joy to the world

Over the past few years, I have noticed a personal decline in felt joy. This decline could be explained by the occurrence of various events on a sliding scale of importance, but its meaning (if properly traced to the root) and the Christmas story are intrinsically related. Put plainly, the reason the God of the universe came to earth as a human child and the reason I have experienced a loss of naive happiness are one and the same: apart from the sacrifice of Christ, the world is decaying and all that is appropriately held dear is lost. Truth be told, the effects of such decay--even with the grace of Christ being present today--can sometimes still be staggering, even to the regenerate heart. While death and sin no longer hold victory over us, they can still wreck physical, mental, and emotional havoc in a world not yet perfected.

But wait--did you catch that? While death and sin no longer hold victory over us... As someone who personally shudders at unnecessary sentimentality, or "cheese," I urge you not to pass over that weighty phrase as trite, for therein lies our joy. That phrase is death to cynicism, which is perhaps why we ignore it. For those who struggle with joy, it is much more comfortable to grab hold of the realities of sin and run, ignoring the truth of the gospel. And for a moment, I will pause there to say that we do indeed need to face the reality of a world broken by sin. Life IS hard, and Christianity does not promise to remove struggle or pain from our mortal lives.

But we've also got to face the reality of the birth, death, and resurrection of Christ. This Christmas season, I have been confronted with the birth of Christ and what it really means. It means that we are loved. We have not been left alone to deal with the trials that the world, and yes, the Devil, throw at us. We may be persecuted, but we will never be forsaken (2 Cor. 4:9). As I look back over the past few years, I do indeed see a steady opening of my eyes to the harshness of life. But if I look carefully and overthrow the desire to display my own so-called maturity with a willingness to embrace this despairing life, I see a pattern of provision by my Heavenly Father. I see a beauty wrought through difficulty and fortune. I am forced to recognize a goodness in the circumstances of my life along with the struggles. And I cannot allow myself to reasonably respond with anything less than joy.

Trick or Tr--wait, what?

Yesterday was the first Halloween I have ever lived in a house that had trick-or-treaters. ...I was unbelievably excited about this. From ages 2 to 18, I lived in a house with a lot of land and only 2 neighbors--both of whom you could not see their house from ours. Our driveway was an eighth of a mile long, so no one ever came knocking on our door for candy.

Since then, I have lived in apartments or dorms. Until now! I was so looking forward to seeing all the adorable kids in their costumes and being able to see the smiles on their faces as I put delicious (and really horrible for you teeth) candy into their bags or what have you. I was literally giddy yesterday as I anticipated the evening of fun ahead of me.

...

Then my roommate came downstairs. ... "Casey, it turns out [other roommate] isn't going to be here this evening either. And I'm not exactly thrilled about the idea of you being here alone. On Halloween. With all the doors unlocked and the security system off. (Because you can't exactly give kids candy and leave it on.) So. ...I have a gun upstairs, and I can show you how to use it. Are you comfortable with guns?"

Uhhh...well I wasn't freaked out about my safety until now. At this point, I am now running all these scenarios through my head of murderers and rapists and crazies climbing into my house while I wait happily unaware by the door with a bucket of candy, of hearing the voices, of the pounding heart, of candy flying as I race from room to room, of me slipping on a skittles packet and falling to my doom. ... "Go ahead and show me how to use your gun, please."

Now here's another dilemma. How do you have a gun close enough to you to use, should it be necessary, but far enough away that it doesn't freak out the small children? I mean, you can't exactly answer the door with a "Hi, kids! Cute costumes! Look at my gun!" ...Well, I suppose you could. But I wouldn't advise that.

...I also contemplated going somewhere for the evening, but then I wouldn't get to have trick-or-treaters. So I ended up inviting a friend over to watch a movie in the living room with me. And I also put the gun on a small table, far enough away from the door so that no one would be able to see it.

____

I only had about 10 trick-or-treaters. But it was so fun. There were some adorable kids. Also, I learned that these days, you say "Trick or treat" immediately after ringing the doorbell and/or knocking on the door, and well before the door is ever actually opened. Interesting.

a time to weep

I recently spent time in Atlanta for RUF Intern training, and it was fabulous. A few days filled with quality people (and I mean quality), teaching from very godly and wise men and women, and free meals and cookies. It may be one of my favorite parts of my job.

The sessions we sit through are always great, but sometimes they can be challenging/convicting. One of the sessions that stuck out to me this past training was led by Keith Berger, former campus minister at LSU and current area coordinator for...one of the other US regions. (I don't know which one, obviously; I just know it's not mine.) He talked about basic discipleship principles, and throughout his talk, I could feel my internal level of anxiety building. At the end, I would have cried had I not been in a room full of people.

