final exam

Well, at least for this semester. That's right, folks, one to go, and I'll have [hopefully successfully] completed my first semester of graduate school. Problem is, this one's kind of a doozy.

Our school-age (language disorders) professor expects us to differentiate between the ten different language disorders we've covered in class, indicate the specific deficit areas (there are about five or six per disorder), decide which assessment tools we would like to use, and formulate a lesson plan for intervention, given "a few sentences" about the child. Phew!

There are ten case studies. So basically, we're supposed to do a full day's worth of diagnostics and planning in 2.5 hours or less. I am not what you would call prepared for this. So I'm implementing an intervention plan for myself to help me learn and be more comfortable manipulating the material. I've got my index cards and an assortment of markers at the ready, and I'm going to look through my old lesson plans (that I wrote for this class) for an idea on how to remediate myself.

For those of you that this means virtually nothing to, I am going to pretend that I am a child with a language disorder and teach myself the material for my test using a lesson plan that I wrote for an 8-year-old.

I'll probably go with a hybrid of word finding and information processing disorders.

oh hey boone winter!

Winter came to Boone this week. It's cold and rainy and as I was walking from my car to class this morning I found myself thinking, "Help me, coffee! Help me, wool coat! Help me, mittens from target (which I happen to keep in my glove box)!" in a Ricky Bobby-esque fashion. This, of course, made me laugh - out loud. Fortunately there weren't any people around me to judge me as certifiably insane (or think I was crying and attempt to offer their condolences...?).

The good news is that the laughter actually "helped me" more than the coffee, coat, or mittens. It warmed me as I thought about how dumb the selection ballet flats was for a day such as this. Even as the freezing water seeped through to my toes, I continued to laugh.

Maybe I am crazy.

best christmas song ever

The Horse's hay beneath His head
our Lord was born to a manger bed,
that all whose wells run dry
could drink of His supply.

To keep Him warm the Sheep drew near,
so grateful for His coming here:
You come with news of grace,
come to take my place!

The Donkey whispered in His ear: Child, in thirty-some-odd years, You'll ride someone who looks like me (untriumphantly).

While the Cardinals warbled a joyful song:
He'll make right what man made wrong,
bringing low the hills,
that the valleys might be filled!

Then Child, asked the birds,
well, aren't they lovely words we sing?
The tiny Baby lay there without saying anything.

At a distance stood a mangy Goat
with a crooked teeth and a matted coat,
weary eyes and worn,
chipped & twisted horns.
Thinking: Maybe I'll make friends some day
with the Cows in the pens and the Rambouillet,
but for now I'll keep away -
I got nothin' smart to say.

But there's a sign on the barn in the Cabbagetown:
WHEN THE RAIN PICKS UP AND THE SUN GOES DOWN,
SINNERS, COME INSIDE!
WITH NO MONEY, COME AND BUY.
NO CLEVER TALK NOR GIFT TO BRING
REQUIRES OUR LOWLY, LOVELY KING.
COME YOU EMPTYHANDED,
YOU DON'T NEED ANYTHING.

And the night was cool and clear as glass
with the sneaking Snake in the garden grass,
as Deep cried out to Deep, the Disciples fast asleep.
And the snake perked up when he heard You ask:
if You're willing that this cup might pass
we could find our way back home,
maybe start a family all our own...
but does not the Father guide the Son?
Not my will but Yours be done!
What else here to do?
What else me but You?

And the snake who'd held the world,
a stick, a carrot and a string, was crushed
beneath the Foot of Your not wanting anything.

-A Stick, A Carrot & String, by mewithoutYou

in MY monologue

Here's a little something I wrote over Thanksgiving break. It was inspired by a good friend with whom I had coffee that week, as she shared this video with me:

http://www.hulu.com/watch/107502/saturday-night-live-taylor-swift-monologue

I like camping and mint chocolate chip ice cream,

but I'm not gonna talk about that

in MY monologue.

I like laughing and my charm bracelet,

but I'm not gonna talk about that

in my monologue.

La la la.

La la la.

I like going to Egypt and shooting guns in Colorado

but I'm not gonna say that

in my monologue.

I moved to Boone, thus expanding my horizons

but I'm not gonna say that

in my monologue.

La la, LA la la la la

This is my blogosphere monologue.

You might think I'd mention the half marathon that I ran yesterday in Atlanta

but I'm not gonna talk about that

in my monologue.

By the way, I did real well!

Though my hip-flexers hurt like hell,

but I'm not gonna write about that

in my monologue.

La la la.

Ha ha ha.

Ha ha ha.

Ha ha ha.

La la la.

And if you're wondering if I might

be dating a chemical engineer,

well I'm not gonna comment on that

in my monologue.

La la, LA la la la la

This is my blogosphere monologue

You might be expecting me to say

something about going to the Philippines in May

with Operation Smile to do a medical mission,

It'll actually be in March

Shortly after spring break

but I'm not gonna talk about that

in my monologue.

My blogosphere monologue

La la, LA la la la la

That was my blogosphere monologue.

update

Friends, the seasons are changing, and it's high-time for an update.

There is a time for everything
and a season for every activity under heaven:

a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,
a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,
a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain,
a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,
a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,
a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace.

-Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

Panera

Today I woke up and went to Panera for a whole grain bagel and cup of coffee. Than I stayed here for four hours, working on a project for my neurogenic communication disorders class until the lunch crowd arrived. Upon the realization that a great deal of my consciousness was being spent suppressing the urge to politely ask the boisterous group of gossiping women at the next table to can it, I decided that it was time for a break. So I went home, stopping at the grocery store to pick up a couple of staples for the week on the way. At home, I cycled my laundry and completed one (of the THREE) preschool language disorders assignments I have due on Monday.

Then I came back to Panera for a cup of tea and some French Onion Soup. I'll stay here for another 45 minutes - until they close. Then I'll move to another coffee shop that stays open a little later.

today

Today has been the most perfect day. It hasn't been exceptional by any means, except perhaps exceptionally ordinary. The past two days have been more like what I expected graduate school to be like than the last two months of class. Yesterday I did preschool language screenings before class, and today three of my classmates [read: friends] and I did hearing screenings at an elementary school in West Jefferson.

We had to meet at 6:30 AM, clinic I.D. lanyards around our necks, travel mugs of coffee in our hands, and smiles on our faces by the time we arrived in Ashe County, 30 minutes early (thanks a lot, Garmin). So we went to West Jefferson's new fancy Wal-Mart and perused the Halloween cards to send to our siblings in Georgia and Florida. By the time we left the store, the sun had decided to make an appearance. We screened first, second, third, and fifth grade students, as well as a couple of RTI (Response to Intervetion [potential special education candidates]). It was kind of fun. We were finished before noon and went to a Thai restaurant in downtown Boone for lunch.

It's a rainy day, so I've been inside reading an Emily Griffin novel and doing laundry. Finally I conceded that it wasn't going to stop raining, so I put on my new balance shoes and went for an eight mile run in the rain, listening to a couple chapters of To Kill A Mockingbird. (Somehow I made it through the public school system without having been made to read it previously... sounds like a child was left behind).

And tonight? Contra Dance.

swing your partner

Recently I've been partaking in a North Carolinian high country cultural experience called contra dancing. I love it. So much so, in fact, that I have decided that at my wedding reception (whenever it may happen) I plan to have a live band and a caller who will give lessons while the guests await the arrival of the wedding party, but that is neither here nor there...

