Palpably Inadequate

The Unicorn is not the Only One

2009-06-03T22:29:00.000-07:00

Now, you and I know what a unicorn is. We know it when we see that beard and that horn and those four cloven hooves. The purple unicorn looked at those same things and knew, at least, that he was something different, even if he didn't know what exactly. And it was odd to hear, from the brush behind him, that someone else agreed.

"Who just said that?" he called out. "Who just said I'd make a...a...'rod shod' hippo?"

Rustling out into view, fluffed up all in rusty-red feathers, a great big bird hopped up toward the unicorn's head and bobbed his beak in greeting.

"Top o' the mornin'," he said. "Yoo're lookin' bleak as an un-kissed blarney stone."

Another popped out from the sage, just as rust red. He twisted his neck around and reached back with his hooked beak to preen some wing feathers. Then he said, "Yeah, mate. What's the rub?"

The unicorn liked his pity parties. He'd liked them ever since his mis-classification. So he flopped his chin back down between his hooves and sighed, "Oh, never mind. Just leave me alone."

"G'wan, mate," said the second bird. "What's a coupl'a copperheads like us done t'get you so crook?"

"Look, I don't want any-" the unicorn paused and lifted his head. " 'Copperheads'?"

"Aye, t'be shoor," said the first bird. " 'Tis our classification."

The unicorn now rose up on his front hooves. He tilted his head to look at the two birds from a different angle. "Er, I hope you know this, but--"

"We dun' look like copperheads, laddie? Aye, s'truth and no mistake." The first bird lifted one wing and then the other, and he studied them like he was trying to find some scales where all the feathers were. "We ken wha' ye've been throo."

"Fair dinkum," said the second. "When we came 'round t'be classified, all the animals scoped us out n' saw this color." He pointed with one wing tip to the crown of his red-downed head. "Whaddya think, mate? S'pretty coppery, yeah?"

And NOW the unicorn got up on all fours, and his purple chest started heaving. He snorted. "Doesn't that make you angry? I mean, look at you! You're not snakes; you're, I don't know, eagles or something!"

"Shoor and begore, lad," said the second. "But yoo're missin' the point. Let us fill ye in."

~To be Continued again. Sheesh. This is getting long.~

Seashell Markings

2008-11-16T15:37:00.000-08:00

Look at it. It's broken. Imperfect.
Most of it has been chipped away.
But the surfaces are smooth. White, too.
See the ridges?
They are made from years of work.
Each one is unique from any other.
Like a pearl, its milky shine defines it.
It has hands that reach out,
arms that circle like a crescent moon.
And beyond these arms
embedded in the ocean-damp beach
are little paths--
markings in the sand.
It will never be the same again,
for the ocean has washed over the shell
and created a permanent stamp in the earth.

Father, you are the ocean;
I am your shell.
My ridged, broken body
can reach more than I'll ever know.

~I found this note in a box where I keep letters from friends and relatives. I'd written it after I received a seashell from a friend who'd gone to the beach. He said it reminded him of me. I haven't changed much since then, I think. It's good to have read this again and remember Christ's eternal work in and through my life.

The Unicorn Looks for a New Classification

2008-11-10T20:20:00.000-08:00

It was unheard of. Leaving the hippos! The classified cat hissed. The classified owl booed. The classified fish blew a raspberry. But the nitty gritty of it was the unicorn couldn't STAND it anymore. He couldn't yawn as large as the hippos. He couldn't hold his breath underwater as long as they could, and they ALWAYS mocked him when he thrashed around in deep water, trying to float on the kicks of his narrow hooves.

The unicorn didn't even try to be discreet when he left. He. was. THROUGH. Didn't care who saw him leave, didn't care about the gossip that trailed behind him between all those snobby classifieds who thought they were so right about where the unicorn belonged. He was going to show them all. He was going to DEFY classification.

So he climbed far, far away--up on a mountain where classified goats eyed his beard but still thought to themselves: "What is that hippo doing all the way up here?" The unicorn didn't talk to them. In fact, he sat himself down in a cluster of prickly sage brush and brooded silently with his horsey face between his legs.

"I'm just me," he muttered to himself, "whatever I am, and nothing else. No stupid purple hippo, that's for sure."

He was surprised to hear, from the sage brush behind him, a reply:

"Good thing, fella! You'd make a rod-shod one, no fib!"

To be continued...again!

For Gira...

2008-09-22T18:53:00.000-07:00

...because she nagged and pouted. ;)

Once upon a time there was a purple unicorn who was not very happy with his life. No, he was not happy at all, because long long ago, he was mis-classified. What does this mean, you ask?