Now, I am not normally an emotional person. ...Actually, I take that back. I haven't been an emotional person in the past (due to the unintentional murder of a pet hermit crab...more on that another time, possibly), but since I began the internship with RUF, I suppose I just have to accept that I have become more emotional. I guess I would be classified as "normal" now. ...In the emotional sense. So as the session ended and I felt the tears building, I began to question myself. Why did this particular session bother me more than the others? (Because it did, I polled a few other interns.) I realized it was because I felt like a failure. I had heard all that Keith said about how we as interns should be discipling our girls, and I realized I was not doing most of the things he assumed us to be doing at this point in the internship.

I began talking with one of my friends there, another intern and wonderful woman. When I told her this, she (with the best of intentions) told me I was a wonderful intern. To which I responded, "You don't know that. You're not there (in Huntsville), you don't see or know what I do." She lovingly tried to persuade me otherwise, trying to be encouraging. And I am very grateful to her for those attempts, but it was ineffective. Because I was right. She can't know what kind of intern I am, for the most part. And I really haven't been doing my job like I should.

So now my anxiety level has increased, because not only do I feel that I've failed my girls, but now I feel like people are wrongly assuming that I'm doing what I'm not actually doing. (Anxiety issues-I see them. We're working on it. ...and by we I mean me.) So I then found Keith, and asked him if I could walk out with him. (To which he replied, quite funnily, "Are we going to just walk?" "Oh no. We're gonna talk.") Our exchange went as follows:

Me: So. ...Your session made me want to cry.

Keith: *insert some sort of sentiment here that expresses sorrow for my state but not necessarily apology...I don't remember exactly what he said here.*

Me: What does that mean (the me wanting to cry thing)?

Keith: Well, why do you want to cry?

Me: ...Because I heard all the things you said, and it just made me realize that this whole past semester, I haven't been doing my job. I haven't done those things.

Keith: *pause* ...It's okay to weep over that. That's a legitimate thing to grieve over.

I don't think I can fully describe to you the freedom I felt when he said that. ...Because he's right. It's a bizarre thing, this Christianity. So full of paradoxes. But it's truth, nevertheless. When you see legitimate failure, when you really see your sin...you need to grieve over that. You need someone to say, yes. What you see, the sorrow you feel, that's real. That's right. Because sin is something to weep over. It shouldn't be in this world; our beings weren't originally designed to be okay with brokenness because we weren't broken when we were made. We were never supposed to be in the state we're in now. So we shouldn't be okay with it!

Now, I'll admit there is a high propensity on my part to be too hard on myself, to wallow in guilt, and that is NOT okay. Because there is the good news as well, that Christ has fully paid for all my sins, past, present, and future. Jesus did in fact take my sin and His righteousness and say, "Tradesies!" [Loose translation of...the Bible. Brought to you by Leigh Douglas.] But the freedom of that comes only with first acknowledging the crimes we've committed. We've got to repent and grieve over our sin, and only then will we be able to celebrate and experience the true freedom the Gospel brings.

And friends...it is indeed glorious.

takin' care of [more car] business

I feel like I write about my car a lot. This isn't really a problem, I suppose, except that I feel it is a tad bit deceiving. While I do probably personify my car more than your average girl, Stella usually doesn't play this active of a role in my thoughts and life. But when a car acts up as much as mine has been doing in the past year, especially these past few months...well, it certainly causes a stir. (And let's just be honest, she's loving the blog-fame.)

On my recent trip to SC, I had quite a bit of car trouble. On the way to a wedding, I started to notice that on the sharper turns, I was having difficulty turning the wheel. There weren't a whole lot of these turns, so at first I just thought I was imagining it. (Don't you imagine difficulty in turning every now and then?) Then a little bit later, after another particularly sharp turn, I noticed both my brake and battery lights where aglow. I figured this wasn't good. ...But of course, I kept driving. (I have a tendency to be late to weddings; this was NOT going to be another mark in that tally.)

Then a little bit later, I noticed the "ABS" light was on. Now I'm no car guru, but I know that this stands for Anti-lock Brake System, and that this is REALLY not good. ...But I kept driving.

I am now 8 miles away from the wedding, my speedometer and another meter (something to do with gears and the engine) start to drop to 0 and then pop back up. My radio begins to flicker. Then the speedometer begins to spend considerable time on "0mph." ...And yet I keep driving. (Although now I will say that I began to repeat over and over, "Please don't let me die, please don't let me die. This is a really dumb life decision, to keep driving. If you die it will totally have been preventable and all your fault and you should probably get a Darwin award. ...Oh please don't let me die.")

Praise the Lord (really, I mean this, I'm not just using this phrase in the typical southern way), I made it to the wedding. Barely. I parked, turned off the car...and couldn't get the key out of the ignition. But like I said, I REALLY didn't want to be late to the wedding, so I slipped the keyless entry remote off the keychain, locked up, and went to the wedding. Afterwards, in between the ceremony and reception, I went back out to my car to see if I could figure out the damage. ...yeah, I couldn't get it unlocked. When your battery is completely dead, the whole automatic unlock for the doors thing doesn't work. Just fyi.

