WHY has it BEEN so LONG???

This is what has been going on in my life in the nuttiest of shells:

January 3rd through June 4th, I was a paramom. (Thanks Christine and Allison for the new word!)  That means, "almost a mom but not quite." Like, a paramedic is almost a doctor, and a paraprofessional is almost a professional, and a parachute is... okay, well, regardless. I was a nanny.

Paramomming is one of the best kind of jobs ever. Never have I been so impressed upon by a responsibility. Nannying is NOT babysitting. Two mothers trusted me to love, nurture, and mother their children for five months. How humbling and terrifying is that? I did my absolute best, of course, and I couldn't help but wonder "if I love these children this much" (and I love them A LOT) "then how much more do their parents love them?" It made my three charges that much more precious in my mind--not in the cute sense, mind you, but in the valuable sense. The trust I was given frightened me in such a way that made me accountable to perform the tasks at hand with integrity.

Speaking of trust and accountability, do I need to spell out the application here? I'll give y'all the first few letters. Just like the Joneses and the Cottons trusted me with their children, God trusts us with His. Crazy. Why does He do that? He knows we're fallible. He knows we're going to mess up. I can't even count how many times in a semester I ask Him why He trusts me to love His precious ones.

Speaking of semesters: June 4th through right this very second, I have been preparing to spend a school year as an intern with the campus ministry Chi Alpha that I have been involved in. Speaking of trust, again, I have learned, and relearned, who provides for me--I mean, Who provides for me. My full time job this summer was to find out who God had in mind to support me.  I had to raise a monthly budget for the first time...EVER. Scary stuff right there.  It's intimidating, it's uncomfortable, it's difficult, it's stretching, sifting, growth-stimulation, character-developing, and exciting. It's really exciting. Life is an adventure, right? I mean, that's not really supposed to be a question. This is: Did you know life is an adventure? I think I might have blogged about that before....

Anyway, God really is a Father who provides. He really does have a plan, even when I don't. He really does care about the little things. Sometimes, He even takes me out on surprise dates, just so that I can let my hair down for a bit and relax. I wish I were as attentive to Him as He is to me.  My budget is met. I worked really hard, but I certainly didn't raise it.

I had the meeting this morning, so now it's official. I am an intern, a Campus Missionary In Training, with the SHSU Chi Alpha. I am at the beginning of something, but it also feels like I am at the end of a season which really began in my heart in October. To say the least, I'm stoked. And relieved. And I know that even more work is in front of me, and probably the hardest part of this adventure hasn't even happened yet, which is good, because the story of my life isn't quite done :)

Let me explain. No, there is too much. Let me sum up.

This is a blog I began writing about four months ago at the end of October:

Have I yet mentioned that I am fasting for a year from writing?  No, not this kind of writing. I mean, stories.  There's nothing quite so freeing as getting rid of an idol.  Consequently, I have been made very aware how much of my spare thought time is devoted to thinking of how exactly to write things.  Writing has been and will be a big part of my life.  Also consequently, this blog is my only writing outlet.

My blog posts are very rarely thought out, very quickly written, and very hastily proof-read.  (I say that to hedge your judgement on my abilities because I also have pride issues.  I'm working on them.) My stories, in later years, have been demoted to tools of escape from a hectic or "unsatisfying" life, and that's just not fair.  It's not fair to God, Who should be my first comforter, it's not fair to my talents which He gave me in order that I might perfect them, and it's also not fair to my poor characters whose lives were being so poorly arranged and whose lines were riddled with obscene comma use.

*************

I gave this up at the end of October and plan on revisiting it on my birthday this November. Feel free to hold me accountable :)

A LOT has happened in my life since I began this post. (Please, enjoy that link. i loled tons.)  I graduated, I have a full time nannying job, a boyfriend (holla!), and waaay less time to do silly things like write stories (or journal, or blog)! But the first two paragraphs still stand.  I have since noticed a huge, though subtle, change in my thought life and it has been for the better. The best thing I did was to delete everything off of my computer so that a week later I wouldn't just open a file "on accident".  Oh man did that ever hurt!  But, I figured that the next time I write my attitude about writing will be different and I know that if God wants me to tell a particular tale, he will allow me to recall the facts and to write it even better.  So, I'm not worried, even though I do miss some of my characters--and if that sounds weird to you, I promise that every writer feels the same way.  Check out this poem by Anne Bradstreet. When I first read it I could not believe that a Puritan woman felt so long ago the way I currently feel about writing. It cracked me up and I have felt like we were friends ever since. Anyway, this lady is legit and I am pretty darn sure I will meet her one day.