Well, every new animal pops into the world by magic. When that new animal pops in, all the other animals who came before gather to determine how the new animal should be classified. For, you see, there are many kinds of dogs and many kinds of cats and many kinds of birds, and each is classified accordingly at their first appearance in the world.

Back to the unicorn. When the unicorn popped into the world, all the animals gathered as usual; they looked him up and down, sniffed him, nudged him, appraised his height and length. A classified rodent looked at his horn and said he should be a ram. A classified bear looked at his hooves and said he should be a horse. A classified reptile looked at his little beard and said he should be a goat. No one could decide. Animals fought. They bickered and shouted until one classified fish took a look at the unicorn's purple fur and declared,

"He's a hippo!"

And for some reason, all the animals forgot the horn and the hooves and the beard and liked this classification best. Without asking the unicorn what he thought of the matter (because it was never so with any other classifications), they hauled him off to the hippo pool and shoved him in with all sorts of encouragement and congratulations at being joined with his right group.

And so began the unicorn's misery.

To Be Continued...Maybe. :)

I've Been Thinking about Pancakes

2008-06-11T22:32:00.000-07:00

In my dream, you were standing by the oven, pulling out chocolate chip cookies fresh-baked on aluminum trays. I stood by you and told you how delicious the cookies looked. (They were for our Bible study group.) I may have even tried one.

Then I turned and threw something at a wall and broke it. It didn't even belong to me.

You said to me, as you hovered over your batch, that after all the cookies were done, you might begin making pancakes, so we could eat them in the morning, after we'd finished off the cookies. I said to you: What a nice thing to think of!

I walked by and broke another thing by fiddling with it. Though I felt embarrassed, I did nothing to fix it, and I did not apologize.

I want to make pancakes like you. But instead I hover over people like an ambiguous cloud that has nothing visible inside of it. I break things that do not belong to me. I break potential friendships; I break hands that reach out; I break words meant for care and restoration; I break the graciousness of others by with-holding my own gratitude. I'm a shriveled heart surrounded by tall and thick walls all covered in spikes.

There's no resolution to this yet, so I won't make a false one. May God show me how my heart should swell for others.

The Wisdom of the English Department

2008-05-17T12:38:00.000-07:00

I want to hear no complaints about how long it's been since I've posted. None, do you hear me, Gira? (You will anyway, but it's nice to PRETEND that I have some say over your behavior.)

Moving to the meat of the matter, I'd like to share with my incredibly tiny readership the genius that is Professor Spencer. This term he taught my Literary Criticism class and my Early Modern European Drama class. Here is what I learned from him (no, seriously, about 75% of my notes constitute these quotes):

From Literary Criticism:
"There's a lot of interesting crap in the world."

*remarking on the syllabus* "Oh, I have snotty advice about reading...skip that..."

Well, this is what I got out of it! *raspberry* It made me think about my gramma!"

"Well, I was only gonna be less clear."

"This torture is really for your own good."

"Questionés? ...That's really not a word, is it?"

Student: "Could you ask that one more time?"
Spencer: "Yeah, 'cause I have no idea what I just said."

Student: "I've talked myself stupid."
Spencer: "Oh, yeah! Welcome to my life!"

"And believe me, I KNOW wishy-washy. That's my middle name!"

"...to take the pill when it's mixed with...chocolate-frosted sugar bombs!"

"Now! To quote someone who's clearer than I am."

"...in this universal...floooooow of life."

"That's why you probably noticed--Oops! And we're outta time."

"...the volcanic juice of...aww, stupid analogy."

"Do you want criticism or STIRFRY?"

"The other thing we're not gonna do? Synopsis and paraphrase! Boo! Hiss!"

"It finally means something to be an omega male!"

"...And I'm very impressed by how many polysyllabic words I got in that sentence."

"OBJECTIVE INTERPRETATION, BY GUM!"

"Oh, good! Here's a loooong passage with an asterisk after it!"

"I think Jauss wins the award for the single worst sentence we've seen yet. I want your nominations."

"Woohoo! FREEEEDOM! ...Braveheart?"

"Hermeneutical Anarchy...now THAT could be the name for a punk band!"

"That's just me late at night, getting tired of abstract prose."

"There's a lot of idiots out there. I'm probably one of them."

"The thing about incomprehensible French theorists is that they are more comprehensible than incomprehensible German theorists."

"I'm putting it in quotation marks because I don't really know WHAT I mean by it. I'm hoping to get away with it."

"That's one thing you can do with this: every time you see a mirror, say, "Ooh! Lacan!'"

"I have an ideology...about what I wanna do with my life. NO! That's NOT an ideology!"

"I just wanna say 'SPECulary' a lot."