This is the way God put it: "They found grace out in the desert, these people who survived the killing. Israel, out looking for a place to rest, met God out looking for them!" God told them, "I've never quit loving you and never will. Expect love, love, and more love! And so now I'll start over with you and build you up again, dear virgin Israel. You'll resume your singing, grabbing tambourines and joining the dance. You'll go back to your old work of planting vineyards on the Samaritan hillsides, And sit back and enjoy the fruit— oh, how you'll enjoy those harvests! The time's coming when watchmen will call out from the hilltops of Ephraim: 'On your feet! Let's go to Zion, go to meet our God!'" - Jeremiah 31:1-3

How I long to join that dance! To spin around and swing my neighbor - to one day have my own to swing. I don't know exactly what it looks like, but I know what it feels like: contra dancing! It feels like giving a little weight to your partner and spinning and spinning until you almost feel dizzy, but trusting that you'll end up on his right in long lines or hands-four, ready to dance a little more. It feels like smiling through the pinch of your shoes or the breathlessness that accompanies the constant movement, despite the beads of perspiration forming on your brow.

I love to dance. I love to have a good partner to lead me through each step - a partner with whom I can just relax and move gracefully and fluidly, because it's only when I try to maintain control that I misstep or end up where I don't belong. I love leaning back in a swing and feeling the centrifugal force spinning us faster and faster. I love how the pre-swing balance is marked by the sound of hundreds of feet stomping in unison on the old wood floor of the apple barn. Clearly, I really like contra dancing. But that may or may not be what I'm talking about.

Being a skilled dancer has less to do with knowing the steps and more to do with learning to relax, to trust your partner, and to listen for the caller's instructions as He gives them.

"You did it: you changed wild lament into whirling dance; You ripped off my black mourning band and decked me with wildflowers. I'm about to burst with song; I can't keep quiet about you. God, my God, I can't thank you enough." -Psalm 30:11

i am a nerd

america's best idea

We are now in the mountains and they are in us, kindling enthusiasm, making every nerve quiver, filling every pore and cell of us. Our flesh-and-bone tabernacle seems transparent as glass to the beauty about us, as if truly an inseparable part of it, thrilling with the air and trees, streams and rocks, in the waves of the sun, -- a part of all nature, neither old nor young, sick nor well, but immortal. Just now I can hardly conceive of any bodily condition dependent on food or breath any more than the ground or the sky. How glorious a conversion, so complete and wholesome it is. -John Muir

Anybody else super-excited about The National Parks series on PBS? Given that I plan to take my family on vacations to The National Parks, I sure am.

green bananas

I've come to the realization that I've got some serious ripening to do. I have a lot to learn in the academic and professional realms, which coincidentally, become less distinct from one another day after grad school day. I have even more to learn about myself - to continue to develop and build on the beliefs and values that I hold. Most importantly, I have a lot to learn about God. I have to get to know Him better. I have to learn to trust in His promises. Otherwise I'll just be a bunch of green bananas for the rest of my life, and who wants that?

aimer encore

You must not be astonished when, even at the risk of your taking me for a fanatic, I tell you that in order to love, I think it absolutely necessary to believe in God (that does not mean that you should believe all the sermons of the clergymen) — far from it. To me, to believe in God is to feel that there is a God, not dead or stuffed, but alive, urging us toward aimer encore [steadfast love] with irresistible force.

-Vincent van Gogh

Agreed. Most definitely agreed.

No, no, not the rat track!

It's been raining nonstop for the last three days in Boone, and this weather pattern is supposed to continue into the weekend. The downside is that my energy level plummets on rainy days; all I want to do is consume copious amounts of grain and sleep and/or read fiction (Think about it, how many animals do you see outside in the rain? None. They hibernate or something). The upside is that I need to get a lot of work done this weekend, so I will have a lighter load next weekend when two of my dearest loves visit, and as long as it is yucky outside, I will not be especially tempted to play outside in these mountains that are fast becoming my home.

The rain started on Tuesday, and I was forced to run three miles on the treadmill on Wednesday instead of outside [Can I get a resounding "Ugggggggggh..."?]. Today I was due for a five miler, and as I would much rather run this distance in a torrential downpour than on one of those little rat tracks in the florescence of the gym, I headed up to Cone Memorial Park, which is just off the Parkway near Blowing Rock. It was still super-foggy when I got there, but miracle of miracles, it had stopped raining! Off I went around Bass Lake with my rain-gear and iPod, following the carriage trail toward the cute little apple barn just over the ridge.

At one point I heard some loud rustling in the foliage alongside the trail, and immediately began clapping my hands and shouting, just in case it turned out to be a bear. You never know.

I think I'm supposed to be learning something about faithfulness these days, but I don't know exactly what. There's just something about driving up the road in the middle of a weeklong rain and finding precipitation-free hour just when you need it that makes me think that it couldn't have been coincidence. I guess what I'm trying to say is... Thanks, Jesus.

new.fresh.unfamiliar

Main Entry:	new
Part of Speech:	adjective
Definition:	recent, fresh
Synonyms:	advanced, au courant, brand-new, contemporary, current, cutting-edge, dewy, different, dissimilar, distinct, fashionable, inexperienced, just out, late, latest, modern, modernistic, modish, neoteric, newfangled, novel, now*, original, recent, spick-and-span, state-of-the-art, strange, topical, ultramodern, unaccustomed, uncontaminated, unfamiliar, unique, unknown, unlike, unseasoned, unskilled, unspoiled, untouched, untrained, untried, untrodden, unused, unusual, up-to-date, virgin, youthful
Antonyms:	deteriorated, old, old-fashioned, outdated, worn

Thanks, Dictionary.com.

So I've experienced a lot of new things during the first weeks of this new chapter in my life called gradschoolboonenorthcarolinaadventure (should probably come up with a NEW name). Here are some them:

Greek yogurt, "study hikes" on the Blue Ridge Parkway, a developing interest in geopolitics?, the realization that "graduate assistant" really means "secretary," cheating on Publix with Ingle's (which is Spanish for "English" -- I've always wondered if they know that), Harry Potter on my iPod (for free, thanks to the ASU Library Instructional Materials Collection), the occasional glass of red wine, home-schooling three children on Friday mornings, constructing models of the circle of Willis using only pipe cleaners, volunteering at a nursing home, couscous, watching 18 Kids and Counting with my roommate, scoffing at the abomination known to many as "South Carolina Peaches" (j/k south cackalacky! but seriously...), this little bunny that almost always scares the you-know-what out of me when I see him hopping alongside me at a certain segment of one of my running routes near my house, utility bills, and the teeny-tiny basil plant I got at the Watauga County Farmer's Market last week.

After all, I'm still a Plant Lady.

can't go back now

Yesterday when you were young
Everything you needed done was done for you
Now you do it on your own
But you find you're all alone, what can you do?

You and me walk on, walk on, walk on
'Cause you can't go back now

You know there will be days
When you're so tired
That you can't take another step
The night will have no stars
And you'll think you've gone as far
As you will ever get

You and me wak on, walk on, walk on
'Cause you can't go back now

And yeah, yeah, you go where you want to go
Yeah, yeah, be what you want to be
If you ever turn around, you'll see me

I can't really say
Why everybody wishes they were somewhere else
But in the end, the only steps that matter
Are the ones you take all by yourself

You and me walk on, walk on, walk on
Yeah, you and me walk on, walk on, walk on
'Cause you can't go back now
Walk on, walk on, walk on
You can't go back now.

-The Weepies

It's tough here. I'm incredibly busy with school and work. I don't have many friends just yet.