The Author To Her Book

Thou ill-formed offspring of my feeble brain, Who after birth did'st by my side remain, Till snatcht from thence by friends, less wise than true, Who thee abroad exposed to public view, Made thee in rags, halting to th' press to trudge, Where errors were not lessened (all may judge). At thy return my blushing was not small, My rambling brat (in print) should mother call. I cast thee by as one unfit for light, The visage was so irksome in my sight, Yet being mine own, at length affection would Thy blemishes amend, if so I could. I washed thy face, but more defects I saw, And rubbing off a spot, still made a flaw. I stretcht thy joints to make thee even feet, Yet still thou run'st more hobbling than is meet. In better dress to trim thee was my mind, But nought save home-spun cloth, i' th' house I find. In this array, 'mongst vulgars may'st thou roam. In critic's hands, beware thou dost not come, And take thy way where yet thou art not known. If for thy father askt, say, thou hadst none; And for thy mother, she alas is poor, Which caused her thus to send thee out of door.

Hmms (thoughts) very early on the Eve

I have things to write about tonight (early morning). It's vacation. I'm graduated. I've been robbed. Other things are happening in my life, too, that I might write about later on.

I'm up late and my mind won't shut off because it's not used to this much daily inactivity. I'm up late because I'm home for the holidays and we're all night owls. All of us. It's 2:45 am now and I think I'm still not the only one awake.

So, what do you want to know about, graduation or my house being robbed?

The graduation happened first. It was spectacular. I woke up, still stressed from an insane week of finishing school, walked through frigid winds in too-thin clothing to stand in line for forty-five minutes, and then sat for an hour and a half while a person gave a speech about something and they read off a million names. The most memorable part of the ceremony was...actually not at the ceremony, but waiting to go to the Colosseum. A girl standing opposite me in another line flatly refused to move where they asked her to move and UPD was called. She was apparently adult enough and responsible enough to be in that room, but I and the rest of the people in line with me had serious doubts. Poor girl. I should give her the benefit of the doubt.  Maybe she wasn't just selfish and obstinate. Maybe she was suffering from acute anxieties that caused her to be extremely rude to whomever spoke to her. Maybe...     I've got nothin'.

The best part of my day that day was sitting at my house with some of the people I like best in the world until all hours of the afternoon. The best part of my night was sitting around a fire with some of the people I like best in the world, listening to funny stories and a guitar.

That was last Saturday, but Tuesday was also a day full of adventure. It began with an exciting ride to h-ville with Tamara, then I had tea and an exciting conversation in Subway, and finally it ended with watching Inception and filling out a witness report. I don't even want to talk about the robbery, actually. It's unpleasant. But I will. Things are no longer in my house that used to be there--very special things--and that's disconcerting and sad, to say the least. Or, the way I feel about it (surprisingly), to say the most. It's only disconcerting and sad. And even that is rapidly passing.

The coolest thing about being robbed is realizing that my treasure really isn't here on earth. It's really not. It's not something I just say because that's what followers of Jesus say. How cool is that? It's way cool. I'm glad that I know that now, I'm glad that concept has been tested in me. This was the first time I've ever had something stolen from me and so it's been the first time I've had the chance to examine myself in this way. It's no coincidence, either, that I read that day in Acts about the early church not caring a bit about possessions but selling all they had and giving the money to the Apostles to apportion as there was need. My things were not asked of me. It was not my decision to relinquish them. But if the choice had been put to me, I hope I would have given them joyfully. Instead, I get to give them up in my heart and remember that I have given up my rights in this world; I have no right to "stuff". I get to remember, too, that everything that I truly hold dear cannot be taken from me by any power of hell or any scheme of man, praise the Lord.

These are some of the things going through my mind the last few days. Only some ;)

Just because I'm kind of proud of it, my final Picasso paper:

I didn't take much proofing time, so, if you see errors, don't tell me until at least a week from now because I just turned  this in today and I wouldn't be able to handle it :) Sometimes it still blows my mind that I can speak as much Spanish as this, and other times I reread what I have written and despair that I don't speak it better. C'est la vie.

Laura Craig

SPN 470

Dr. Mallen

12/11/10

Mis sentimientos y pensamientos del magnífico Pablo Picasso

Es la verdad que, cuando una persona empieza a aprender un tema, la información pasa por su propia visión del mundo.  La información que la persona recibe, aunque es la misma información que el reste de la clase recibe, tiene un efecto singular en cada persona porque cada persona juzga la que recibe a través de la red de sus propios opiniones, creencias, y sus sentimientos individuales.  Durante todo el semestre, yo recibía mucha información de Picasso y cada día de clase la información me obligó a pensar en mis creencias personales.  Yo preguntaba día tras día de clase, cada vez aprendía algo nuevo de la vida de Picasso o de sus obras de arte, “¿Cómo coinciden estos sucesos, o ideas, con mis conocimientos?”  Me interesa mucho esta forma de aprender y voy a regresar a esta idea luego. 