"Page 42...sail the ocean blue..."

"Let's try to punctuate in some form that's recognizable on this planet."

"I don't particularly LIKE their guns..."

"You can't read this, but it makes me happy to write it on the board."

Student: "Could you explain the quote on page--"
Spencer: "No."

"One class! How much is THAT going to oppress you?"

"If you write one page, if you do that, I'll KILL you!"

From Early Modern European Drama:
"You don't grab the seat in front of you and scream, "Put the pedal to the medal!'"

"There was a point to that; hopefully it'll come back to me."

"Now I'll make the point anyway, even though it's DEAD on the vine..."

"This is where you give me the gold star and tell me I'm clever."

"You should eat the FORM of cake!"

"...because everyone needs a 'Portable Machiavelli'..."

"Mm..'kay, that sentence began about 15 minutes ago, didn't it?"

"Oh, get this week over with before I keel over!"

"It was UNUSUALLY stupid."

"There's underwear and there's otherwhere!"

"I need more drugs."

"That's why I mess my syllabus up, so people won't leave in FLOCKS!"

"A resounding 'NO!' would be good. Followed by evidence."

"I'm looking forward to lots of parasites!"

"Ver-i-si-mil-i-tu-de-ness! Eight syllables, baby!"

"Reading Racine is like high altitude: the air is clear and pure, but it's hard to exercise up there!"

"Quizorama...quizaganza...nothing you can't do with suffixes; it's great."
---
You can see that I took COPIOUS notes in my classes. ;)

Not So Separate

2008-03-04T17:09:00.000-08:00

Mindful: A brother sends flowers to his convalescent sister. The note that comes with them, processed by the flower company, is chopped short.

Spacey: A girl offers to brainstorm web ideas for her friend. She writes them down in an old notebook. When garbage day arrives, she sees the old notebook and believes she no longer needs it. It goes in the trash.

(An exercise we did in my Creative Writing Capstone: using opposites to express different situations.)

My Valentine

2008-02-14T21:16:00.000-08:00

On this red and pink February day, couples build memories out on romantic dinners. Admirers buy flowers and candies. Kisses, maybe even rings, are exchanged. Some day, I hope to be there. Some day I hope to share Valentine's day with my deepest love.

But until then, I won't forget: When I went to a tea party after classes today. When my little cousins ran barefoot out the door to greet me as I drove up. When they gave me a HUGE V-day card and a beautiful gift. When we ate heart-shaped PB and J sandwiches and drank tea out of fine china. When my aunt took the time and trouble to make it such a lovely lunch. When we played "Cinderella" in the living room, and my eight year-old cousin dressed in a fireman's suit, claiming to be Prince Charming. When we sat on the floor in a circle, and us girls colored princesses and My Little Ponies. When my aunt gave me oranges to take home, and when my cousins waved good-bye from the window until I'd turned a corner and couldn't see them anymore.

That's been my best Valentine yet.

One of My Three Rants

2007-11-15T13:37:00.000-08:00

Wow, another post so soon? Well, for my journalism class the assignment this week is to write an editorial, opinion piece, or review of 500 words or less. I chose to do a review on the greatest bane of my life: Eragon. And since I enjoyed bashing it so much, and since I said, in my first post on here, that I'd give my (five!) readers something I get boiled up about, I thought I may as well post it all here:

Mary Shelley began writing Frankenstein at the age of eighteen. Cristopher Paolini had his book Eragon published when he was nineteen years old. Of the two novels, Paolini’s is the more horrific.

Set in a fantasy world, Eragon’s plot is as adolescent as its writer: a teenage, hunky, misunderstood, moody, always-right lad named Eragon stumbles upon a strange blue egg, which hatches a similarly blue dragon, vaulting Eragon into the obscure and how-on-earth-does-he-deserve-it position of “dragon rider.” He and his dragon, named Saphira, are destined to fight the evil King Galbatorix—who also rides a dragon and has probably had several therapy sessions to come to terms with his name—and along their journey they are accompanied by an old, grouchy mentor named Brom and a babe-a-licious, cold-as-ice elf woman named Arya. After several scuffles with evil and line upon line of hair-tearing dialogue, the novel ends with a final battle where Eragon defeats one of his foes Durza and receives (oh, suffering) a long gash on his back that will scar and (oh, misery) disfigure his gorgeous body.