However, I find myself clinging to this deep-seated belief that I am in Boone on purpose. When I walk outside to my car each chilly morning, I am reminded. When I heard about an opportunity to take a course on speech pathology in an international context (complete with a spring break study abroad trip to Guatemala) next semester, I knew that the path I've been following since I was in the 10th grade has lead me here. When I discovered that Appalachian acquired one of the faculty members from the MUSC (Medical University of South Carolina) communication disorders program that dissolved last year, I almost had to laugh. He's not just any faculty member - he was their cleft palate specialist - and he's not just any old cleft palate specialist - all of his work has had a multicultural emphasis. Apparently it is his intention to take students on an Operation Smile trip with him in the summer. Naturally, it is my intention to be one of those students.

Yeah, I'm here for a reason - for a purpose. It's just a matter of settling into it. Besides, I just wrote a check for my out-of-state tuition, and I can't go back now.

on being a graduate student

Being a graduate student is a glamorous thing, indeed. During "orientation," we are bombarded with information on everything from clinical malpractice insurance to the advantages of keeping an extra-large bag of cheap kitty-litter in the trunk of your non-four-wheel-drive car to help combat the ice during Boone's winter months. They take our mug-shots for clinic badges, feed us dinner, and send us on our way.

In the first week, we help our supervisors get settled into their offices if they are new. Professors delegate many tasks to their assistants, which may include, but are not limited to: obtaining basic office supplies (i.e. paper-clips, manila folders, post-it notes, etc.), constructing and installing frames for hanging files in filing cabinets, typing old articles that have been xeroxed so many times they are too difficult for students to read (but apparently, not too difficult for a graduate student), sending emails on behalf of the professor who is computer illiterate*, typing up instructions for aforementioned professor to access and navigate his university email account, filing, offering advice on the appropriate microwave time for a left-over hamburger when asked, and performing general secretarial tasks.

In our classes, we are cautioned by our professors over and over AND OVER again not to overload ourselves, attempt to skip class (unless we have the swine flu), or cheat. They go over each extensive syllabus, but by the time we get to our fourth or fifth class, they've all run together because some teachers teach more than one class and all of our classes meet in one of two rooms. We sit through three-hour classes three days each week. We read a lot. We feel our hearts sink as our advisors key in the override code that allows us to take 15 hours, exceeding the graduate school's recommendation of 12 for full-time students with assistantships.

This is going to be fun.

*I find this term ironic in its application to a tenure-track literacy specialist...

new home

Please accept my most sincere apologies for not having posted in months. In my defense, I've had kind of a busy summer, what with having the time of my life at camp in Colorado.

Now I'm in Boone. My parents left after lunch today, and now I'm on my own, trying to figure my life out. Graduate school is turning out to be quite different from my undergraduate experience. Whereas an incoming freshman at UGA is held by the hand and spoon-fed everything from meal plan to dorm life to registration to extracurricular activities, here they bombard you with emails and all you can do is cross your fingers and hope you don't screw up. The fact that I've been out of the loop for quite some time doesn't help.

So I'm just sitting in my new room, looking out the window at the green mountains surrounding me, trying to download antivirus software for my computer and mentally blocking the fact that the room behind me still has a box that needs unpacking.

pilgrimage

We left yesterday around eleven in the morning to begin our pilgrimage to Mount Sinai. Aunt Chrissy, Abbie and I climbed in a rather spacious van with our drivers, Adel and Isam. We stopped to see the Suez Canal, slept a little, and Adel helped me with my Arabic. After about six hours, we arrived at the St. Katherine Protectorate, a National Park in the southern region of the Sinai peninsula.

We stayed at the Plaza, the Catherine* Plaza that is. It reminded me of a place I once stayed in Monjas, Guatemala, El Hotel Lopez. The linens were scratchy, and let's just say we were a little concerned about the potential for bed bug bites and/or intruders entering through our balcony, which I easily scaled in tennis shoes. Fortunately, we only slept for about two hours because we had to wake up early enough to begin our ascent at 2:00 AM. Dinner was included and was served buffet-style. Some things were more delicious than others, the chicken, for example, was great. The bread, not so much. Egyptians must not be the most talented bakers, because they even messed up the little cakes. How can you mess up cake? I didn't think it was possible.

At any rate, after a couple of hours of laughter reminiscent of the slumber parties of our youths, we got a couple hours of sleep, hopped out of bed, packed our little bag, and headed to the mountain. Adel drove us and introduced us to Mahmoud, our Bedouin guide. Think back to your SAT skills, because I'm about to throw an analogy at you:

Bedouin : Mt. Sinai :: Sherpa : Mt. Everest

Got it? Okay, so Mahmoud was this tall, skinny fellow who apparently does this five times a week or so. He carried our bag for us and helped us navigate the roughly five mile ascent through some of the especially treacherous spots. Once we hit the trail, the first thing I noticed was the stars. We were in the middle of the desert, and I haven't seen stars like that since perhaps I was a child in Alaska. The scenery surrounding us made me feel like I was on Mars or something. I'd never seen anything quite like these rocky peaks, just visible in the light of the cresent moon. After a few minutes of a gradual incline, we passed St. Katherine's monastery and came upon a couple of Bedouins offering camel rides. "You want camel?" they would say, "it is good camel and far way." We declined and continued into a small area where there had to be at least fifty camels tethered to rocks, some sitting, some standing, all chewing cud (from where, I cannot imagine). It was rather eerie, all those camels in the moonlight.

Every mile or so there was a "coffee shop," which consisted of a shack on the side of the path that sold candy bars, water, soda, coffee, tea, hot chocolate, etc. The headlamps supplied by Uncle Bill proved incredibly helpful, especially once we got to the end of the switchback camel trail and began the last segment of the climb, a series of 750 steps to to summit. Mahmoud warned us that all along the steps there would be Bedouins offering their hands to help us up the steep path, but that this help was not free. "Lah shakran," we repeated over and over again, "no thank you." Oddly enough, I heard a surprising amount of Russian, and it was pleasant to my ears.

Once we reached the point at which there were only 100 more steps, Mahmoud sent us on without him. I imagine he anticipated the crowds on the summit and was content to wait for our return after sunrise. We reached the summit just after 5:00 AM, and watched as the majestic scenery appeared before our eyes in the twilight. I thought about Moses, all those thousands of years ago, meeting with God on that very mountain top. I thought about how he had to make the journey alone, how he demanded that God show him His glory, how God had him hide in a cleft and passed his hand over it, how Sinai had been the place of the burning bush, when God first spoke to Moses, calling this place holy ground. I couldn't believe I was there.

Just as I was thinking that the sun had already come up and that we were simply unable to see it due to cloud cover and/or pollution, I looked over Aunt Chrissy's shoulder and saw it, peeking up over the horizon. It was bright orange against the dim yellows and blues of the sky, and quickly brought light and heat to the gray mountains all around us, turning them into a red-orange color.

The sun climbed into the sky with alarming speed, and it got hot fast. Though it was easier physically, the descent seemed longer with the heat and pronation of our toes, but we finally made it. We summitted Mount Sinai - probably my first internationally known mountain.

*Please take notice of the spelling discrepancy. This can be attributed to the "E-factor" (E as in Egypt).

egyptian marathon

In Egypt, a "marathon" is synonomous with a 5k at 4:30 PM in a place called the Wadi Degla Protectorate, one of Egypts National Parks. Prior to my own visit to the Wadi, it was described to me as "a giant sand pit" and "a big gulley," both of which proved to be accurate descriptions.

The Wadi is sort of like a large sandbox multiplied by the grand canyon. It was intense, but we survived. Hopefully I will add pictures to this post very soon.