Suffice it to say I left my car in the middle of nowhere, got a ride back to Clemson (where all of my overnight things were NOT), got up the next morning, was picked up by my angelic parents, and drove an hour back to the farm where the wedding was (feeling pretty gross, I might add, as I had not brushed my teeth with a toothbrush for over 24 hours at this point). Turns out my alternator belt was almost non-existent. It was 1/16th of an inch wide. ...It's supposed to 9/16ths of an inch wide. That's a half-inch difference. (Yes, I was a math major. Look at me, I can subtract!) Anyways, my amazing and wonderful father (of whom I still believe is amazing and wonderful even when he is NOT fixing my cars) fixed it all for free. I then drove home to Huntsville.

...A few days later, I had to jump my car to get it started. A fluke? ...no. The past few days I have had to jump my car every time I started it. At this point, I'm thinking it's one of two problems: either a) when I drove my car to the point of exhaustion before the wedding, I so completely ran down my battery that it was permanently useless. b) the alternator belt was too loose and was not doing it's job of charging my battery while I drove.

So today I took it to AutoZone, where they test batteries for free. Turns out my battery is fine, the connection was just obstructed with some junk and so my battery wasn't fully charging while driving. After "James" at AutoZone fixed this for me, he said we should jump my car just to check the alternator. So I pulled out the handy-dandy portable battery car jumper thing (I have no idea what it's actually called), hooked it up myself and jumped my car, as I've been doing for the past few days.

...When I finished, James had this look on his face. Our conversation went as follows:

James: You have one of those?

Me: Haha, yeah, I've needed it.

James: Where did you buy that?

Me: Uh, I borrowed it from a friend; I'm not sure where she bought it. Why, is it not the normal kind?

J: No.

(After I unhooked everything and put it back in my car...)

J: Where were you when I was twenty years younger?

M: Haha, I don't know. Except I do, but I was three.

J: Haha, you probably weren't even born yet.

M: Not correcting him is probably a good idea here. ...this feels familiar...funny that last time I was saying I was older, and now this guy doesn't even think I'm 20. Hahaha.

J: Are you from here originally?

M: No, I'm from South Carolina. Hollaaaaaa. *Insert other state pride sentiments here.*

J: Well this here is a redneck EMT.

M: Really? What does that even mean?

J: Yeah, this is a redneck defibrillator for your car.

M: Oh, hahaha. Nice. Apparently I get street cred from car guys for knowing how to jump my own car with a device that isn't even mine. Awesome.

James then finished giving me instructions about what to do with my car, then said he was going to give his fellow employee (who apparently is from SC as well) a hard time. I'm not really sure why. And then I left. And laughed a lot.

unexpected is an understatement

Usually when I traverse to South Carolina, the place where I spent the first 22 years of my life, I am quite sad to leave. When it’s been your home for that long, something just feels innately right about being there. This feeling exists in the exact shade of blue sky, the look of the pines that line the interstate, the familiar road names, the staple restaurants, not to mention all the memories that accompany those sights.

And yet for the first time, maybe ever, I didn’t feel a sense of loss in driving across the state line into Georgia today. (Except for maybe the sense of loss upon realizing there was no sense of loss…) And it was just another of the many ways that God has surprised me these past few days. It’s best described in the lyrics of a song that I don’t know the author of, nor do I know its name. (A dear friend put it on a mixed cd she gave me freshman year of college, and I have searched in vain for the song on the internet. Clearly technology isn’t everything.) The lyrics go as follows:

City lights, they feel like home

I feel like I belong

So far from the southern dream I knew, I love

…

I know that it’s perfect here.

When that song came on as I was driving into Huntsville (literally, the timing was perfect), I realized that as I was singing along, the words were ringing true in my heart. Which, for any of you who know me and have talked to me in the past year, you understand how significant this is.

But here’s the thing. …It really is true. As I have worked into the second and final year of the internship, I’ve realized that Huntsville finally feels a little like home. It’s definitely been a rocky road to get to this point, but God has graciously allowed me to reach it. Not that I expect it to be permanent, but there’s beauty in it all the same. And I don’t mention its temporary nature to be pessimistic, but simply to say that the joy of it isn’t in the length of duration, but in the existence of it. In other words, I will still be able to rejoice in it when it is no longer there (whether because I am homesick for SC, because I have moved away again, or something else unbeknownst to me). God never has to grant us that feeling of belonging to a geographical location, to a particular community. It’s not something He promises us. It is a gift of His free grace, much like many other things as small as the shape of one’s toes and as large as one’s eternal status.