The book’s first strike against it is this: it was written. And badly. Paolini creates characters flat as cardboard, and as he shoves them in my face I imagine him saying, “THESE CHARACTERS ARE SO COOL. YOU HAVE TO LIKE THEM BECAUSE I MADE THEM.” The protagonist Eragon whines, gripes, and argues his way through the plot, yet he is presented as immutably righteous. His student-mentor relationship with Brom is absolutely useless, because Eragon never listens to or follows a word Brom says. He doesn’t need to: none of Eragon’s rebellious actions are ever met with appropriate consequences. And within the subliminal message of the story’s narration I am told that he is a likeable character? That there is nothing wrong with him?

But Paolini is determined to add insult to injury. With disregard for the readers’ small access to his fantasy realm, he fabricates strange languages and spews them through his characters—at points where it would be integral to know what they were saying—with little-to-no immediate translation. If I want to know what “Atra gulia un ilian tauthr ono un atra ono waise skolir fra rauthr” means, it is tough luck for me, unless I care to search through his pretentious dictionary at the rear of the book, where I suppose he hoped I’d learn his made-up language like Trekkies learn Klingon.

The other strike on Paolini is his obvious insertion of himself into the story. He admits that he is Eragon, the youth of muscle, perfection, and glory, and throughout the novel the reader can see how Paolini vicariously lives through his protagonist. At one point Eragon bathes Arya’s back while she is unconscious; Paolini enjoys giving us the details of how erotic it felt. Where Paolini might cringe in fear at a daunting task, his alter-ego Eragon leaps to action and never fails in whatever he tries to do.

I have no issue with Paolini romanticizing his life, but if he’s going to publish a book about it, he needs to remember that even fantasy novels need a dose of reality.

The Amanda Manifesto

2007-11-14T17:39:00.000-08:00

A spectre is haunting me. It is the spectre of Karl Marx.

Actually, a spectre is STALKING me.

I've tried the pepper spray. I've tried using karate. I've tried ignoring him sitting over there in the bushes with his night-vision goggles on. He won't leave; he's just too obsessed.

If my professors don't stop assigning me his propaganda soon, I may just have to call the cops.

(REALLY. I'll make a serious post SOON.)

What else needs be said?

2007-09-20T12:18:00.000-07:00

I think this caption pretty much speaks for itself. Thanks for sacrificing your pride to give it to me, Gira! ;)

...I really NEED to do a deep post one of these days...

Full View for the Win!

2007-08-24T23:37:00.000-07:00

Behold, the hotness. HOT. NESS. Buff body, long raven locks, awesome cloak, weird...bowl...thingy.

Yes, faithful reader (I'm pretty sure there's only one by now), this is one (and the best, I should say) artistic interpretation of Taran of Caer Dallben, hero of Lloyd Alexander's Chronicles of Prydain. He's never actually given a physical description in any of the five novels, but really--given the choice between a sandy-haired pansy (*cough* Disney's Black Cauldron *cough*) and this studly dark-eyed youth, which would YOU pick?

And it doesn't hurt at all that, in this interpretation, he looks rather like a character I invented for a novel of my own. *innocent whistling*

Unfortunately, he has a few counts against him. For one, he's taken, ladies. So sorry. (Beowulf is STILL single, though!) For another, he's rather serious! He goes around saying things equivalent to "Verily, let us set forth," and "Dost thou thinketh me wise? Nay, I hath not the wisdom to possess this enchanted treasure." *Dialogue may be WIDELY exaggerated* Yeah. I think he views the world through melodramatic-colored glasses.

So...the other option laid before me is the boisterous Fflewddur Fflam (wow, did I spell that right on the first try?), and HE says stuff like, "Great Belin!" and "A Fflam to the rescue!" *Dialogue is not exaggerated whatsoever* Oh, so desirable.

Well, then! To borrow a phrase: you've squandered another perfectly good hour (half hour? minute?) reading my blog. This post seems to have a little something for everyone: For my brother, it has the mention of Lloyd Alexander's most excellent children's series; for Carla, it has a brief reference to SfaF; and for Gira, it's, well, randomly useless (uselessly random?). And if my parents still check up on this blog from time to time...uh...it...shows that I still adore reading just as much as ever? *more innocent whistling*

Another Depth-Defying Post

2007-06-18T18:07:00.000-07:00

My mother has this coffee table book idea: "Marquee Philosophy". See, the Boise area, like any booming community, is replete with marquees for churches and businesses, and something about Boise-area people just makes 'em wanna...well, be creative with what their marquees say. Perhaps a little too creative.

As my brother said in response to this billboard: "Oh, I'm sorry, you chose the HELL briefcase."

When I Consider Your Heavens, the Work of Your Fingers...