In other news, I have decided to extend my stay in Egypt until Wednesday so that we can fit in a short trip to Mount Sinai before I leave.

new york minute

Delta only flies to Cairo out of JFK Int'l Airport in New York, and the late morning flights were all overbooked, so I opted to leave at 7:50, which turned out to be an excellent choice, and this is why:

On the plane, I sat next to a guy from Kennesaw State University whose father also works for Delta. Branden and I immediately hit it off, somehow managing to skip the small talk and discussing only important-type things. He was headed to South Africa the next morning to work on a service project with a leadership organization he is involved with through his school for a month, then to work on a Buddhist farm for a while after that. Early on in the conversation, he asked me if I had any religious affiliations or beliefs. I told him about Jesus and how I felt compelled to love him and oftentimes do so by loving and serving others (or at least attempt to do so) because of his Love and sacrifice for me. He told me that he was really interested in Eastern religions and, more recently, Lebanese philosophy.

We talked about cultures, languages, food, our families, science, faith, sustainability, and stuff white people like, including, but not limited to the following: religions their parents don't belong to, farmer's markets, organic food, diversity, yoga, nonprofit organizations, international travel, Manhattan, veganism/vegetarianism, architecture, bicycles, being the only white person around, study abroad, beards and scarves (well, we didn't actually talk about these two, but he had a beard and I was wearing a scarf despite the warm weather), integrity, native wisdom, platonic friendships (we were the embodiment of this), acoustic covers, books, following their dreams, and public transportation that is not a bus.

By the time we began our initial descent into the New York area, he asked if I wanted to head over to the city for lunch since I had about 6 1/2 hours before my next flight. I decided that since I was apparently already crazy for going to Egypt on a whim, that I would go. Neither of us were especially familiar with public transportation system, but we jointly navigated our way to Manhattan by train, arriving at the 53rd & Madison stop, just a block south of Central Park.

We ate at a place called Smiler's on the corner of 54th & Madison. It was a little market with a cafeteria-style feast of fresher produce than one would expect in the middle of a mega-city. I wish I had taken pictures. After lunch, I still had a little time to kill before I needed to head back to the airport, so we wandered around for a little while, continuing our five-hour-long conversation about nothing and everything. We exchanged contact information, and he promised to write me a letter about his experiences in South Africa. Finally we parted ways with a friendly embrace, and I descended back into the depths of the Subway system as he headed to the park to read.

I don't think I'm making this up, but it is still moderately difficult for me to believe that it actually happened.

call me crazy

On Monday night, I was lounging on the love seat in the living room of my father's house using his Macbook to check the flight availability of his trip to Milan this weekend. We had tentative plans to take the train to Lake Como and go for a picturesque hike, perhaps a picnic, and of course a photo-shoot. Unfortunately, the flight out of Atlanta had only four seats open, so it was a little risky. Out of curiosity, I checked the flights to Cairo, and found that there were over thirty seats open on the flight out the next day. I mentioned this to my dad, to which he replied, "Call Aunt Chrissy. See what they're doing this week."

Given that this conversation took place around 9:00 PM EST, it was 2:00AM in Cairo, so in leiu of calling, I sent an f'book message:

Re: call me crazy

No seriously, please do call me crazy because I was looking up flight availability for my dad's trip to Italy this weekend because I was trying to go with him, and on an absolute whim I checked the flights to Cairo to see what they looked like because I cannot stand the fact that I will be missing you guys this summer...

The flights are wide open for me to leave tomorrow (I would arrive on Wednesday morning) and return on Monday. I do realize that it would be a lot to organize and at such late notice, and that you guys have lives, so feel completely free to say no kirby, you are crazy, but I would love nothing more than to spend a long weekend with you guys.

Call me first thing in the morning, even if it's the middle of the night here - if this is going to happen i will need to leave pretty early. If not, that is okay, really, no pressure.

Around midnight, my cousin Abbie called me. I finished packing, slept for a couple of hours, and was on my way to the airport by 5:00 AM.

where i'll land

And I'm waiting for it to come
And I'm hoping for better times
When it comes, I will open my mouth
I'll write songs to make you cry
And I'm learning how to travel in time
How to make right the things I've done wrong
And when I do, I will open my mouth
I'm going back, back, back in time
-Travel in Time by Marching Band

Just a few minutes ago, I began my last 24-hour period of residence in Athens, Georgia, the locus of my soon-to-be Alma Mater. I'm not sure how I should be feeling about this, so I'm just sort of going with it. I've never been good at goodbyes - I prefer to casually leave things off as an assumption that you'll see one another again. Others might spend a night like this celebrating with friends, but being my socially awkward self, I went to the first half of a review for my Statistics final tomorrow, and left at the break without intending to. I walked from the Chapel on North Campus and wound up at Starbucks, where I ordered an iced coffee and kept walking.

I suppose the term "walking" implies purpose, so perhaps a better word is "wandering." I wandered for a few minutes, contemplating the fact that thousands of students had walked under these magnolias before me over the last 200 years or so. I climbed a few of the trees. As often happens, I found a reflection of the over-arching themes of my present life-stage in these moments and actions. I'm kind of wandering these days. It's not that I don't have purpose or Guidance, it's just sort of like it's 4:45 and you've finished your work responsibilities for the day because that's the kind of employee you are, but you can't clock out until 5:00. So what do you do? Run down the clock. A wiser move would be to study for your exams, but when you're a nerd that's kept up with her reading all semester, this option seems a little bit pointless.

I don't think that the Lord isn't directing my path, I'm just on a section of trail devoid of intersections for the moment. Somehow, most probably as a result of this big thinking, I ended up at the SLC, typing this post.

I guess I have some plans for the next couple months and years, really, but after that, I don't know where I'll land. It's strange, considering the compulsive planning addiction I fought as a younger version of myself. This is all I've got so far: June-August in Colorado, perhaps a family vacation to Hilton Head, then to North Carolina for a couple years. After that, who knows? Anything could happen.

six miles

pilgrimage- any long journey, especially one undertaken as a quest or for a votive purpose, as to pay homage.

I went for a run this morning. It was my last run in Athens, at least for now. Typically I run on the trails at the IM fields or botanical gardens, but I needed to get rid of some of the dirt caked on my shoes (white people love new balance). So I ran around campus on what turned out to be a cognitive pilgrimage of sorts.

First I ran up River Road, where I used to ride my bike home from Linguistics. I continued up East Campus Road until it intersected with Baldwin, where I took a left then a right to run between the old art school and the library, past the North Campus Parking Deck, and toward Tasty World. I made a left at Broad Street and entered North Campus by the arch, making note of the fact that this would be the last time I would go past it and not through it. I zig-zagged my way to Herty Field and made a couple of loops around the fountain before heading to Gilbert Hall and Lumpkin Street.

When I began this run, I didn't have a route in mind really, so I just allowed my memories to string together and I always sort of knew which general direction to head in next. At this point, I was heading for Brumby. I passed Caldwell Hall, which houses the department of Environmental Design and is known as the ugliest building on campus. I found a new treasure tucked between this building and Lumpkin, which, in my opinion, totally redeemed it: The Founder's House and Memorial Garden. It was beautiful, and I found myself regretting the fact that I didn't discover this place my freshman year, because I could have spent countless hours studying there on fine spring days instead of locking myself in my depressing shoebox of a dorm room to forget what the sun looked like.

