I’m wearing jeans today. Yep, for real.
I wonder who’ll be more surprised: my students, my supervisor, my classmates, or the kids I’ll be picking up trash with this afternoon?
(For context, I wear jeans approximately twice a year. The last time I wore jeans, a good friend who I’d known for probably ten years said “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear jeans before.” Yeah, so I don’t wear jeans very often.)
Does anybody else feel like my blog has been a little bit “thinking heavy” in the last couple of weeks?
I’ve been rushing though Why We Love the Church trying to get it done before it has to go back to the library (on Interlibrary Loan)–and it seems like all I’ve been doing is writing book notes. Problem is, I still have all sorts of book notes in my (paper) notebook that I want to put up at some point.
I could just take the plunge and devote myself to the “thinking blogger” genre. But I don’t think I really want to do that. I like the wanna-be-mommy-blogger and bookie-blogger genres too much to let go of them entirely.
Alas, when a simple hobby begins to take such crisis of identity proportions.
As I send my words out into the void, somebody please affirm me (because really that’s what I want :-P) Tell me what you like me to write about. Tell me what you don’t like me to write about. Just tell me something. ‘Cause I’m tired of thinking and just want some nice inane chatter.
Why do I do things like this to myself? Why do I let myself get this busy? Why do I procrastinate to the point that I have days packed this full?
I don’t know why. But I do.
For instance, on today’s agenda?
Just a minute–what am I doing on the internet right now?
Sorry about not having a Love Month post today.
God is currently challenging me to be faithful in the little. The little things like getting my grading done and keeping up-to-date on school work, that is. So I spent the day getting caught up on grading (but now, at last, I am caught up!)
I’ll be planning on posting the next installment in between lab and my office hours tomorrow (early afternoon)–or, should unforeseen complication arise, I’ll have the next post ready for tomorrow evening.
In the meantime, I encourage you, also, to be faithful in the “little things” God has given to your charge–even when the “little things” aren’t exactly your favorite things.
The snow on my head
melts
and runs to my eyelid
It dissolves
my mascara
which drips into my eye
I cry
Once upon a time,
while snow came down
in a flurry,
a girl went out
in a hurry.
The ground was slick
and her glasses
were blurry.
Twice, she slipped.
But not to worry–
She fell into
a soft mud slurry.
I was born in the 80s, a child of the 90s, coming of age in the millennium. But my heart belongs to an earlier day–or more like many earlier days.
Nothing takes me back to my childhood (and beyond) like the sound of the earliest Christian rock, 70s rock–the likes of Larry Norman and Randy Stonehill.
My mom and dad’s LPs that we listened to endlessly.
Larry Norman’s “In Another Land” (1975):
Turning back the table once again to enjoy our favorites.
“He’s a rock that doesn’t roll
He’s a rock that doesn’t roll
Well He’s good for the body
and great for the soul
He’s a rock that doesn’t roll!”
“He’s an unidentified flyin’ object
You will see Him in the air…
And if there’s life on other planets
Then I’m sure that He must know
and He’s been there once already
and has died to save their souls.”
And of course, trying our hand at the glorious harmonies of “Righteous Rocker #3” while Mom tells us stories of her college buddies who would break out into harmony while walking through campus.
“You can be a righteous rocker
Or a holy roller
You can be most anything
You could be a child of a slum
Or a skidrow bum
You can be an earthly king
But without love
you ain’t nothing
Without love
Without love you ain’t nothin’
Without love.”
Chuck Girard’s “Chuck Girard” (1975):
Crying for the girl from Tinagera. Crying in worship to “Sometimes Alleluia”. Walkin’ by the Sea, the Sea of Galilee. Rockin’ out to “Rock’n’Roll Preacher.”
Randy Stonehill’s “Welcome to Paradise” (1976):
Already a budding health activist, belting out the lyrics to “Lung Cancer”.
“She went down to the corner store
And bought a pack of filter kings
Don’t you know tomorrow she’ll be back for more
Cause she really likes to smoke those things
And every time that she inhales a cloud of that cigarette smoke
She’s just one step closer to the man in black
And 60 cents closer to broke
She’s been working on lung cancer,
Emphysema, a cardiac arrest…
She’s been smokin’ that C-I-G-A-R-E-T-T-E”
Meanwhile, Anna and Josh enjoyed the much more beautiful and poetic “Puppet Strings”.