2007-03-03T14:57:00.000-08:00

Often the problem when I blog is that I can't pin down one idea in my head to discuss. When I think of one, it inevitably bunny-trails to another, and another, and another...until I become so despondent not knowing where to begin that I just leave off blogging altogether. But this subject has been on my mind for about a week now, so I think I will take advantage of this recent lack of fickleness in my brain. A notion that sticks solidly for more than seven days is a notion worth exploring, I say.

The subject of this blog actually roots a little deeper than just seven days ago; it begins in the problem I have had since, oh, adolescence. That problem is worry. It's not a constant, chronic worry, nor is it a panic that attacks me at select intervals without warning or reason. It's more of an "Oh, dear, there goes the world being crazy again" worry.

I worry a lot over outcomes, and my mind can't help but wander sometimes to the worst possible ones in any given scenario. It's like I believe more in chance and fate than I do in a God who works through all circumstances.

Ouch. What a humbling confession.

My greatest problem is remembering that this same God is vaster, more powerful, more knowledgeable than an average human being. I make Him tiny, finite like me, mostly because my brain can grasp that concept. It's somehow harder to imagine a God encompassing all the universe, a God that can be in all places at once, watching everyone, controlling everything--perhaps because I only see the smallest picture possible and not the omniscient way in which He works. So I box Him up, make Him almost inactive because I can't understand Him otherwise. And that's when I get myself in trouble.

Because, you see, if you make God inactive and minuscule, you will inevitably lose your own courage and hope in life; you will try to control things yourself in your own, tiny, finite way (and what a mess THAT can be!). That's where I got to be: floundering through uncertain circumstances, babbling panicked prayers while all the same leaving nothing of the situation to God's control. And since I can't control it, and since I think God is not controlling it, I begin to think I'm living in an whirlpool.

Recently, however, my devotions have been in the Psalms, and a common thread I've seen among all the psalmists is their understanding of God's enormity. They know He created the universe; they know He tames even the wildest creatures; they know He does not let evil run free forever. At times, they express their impatience to see Him act, especially against the wicked, but always they come back to this firm belief: God controls the universe, and He knows the struggles and sorrows of man. He is not inert.

So on my way to Vegas this last weekend, while I sat in the back seat of the car, I gazed up out my window at the night sky and observed the stars hanging weightless in space. And I came to realize that God is vaster than the universe. (Now I will wait for you who read this to finish slapping your foreheads going "Durh!") He holds every star, every planet, every meteor, every proton, electron, and neutrino that bounds through this universe. And He most certainly holds us.

I'll end this with someone else's words: Paul's in the book of Colossians, chapter 1. These following verses have become verses of reassurance to me every time I feel the need to fret, and I hope whoever reads them here will find merit in them as well.

"He [Christ] is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn over all creation. For by him all things were created: things in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or powers or rulers or authorities; all things were created by him and for him. He is before all things, and in him all things hold together. And he is the head of the body, the church; he is the beginning and the firstborn from among the dead, so that in everything he might have the supremacy. For God was pleased to have all his fullness dwell in him, and through him to reconcile to himself all things, whether things on earth or things in heaven, by making peace through his blood, shed on the cross. Once you were alienated from God and were enemies in your minds because of your evil behavior. But now he has reconciled you by Christ's physical body through death to present you holy in his sight, without blemish and free from accusation--if you continue in your faith, established and firm, not moved from the hope held out in the gospel." --Colossians 1:15-23

What I Learned in Astronomy Class

2007-02-13T18:39:00.000-08:00

With the close of this winter term, I reflect upon all the new knowledge I have acquired in my classes, and I find it necessary to share some of that knowledge with you, my faithful audience of two--err--two hundred. Yes. Now, while my math class was engaging, my favorite class would have to be astronomy: Stars and Galaxies. In this blog, I plan to share every enlightening thing my prof said in that class over these last two months. Prepare to be overwhelmed by great knowledge:

January 9, 2007
"I think we'll all agree that wrapping a child in bacon will not--well, it WILL change their personality..."

January 10, 2007
"So now we've got big eyes and we're bouncing against each other around the room going, 'Oh!' "

January 16, 2007
"I guarantee if you go home and say 'thermonuclear fusion' to your parents, they will pay another year of your tuition." (I tried it. It didn't work.)

January 25, 2007
"Maybe it's going 'poof' this way, but over that way it's going 'piffle.' "
"Sauron is watching you!"

February 4, 2007
"It was 42 below in my hometown yesterday...I REALLY miss winter." (He grew up in Minnesota.)

February 5, 2007
" 'Nobel Laureates on Planes'...doesn't have that same ring to it, does it?" (Referring to "Snakes on a Plane.")

"We've never HAD a Big Crunch! It might be interesting!"

