and the small, insignificant Frodo Baggins looks into the ring, the symbol of all that is evil and perilous in his world, and decides that he will bear it. At first, no one even pays attention. At the end of the trilogy, the race of men will bow down to him.
"4 Hobbits?"
Hobbits are small things.
Amongst the fire and ash of Mount Doom, Sam-- that beautiful, fat, redemptive hobbit that has helped carry the burden of Middle Earth--cannot stop thinking about the Shire. Strawberries, the hazel thicket, springtime, Rosie Cotton--the hobbit he would like to marry if he ever gets back. In fact, these hopes--small as they are-- are the only thing that keeps him going up the mountainside.
"Do you remember the taste of strawberries?"
Hope can be a small thing.
Before Frodo's journey ever begins, the ring stays in the Shire for over 60 years, out of the attention and sight of evil. No one would ever expect such power to be in such a small place. 3000 years after Sauron creates the ring, it will soon fall into the cracks of the earth and Frodo will say, "It is done, Sam."
"We are lucky the Shire has been overlooked."
Hobbiton was a small place. So was Nazareth.
The next time I think there is no horizon beyond my next deadline, I hope to remember these small things. My work is in some way the most important thing in the world, for through it, I will grow. But in other ways it is just another step in the journey. What is certain is that I will get there.
Sam married Rosie Cotton.
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