He aprendido mucho de Picasso, al final del curso, y he aprendido mucho de mi vida personal a causa de lo que aprendí sobre Picasso, también.  Al principio de la clase, lo que me afectó lo mas fue la conferencia sobre la muerte de la hermana de Picasso y las cuales que su muerte cambió en la vida de Picasso.  Me fijara mucho en dos cosas que la  muerte de Conchita cambió, o que desarrolló, durante mi estudio de la vida de Picasso: su relación con Dios (que afectaba todo, en mi opinión) y sus ideas y miedos de la muerte.  El afecto de la enfermedad de Conchita  empieza a ser evidente en las pinturas de Picasso cerca del tiempo que se muere en el siete de enero.  La pintura de La fillette aux pieds nus (OPP. 95:003), que Picasso empezó a pintar en el enero de 1895,  muestra un gran sensibilidad de la vida de los pobres.  La cara de la muchacha está llena de la sabiduría del mundo que está más de sus años jóvenes.  Es como ella puede ver dentro de los mentes de los espectadores y también como nosotros, como los espectadores, podemos ver el mensaje de su cuerpo “Yo conozco la privación; he sacrificado mi niñez para vivir.” La pintura muestra una idea del mundo que no es pintoresco, es real e imperfecto.  Picasso, de una edad joven, aprendió que el mundo y la vida no son cosas perfectas.  Él pintó la muchacha con los ojos largos y desequilibrados, y con los pies grandes y deformados para ilustrar sus sentimientos de una vida imperfecta, una existencia que no está siempre justa o fácil, y para ilustrar una vida en que los inocentes sufran, como Conchita y como la muchacha en la pintura.

Pienso que uno de los beneficios de la muerte de la hermana de Picasso fue que Picasso descubrió una compasión y una empatía para la humanidad.  Estas le permitieron ver mejor el sufrimiento en el mundo, como la tragedia siempre da a las personas que tienen corazones humildes.  Sin embargo, lo que los beneficios fueron en la mente y vida de Picasso, el impacto de su muerte se rompió más de lo que agregó.  El impacto se creó un miedo de la muerte dentro de Picasso que asediaba por el resto de su vida.  También, Picasso tenía sentimientos de culpabilidad sobre el suceso porque hizo un ofrece a Dios por la vida de su hermana.  Le ofreció a Dios su vida de pintor, la cual era lo más importante a él.  Es interesante que, cuando una persona está enfrente de una situación o consecuencia muy mal, muchas veces se haga un ofrece a Dios, como un sacrificio, a cambio de la que no quiere.  Es interesante, también, que el ofrece que Picasso hiciera no fue algo pequeño, pero fue la cosa más grande e significativo que pudo sacrificar.  No obstante, se parece como él tenía la idea que la muerte de Conchita fue, en parte, por su culpa.  Es posible que su ofrece no fuera tanto sincero como dio a Dios, pero no es posible saber seguramente.

El miedo de Picasso de la muerte se expresaba mucho durante los años del hombre joven con las pinturas de los arlequines.  Los arlequines son los mensajeros de la muerte pero están vivos.  Se llevan costumbres de los payasos, y pintan sus caras, o, también, se llevan las máscaras para ocultar sus caras.  Picasso estaba fascinada por los arlequines y su relación con la muerte, especialmente después su mejor amigo Carles Casagemas se suicidó—la segunda muerte que afectaba mucho a Picasso.  Su pintura Au 'Lapin Agile' (OPP.04:031) representa un arlequín con una mujer que es, probablemente, Germaine, la ultima amante de Casagemas.  Para entender la significancia de la presencia del arlequín con Germaine, es necesario saber la historia de la muerte de Casagemas y la parte Germaine tenía en el suceso.  Ellos estaban amantes, pero las dos personas tenían dificultades con la depresión, el alcohol, y las drogas.  Se especula que Germaine iba a dejar a Casagemas, entonces Casagemas le disparó a ella e inmediatamente después, se suicidó con la misma pistola.  Sin embargo, Germaine no murió y ella y Picasso mantenía una amistad, aunque Picasso estaba muy inquieta sobre la muerte violenta de su amigo.  En la pintura, el arlequín es Picasso.  Es posible que esté el arlequín porque, otra vez en su vida, se sentía responsable, de algún modo, de la muerte de una.  También es posible que, sin la amistad de Picasso, Casagemas hubiera muerto mucho antes porque Picasso cuidaba a Casagemas como era su hermano menor.  De todas maneras, Picasso no se sentía como así y usaba la figura del arlequín para expresar sus emociones.   Él trataba de escapar la muerte en sus obras de arte y aunque ésta es algo de sus colecciones primeras, no es una excepción.  Picasso no tuvo la capaz de salvar su hermana por el sacrificio del arte, entonces trató de salvarse a sí mismo por el uso del arte.  Para él, fue una manera de controlar la muerte y crear una vida que quería. Por ejemplo, un año antes de pintó Au 'Lapin Agile', pintó la famosa La Vie (OPP.03:001), que es algo como una vida alternada con una Casagema vivo y una Germaine embarazada con su hijo.