February 7, 2007
"Nothing explains it better than the Big Bang. That's why the Big Bang is accepted among 99.9% of all dentists."
"But that's why I'm only talking about the Big Bong--uh, the Big Bang theory."

February 13, 2007
"I've told you my belief in astrologers, and if you don't believe me, I'll have you wrapped in bacon."

Thus we see how multi-faceted the topic of astronomy can be. And if you thought you'd be reading about black holes, parallax angles, and helium fusion here...I'm sorry. You have entered the wrong blog. But as you go to find some truly intelligent writing, keep these sage words of my prof in mind: "Keep reading your horoscope...keep looking for UFOs...and keep alotta bacon handy."

A Special Announcement

2007-01-09T19:03:00.000-08:00

Ladies, Gentlemen, and Gira:

I must address a pertinent topic of my life that is not spoken of often enough in my circles: brushing one's teeth. Now, most people know that they must do it, and a smaller percentage actually complete the task every evening (and some every morning, too, though we will not speak of the zealots). But how many--how many, I ask you--take the time to tell a friend that they are going to brush their teeth? It can be so simple as a phone call, a message over IM, or even a letter in the snail mail, if you prefer! Though you may neglect flossing or rinsing with mouth freshener, please, please, PLEASE never forget to let a friend know you care about your teeth! It could save a LIFE! Or at least a few molars.

And Now for Something Completely Different...

2006-12-08T12:16:00.000-08:00

In honor of the ending fall semester, I've decided to publish the bizarre and hilarious quotes I've gathered during the school year, whether from profs, my manager, my friends, or my family. There's no better way to end a year, eh?

Quills: Grar...I need something to break this Writer's Block
Quills' Brother: like... RED HOT MONOGAMY!

Mom: Oh, no. He has a tuba with a propane tank. This can’t be good.

Quills' Brother: None of that "In a hole in the ground, songs wafted around the dark mists of the rafters in the hootsvahs, echoing the bland snores of the creature who lived below and whose destiny loomed before him like a giant, blazing dragon... he was the hobbit" nonsense

Quills:*hypnotizes Gira* you feel like shupping...
Gira:*raises eyebrow* nice try... ~(Explanatory note: "shup" is shorthand for "shut up")

Quills:Us Westerners, when we take something raw, it's usually hide.

Quills' Bro: So, you can take that talent and stick it right back in your breakfast burrito!

Cadence: Quills, why do I do dumb things like decide to update all my Friend Details in one night when it's already like 10:30 PM to start?
Quills: I dunno. It's 1:00 over here. I'm dumber than you.
Cadence: We're Dumb and Dumber!

Gira: you brushed your teeth without telling me??!?!?!??!?

British Lit. professor:
"I walked along among the trees
And found myself without...a sneeze."

Brit. Lit. prof (again): "I need to just shoot up on some wisdom..."

Brit. Lit. prof (AGAIN): "Did I feed the guinea pigs...? Oh, yeah, I did--AND NOTHING ELSE GETS DONE!"

History professor: "It's a pretty leg."

History prof (again): "Yes, he has a man crush on Newton."

My Manager: "Come out, clown! Twist me a balloon animal!"

Merry Christmas break, everyone. :)

I Chronicles 16:7-36

2006-11-29T21:13:00.000-08:00

A Psalm of David. I decided to take from it every command he gives concerning our behavior toward God:

-Give thanks to the Lord (v 8).
-Make known what He has done (8).
-Sing to Him (9).
-Tell of all His wonderful acts (9).
-Glory in His holy name (10).
-Rejoice as you seek the Lord (10).
-Look to the Lord and His strength (11).
-Seek His face ALWAYS (11).
-Remember His wonders, miracles, and judgements (12).
-Proclaim His salvation day after day (23).
-Declare His glory and deeds (24).
-Ascribe to the Lord (28-29).
-Come before Him with an offering (29).
-Worship the Lord (29).
-Tremble before Him (30).
-Give thanks to Him (34).
-Cry out for His salvation and rescue (35).

I think David covers all the bases well.

Okay, okay!

2006-11-29T16:48:00.000-08:00

Look, Gira. I'm blogging. There are words recently posted on this webpage BY ME for your edification. Does this make you happy? If not, I'll toss in a 'raffe for good measure.

I actually do have a reason for blogging, and it's just to marvel at the small blessings God presents us at the moments we most need them. Yeah, it's a pretty obvious observation, but I still like to stop and wonder at it every time God lifts my spirit with something so small and almost inconsequential.