I suppose what I mean to express here is gratefulness. And repentance. I have spent many of the past few days complaining about various aspects of my life. I have heard my own selfishness drip off my tongue. God has graciously allowed me to hear it, and to have a desire to work out my salvation with fear and trembling. I have been frustrated and angry with my circumstances. God has graciously provided for those circumstances and allowed me to see the beauty of things I enjoyed in the midst of their turmoil. He gave me rest when I needed it, and He gave me a desire to return to work, to be a part of His kingdom growth. And these were no small feats. In the midst of my failures, God has again given me grace, and He has also given me the courage to stand upon the righteousness He has imputed to me. And I can think of no other place I’d rather be…it really is perfect here.

and yet...

As previously mentioned, I bought my second Chuck Klosterman book the other day. It is either titled IV or Chuck Klosterman IV, I can't tell which.

As also previously mentioned, I interrupted my reading of U2 by U2 for Chuck, an unprecedented move since my obsession accelerated last year.

I did lament this interruption. But it had to be done. So you can imagine my joy upon reaching the second chapter of IV...?, page 21, and reading the following:

Chapter Title: "(This Happened In) October"

My heart immediately leapt at the possible connection of the chapter with U2's album October. I read on...

"U2 is the most self-aware rock band in history. This generally works to their advantage. ..."

Oh happy day! A whole essay, by Chuck, on U2! Two glories combined into one blissful read.

I had a serious debate on whether or not to skip this chapter and read it last (as it undoubtedly would be the best the book had to offer, regardless of Chuck's stance on U2). However, in the interest of preserving the integrity of the book and its original sequence, I read it in its proper order, following chapter 1. It was glorious.

___

On another note, Chuck told a story about riding in Bono's Quattroporte. About interviewing every single band member, 3 of the 4 in person.

...I may forsake all other life paths and become a reporter.

i really might have a problem

I failed today...I fed my book addiction. I literally have a difficult time walking out of a bookstore without a book in hand (that I have paid for).

This book buying addiction wouldn't be such a problem if it weren't for three things: 1) I don't have the salary for this. 2) I don't have the time for this. 3) I already have several books I own but have not read.

What's even worse about today's purchase is that I am already in the middle of six books that I read consistently. (4 for work, 2 for pleasure.) And if you count books that I've started within the past year, but do not read consistently, the count is up to 15. ... FIFTEEN! Clearly I do not need to be buying books.

But here's the thing. I finished Chuck Klosterman's book Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs a few weeks ago...and I miss him. I realize that this is probably unhealthy, and that I don't actually know him, and that reading his book is NOT the same as talking to a real person. But I can't help it. What makes this longing for a good Klosterman read even more significant is the detail of which pleasure book I'm interrupting for him: U2 by U2.

I have a serious U2 obsession. I've had dreams about them. I've already finished one biography and am on the aforementioned second. I quote them incessantly. I've watched two dvds of them. I read articles about them. I'm currently saving for a trip to see them this summer. I own every single one of their albums. (Some illegally, but the fact that I'm consistently buying each one so that I have actually paid and contributed to their monetary welfare shows the depth of the obsession, I think.) I had a 2 hour conversation about them on the way to Chattanooga once. And if you summed up the hours of conversation I've had not all at once...on second thought, I don't think I want to know. Suffice it to say that the fact that I'm putting their almost autobiography on hold for Chuck...well, it's a big deal.

But I couldn't stop myself! The day I finished Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs, I had to stop myself from re-reading it almost immediately. I let a friend borrow it, and I don't think I would have been able to hold out much longer if I hadn't. And it's not like his books are incredibly profound. They're just very, very funny. I feel like I'm participating in a conversation (which could have as much to do with how I read as with how he writes). We're just a great duo, author-Chuck and reader-me. And like a child with his worn out blankie (or a friend with her imbecile ex), I just didn't want to let go.

So I haven't. And the book buying addiction lives another day.

(On a happier note, I am one book closer to having a library like Belle, and that's ALWAYS a good thing.)

a bittersweet exchange

I have now moved for the sixth time in the past 6 years. And while there are so many reasons why I am much happier in my new house verses my apartment from last year, I must expound here on a deep loss resulting from said move: Saki.

Now, Saki is not his real name. I don't actually know what his real name is. But my little Japanese friend brought me so much joy. And we've never even met. But I'm getting ahead of myself here.

Upon moving into my new apartment last year, it was a few short months before the first Saki sighting. I had come home late from an RUF event and had stayed in my car to finish a phone conversation (as my roommate was asleep). It was probably around 11pm. As I was sitting in my car, a little Japanese man ran by. ...At 11pm, this is what I would term "unusual." As I continued the conversation, he ran by at least 3 more times. (At which point I realized he was running for exercise, which made it slightly more legitimate, I suppose.)

A few weeks later, it happened again.

As the months progressed and the weather turned colder, I began to sleep with my window open. (I like to sleep REALLY cold. In college, before we had to pay for our own utilities, my roommate and I would leave the room temperature on 65 sometimes.) By leaving my window open, I would also leave the blinds up, so as not to block the cold air from being drawn into my room. (This exposition on my window and sleeping habits has a point, I promise.)