“We are all foolish puppets
Who, desiring to be king,
Now lie pitifully crippled
after cutting all our strings.
But God said I’ll forgive you
and face you man to man
And win your love again.
O how can there be possibly
a greater gift of love
Than dying for a friend?”
2nd Chapter of Acts’ “Mansion Builder” (1978):
Joshua singing Matthew to Anna’s Annie, harmonizing beautifully to “Mansion Builder”.
“So why should I worry?
Why should I fret?
‘Cause I’ve got a mansion-builder
Who ain’t through with me yet.”
Lamb’s “Lamb I” (1972):
Joshua singing along with his favorite band, his child’s voice mingling with Joel Chernoff’s tenor:
“The sacrifice lamb has been slain
His blood on the altar a stain
To wipe away guilt and pain,
To bring hope eternal.
Salvation has come to the world;
God’s only Son to the world;
Jesus the One for the world–
Yeshua is He.”
The songs that take me back, that make me remember the wholehearted enthusiasm of three little children digging through Mom and Dad’s records. The songs that remind me of the days when we spent hours luxuriating in melody and harmony and rhythm. When we pored over the record sleeves, enjoying the long-haired hippyness of the Jesus-music, enjoying the poetry and occasional childishness of the lyrics and tunes.
These artists created Christian music as we know it today. They were decried as singing “devil music” because the music was syncopated–a Gothard anathema. They started their own labels to create a niche for themselves, unwilling to “let the devil have all the good music” (in the words of Larry Norman). And so began Christian rock.
But we have forgotten them along the way, now in our world where Christian music is ordinary, mundane, (in my opinion) boring. It wasn’t always this way. Once upon a day, the idea of Christian rock and roll was revolutionary. These were the pioneers. They dared to think that modern music could be a medium for the Christian artist. And they created true art. The art that fed my child soul.
Although scientists have struggled to discover precise genes for addictions, it is generally recognized that certain addictions tend to run in families. Alcoholism. Nicotine addiction. Addiction to elicit drugs.
Just like most issues ascribed to genetics, the question always arises–is it nature or nurture? Do I act like my family acts because it is hard-wired into me or because I learn it from my family? I don’t know. Scientists don’t know. It’s been debated for years.
My family might be said to have an addiction. At least, my father and I share a common addiction. We’re both “information junkies”. We like to be surrounded by information constantly–whether reading it, listening to it on talk radio, discussing it with a friend, or watching a documentary. Give me information.
Cut off from information, I go through withdrawal–I start to twitch and make random noises. :-)
Thankfully, information is readily available at my local library, online, and across the yard at my parents’ house. So I rarely have to experience withdrawal.
You might say it’s genetic. My dad is a notorious information junkie.
But maybe it’s nurture. I grew up listening to Ravi Zacharias on the way to church, Rush Limbaugh on errands, and RTB Radio Podcasts while my dad showered in the room next door. I remember watching coverage of the Gulf War after dinner on the little television we took out of the closet expressly for that purpose. My family had (still has) three sets of encyclopedias. I read them regularly.
Nature or nurture, I’m an addict. So is my dad.
He got me hooked at a young age, as I took sips from the deep glasses he drank from. The encyclopedias acted as a gateway drug, the library my nearest pusher. Soon I was a full-fledged addict. Our drug choices and routes of delivery diverged throughout my teen years, although we still took time to snort together.
But now, again, we have come to share in our addiction freely.
I read blogs, a great variety. My dad reads blogs, mostly news, science, and politics. In Instapundit, we have again found a shared addiction.
“Did you read that article by the Instawife?” Dad asks.
I ask for a bit more description. I checked Insta early that morning–this hadn’t been posted until the afternoon. Dad catches me up on the latest.
“What do you think of that piece on electric cars?” I ask him right back.
We discuss nuclear energy, Supreme court rulings, male empowerment, and liberal extremism–all sparked by our new common link.
Maybe it runs in families, maybe it’s just us–but information is our shared addiction, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
She sat at the end of the table in our Advanced Nutrition Counseling class and asked good questions. Most of the girls (and the one guy) in the class were familiar faces. She wasn’t.
