Pondering...

What color is a chameleon originally, when it's not trying to blend in? 

I hate the way people react...

...when I tell them I'm majoring in social work. You'd have thought I told them: "I expect to single-handedly alter the course of history." 

The conversation with any "adult" has become painfully predictable. 

"What are you majoring in?" They ask, hoping I'll say "education" or maybe "business," possibly even "political science." 

"Social work," I say with a smile. 

And then it starts. It always does. "Oh," they muse, trying to figure out where to direct the conversation next. "That certainly is a...unique...calling, isn't it?" Unique as in, different? Or bad? 

I smile politely, trying to bear with them. "Mmhmm." 

"You know, the burn-out rate is really high. Most people leave the profession within five years." 

Yes, you know, I've heard that from the thousand other people before you who inquired about my major. 

"I suppose," I venture. "But I think the burn-out rate in any job has the potential to be high. You have to find something you enjoy getting up for in the morning."

"But you can't possibly help everyone." 

Uhhh...DUH. And here is where I bite my tongue. Here is where I've learned not to argue. Not to point out that if we all believed we couldn't make a difference, we'd sit around idly all day wondering what to do with ourselves. It's where I would point out that a single smile, as cliche as it sounds, can bring someone back from the edge. It's where I would launch into my mantra about why I want to be a social worker, about the guy who was throwing star fish back into the ocean, one by one, on a beach with thousands if not hundreds of thousands of star fish. And another man came along and told him he couldn't possibly make a difference. 

And you know what the first man did? He picked up yet another stranded star fish that would suffocate if not thrown back into the ocean, smiled and said, "Made a difference to that one."

Everyone has a unique calling, just for them, a passion, of sorts. And you know what? If you pour your heart into what you do, it might be taxing. But I think that's more of a reflection of the passion of the person than the profession. 

Rapport

Okay, this is going to make me sound stupid and uneducated but I promise I'm not...at least not nearly as much as this blog post is going to make me sound...


Last night Alyssa and I were watching the Colbert Report, something I've heard of but never actually watched. I didn't realize he dropped the "t" on both his name and the word "report," making it sound like "rappor." I remarked to Alyssa how dumb this seemed to me, since obviously, I told her, that's not how you spell rapport.

And I went on, with the conviction of someone who's on fire and knows what she's talking about, to tell her that rapport was obviously spelled "r-e-p-o-i-r-e." You'd think I was spelling the word for the National Spelling Bee. Alyssa just looked at me and was like: No, that's not how you spell it.

I challenged her, saying that I was clearly right. She retorted: "Rapport is spelled R-A-P-P-O-R-T, here I'll google it." And she did. In fact, she googled (don't get me started on how "google" isn't a verb) the word I was spelling.

Urban Dictionary (the source of all knowledge, OBVIOUSLY) defines "repoire" as: the way stupid people spell "R-A-P-P-O-R-T."

Lovely.

Granted, I have never used the word repoire in my writing, but I have seen it written in internships and in things I've read online and otherwise, so I'd like to think that the ignorance and stupidity of others has clouded my ability to know the truth. But alas, I admit that I simply didn't know the proper spelling for the word.

Sigh. (This is why when I tutor kids in reading and spelling, I can't explain to them the English language. I mean really? "Wicked" and "licked" don't rhyme, but they should. And rapport should NOT be spelled like that. Oh well.)

Fear

Ten years ago, tragedy and evil struck at Columbine High School in Littleton, Colorado. I was 11 years old that April and in fifth grade. Although I remember the sadness of the adults around me after the Oklahoma City bombing, I do not remember the tragedy or news coverage of the event specifically. But I do remember Columbine.

I remember the news footage of students running from the building. I remember tearful parents clinging to their children. I remember ghastly images of things that should never have happened at that high school. I remember nation-wide revelation that "our kids" might not be safe, even at the sanctuary that is the schoolhouse. The point is, I remember.

It was the first time in my life that I understood danger and evil as something other than "bad guys." There were pictures and a specific event that marked my new understanding. I remember lectures from the principal about telling an adult if someone is threatening violence. I remember "safety drills," where we had to hide from view of the classroom door. Maybe most terrifying of my memories is when we had to actually use the drill for real at my elementary school one day.

Ten years is a long time. My understanding of safety and evil has very much grown, matured and changed from what is was as a fifth grader behind a desk. But Columbine shaped how I saw evil and a huge part of that view still remains with me.

A lot of times, I am overcome by the fear that comes with the realization that malls, schools, colleges, workplaces, nursing homes, gas stations, private homes, and modes of transportation are far from safe. But like everyone else, if I allow that fear to cripple me I will never live. In the wake of every tragedy the survivors and the public at large find strength to go on, to live. We have to. There isn't another option, really.

Lives of Quiet Desperation

"The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. What is called resignation is confirmed desperation." -Henry David Thoreau, Walden

As a college student, I am living under the assumption that once I graduate I can make my life mean something. Make an impact. Affect change. You know, the naiive belief that I am more than just a vapor.