La idea de crear y manipular estaba muy seductiva a Picasso.  Siempre pintaba las mujeres en su vida en situaciones o con actitudes  que le gustaban—Fernande Olivier con un bebé (Homme, femme, et enfant  OPP.06:129) aunque ella no podía tener hijos y tampoco no quería ser madre o esposa, Olga Khokhlova en el vestido de España y sentando en una actitud recatada aunque en realidad no era de España o de una personalidad recatada (Portrait d'Olga dans un fauteuil OPP.17:008) —y siempre retrataba la muerte, también.  La retrató  muchas veces con los arlequines, pero hay la muerte en caso todos de sus obras porque le encantaba mostrar la tensión entre la vida y la muerte.  Por ejemplo, Course de taureaux: la mort du torero (OPP.33:094) describa el torero, el caballo, y el toro y las tres representan y maneras diferentes la vida y la muerte, y todos están luchando siempre.  En Guernica (OPP.37:001), se puede ver la compasión que tenía para el sufrimiento de la gente y, en este suceso, especialmente para la gente que se muere en la guerra civil de España.  Otra vez Picasso utilizó las figuras del toro y el caballo en Guernica para representar el contraste de la vida y la muerte.

Pienso que la vida de Picasso estaba gobernada del miedo; estaba gobernada del miedo do las cosas que no podían controlar, como la muerte, y del miedo de no vivir la vida que tenía.   Cuando yo estaba aprendiendo de la vida y las obras de Picasso, tenía mucha simpatía con él porque yo sé que es para luchar con un miedo, y también un miedo que nació de los remordimientos de conciencia—un sentido de culpabilidad que permití a romper mi relación con Dios.  Donde no hay Dios, el miedo puede ser el rey sin oposición.  Porque yo veía la vida de Picasso por la red de mis conocimientos y experiencias, identifiqué con él y pienso que he sido capaz de aprender y entender más si no aprendiera así.  La única diferencia entre yo y Picasso es que Picasso no encontró la libertad de sus miedos.

And that is how it's done. You can do that anywhere, at any time.

Adventure, high school essay-style

Introduction

Sometimes the adventure of living is real enough to me that I believe it is an adventure, but most of the time it passes me by and I don't recognize it. Adventures are, more often than not, plodding down a road not knowing what to plan for or what to do except place one foot in front of the other and deal with the mundane things of life. 

Two examples:

• Example #1

Did you know, or ever think about, what it was like to be a sailor?  I am in love with the idea of sailing on a real ship someday.  I grew up reading books like Kidnapped and Treasure Island,  and later The True Confessions of Charlotte Doyle. I read a lot other places on ships and what it was like to live on them.  Between daring exploits of plundering or defending plunder, and in between squalls, were calm seas, itty bitty living spaces, and nothing to do for weeks and weeks at a time except to go through the motions of caring for a ship, like swabbing the decks and keeping the rigging in good order for the moments when it would save heir lives.  Times like these were what led captains to worry because tempers would run high and discontent would infect and flourish with lack of distraction.

• Example #2

When Ron, Hermione, and Harry set off on their glamorous quest (I'm going to try not to spoil things for any of you who haven't read/watched these stories, so don't be very afraid), eighty percent of their time was spent sitting around waiting to either figure something out so they could move forward, or waiting for something to happen to push them forward.  They were becalmed. They had nothing to do except go through the motions of everyday living.  Of course, they were always ready for what could happen, but the minutia of life frustrated and angered them.  They couldn't move forward or go backward and it was easy to waver in determination, easy to loose their tempers, and easy to find things to complain about.  And this was their adventure.

Conclusion

This is life.  What stands out in our memories are the exceptionally good or exceptionally hard times.  Those things are what get written down in books.  But the hardest part of life and the most trying times in stories are the moments that don't get much mention.  Days and days of schoolwork or long hours on your shift, week after week of eating nothing but Lembas bread, sleeping in a cold prairie, noisy dorm room, or lonely apartment, and fighting to remember why we do the things we do and who we do them for when it seems like there's no point to anything anyway.  This is just as much a part of the adventure as the climb to Mount Doom or the mission trip you hope to take next summer.  Don't forget it. You'll miss out on good stuff that prepares you for the memorable times.

But I forget all the time, which is why I love epic movies and stories.  Try reading Colossians, or another one of the short books, in one sitting.  Sometimes it helps to forget about the early church context and remember that it's also a personal letter to you, too.  And marching orders.  And the big speech before battle and the debriefing after.  And...a letter, like I already said :)

The end

Some music for your auditory and visual pleasure

"Death In His Grave"
John Mark McMillan

Though the Earth Cried out for blood
Satisfied her hunger was
Her billows calmed on raging seas
for the souls on men she craved

Sun and moon from balcony
Turned their head in disbelief
Their precious Love would taste the sting
disfigured and disdained

On Friday a thief
On Sunday a King
Laid down in grief
But awoke with keys
Of Hell on that day
The first born of the slain
The Man Jesus Christ
Laid death in his grave