That point is this: As I sleep very poorly, I often wake up around 1, 2, or 3 am. And upon waking up, I would naturally look out the window. (I mean, honestly...don't you?) And at least once a week, I would see the little Japanese man running around the apartment complex.

As this became more of a pattern, I started wondering about who he was. I started making up stories about him. I speculated about why he was up at such ungodly hours, and running of all things! I eventually named him. He became Saki. A few times I even tried to wave at him while he was running, but sadly he never looked up to the second story of my building and noticed. (Yes. I am that much of a creeper.) And so I made a vow, that one night I would go join him in his laps around the apartment complex and meet him. I would find out who he was, whether or not he had a family, what his job was, why he ran at such late hours, why he ran at all. I envisioned this endearing conversation, not unlike the movies, where we became good friends. He introduced me to his beautiful wife and adorable Japanese children; his wife taught me how to cook authentic Japanese food, I taught his children how to play piano, I became part of the family.

...

That obviously never happened. When I left for my summer in South Carolina, I never saw him again. I don't know if he moved. I don't know if he died. I don't know if he still lived there but gave up running. Maybe he's paralyzed. Maybe he got a treadmill. ...I'll never know. And this breaks my heart a little.

So Saki...should you ever read this...

have your wife send me a good recipe for teriyaki chicken? Hey thanks!

___

I titled this post "a bittersweet exchange," because the loss of Saki is somewhat alleviated by the gain of another character that I simply know will play a similar role in my life: Taz.

Taz is

... now sitting on my bed. It's like he KNEW I was writing about him. Seriously. I started typing that sentence, and he meowed, so I opened my door and in he came. (Ahem. I should probably mention that Taz is my roommate's cat.)

Taz definitely lives up to his name. He's crazy. He keeps rolling off my bed by accident. He attacks the cracks in my couch. He avoided me like the plague the day I moved in, but then that night he fell in love with my room and cried outside my door for a good 5 minutes (I kid you not) when I put him out to go to bed. We've already had to have several conversations about what are and are not toys in my room: Things that are not toys include my bedspread, my computer chord, my phone charger chord, and my window shade. (Things that are toys...are his toys that get left on the floor in my room. And my yarn.)

Needless to say, I foresee great stories resulting from Taz and I's companionship. And while he may never teach me authentic Japanese cooking...we could at least try the piano lessons.

two lies and a truth

The following conversation happened last night...at a red light.

Characters:

Me in my car (Stella, who has two beautiful new tires.)

Two guys (the one having an active role being named Ron) and three girls in the other car.

Scene:

I arrived at the red light first, blaring U2 with my windows DOWN (Will I ever learn?!?). The particular song playing was "Desire." (Of all the songs...) The second car, a red two-door, pulled up shortly after I arrived. Then creeped up until it was right next to me. After a minute, I realized someone was trying to talk to me. So I turned my music down and my head to the left. And it went as follows...

Ron: "Hey, what radio station are you listening to?"

Me: "Oh, I'm not; this is my ipod. Sorry!" Poor guy, thinking U2 was on the radio. How disappointing.

Ron: "Oh, okay."

Me: "But it's U2, you should listen to them; they're great!" What am I, a walking advertisement now?

Ron: "Hey, do you go to our school?"

Me: Not likely, as I am no longer in school. "What school is that?"

Ron: "A&M" [For those not familiar with Huntsville, this is Alabama A&M.]

Me: A&M? Really? "Uh, no. I'm not in school anymore."

Ron: "But you are from here, right?"

Me: From here? Did you miss the South Carolina license plate and the Clemson sticker on my car? "Not originally." Not originally? He probably was not asking about your origins, Casey.

Ron: "But you live here now?"

Me: "Yeah." Should I have just told a stranger that? Probably not...

Ron: "So you wanna give me your number?"

Me: "Hahaha, um, no, I'm good." ?!?!?! DID THAT JUST REALLY HAPPEN?? What in the world. Why would he want my number?? He just met me at a red light, so it's not personality. And all he can see of me is my shoulders and head. The SIDE of my head, mostly. So it's probably not looks. What in the world?!?

Ron: "What are you, like 25?"

Me: Now is definitely an appropriate time to lie. "Yeah. Yeah I am. Well done!"

Ron: "I bet you got a husband, or a boyfriend."

Me: Uhh... "Not a husband!" My left hand is hanging out of the car. Clearly there is no ring.

...*pause*

Me: I guess that answer wasn't sufficient. Again, it's ok to lie here, Casey. "But I do have a boyfriend."

Ron: "I'll bet he's not as sexy as me, though."

Me: Well, as I can only see YOUR head and shoulders, I wouldn't really know. But we're going to continue the boyfriend lie here and just pretend that my boyfriend is incredibly good looking, because there's no way I'm going to tell you that you are sexier than my "boyfriend." "I mean, he's pretty great!"