I ran past the SLC, which apparently is now called the ZMLC (Zell Miller Learning Center), where I spent a great deal of time my first semester here reading for Astronomy and Educational Psychology before my late afternoon Spanish class. I crossed that intersection of Baxter and Lumpkin and ran past the Mell Community and Bolton Dining Commons before coming to the high rises: Creswell, Russell, and up that hill that never gets any easier, Brumby. I spotted my old window in room 442 on the south wing, where I spent my weekends cracking up over bad korean food with my high school sweetheart, who I had already begun to outgrow without even realizing it.

I ran past the West Campus Parking Deck and through my old parking lot and took the same backroads I used Wednesdays on my way to a night class in the Rivers Crossing building on College Station spring semester of freshmen year. When I reached South Lumpkin, I ran to Wesley and cut across between the Georgia Center and the South Campus Parking Deck. I ran past Snelling and the Pharmacy Building, where I realized that I wanted to be a Speech Pathologist during a Survey of Special Education class I took with my sister. I ran past the Turtle Garden, my very favorite place on campus and said goodbye to the turtles and coyfish, past the Forest Resource building, where I frequently slept through statistics. I ran past my climbing tree, where I did a lot of my big thinking sophomore year. I ran past Aderhold, which still looks like a giant waffle to me, and down East Campus Road until it connected with College Station Road.

When I reached the 5 mile mark, I was a little shocked, and thought for a moment that my pedometer was in kilometers instead of miles, because I was feeling really good. Finally, I ran by the health center and IM fields, past the Ramsey center and East Campus Parking Deck, and then home.

I got a really good professional idea on this run: Cognitive Maps for patients in the early stages of Dementia. I'll let you know how that goes.

the first of the lasts

Lasts. Last small group, last full class-week, last discipleship, last Geography lecture, last stat lab, last assignments, last Wesley, last trip to Publix, last run at the IM fields, last bus ride, last graduation announcement, last weekend in my apartment, and many more that I've yet to realize that I will have to face in the next few days and weeks. Last night I faced the first of the lasts: small group. It was really really hard to leave.

fresh start

Dad and I ventured to Boone this weekend to look at a couple of apartments. I decided on a townhouse in Vilas (with a view!) that I'll be sharing with a marriage and family therapy grad student (Mallory) and an as-of-yet-undecided-mystery-roommate. The fact that her name is Mallory kept causing communication breakdowns between Big Jim and me; our default Mallory is obviously Mallory Lee. I met the Gregory family for the second time. We first met five years ago in Croatia when they were working there for Campus Crusade, but now they're with Samaritan's Purse (Operation Christmas Child - the shoebox ministry). We had breakfast with a girl that is in my major at App and will hopefully be starting the grad program in the spring. The pair of us immediately hit it off, so I'm excited to have at least one friendly face to look for in Edwin Duncan Hall.

One issue that dominated our conversation on the journey home was that of vehicles. Because the townhouse situated on a bit of a hill about four miles from campus, and therefore, considered "out of town" for Boone, I will inevitably face a handful of days with perilous driving conditions, at least for me and my Accord. So we kicked around the idea of trading Chileno in for something with four-wheel drive. I know I've always said that I will never drive an SUV, but it might be happening. Dad pointed out that a small one might fit my lifestyle a little better than my Accord, so we are going to look. Problem is, I really like my car. He's been good to me.

I'm excited about this fresh start: new town, new furniture, new school, new church, new friends, new grocery stores, new mountains, new gym, new teachers, new home, new routines, and now possibly new car [well, new to me, anyway]. But change is always a form of loss, and at some point, I'm going to need to lament the end of my time at UGA and in Georgia, especially in light of the possibility that I may never again claim permanent residence in this state.

I was thinking in the shower this morning about all of this. I don't know about you, but I do some of my best thinking in the shower. For some reason, I find it easier to invite God into my thoughts in this setting - perhaps because its so private. We were mulling over all of this "fresh start" stuff and I just had this peace about all of it. It was as if He was reassuring me that He doesn't change, but that He loves the idea of a new day for us. That's why I love mornings so much: its a reflection of His image that I bear.

eighth grade

I paint a picture, I think it's easier to live that way
But my heart is really broken
I'm not the man you think I am when you see me
each day Torn apart and then left open
Father come and fill me up
I can't wait for you to overflow my cup
My heart makes me wonder how much longer
'Til you're coming back to take me away
My heart longs for you to fly right through the sky
And take me to the place where I
Will never feel my heart break down again
I search the sky and then I try imagining you there
Looking on anticipating
You're standing by and knowing I will join you in
the air Until then I'll be here waiting.
-My Heart, by Third Day

This was my favorite song when I was thirteen. The words captured the feelings of my young heart better than any song had previously done. Interestingly, although two life chapters (high school and college) have come and almost gone, this song still resonates deeply within me. So much has happened in the last seven years - dreams have been fulfilled and destroyed, plans have changed, hopes once crushed have been renewed, old friendships have been strengthened, and new ones have blossomed, while others have faded away. In many ways, I am a different person altogether.

Yet, I can still relate quite easily to that girl just finishing up eighth grade. I am excited about the summer just like she was. That summer contained her first trip to Europe. This one, my first independent move to another state. Like her, I am both excited and nervous about a new school and all its trappings on the horizon: North Hall High School then, Appalachian State University's Graduate School now.

I wonder what she thought the days approaching her college graduation would be like. She probably didn't think very long or hard about something so far off in the distant future, at least not realistically, what with high school on the horizon. When and if she did, I'm sure she assumed that she would, naturally, be planning a wedding at this point. After all, that's what happened in college: if you weren't lucky enough to have previously acquired a high school sweetheart, then you certainly met your soul mate at University...

Well, like I said, plans change, but I didn't intend for this post to be some sort of lament. She probably had never heard of speech-language pathology, and she definitely didn't imagine herself sitting in her room typing a blog about the potential thoughts of her younger self.

Rudy: Maybe God allows you to go through suffering so you can help others when they go through the same suffering.

Susan: I've got an idea. How about if none of us have to go through it, so I don't have to go through it first to show them the way?

Rudy: Then you'd be childish and shallow, don't you think? Suffering seems to be the best teacher. And be honest with yourself: you've changed. You're not the same person you were when you first came here.

-from Angry Conversations with God by Susan E. Isaacs

out like a lamb

Well, March certainly came in like a lion, at least in Athens. For those of you that do not find this city to be your place of residence, we had about 6+ inches of snow - and that is a moderate estimate. It seems safe to say that its on its way out like a lamb.

I promised I would update - I'm going to Appalachian State University in the fall! The more I think about it, the more I feel like a ten year old that's been told he gets to live IN Six Flags for the next two years. Wahoo! North Carolina and I will be fast friends, I'm sure.

Today I went to the science library to check out a book for my language disorders class - I'd forgotten how much I love that place. The quiet of a library is not just a result of a lack of noise, it's one of the few places on campus that truly feels still, and I find the stacks timeless. But my very favorite thing about the library is the books. I love borrowing library books because of the way that they look and feel and even smell - old. You never know whose hands a book has been in, or what countries it's traveled to. In the last three months alone, I've taken library books to Egypt, France, and Switzerland. I wonder where the volume I selected today has been. Probably not anywhere of consequence - it was published in 2008.

The library is awesome.

discovery!

Wonder of wonders, I have discovered Audiobooks on iTunes! Today I was listening to Jane Austen's Northanger Abbey whilst jogging around the lake and the IM fields this afternoon, when I heard this:

Friendship is certainly the finest balm for the pangs of disappointed love.