When I went down to my adviser’s lab for lunch, she was there. Dr. J is her adviser too–and she was TA-ing for one of Dr. J’s classes.
We grew acquainted over meals and meetings and sharing teaching horror stories.
Towards the end of the semester, she started asking questions and our friendship grew a bit deeper. She prefaced her questions “I know this is a kinda personal question, and you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but…” I couldn’t help answering.
When I walked into Statistics this Monday and saw her sitting in the back row, I could have cried with relief. I needed something, someone, anything, anyone to keep my mind busy, to keep me occupied. Chante provided the perfect relief.
I knew she knew there was something going on, but she didn’t press. We talked school work and TA-ing and thesis. We looked forward to seeing each other again on Wednesday.
I didn’t want to do anything today–and thankfully, I didn’t have to do much. Just Statistics. I stopped and waited while she finished at the water fountain and then walked with her into class.
After class, we got to talking about this and that. Life, and all that entails. I knew the question would rise sometime–the conversation we’d started before break. I was ready to share when the question came.
Chante listened to me, encouraged me, patted me on the back. “That’s amazing, Rebekah” she told me. “That’s good. You’re growing, you’re learning, this has been a good experience for you.” She reminded me to not lose heart in prayer, to keep pouring my heart out before God. She laughed with me at my jumbled emotions, and told me I needn’t be afraid to cry.
And so I did. She told me she admires me, admires what God’s doing in my life. And she told me I’m in her prayers–and have been since we first started discussing the topic.
We said goodbye and I walked back to my car, tears rolling down my face.
Thank you, Thank you, Lord, for the unexpected blessing of a surprise friendship. Who’d have thought that I’d find such a precious sister, so dear to my heart, in the musty halls of Ruth Leverton? And who’d have dreamed we’d find ourselves in the same class this semester–just when I needed a friend?
God thought it. God dreamed it. He arranged the class time, arranged the news, arranged the mood, arranged it all–and blessed me with a sister at school.
Today I’m thankful that it coulda been much worse.
It coulda been much worse, but it wasn’t–and for that, I am thankful.
And He said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore most gladly I will rather boast in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me. 2 Corinthians 12:9
“Wow, you’re brave,” she said as she passed me on my long trudge onto campus.
She was undoubtedly referring to my knee-length skirt and tights–and to the temperature in the mid-teens.
But her admiration (or was it?) of my bravery was misplaced. I was far warmer in my closely-fitting tights coming on to campus than in my loose-fitting workout pants coming off of campus. I was a comfortable temperature as I walked to the Nutrition offices to meet the instructor I’ll be TA-ing for this semester. Only my finger tips and ears really felt the cold.
On the way back, I felt the cold air on my legs–the air that my pants could not keep out. The fabric chafed as I walked briskly back to my car. I was COLD and UNCOMFORTABLE.
What she should have been impressed with was that I made it safely on to campus in my loafers. My black slip-on loafers look nothing if not sensible–but they’re actually the worst thing imaginable on ice, or snow, or wet, or anything with the potential of slickness.
As I confidently returned to my car wearing the tennis shoes I’d worked out in, I noticed my tracks going the opposite direction. Nearly every track includes a skid mark, as the practically nonexistent tread of my loafers failed to do its job.
I’m a big fan of skirts–I wear them from 50-80% of the time. I tend to go for a business casual look, either with skirts or with slacks and dress shoes. I wear jeans approximately twice a year (and I’m not under-stating that at all), and I wear tennis shoes MAYBE once a week (unless I’m exercising).
The skirts tend to do just fine, regardless of the weather–I just choose shorter or longer and add or remove tights as appropriate. The shoes? Not so much. Dress shoes aren’t exactly known for being warm (in the winter), and they’re not necessarily breathable (in the summer–between food and medicine, my profession doesn’t really make sandals an option). What’s more, they’re slick-soled and generally not waterproof.
What I’ve learned from braving the elements in business casual? It can be done, but choose your shoes wisely. If I don’t have much walking to do, but it’s really slick outside, I’ll often choose something with a spike heel. The spike provides more grip than most “flat” soles–and still allows me to walk pretty quickly. If I have lots of walking, I consider flatter to be better, but I have to take it slowly so I don’t slip.
I’m thinking what I need is a pair of business casual cleats for winter. Does anybody know where I might find some of those?