So three days in darkness slept
The Morning Sun of righteousness
But rose to shame the throes of death
And over turn his rule

Now daughters and the sons of men
Would pay not their dues again
The debt of blood they owed was rent
When the day rolled a new

On Friday a thief
On Sunday a King
Laid down in grief
But awoke holding keys
To Hell on that day
The first born of the slain
The Man Jesus Christ
Laid death in his grave

On Friday a thief
On Sunday a King
Laid down in grief
But awoke with keys
Of Hell on that day
The first born of the slain
The Man Jesus Christ
Laid death in his grave

He has cheated
Hell and seated
Us above the fall
In desperate places
He paid our wages
One time once and for all

Dual Credit

This is "Ma Jolie". I did a presentation over it not too long ago.

Are any of you familiar with Picasso? Did any of you know him personally?  Do any of you have his art hanging on your walls?  Have you ever taken a semester long course all about his life and works?  (Oh golly, quelle class!) << name that movie reference for extra credit >>

Well, if weren't able to answer yes to any of the above, then I hope you get the bonus points I just offered because I don't have the time to give a lecture right now. I know a lot about him, though, believe me!  You can study him all on your own here.

My professor's awesome. He knows tons of Picasso facts and he let us English speakers write our in-class essay tests in English!  He gets my vote as far as teaching goes and this post is not a criticism of his abilities. It's a criticism of mine.

I have this problem.  There's a filter in my brain that causes me to focus on information in my professors' lectures that to them is a minor detail.  For example, while I don't doubt that Byron's Manfred is simply brilliant and says oodles about whatever the Romantics had to say about life, all I think of is how the wretched guy wanted forgiveness and didn't go to the right places to get it.  My lit professor at the time didn't see this as a significant point.  In my cultural geography class (this is a field of study I find hard to explain, but it's fascinating), I saw how the phenomena of graffiti originated because the writers had a desperate desire to be known and to let the world know they exist. (Sound like Anyone Else we know?) My professor there doesn't disagree, he just hoped that I would take away something different from the video.

Sometimes I get so lost in what the material shows me about the human condition that I don't see what I am supposed to be learning until my teachers point it out to me bluntly (after I have raised my hand and answered the question, wrongly, for all to hear).

None of this bothers me.  I kind of like it, even, and sometimes I get kind of smug (which is wrong). I realize that I have knowledge my teachers don't have. I realize that I had the ability to better understand Milton's Paradise Lost as an untaught freshman than some scholars who have studied it for more years than I have been alive.  It shouldn't make me smug.  It should make me sad, probably a little angry, and mostly determined.

But I digress.  PICASSO.  Oh, that man!  Sometimes he makes me want to cry for his pathetic plight and other times I wish he were still alive so that I could shake him until he decided to fall to his knees and ACCEPT THE TRUTH.

Today we watched a video detailing one of his crucifixion paintings.  Look it up, if you want. I was frustrated, to say the least, of what this Catholic-raised man had made of it--he knew better. I was saddened by everyone else's ignorance. And then I got angry about the grotesque elements involved in its creation--namely, the many studies Picasso did on the subject.  Don't look them up.

I was so irritated with the whole lot of them (Picasso, the dumb narrator who pronounced "grimacing" as "grim-ACE-ing", my professor, and all the other people in the world that think he's just the bees' knees) that I was on a righteous tirade in my head to God.

And then, the boom-snap.  The, "Oh dang."  The, "Dude."

In other words: the conviction.

As the narrator talked about the many grotesque and blasphemous studies he said something like this: "It's really like looking at the journal of what Picasso was going through at the time, struggling with his faith and everything that was going wrong in his life."

Crap.

His journal.

I have a journal and I don't always write glorifying things in it.  Stupid pride.

That word made me remember that Picasso was a real man. He was a man in need of Grace and Mercy, just like I am in need of them, and all the while he drew those things and painted those things and went from woman to woman to find satisfaction in life, God was there the whole time, loving him, pursuing him, being sad for him, and always ready to forgive him.  When I thought of things that way, the sad irony of Picasso's crucifixion painting made me love Jesus even more, and it made me remember not to be so judgmental.

It was a weird and humbling moment when I identified with Picasso and I didn't really like it. But it made me remember that this whole class is really all about one man's struggle with not accepting the grace and lordship of Christ in his life and the consequences he and others suffered because of it. That makes it kind of ministerially relevant, doesn't it? How funny that I get college credit for it, too!

I don't really know what my professor wanted me to get out of the video or the painting, but his test isn't the one that concerns me the most :)

Without further ado: Arizona, Part Deux

I know, I have been remiss in my posting duties.  This school year started off with several bangs and lots of transitions and, well, my blog certainly took a back seat.  As it should have :)

The following is my portion of the update letter from the Arizona mission trip.  I apologize that it has not gotten into the mail yet, but it will soon, and I also apologize that you will have already read half of it when it does :)  Robert's section is probably much more interesting than mine, though, so make sure you read it! (when it comes. which it will. soon.)