I've personally found this to be true. Right on, Jane.

east meets west

The most peculiar thing I saw in Cairo occurred on a women's car on Line 1 of Africa's only metro system. There was a lady, that I assume was commuting to work, completely covered in black from head to toe with only her eyes exposed through a narrow, horizontal slit. As if it wasn't strange enough to see her in such a modern setting, she pulled out her cell phone and started texting. It took a minute for my brain to process that information. Talk about east meets west.

My desire to write seriously about my first trip to Egypt is only outweighed by my inability to put such an experience into words. But I will try to explain.

I guess it would be nice to help in your escape From patterns your parents designed.
-Gronlandic Edit, by Of Montreal

You see, for a plethora of reasons big and small, the Lee family has been separated by strained relationships and physical distance for the entirety of my life. Because of this, I never got to know the members of my father's immediate family as well as I did those of my mother's. Now, as an adult, I've been presented with a choice: do I blame others and accept the lack of relationship, or do something about it?

I decided to do something about it, and that is a large part of why I chose to go to Cairo to visit my Aunt Chrissy, Uncle Bill, and sweet sweet Cousin Abbie on spring break. I must confess that I was a little bit nervous in the weeks preceding my travel, not that there would be drama, but that we would never get past that polite stage, or worse, that they wouldn't "get" me. Boy was I wrong about that.

Abbie is absolutely brilliant, and I found myself forgetting our age difference as we sat at a coffee shop called Beano (yes) on Road 9, sipping our drinks and talking about how we both have trouble relating to our peers, thanks to our old souls. It's amazing to see how much we have in common. She is adventurous and quite brave. Her heart is enormous.

Aunt Chrissy has this youthful quality about her that is hard to describe. As the week progressed, I began to see more and more similarities between her and my dad, as well as their sister, my Aunt Stephanie. Her sense of humor helped me to understand where mine comes from, and reassured me that I am not alone when I crack a HILARIOUS joke that nobody gets, because I can assure you that she would have laughed.

Big Bill, as my other cousin Charlie calls him, lives up to the meaning of his name: protector. He is an excellent husband and father, and very knowledgeable about the region and culture in which his family resides.

We basically spent the whole week laughing at ourselves and the incredibly awkward/comical things that we encountered in our sauntering (including, but not limited to, enduring a straight-up sand storm, riding a gargling camel, walking through dozens of metal detectors that went off without any further investigation, sneaking our way into mummy rooms and the great pyramid at Giza, playing I-Spy on the Nile, sort of being abandoned by our driver in a place called garbage city [and in the process being sort of attacked by droves of uncontrolled school-children], realizing that the Millers have Amelia Bedilia herself working for them, being offered an aphrodisiacal perfume called "Arabian Nights" by the salesman at the Golden Eagle Perfume Palace, being stared at by a creepy Egyptian man at Beano [among many others], and, apparently, meeting our future husbands at the recently bombed Khan el-Khalili market). I found some dear friends and kindred spirits.

As I sat on the plane to fly back to the states, my heart began to ache when I finally accepted the fact that I was leaving them. It's still aching.

whose life is this?

There are two kinds of people in the world: those who have set foot on African soil and those who have not. Over the course of the next 26 hours, I will make the transition from the latter to the former. I just took a geography midterm, walked to Aderhold, and am typing this in the mac lab while I wait for my next class to start. As soon as it is over, I will dash over to my apartment for a quick lunch, hop in the car, and drive to Atlanta where I will meet my grandparents at the airport (they've graciously offered to keep my car at their house so I don't have to pay for parking).

My first flight leaves Atlanta at 5:20 this afternoon and is scheduled to arrive in Paris at 7:55A tomorrow morning local time (1:55A EST). I just checked the availability: there are 13 seats open and I'm number 5 on the standby list, so it's looking pretty good.

Unfortunately, Charles De Gaulle International Airport and I do not get along very well, so I cannot say that I am looking forward to the 5+ hours I will be spending there tomorrow morning before my Air France* flight to Cairo leaves at 1:35P Friday (7:35A EST.) I should arrive at my final destination around 7:00P local time (12 noon EST).

I called to discuss my travel plans with my mother earlier this morning. The call ended with her saying something about being safe driving to the airport, as that, statistically speaking, will the most dangerous leg of my journey, and to not talk to any strange Parisians. Whose life is this?

*Or Air Chance, as my grandfather so affectionately refers to it.

and yet, the child won't say a single word...

My baby brother is 17 months old. According to developmental language norms, he should be nearing the fifty-word vocabulary typical of an 18-month-old. He walks, has "conversations" with Elmo, is interested in books, initiates nonverbal social interactions, feeds himself, and has met all major non-verbal developmental milestones.

Just the other day, I received the following email from my stepmom:
Hi there!
Yesterday, Robby, on his own, decided that he wanted to set up his own office.
He took his drum, and put his “My First Laptop” on top of the drum. Then he found a block and brought it over to use as a stool. Then he sat on his block and played with his laptop. He did this all on his own!
I did then hand him the phone to just complete his little office, and of course he knows what to do with that!
Then, he came out the next morning and did the same thing in his pajamas with Mr. Bear.
He is now sitting and playing at his “desk” with his laptop.
I thought you might get a kick out of these pictures.
I guess Jim and I spend a little too much time on our laptops and someone picked up on this!
Love you!
Patti


And yet still, not a single word. I think he's teasing me.

the chacos

The sun shone yellow on its grey head, reminding me of summer; and I cannot say why, but all at once, a gush of child's sensations flowed into my heart. -from Wuthering Heights

I love winter. I love the necessity of bundling up in layers of sweaters and scarves. I love the warmth of a cup of tea in my cold fingers. I love the prospect of snow and the season of epiphany (thanks to the Mars Hill Bible Church Podcast). We've experienced a preview of spring over the last few weeks, though. Seriously, I've pulled the chacos out, and unless the temperatures dip below freezing for an extended period of time again, I will not be persuaded to put them back in my closet.

I'm looking forward to spring.

maybe the buses should have seat belts

Today I was riding a North-South bus en route from my Human Geography class in the instructional plaza to my Language Disorders class in Aderhold. Just as we were turning by the coliseum, a Volvo decided to pull out in front of the bus, forcing the driver to slam on his brakes. The next thing I knew, my bookbag and I had been ejected from our seat, and was sort of flying through the sparse crowd standing around the front section of the bus. I landed a foot or two away from the driver with a pair of knees that would have been skinned without the protection of my jeans, staring up into a dozen pairs of eyes that looked as shocked as I'm sure mine did.

The next thing I realized was that my bookbag was on top of my chest and that the bus was still moving towards the next stop, which was mine. I pulled myself up and lumbered back to my seat, where my classmates began demanding a slew of reassurances that I was, in fact, okay. At this point, we had about four minutes to run a quarter of a mile to our class. I jumped off the bus and jogged down Carlton Street, arriving just in time.

Turns out, the only injury I actually sustained was minor: I jammed the ring and little fingers of my left hand. It hurts to type, which is an important part of my job, but thankfully, I'm not scheduled to work again until Monday.

Maybe the buses should have seat belts.

virtues

My small group leaders asked us to come up with a list of virtues for our lives - a list of characteristics that will determine the choices we make, and therefore, the paths we take, regardless of emotion, circumstance, or pressure of pleasing others. Here's what I've come up with so far:

1. Practice forbearance, or patient endurance and self-control; abstaining from the enforcement of a right. According to Rob Bell, forbearance is an act of kindness where retaliation is expected. Basically: I will choose to love my enemies, do good to those who hate me, and pray for those who mistreat me because that is how Jesus loves.