Ron: "But I bet I'm bigger than him."

Me: "Haha, I don't know about that!" Seriously? WHEN IS THIS LIGHT GOING TO TURN GREEN??

Ron: "I play ball at A&M. You gonna come see me play ball?"

Me: Oooh, what kind of ball? That's kind of cool... No. You are not allowed to express enjoyment over his athletic ability, that sends the WRONG message. Trust me, you don't want to go there. "Haha, no, I'm good."

Ron: "You don't have to tell your boyfriend!"

Me: Yeah, if I had one, I'm sure THAT would go over well. "haha, nah."

Ron: "You sure you don't want to give me your number?"

Me: How many times do I have to reject you? I almost feel bad at this point. Especially since every time I answer you the three girls in the back of your car laugh at you... "Yeah, I'm sure. Sorry."

Ron: "Hey what's your name?"

Me: "Casey." ?!? Casey, of all the times to lie tonight, THIS is when you decide to tell the truth?!? Seriously??

Ron: "Well I'm 'Raah' "

Me: What, like the ancient sun god? Really? "What?"

Ron: " 'Raah.' R-O-N."

Me: Wow, he should probably learn how to pronounce his own name. "Oh, Ron. Well nice to meet you." THANK YOU, Lord, for making the light turn green. That was seriously one of the longest red lights I have ever experienced. Oh my word, I cannot believe that just happened. Wow. Just...wow. I am NEVER leaving my windows down again.

I have now been hit on by a man in his upper 40's, a woman, and a black guy. In the past month. ...The trifecta?

I blame the internship. It forced me to become comfortable conversing with people I have never met before. Apparently there is no middle ground for me. Great.

(Ok, I'm also a little bit flattered. And really glad I'm moving, as the woman who hit on me lives upstairs.)

Will I go?

I was reading in Genesis this morning for my study program, and I read through the story of Isaac and Rebekah. First off, this story is kind of romantic to me, in that there's almost no romance at all. But we'll get to that.

Background: (Ideally you'll just go read Genesis chapter 24...) Abraham sent a servant to the land of his ancestors to find a wife for his son Isaac, through whom God would create His nation of Israel, and ultimately Jesus. The servant found Rebekah through God's providence, and Rebekah's father and brother agreed to send her with the servant to be Isaac's wife. From the biblical account, it sounds like vs. 55-59 occurs the morning following this agreement. It reads:

Her brother and her mother said, "Let the young woman remain with us a while, at least ten days; after that she may go." But he [Abraham's servant] said to them, "Do not delay me, since the Lord has prospered my way. Send me away that I may go to my master." They said, "Let us call the young woman and ask her." And they called Rebekah and said to her, "Will you go with this man?" She said, "I will go." So they sent away Rebekah their sister and her nurse, and Abraham's servant and his men.

..."I will go." Rebekah was willing to leave her life, her family, her land, everything. In a day.

When I first read this, and even while I began to writing this, I was going down the route of thinking, How often do you drag your feet when God uses people to ask you to do things? Are you happy to do good and righteous things that will benefit the kingdom? Why does it always take you a few days to warm up to those ideas, if you ever actually do? The speed of Rebekah's response challenged me.

Upon further reflection, though, I realized it's not quite that simple:

First off, although it doesn't say that Rebekah loves God and that that's why she's making this decision, this is probably the case. For several reasons: First, God probably wouldn't have picked her to be Isaac's wife and used her to create His nation if she wasn't His. Second, she's from Abraham's country, and Abraham sent his servant to that land specifically for the purpose of finding a God-fearing wife for his son. (Scripture seems to imply that the Canaanites were a wicked people at this point.) Third, if she didn't fear God, she probably wouldn't have agreed to go and become Isaac's wife. ...So the point of all this is to say that Rebekah, as a believer, would have had the guidance of God as His daughter.

Second, Scripture is silent on the emotions Rebekah is feeling at the time. It doesn't say she's miserable, but it also doesn't say she's excited. She was probably scared. She probably wasn't looking forward to leaving her family and her country. We don't know. But it's clear that although being excited about what God is doing with one's life is ideal, it's not where our status rests. Scripture seems to deem actions, over (or in spite of) emotions, as most important. So Scripture challenges me to take action despite my emotion, but it also gives me rest that if I am acting in spite of my emotions, this is pleasing to God.

Third, Rebekah did not make this decision on a whim. She didn't even follow the advice of someone simply claiming to know God's plan. Abraham's servant provided plenty of evidence that his actions were sanctioned by God. He had spent the entire previous evening explaining all of God's directions concerning her (vs. 34-49). Rebekah's father and brother attested to this: vs. 50-51 says, "Then Laban and Bethuel answered and said, 'The thing has come from the Lord; we cannot speak to you bad or good. Behold, Rebekah is before you; take her and go, and let her be the wife of your master's son, as the Lord has spoken.' " Abraham's servant clearly proves he and his word are trustworthy. Thus when he asks to leave immediately, Rebekah can rest in knowing that he is a man of God and is acting righteously. God has made his hand in these events very clear.