Here's the letter:

Although I went on this mission trip last summer, my time in Arizona this summer could not have been more different.  We stayed with at the same church we did last time, and worked with the same missionaries, but the kind of work we did was stretching in a new way.  Instead of working on the camp grounds to make it ready for the people to come, we worked during the camp to minister to the people.  Our physical, emotional, and spiritual limits were all tested and pushed and I know that our whole team, one by one, came to the breaking point in which we had to fully rely on God’s strength in us through His Holy Spirit.

The work I did on this trip was not the only thing about it that was different for me.  My role on the team last year was very simple: go, do what you’re told, and do it with a Godly attitude.  This year, I worked closely with our team leader, Emily, who is the same age as I and a steadfast woman of God.  Because of this, I glimpsed the leadership side of a mission trip on a much more personal level.  I have worked before at Conroe Bible Church as a youth sponsor and I also spent this last school year leading a small group and God began, during these times, to teach me things about our relationship.  One of the lessons I have been learning most is that of loneliness.

While I experienced the wonderful fellowship that comes with serving on a mission team, the experience this year was different than it has been before.  I left for Arizona with Emily a day earlier than the rest of the team in order to help her prepare for our trip into the White Mountains.  I learned practical things like how to tip hotel shuttle drivers and rent vans, but I also learned that being a leader is lonely.  This is not a bad thing.  Loneliness is good for us because it means we are experiencing something that only the Lord can share with us and that only the Lord can understand.  The loneliness I learned as a small group leader is that the burden I carry for my girls can only be understood by the Lord and on the mission trip I learned that leadership means that one is separated from the rest of the team by responsibility.  Because I was only helping Emily I did not catch the full brunt of this, but it was very healthy to learn.  It made me check myself and my attitude and ask, “Why am I here?”  There were lots and lots of moments when Jesus was the only One working with me and I was tempted to feel left out or afraid until He reminded me that this belonged to us and us alone.  I am thankful for loneliness and thankful that He allowed me to share in His work among in the Apache Nation.

Another thing I have been learning over the course of my life is that God is sovereign.  That is a fact easily known and a concept not easily understood.  It seems like once I understand His sovereignty in one area, I quickly discover another in which I do not understand.  The way the Lord brought His sovereignty to my attention during our time teaching vacation Bible school at the camp in Whiteriver was to show me His warriors.  Most of the children we loved on came from broken and hurting families where they were often hurt by their families.  Some children I could only pray for but I had the privilege to join with others in prayer.  I was astounded by the spiritual burdens some of them had for their mothers, fathers, brothers, and sisters.  To see their hearts was encouraging, saddening, and humbling.  I was at once angry that they were in these positions and hopeful for the rest of their nation because of where they were.  I realized that God has called them to be a light in this world in a way that I have not been nor likely ever will be called.  I learned that He is not afraid to give young children His Word and send them out to fight for His Kingdom.  I was awed by the faith I saw in them and encouraged in my walk by their determination. 

Some children heard about the Lord for the first time.  One morning, I had the honor of doing the craft and I shared the plan of Salvation with them in small groups through making wordless book bracelets.  They had so much fun making them and listening to the story I told for each bead.  I know the Lord will use the missionaries there to continue to teach them those truths.

The love God has for these Apache boys and girls was made abundantly clear throughout the time we were with them and I am thankful to have been able to be a part of sharing it!  Please keep them in your prayers and thank you again for partnering with me in this.  May God bless you richly!


Here are some pictures that you probably won't see in the mailed letter (it's so exciting!):

We took this on the way back down the mountain.  It was too amazing to pass up!

 We played lots of relay games with the children.  LOTS of them.  The best one was Drip Drip Splash which has the same rules as Duck Duck Goose, except in this one a cup of water dumped on your head means you're "it". Remember it for next summer.  You won't regret it.

 For the worship time and game time the younger ones would come and hang out with us.  Trevin was a hoot and a half :) Just ask Molly, Rachel, and Mariah who worked with the preschool

The preschool.

 Frybread and beans is a staple meal on the reservation.  You don't even know how good it is! I'll make some for dinner sometime and invite you over.

 Just like any VBS, we had to first learn the songs. The theme was "Jesus Is My Superhero." Can't you tell?

 The guys were so holy.

And then they threw water balloons at us... With help and instigation from some Apache boys at the camp.

 Molly was a devious pro.

I think she must do this a lot in her spare time.

One morning the sound equipment took too long to get set up, so we improvised.  I loved it :)

On our last day in the White Mountains, we went to the movies!  It was fun to chill with everyone after working so hard.

We had the best hosts ever at the White River Assembly of God church!  I love the Jimenez and Warwick families!  Thank you for the opportunity to serve with you, and thank you for taking such good care of us!  I am in awe of what God is doing through all of you.