2. Exercise modesty, but not in the way one might initially assume. Of course I will dress appropriately, but modesty is so much more than that. Modesty protects our purity - the hidden person of our hearts. It is a lack of pretentiousness, freedom from vanity and boastfulness, and a moderate estimate of one's own worth or importance.

3. Seek wise counsel. It is far too easy to make careless mistakes in life. Discipleship allows us to draw from the experience of those wiser than us, as well as share our mistakes with others so that they don't have to repeat them. This, of course, includes the Wisest Counsel of all [Who should be my first resort].

4. Foster compassion. I will protect my soft heart from becoming calloused by sharing in the heartache, pain, and sorrows of others. I will help them to bear their burdens and take the time to listen, even when, no, especially when it is inconvenient. When I can't sit through a geography lecture on genocide without tearing up, I won't get frustrated with myself. Rather, I will realize that such a reaction is a reflection of the heart of God.

5. Offer beauty. I will not be beautiful for vanity's sake, but rather serve those around me with my loveliness. I will be a life-giver, inviting my brothers and sisters into peace and encouraging them to enjoy life.

6. Be vulnerable. I will boast in my weaknesses and share my life with others. I will be open and honest with those around me, in hopes that Grace will be the resounding theme that those who listen to my story will be unable to ignore. I will make no apologies for who I am.

7. Exhibit bravery. In light of the fact that my middle name means "Lion of God," I will not fear new or unfamiliar things, but rather embrace them as adventures in which The Strong God will partner with me.

kirby.arielle.lee

Because I love Zion,
I will not keep still.
Because my heart yearns for Jerusalem,
I cannot remain silent.
I will not stop praying for her
until her righteousness shines like the dawn,
and her salvation blazes like a burning torch.
The nations will see your righteousness.
World leaders will be blinded by your glory.
And you will be given a new name
by the Lord’s own mouth.
The Lord will hold you in his hand for all to see—
a splendid crown in the hand of God.
Never again will you be called “The Forsaken City”
or “The Desolate Land.”
Your new name will be “The City of God’s Delight”
and “The Bride of God,”
for the Lord delights in you
and will claim you as his bride.
-Isaiah 62:1-4

I love the concept of Zion; apparently it used to refer specifically to a mountain near Solomon's temple in Jerusalem, the dwelling place of the Spirit of God, but over time its meaning expanded. Think about it: where is the dwelling place of the Spirit now? Hint:

"Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? -1 Corinthians 6.19

"For we are the temple of the living God." (2 Corinthians 6.16) I suppose that makes you and me, figuratively speaking, Zion. Curiously, my first name means "church settlement" (in Old Norse), "village where the church is" (in scandinavian), or, if you will allow the stretch, "Zion."

My dad named me, and while I'm certain these thoughts hadn't crossed his mind when he signed my birth certificate, I refuse to accept this as coincidence. My middle name, Arielle, is hebrew for "Lion of God." I guess that is where the whole fierceness thing comes from. The imagery alone sends chills down my spine, for the courage that He has called me to is already part of my identity. All that's left for me to do is test it out - be brave.

And then there's Lee.

"Always remember, there is nothing worth sharing
Like the love that let us share our name."
-The Avett Brothers, Murder in the City

Lee means "sheltered from the storm." How very fitting. Kirbylee, as my dearest friends often call me, literally means "church settlement sheltered from the storm."

I love my name. Thank you, big jim.

natural beauty

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that frightens us most. We ask ourselves, "Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and famous?" Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that people won't feel insecure around you. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in all of us. And when we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.
-Maryanne Williamson

This weekend, I co-taught a beauty/nutrition class at a middle/high school girls conference. I can't even tell you how much fun I had and how much I already love the girls in my small group. The only way I could bear to drag myself away from them yesterday was remembering that Disciple Now is less than two months away. In preparation for talking about beauty, I did a little introspection and an even smaller amount of research. I flipped through an old, thoroughly underlined book that I read, appropriately, in high school:

"In The Sound of Music, the Countess has Maria beat in the looks department, and they both know it. But Maria has a rare and beautiful depth of spirit. She has the capacity to love snowflakes on kittens and mean-spirited children. She sees the handiwork of God in music and laughter and climbing trees. Her soul is alive, and we are drawn to her." -Captivating, pg. 16-17

I also wrote this journal entry on 20 Janvier:

One of the very deepest longings of my heart is to be a natural beauty. I'm not sure precisely what that means, but I think its more than just not needing to wear makeup. In fact, I think that you can be a natural beauty and still wear makeup. I think it has more to do with demeanor than physical appearance. I want to feel beautiful - to make others around me feel it themselves. Beauty has a lot to do with confidence, and confidence, knowing the truth about yourself: the LORD created me; I am his masterpiece, his handiwork, his poetry, so of course he finds me beautiful. As if that knowledge wasn't enough, He is showing me who I am:

I love boxing movies and waking up early. I'm a cat person, a mountain-girl with a weak spot in her heart for banjo music, beards, and plaid. I like to make my friends laugh, and nights in with a small group of friends appeals to me so much more than a night out (unless you are talking about out-camping). I like to ride my bike in a skirt and I love cold weather and sweaters, although autumn is, without question, my favorite season, and November my favorite month. My favorite color is green - almost any shade except kelly. More recently, I have grown into my love for deep purple, or eggplant, if you will.

I don't really keep up with current events, and I'm not sure whether I will or not when I finish college. I'm learning to appreciate antiques, and I love fresh fruit and whole grain bread from the Publix bakery. I consider myself an accomplished granola-maker and I love dark chocolate. Spending time with my grandparents is very important to me and I love hearing their stories from different stages of life. I hug really hard and love even harder. I stopped using product in my hair a few months ago in an effort to move toward the whole "natural beauty" thing. I like it. At my mother's request, I started plucking my eyebrows last week, but the jury's still out on that one. I'm taining for a 10k right now, with the eventual goal of completing a half-marathon in the spring. I'm not a runner, so this is a challenge for me.

I know I've posted lists like this before, but the reason I share these things about myself is to encourage others to discover the intricate and purposeful details of their own identity. The LORD cares, for "even the very hairs on your head are all numbered." (matthew 10.30)

"This is what we are inviting you to: not to learn one more set of standards you fail to meet, not toward a new set of rules to live by and things you ought to do, something far far better - a journey of the heart, a journey toward restoration and release of the woman you always longed to be. It's about discovering who you already are, as a woman." -Captivating, pg. 19

As I told the girls this weekend, things like purity and modesty are vital in protecting the "hidden person of our hearts," but if we don't come to know who that hidden person is, we will underestimate our own worth, reducing purity/modesty to a seemingly pointless list of rules. If we ask Jesus to reveal to us just the tiniest glimmer of who we are in his eyes - just one or two quirks that make us so unique and beautiful - we will fight to guard the purity of our hearts: a process known is some circles as modesty.

round two

My sister Mallory just got accepted to North Georgia College and State University, which is where she's wanted to go, and where I think she will absolutely thrive. I am so excited for her. It's kind of weird because it doesn't seem like it was that long ago that I was in her shoes: trying to decide where to go to college and wondering what to study once I got there. When I was her age, I didn't know myself well enough to make a well-thought-out decision, and looking back, I feel pretty confident that God sort of shepherded me to UGA.

This is the place where I discovered [read: began discovering] who I am. This is the place that I found my major and have grown in my passion thereof. This is the place where I met my sister-friends. This is the place where I got to know Jesus a lot better than I ever have (it's difficult to keep that from happening when Someone rebuilds your broken heart...). This is the place where I've transitioned from "girl" to "young woman," as weird as that is to admit. This is the place where I realized that I really like climbing and yoga and aerobic dance.