What does that mean for me? It's encouraging in that it reminds me that God has given us brains with which to analyze evidence that He provides. And it challenges me to use it. To seek direction through His word and His people, and to act upon that direction, regardless of how I feel. But I'm also comforted by His graciousness to Rebekah, to give her those things that enabled her to make that sort of life-changing decision quickly. To stand upon His promises and be sure of herself, because of that foundation. I am reminded that I am loved, and that that love will be evidenced in my life. I will be enabled as well, and I will certainly not be left to follow God alone.

Ke$ha is NOT a good soundtrack to grown-up life.

Europe, Journey, and BTO, however, all are.

If I was complaining about feeling old before, that feeling was increased exponentially today. Stella (my dear car-yes, she has a name. Also a personality. We are great friends.) has been shaking when reaching over 65 mph of late, as well as hydroplaning in water. This led me to believe that perhaps it could be beneficial to a) get the balance and/or alignment checked, and b) investigate as to whether or not I need new tires.

Turns out, all three were/still are necessary. When I finally got around to seeing if the groove on my tire tread was deep enough, I discovered that on three of the four tires...it was almost non-existent. And I'm not even being sarcastic here. When the repair man at Sears looked at one of them, he said, "Oooh, that's slick. I'll bet you've been having fun when it rained." Ha. Ha. ...Ha.

Before I got to Sears, however, I went to two other tire places to get quotes on tires. Which means I learned a whole bunch of information about tires. And talked on the phone a lot with my dad. And got very sweaty. And dirt smudges on my face. (Don't ask, I don't even KNOW how that one happened.)

I have also now asked for and been given my Christmas present: two new tires. ...happy Christmas, to me. (Thank you Dad.) ...As is clear, I didn't have the best attitude about it. Ke$ha on the radio singing about love being her drug was not exactly helpful, either. I don't care if some boy wants to have a slumber party in your basement, to be honest. Unless that slumber party would result in my being given $300. Then I am ALL FOR IT.

However, upon heading to Sears for what turned out to be my final stop in the enTIRE saga (YAK YAK YAK) (Yes I am actually laughing out loud as I type because I think I can be really funny sometimes. Also, I have been making tire jokes to myself all day. And quoting Dane Cook.), BTO's "Takin' Care of Business" came on the radio. It was beautiful. It was inspiring. It helped me take joy in getting new tires. All by myself. (sort of...) And then I listened to Journey's "Separate Ways (Worlds Apart)" and Europe's "Final Countdown" on my ipod. ...I may or may not have sung to my future tires. ("Someday, [I] will find you. Break [through, and I'll buy] you..." etc.)

My parting words of wisdom: First and foremost, keep on eye on those tires. Second, listen to old school classic rock and not Ke$ha. Unless you're under the age of 5.

...On second thought, if you are under the age of 5, you probably shouldn't be listening to Ke$ha either.

it's a nice day for a white wedding

How is it that you can feel old and young at the same time? How does your soul not internally combust due to the contradictory nature of such feelings?

It's a Saturday, and I didn't wake up until 10:30am. This made me feel young. And slightly irresponsible, as I am supposedly an independent adult. As such, I should be getting up on Saturday mornings at a decent hour, doing productive things.

Upon removing myself from my bed, however, I got a cup of coffee (point for the "old" side) and read a book on the analysis of pop culture (another "old" point, as I apparently have moved from mindless consumer of pop culture to...well as least an aware consumer, if not a removed analyst, depending on the specific area).

I then watched a tv show on Netflix (points for both sides, as watching tv on a Saturday morning clearly belongs to the "young" side, but the fact that it was the show "Arrested Development" and that I watched it on Netflix, which I pay for myself with a salary I earn from my technically full time job means that I award another point to the "old"side), while removing coupons and recipes from old Real Simple magazines ("old" point).

Later, when on the phone with a friend, I had an entire conversation about asparagus, and how annoying it is that you can't buy it in smaller quantities. I always seem to end up throwing some out, which feels incredibly wasteful and tempts me not to buy it in the first place ("old" point for even having that conversation). Yet I really like asparagus, so I do end up buying it every so often (another "old" point for the mere fact that I admit to liking asparagus). The fact that I cannot finish a unit of asparagus, however, adds a point to the "young" side, because it reminds me that if I were married, let alone had kids, I would be in a situation where an entire unit of asparagus would be eaten before it went bad. And being reminded that I am not married, nor do I have children, makes me feel young.

Currently, the tally is at Young: 3 Old: 7 ...apparently I feel about 30% young, if you can feel youth in percentages. I think you can.