I owe all my picture gratitude to Mariah Straughan :)

Once upon a time in

Arizona....

My blog began with a post about it, and it has made recurring appearances in my life. Hmm...

Have you ever noticed that God doesn't let us stay in our comfort zones? I mean, if we are willing to follow Him, He doesn't. Sometimes we stay in them anyway because we are unwilling to grow. When that happens, sometimes He lets us ignore Him for a while before making the world go all topsy-turvy on us. It's good for us to stretch; it's healthy. Ask any fitness instructor. Heck, ask God, because He invented muscles and He knows all about stretching. Can you imagine what it would be like doing a warm-up routine with God.....? Yeah, if you got a weird mental image of sweatbands and stuff then we were totally just in the same place. Thanks for sharing that semi-awkward moment with me. I appreciate it. I mean, I really feel like we're closer now than we were before. And I really hope God doesn't wear sweatpants in the big RL (<-- "real life").

Moving right along.

So, this post is really just a teaser post. Know why? I bet not. Want me to tell you? Aw, you're so sweet, of course I'll tell you!

Reason number one:  It's late, but half of my brain still thinks it's only midnight, which makes weird things come out of my fingers onto the keyboard and then onto the screen.

Reason number two:  I really do have a super-cool post in mind that I want to write, but I got sidetracked by the new template designs, as you can see by my new and rad page.

Reason number three: I can't, in my current mental state, effectively relate all the stellar points I want to make and drive home the many "Dude, God did this" moments, so I want to wait until later, when I can.
                                        (crap.  i just talked myself up so now I have to bring it.)

Basically, the whole point of this post was to work out the kinks in my unused typing muscles and let everyone who reads this know that I am back and just itching to write!!!!!!!!!! (and just so you know, my face doesn't match those exclamation points.  I'm like, totally dead-pan right now.  Kinda makes me want to lol and such.)

Buenas noches!

sooooo i'm leaving for my missions trip to AZ really soon! Like in a few minutes! So please pray for me :) and pray for a parking spot, b/c this is ridik.

derrivation of deserving

what we (any human being, you) don't deserve: apologies. forgiveness. love. loyalty. friends. any good thing.

what we (I, you, everyone else) deserve: the eternal separation from anything which can bring bring hope, relief, comfort, rest, peace, self-worth, any good thing.

Death is too small a word to define what we deserve.

what we (all of mankind, including you and me) have been offered: purpose. rest. help. forgiveness. loyalty. friendship. love.

In short, grace (getting the things we don't deserve) and mercy (not getting the things we do deserve).

(I, you, he, she, them) we all have to give up our rights--because we don't have them to begin with--and when we do, we will find that what we get in return for our surrender is far better than the things we tried so hard to hold onto and demand, but never really got.

This is what you get when you make friends with an English major...

I don't know how proficient your Middle English is, but I've just undergone a semester of reading nothing but (except for a brief foray into Geoffrey of Monmouth's HRB, of course, which was translated, and all the Spanish I read in my other three classes).  I think my favorite piece of literature was...  Duh.  The one with Gawain.  I've always loved Gawain.  Even when he went through his beheading stage...  But this semester I was also introduced to Havelok the Dane, who is a pretty awesome guy even if he is a bit lacking in personality--but who can blame him?  I mean, if you had had to go through what he went through, you might not have much personality, either.  And then there is Troilus.  Sigh.  Oh, Troilus.  You're almost the perfect man, but not quite.  If only he had told creepy Pandarus to take a hike.  But, Troy was doomed anyway, so, there wasn't much that could have been done about it.  Gawain still takes the cake in my book, but I don't know who would win if he and Diomedes got into it...  Thoughts?


Anyway,  back to the point.  I know you'll all think I'm really smart and stuff and just showing off my expensive education, but that's only half of what I'm doing.  The other half is this: that in a very random string of links, I came upon this poem.  It was what I needed to hear at the time and even a day later and not at my wits' end, it's pretty darn amazing.  If you don't want to wade through the weirdly spelled words, I won't blame you, even though the gloss is pretty thorough.  I will blame you, though, if you don't re-google the title and find a better translation to suit your non English-majory taste.  


Be careful.  This poem might just blow your mind clean out of your skull:


In a Valley of This Restless Mind



Stay tuned for "What you get when you make friends with a Spanish major..."

Sometimes I feel like...

...I have to lassoo my brain.  I'm trying to write a paper (which is typically when I get the greatest desire to blog, because I shouldn't :), but instead of just thinking about what I want to say and then saying it, my brain won't.  It's not that I don't want to, exactly.  It's more like it tries to go every direction but there.  Like, small group tomorrow (crap, I need to email my girls!), those verses I need to get for my friend (and isn't that more important, anyway?), and I wonder if Tania can hang out some time this week, and Johnna, and Tina, and Candus, because I really haven't gotten to see them much (I should call them asap so we can get together before the semester is over!), my room is really due to be straightened up (is that pile the clean clothes, or is that one?), and I haven't gotten to talk, really talk, to Tamara in AGES (which is totally my fault, ihml).