Perhaps I should illustrate. This morning and early afternoon, I slumped into a foul mood. It may have been that D+ I received on my French paper; it may have been the incessant "difficult to please" attitude I was receiving from certain profs. Don't misread this, for I'm not placing the blame of my bitterness on any professors. Whenever I get into bad moods, the mood is usually reflected inwardly--i.e., I'm in a bad mood because I've become discouraged in my own abilities and motivation, not because profs have dished me poor grades.

Anyhow, I went to my last class of the day feeling frazzled, discombobulated, fretted, upset, and generally irritable. I couldn't even quite say what had brought on all this anxiety (it could have been the upcoming test in class that day), but the one thing I most wanted to do was scream and rake my fingers down some wallpaper to tear it and ease my stress. Then, in a group discussion of Emily Dickinson, a girl and I just began to joke with each other. We joked about the test, joked about Dickinson, joked about our own insanity...It was great! And I don't quite know why, but after that, I felt calmer.

So now my dad and I are going to have dinner, and I am going to read Gulliver's Travels and then freak out a little on my 12-15 page paper due in US Literature. But I am okay so long as I remember God's perfect timing in everything.

Oh dear

2006-10-27T14:47:00.000-07:00

I've been falling off cliffs lately. Sometimes I do it volitionally, in fact. Poor Yoshi must be really tired of my poor jumping skills. And until I can gather wits for a deeper post, that's all you'll have from me today. As the French say, "Bon weekend!" (Okay, so I don't know if the French really say that often enough for me to quote them on it.)

--Quills

2006-10-04T14:06:00.000-07:00

I'm writing a paper on Beowulf this week, and, you know, Beowulf was a great guy. He has the ego of a fan-tailed peacock, but I think that's one thing that makes him so loveable. He'll use ten lines of verse to say how marvelous, how brave, how strong he is, and then, to make himself sound more modest, tack on "by the grace of God" at the end. Come on. You know you're warming to him already.

Here's my favorite line of the poem: "Then he saw a blade that boded well, a sword in her [his foe's] armory, an ancient heirloom from the days of the giants, an ideal weapon, one that any warrior would envy, but so huge and heavy of itself only Beowulf could wield it in battle." What a stud! And, ladies, he NEVER gets married in the poem.

Here's what's sad: I almost cited that quote in MLA format. But I doubt anyone who reads this blog would give a rip what page it comes out of. Unless my professor stumbles across this website. Drat.

Ah, that said, I have nothing really deep or informative to share. I'm still pedalling along, by the grace of God, and learning new things and getting into a school groove. Happily, my writing (that is, for fun and not Beowulf-related) is picking up once more, and I've been brainstorming ideas absolutely irrelevant to anything I have written right now. Ah, well. It's a start, right?

FREE needs to subject itself to SPEW

2006-09-26T19:23:00.000-07:00

Consider the arguments of one friend of mine: fairies have the right to refrain from assisting elves when they are near death. Is this cruelty? Yes, I think so.

Fairy Rights! Embrace Equality! (FREE) argues against the entrapment of fairies for the usage of healing injured elves who fight valiantly for the rescuing of maidens in distress. I say these fairies should feel honored to participate in such a courageous effort. Regardless of the fact that they are caught by a net and kept in a jar, these fairies voluntarily assist their elf in his time of need.

Consider the elf's picture above. Could a fairy NOT assist such good-looking heroism? I ask you: is the stance of FREE so logical? Friends, let us not fall for such propaganda. Instead, take up our nets, our bottles, and our pointy ears, and let us find some fairies!

The Ladder

2006-09-21T14:33:00.000-07:00

As I end my second week of school, the thought upon my mind is this: Why am I already this frazzled? Actually, I think my problem is that I am in a constant state of "frazzlement," whether in school or otherwise.

I haven't blogged in a while, and maybe one reason is because I haven't put my finger on what I want to share. Certainly there've been lessons I've learned, and certainly there've been changes in the way I see I should live, but as yet I can't really nail it down to anything concrete...For now, I'll share what I know:

Last Sunday the pastor of my church shared a sermon that focused uncannily on my struggles over the past week. During that time I had been moping around, believing perhaps I should just give up pursuing my faith because I simply felt like dead weight on the shoulders of my God. Yes, that's a despairing statement; but wait! There's a happy ending yet.

Anyway, to the sermon: my pastor has been preaching through the book of Acts, and in his sermon last Sunday he talked about some Christians' obsession with perfection. Using the metaphor of a ladder, he explained that some of us tend to climb the ladder on our own strength, reaching higher and higher to attain perfection. The problem is, we always fail; we always reach out in temptation away from the ladder, and we always fall. After several falls, we no longer see the point of climbing and simply say, "I give up." When my pastor came to this point, I felt the tug of recognition in my soul: that has been me. I've been trying to reach perfection on my own, thinking that looking like anything less would make me appear as less of a Christian. But I'd left Christ out of the picture, wondering all the while where he'd gone.