Also, as I was reading the book on culture (Chuck Klosterman's Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs...hilarious book that I highly recommend to everyone who has a remote interest in anything), I came across more commentary on objectivity. Klosterman was particularly referring to media, and I found it relative to my previous thoughts on the matter, so I've included an excerpt here:

...almost every sound bite you hear in the broadcast media is partially false. And there's nothing anyone can do about it. It's not that the truth is being ignored; it's just that the truth is inevitably combined with a bunch of crap that's supposed to make news stories unbiased and credible, but really just makes them longer and less clear. The motivation for doing this is to foster objectivity, but it actually does the complete opposite. It makes finding an objective reality impossible, because you're always getting facts plus requisite grains of "equalizing" fiction.

First, I think it is interesting that Klosterman seems to inadvertently (or perhaps intentionally) acknowledge the intellectual community's belief that objectivity is most desirable by pairing together the terms "unbiased" and "credible." Second, I really think it is interesting that he points out the fact that this attempt at objectivity often destroys the credibility of the information provided. Which brings me back to the point of my other post, that sometimes bias is indeed preferable to objectivity. Depending on where that bias is taking you.

And another thought: Is attempting objectivity itself a bias of sorts? Isn't the thought that "information free from partiality is superior to all other information" just as much an opinion as all other opinions that are thought to negatively sway information?

And this is where I stop. There's no sense in proverbially continuing to peel an onion when you've already peeled so many layers that you've got tears streaming down your face and blurring your vision. Everybody needs a break now and then; the onion's not going anywhere.

...

**Note: Two couples that I know decently well are getting married today. Hence the title.

and I didn't even know I'd been "shredding"...

This is just an update on the previous. I bought a few new picks today at the Fret Shop, a local guitar (and more) store. While we were waiting for my receipt to print (this took about twenty MILLION years), I figured I'd ask the cashier whether or not he'd ever ripped a pick. He said he'd been playing about nine years, and he'd only done it once. (To which I thought, Sweet, a milestone, and I've already achieved it!)

...Then he followed that up with the fact that at the time, his guitar pick was too thin, and that was probably why it had ripped. I told him about my quandary of whether or not it meant that I just really didn't know how to strum. He said I had probably just been shredding too hard.

Ok. So I really thought "shredding" was playing individual notes. Now I'm just confused. ...And I don't feel any better about my guitar-playing abilities.

objectivity is for girls?

I began reading Dan Doriani's book Women and Ministry the other day. He blew my mind in the very first paragraph...of the preface. It reads as follows...

With this preface I invite my readers to enter a controversy. Readers will naturally want to judge if they can trust the author who hopes to guide them through complex, emotionally charged issues. Is he a polemicist or a peacemaker? What are his formative experiences? What are his biases and convictions? Are these biases and convictions likely to lead to truth or to confusion? (emphasis mine) These questions deserve answers.

I remember doing DBQ's (document-based questions) in my AP European History class in high school. One of the questions we always had to answer about whatever bit of philosophy we had read regarded the bias of the author, and how it affected his work. Whenever I pick up a newspaper or turn on CNN, I filter the information through the bias I assume the author or speaker has. Whenever I listen to political candidates running for various offices (ok this does NOT happen that often), I constantly keep their party affiliation in mind as I listen to their speeches.

In short, I have always assumed that bias is perceived as a negative thing by the intellectual world. That if one wants to gain respectable knowledge in that world, one must clear away any subjectivity until only the facts remain, and then draw conclusions. I've never thought about it in terms of truth versus confusion. That if a bias leads to truth, then that bias is infinitely preferable to even complete objectivity. That a bias even could aid in discovering the truth. The word "bias" has such a negative connotation; I have simply never considered that it could be incredibly beneficial.

I'm still rather fascinated by this idea, and haven't fully processed it yet.

**Note: In the title of this post, my use of the word "girls" is completely unrelated to Doriani's book. I just love the phrase little boys use, "[insert lame thing here] is for girls!" I use this phrase frequently. Even when it makes no sense whatsoever.

...

In completely unrelated news, I broke a guitar pick today. I guess I was really getting into the song I was playing (badly, I assure you), and the tip ripped almost completely off. I didn't even know that could happen. I'm trying to decide whether that means either a) I've now completed my right of passage and am a TRUE guitar player (like breaking a tennis racquet string), or b) I'm just that bad at guitar. I'm hoping for option a.

And so it is...

*continue damien rice here*

...or, alternately, finish with: ...that I've finally jumped on the bandwagon and created a blog. I'd like to say that it will be incredibly funny, or deeply intelligent, or refreshingly authentic. In all likelihood, I will attempt all three and succeed only at creating mediocrity. And yet, I have so many thoughts tumbling around my brain that I feel it can only improve my sanity to type them out every once in a while, hopefully giving them some organization and purpose. You, dear reader (...you poor soul), can judge for yourself the results. Many thanks in advance to those of you who stick around for the long haul. At the end, I think we shall all be impressed that you made it through the labyrinth.