And after I calm myself down about this crazy to-do list that was not that pressing ten minutes ago and that I actually have other time set aside to do, then there's still some invisible film my productive thoughts can't push through.  I think that part is fear.  Because, what if I try to think about my paper, and I can't?  Haven't you HEARD of writer's block?  It's a very real and scary thing.  I've had it before.  And then, what if I do get started and I get stuck half-way through? What if I can't make some of my points and have to start over?  What if I CAN'T get started?  What if that stupid, hateful, First Paragraph just doesn't come into existence?

Do you see what I have to put up with?

P.s.  I have a theory about research papers that I will share in another post.  It has revolutionized the way I think about life.  Well, not ALL life, just the part of life that houses research papers and their various friends and family.

formspring.me

Ask me anything http://formspring.me/Lllarda

Lofty thoughts and language on a Thursday morning.

The world is asleep.  Some of us have been awakened but even still, we fight with half-closed eyes in this dream world full of living dead.

It's like The Matrix.

It's like.... Narnia.

It's like the real, unreal thing that this reality is--life.  But a pseudo life without the Truth.  A plodding of the Asleep through moment after moment of a grudging and resigned acceptance of nothing better.

Sometimes they are closer to being awake in their dreams than than they are with their open eyes.  The stirring to believe the dream of something better, that inward soul-cry of "I was not meant for this!", has been squelched.  It hurts too much to hope.  It's too painful to consider that indeed we are not meant for this, to entertain the beliefs that pain is an abomination, loss an affront, and fear the repercussion of a debilitating disease.

The squelching begins in childhood almost as soon as the questioning.  Children are always more awake but the world and its small-minded ruler deny them their better dreams and they put away their childish wisdom.  There's no Aslan, no Neo, no The One, no Something Better, only this life and sometimes the grief of hoping without real conviction. 

The trouble is, like my someday friend Mr. Lewis said, that the dreams and desires and hopes that can't be satisfied in or by this world are proof that we were not made for this world.  There is something better.  There is hope.  Pain, suffering, loss, and fear bewilder and offend us because we were not made to accept them.  We rebel against injustice because we were made by Righteousness.  We detest oppression because we were created for freedom. 

Even the awake ones, like me, have to remember this.  This life is reality, yes, but only to the extent that we can see the Ultimate Real in it.  If you can't, even after you have been awakened, then watch out!  You are succumbing again to the lullabies of this lying world.  Remember that those most precious, terrifying feelings of hope that a great, healing adventure exists are preludes to the day when the Awakened will hear the words of the Lion  "The dream is ended: this is the morning."

There are two kinds of blank pages in this world. The kind that may be filled with what you want, and the kind that must be filled with what someone else wants.

One more thing: when i was eleven and read about Sir Gawain for the first time, i had no idea so much of my time and energy would be focused on him in college.

I know it makes sense for libraries to smell good, because books smell good, but seriously, libraries...smell good. Now i'm going to stop sniffing and write.

The fact is, we just don't have enough facts!

If you can name the movie my title came from, I will give you one blog dime.  Ten blog dimes equal one web dollar.  Ten web dollars don't equal anything.

I have missed my blog!!  I really have.  No, really.  I HAVE.  The fact is, it WAS the end of March.  The fact is, it IS the beginning of April.  DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS?!  (And I mean other than wearing flip-flops, for which my toes are grateful. oh and, be tea dubs, I have not set a "writing in all caps" quota for this post, so expect a lot of random YELLING.)

Well, if you haven't yet guessed, it means than I and all my other college pals are ABSOLUTELY STRETCHED.

SOOOOOOooooooooo anyway, don't feel left out because NONE of my electronic connections are getting much attention these days, not even my Facebook.  I mean, I still haven't updated my status from YESTERDAY.  I know.  RI-diculous. At least I think it was yesterday.  That's another fact.  Days sort of all blend in together this time of the year.  I was sitting on the couch with my three roomies discussing important brain-dead matters like words that begin with the letter 'm' in Greek and so on and so forth and then I suddenly could not decide if I had spent several hours in the library computer lab toDAY, or, YESTerday.  (It was yesterday, when I last updated my FB status...I think.)

Honestly.  I'm not myself.  Don't be insulted or worried if you can't determine the point of everything I have just said, either, because there isn't one.  Except to say that this is me, hanging my "will return in..." sign in my blog window.  If you really need me, I will be spending my off hours staring at the wall in hopes of recovering my lost brain cells.  They're difficult to catch because they only speak Spanish and they all have names in the imperfect subjunctive tense.

Do you have ANY idea how late it is?  You should be ashamed, keeping a young, studious woman like me up to such a late hour.  And don't you DARE attempt ANY grammar or spelling corrections to any of this in your mind or in your comments.  I promise I will read this when I am actually awake and cringe dutifully at them all.