Through this message and other circumstances God has been reminding me where my perfection comes and in whom I should find my identity. People won't see Christ in me when it's just me trying to be perfect. No, Christ will be revealed when I step down and let him hold my hand through everything, whether I do it perfectly or not. Then and only then will I become more like Him who redeemed me.

Phew! After all that, I have even a second lesson to tell about. In my own devotions, last night I read John chapters 15, 16, and 17, and in these verses I find such comfort and hope that I feel I'd burst if I didn't share a little. In Chapter 17 verses 20 through 26 Jesus prays a moving prayer for the believers who will follow his twelve apostles. My particular favorite of these verses is the last, 26: "I have made you [the Father] known to them, and will continue to make you known in order that the love you have for me may be in them and that I myself may be in them." This encouraged me because, in all this strain to be perfect on my own, I felt that Christ had left me as hopeless because of my doubt and my failures. But in this passage, and in all of these three chapters, I see that this is far from the case: Jesus has never left. And he has never stopped loving me.

It's like a fresh start. I've felt several times this year that I seem to be starting all over again...And maybe I am, in some ways. We must be broken before God can reshape us how he wants us. And frankly, he can mold me however he wants. I'm really not happy with the job I'm doing with myself anway.

Broken Crutches

2006-08-31T14:04:00.000-07:00

Apparently, I like to hobble.

I don't mean that the crutches don't serve me; I have so many weaknesses that I require something to lean on: Fear leaves me with a soft spine, pleasing others gives me short sight, and doubts produce feeble hands and feet. The crutches disguise me as something more than a puddle of no muscle, which I suppose I'm content with, because as yet I've ignored the One who stands behind me with his arm extended.

It's no matter that His power tips the scale at infinity or that His support could lift me beyond mountains, clouds, and even the heavenly stars; I won't give him my hand. I like my crutches, my broken crutches.

What is it that prevents me from grasping that arm? Have I not confessed that I love the One who offers it? Ah, but here is the problem: I do not trust Him.

It's an inglorious confession to make, especially when I have given my life over to Him and should consequently live His truth boldly. I believe that the man who sold everything for a pearl didn't afterward tuck it away on a shelf and stare at a lump of coal. But that's just what I'm doing.

I'm a weakling, and I'm a little lost, and I'm not even sure if all this is coherent. What I know is that my broken crutches can give me answers no better than they give me strength. I need to vault into the arms of the God who, by grace, still gives peace to those who wander in circles. As it says in Deuteronomy 33:12-- "Let the beloved of the LORD rest secure in him, for he shields him all day long, and the one the LORD loves rests between his shoulders."

I make this my comfort as I release my hold on these crutches. I look forward to the day when the One I love is my only support.

I cannot imagine what will come,
But I've already made my choice.
And this is where I stand until He moves me on.
And I will listen to His voice.

--From "I Will Listen" by Twila Paris

Which Animaniacs Character are You?

2006-08-25T12:23:00.000-07:00

You are: The Brain
You have megalomaniacal impulses regularly. That's not necessarily a bad thing, however, as you have the cranial capacity of a small planet. Trying to take over the world is hard work, though, and you're not above exploiting your lessers. Even now, you have a plan that's being enacted which will pitch the world's economy into turmoil, leaving the floodgates of trade exposed for the sole owner of stock in the Pets.com. company! You are en route to taking over the world! Oh, and you ARE pondering what I'm pondering.

Okay...so I really turned out as Mindy...But that's not nearly as cool; thus, I decided to rig the system. If you'd like to take the quiz, here's the link: http://www-personal.umich.edu/~rorder/animaniquiz.html.

Ah, the random impulses I have online. I didn't think I'd post so soon, but I couldn't resist sharing this. Happy Friday, everyone!

2006-08-24T18:44:00.000-07:00

Welcome to my new blog! As of yet, I have no idea what I will write about, but I suppose that's part of the adventure. (Can blogging be considered an adventure?) I may spend time on the only three rants I have, or maybe I'll talk about my lovely *note incredible sarcasm* job at Wal-Mart, or I may include a small word or two about my writer's block (both the mental kind and the tangible kind my best friend Carla bought me on vacation).

You will also see me include such things as my adoration for foxes (in fact, if you've noticed my picture, you've already observed that obsession), my fascination with fantasy, my salvation in Jesus Christ, and my study of the Scripture. Or I may just slip a blog in about how well flossing every other day works.

That said, I have no idea why I've created a blog in the first place, but there it is, and there I am. If anything, it'll keep me writing!