Oddly enough, if I had known everything about myself that I've learned during my time at UGA when I was in high school, I never EVER in a million years would have chosen this school for myself. I have no doubt that this is where I was supposed to be over the last few years and for the next few months. But when May comes, I feel confident that I will be ready, not relieved, but equipped to peacefully accept the fact that the time has come to move on. The fun part is, I'm sort of getting a second crack at picking out a school that is a better fit for me.

I've submitted applications to UNC-Chapel Hill and Appalachian State University, and should hear back from them sometime in March.

Will keep you posted.

2008

2008 was a great year.

It was a year of firsts...
-first resolution kept.
-first vacation without parents.
-first time I really loved college.
-first international flight on my own.
-first time a boy I dated long ago (in high school) got married.
-first full year of consistent discipleship.
-first bachelorette party.
-first (second, and third) blind date.
-first time i flew on a plane that my dad was flying.
-first tattoo (yeah).

It was a year of lasts...
-last time i register for courses at UGA.
-last holiday season in Athens.
-last Audiology class.
-last roommate Christmas.

Looking back, I realize that I learned a lot about life in 2008, specifically, about enjoying life. Being happy is less about circumstances, whether good or bad, than it is about being flexible and rolling with the punches. It's about remembering to Hope. It's about getting to know people better -asking good questions and learning about who they are makes it virtually impossible not to grow in your love for them.

In 2008, I discovered music that made me want to dance or sing or turn the volume all the way up or put that one song on repeat. I learned to laugh at myself. I learned to let go of the desire to reinvent myself - to relax and just be still - to slow down and realize that there's no need to hurry. I learned to love my home and know that it will still be there for me no matter how far away I travel or how long I am away. I learned to see my fears as adventures and receive love from my friends and family.

I've learned that sometimes in life, your heart gets broken, but that often times, this very process sets you free. Even if it's not what wanted, it's important to see it for what it is: emancipation. Maybe if things never changed you would have been happy still, perhaps you're sure of that, even. That's me. But I know I wouldn't have taken a chance on all the adventures that 2008 held if things never changed. I might be happy, but I would certainly be a different, more boring person. So good comes from circumstances that seem like the end of the world to us. I suppose that's just the kind of God we serve.

old soul

Today I traveled back in time. Well, sort of. That's what it felt like, anyway. I went to North Hall to peek on the yearbook and visit my favorite teacher, Mrs. Shirley, a habit I've developed over the course of the past few years. This was the first year that I didn't recognize anybody, because all of the girls on staff were in middle school when I was editor, except the freshmen, who were in the fifth grade that year. As Mrs. Shirley introduced me to the staff, my mind wandered. I graduated from high school three years ago. So much has changed. But when did it happen? I don't remember suddenly growing up, and although I know I'm a much cooler person than I was at seventeen, it's still hard to believe that I'm all grown-up, or nearly so.

Everybody knows
It hurts to grow up
And everybody does
It's so weird to be back here.
Let me tell you what
The years go on and
Were still fighting it, were still fighting it.
-Ben Folds, Still Fighting It

As I listened to their carefree banter, I began to feel so... old. To be fair, I'd felt like a forty-year-old with really young friends all through high school, and even in college, I sometimes have a hard time relating to my peers. How did I expect to feel upon my return to the very room I spent the majority of my high school career in, what with this old soul of mine?

Everything seems to have changed: my taste in music, my sense of humor, my regard for others, my financial awareness, my hopes and fears, the focus of my academic and professional pursuits, my relationship with Jesus, you name it.

Three years doesn't seem like such a long time; it shouldn't be able to create such a vast chasm of age-difference, after all, two of my best friends are six years older than me, but these sweet teenage girls certainly did not feel like my peers. Don't get me wrong, most of the girls were juniors, which is the group I had at Disciple Now in March, and I loved spending time with them. They have such beautiful and sincere hearts, and I hope to move up with them this year, although I would love to have sophomore girls again. But I do not consider them my peers. I wouldn't seek accountability or solicit advice from them.

No, I've grown up. This makes me want to laugh when I think about how I skipped out to my car in the rain this morning in my hot pink gingerbread pajamas, pausing to splash in the puddles along the way. I can act so childish at times, but I think that being comfortable enough with yourself to act like a child is part of maturity.

The problem is, I don't really want to grow up.

switzerland

Tuesday was kind of glorious because I went to Switzerland with my dad. After catching up on a few hours of sleep, we ventured out, me in my cold gear and wool sweater, him in his flannel-lined cargo pants. Dad bought our tram tickets and we headed downtown for a pit-stop at Starbucks, where we took advantage of the Wi-Fi access for his iPhone over a couple of $4 cups of STRONG coffee. Next, we grabbed a couple of brats at the station before jumping on the train to the place where we could access the gondola that would whisk us up another couple hundred feet above sea level to the ridge overlooking the Zurich Sea.

At some point, perhaps en route to Starbucks or over lunch, dad asked if I still wanted to go hiking, despite the cold and the cloud cover that would potentially obstruct the typically picturesque view of the mountains all around us. Without hesitation, I answered yes (I am, after all, a mountain girl). Later, during our ascent in the gondola, we noticed that the trees were frosty, and the next minute, we burst into the sunlight, escaping the thick blanket of clouds. I knew I had made the right choice, and soon admitted to Big Jim that when I answered "yes" to his inquiry, I had this feeling that the Lord had something special planned for us.

We stepped off the platform and into Narnia. (gondola vs. magical wardrobe made from a tree planted with fruit from another world - what's the difference?) The ground was covered in a thin, but fresh layer of snow. The sun was shining, its rays penetrating the thickness of the forest in a dazzling kaleidoscopic fashion, while tufts of powdery white snow was falling all around us, dusting my hair and eyelashes. We began to follow the yellow diamond blazes that marked the wide trail, or Wanderweg, it you will, but couldn't make it more than twenty or thirty feet without stopping to snap a few photographs. I couldn't stop smiling and laughing and running to catch up with my dad after pausing to admire the tiny ice crystals that clung to only one side of a small tree - the side opposite the direction of the sun's warmth. Soon we even came upon a lamp post, and I turned around, half expecting to catch a glimpse of Mr. Tumnus peering out from behind a tree.

We walked past fields of snow and small farm houses. Occasionally, dad would abruptly stop and turn around, explaining that the best pictures are sometimes right behind you. We walked on in silence for a few moments and I thought about everything that I'd just experienced. It would have been nice to have a clearer view into the distance - to see the breathtaking snow-capped range surrounding us, but that's not what God had planned for us. Instead he surprised us with a sight that I like to think few people, or at least, few Georgians, have experienced: a little patch of snowfall in the midst of a sunny Swiss afternoon. Would I have appreciated the things so close to me if I had been distracted by things off in the distance? Perhaps, but probably no to the extent that I did. Life so often works in much the same way. The future is kept hidden from us so that we are better able to live - to truly live - in the present.

Oh, the depth of the riches of the wisdom and knowledge of God!
How unsearchable his judgments,
and his paths beyond tracing out!
"Who has known the mind of the Lord?
Or who has been his counselor?"
"Who has ever given to God,
that God should repay him?"
For from him and through him and to him are all things.
To him be the glory forever! Amen.
-Romans 11:33-36

After a few hours, we came to a tower with an icy spiral staircase that we ascended with care. From the top, we had a more aerial view of at least the tops of the peaks around us, or at least those tall enough to tower above the vast foggy quilt covering the earth below us. A perfect afternoon.