But if that is true, if my life is just a fleeting mist, then how am I supposed to not lead a life of quiet desperation? If I resign myself to the fact that I can have no lasting impact, then what keeps me from living the kind of life Thoreau observed and wrote about?

I'm not saying that nothing matters; I'm just wondering what the balance is between the humility of knowing that I am just a fragile piece of the great human race, one miniscule drop in an infinite ocean, one second of eternity, and living a life of purpose.

More to learn

Apparently I have more to learn to be a true Tar Heel fan:

1. Duke is spelled Dook.
2. Tar heel is two words.
3. ACC = Another Carolina Championship
4. (yes, as asked in the last post) UNC = University of National Champions (as demonstrated last week.)


I know the song, but that comes from six years in youth group at CHBC...it was pretty much Tar Heel-owned. :)

Predictions

About two months ago, I saw the "error of my ways" and stopped pulling for Duke in the basketball world. I became a die-hard, paint-my-toenails-the-day-of-the-game, t-shirt-wearing Carolina fan. And so, Monday's game was a big deal in a couple of ways. :-)

Alyssa, her mom and I made predictions about the final score for the NCAA Championship game. Here they are:

Alyssa: Carolina 91 --- Michigan State 79

Her mom: Carolina 85 --- Michigan State 68

Me: Carolina 87 --- Michigan State 71

FINAL SCORE 

Carolina 89 --- Michigan State 72

There'll be pictures later.

Okay, but one thing: Is it really necessary to call UNC the University of National Champions? I'm all for being happy, ecstatic and celebratory at a second NCAA Championship in five years and it's kind of cute but...really?

To This End

lead

-verb, used with object

1. To go before or with to show the way;
2. To guide in direction, course, action, opinion, etc.


And so, as I think about the definiton of the word "lead," (the root of the word "leadership), I realize why I feel so confused about leadership with Intervarsity. I was recently asked to become the President of UNCG's Intervarsity Chapter for the 2009-2010 school year. I'm excited but until I looked up the definition of leadership and looked at Colossians, I didn't understand what was missing.

In Colossians 1:29, Paul writes: "To this end I labor, struggling with all his energy, which so powerfully works in me."

The phrase "to this end," and the definitions of "to lead," seem to indicate that when you're leading, you ought to have a direction and/or a destination in mind. And so, as members of leadership with Intervarsity, we should be leading people somewhere. But where?

The obvious answer is closer to God. But I think the true answer is so much more detailed and in-depth than just that.

Apple Not-So Strange

This makes Gwyneth Paltrow giving her daughter the name "Apple" seem almost normal.

Seriously. Check out this kid's name.

Seriously?

Read this.

It's cute and all that he wanted to proprose on the Brooklyn Bridge, but shouldn't there have been safety precautions taken? Like...I don't know, a string attached to the ring or something.

It makes me even more fearful that when I have the wedding bands for Laura Jo's wedding, I might accidently drop them in the infinite abyss that is the ocean shore. Oh horror!

The Voiceless Break Into Song

I came across this passage (Isaiah 35) and I decided to post The Message version, because I like the use of "redress," with its double meaning. I also like the title of this section: "The Voiceless Break Into Song."

Tell fearful souls, "Courage! Take heart!
God is here. Right here,
On His way to put things right
And redress all wrongs.
He is on His way. He'll save you!

Often times the hurt and brokeness in our lives causes shame, much like the shame that Adam and Even experienced in the Garden when they realized they were naked. And how comforting it is to think that part of God's redemption process is to "re-dress" us, to clothe us and to bring about closure and healing that removes our shame and fear. And of course, the dictionary definition of redress is "to explain." And for anyone who's experienced hurt or pain, there's a longing for explanation-- why it happened, and what the future will look like in light of it.

A New Attitude

I was stopped at a stoplight the other day when the left turn light turned green, and the lane to my left should have started moving through the intersection. But the first car didn't go. The driver wasn't paying attention.

So when the car behind her honked, it didn't surprise me. He had waited a fair amount of time before urging her on. But the lady who got honked at surprised me. She raised her hand to wave at the man who honked at her-- the way we expect people to wave when they thank us for letting them out or something.

And it shocked me and I sat there for a moment thinking how much more pleasant life would be if everyone's attitude toward gentle correction or advice was to thank them, not get frustrated or angry.

Busyness

"The new materialism of America is busyness."

-Chip Ingram

One of those days

When I was six, I had one of those days. By the time the evening hit, I was worn slam out. My sister got in the front of the bathtub (a right that I attributed only to myself, since the youngest always got to go first in board games), and I went to pieces.

"This has been the worst day ever. First, the letter came that Ms. Shiels (my beloved Kindergarten teacher) isn't coming back next year. Then Reid (a neighborhood kid) hit me in the head with a ball. And now, Sherby got in the front of the bathtub."

Everything piled on top, it felt overwhelming. It was just too much. That's kind of how I feel a lot these days: like one thing after another gets piled on and I'm stuck trying not to get buried beneath the rubble.

But when it feels like too much, I remember that there are plenty of good days up ahead. And somehow no matter how much good stuff gets piled together, it never feels like too much. :-)

"Late Fragment"

And did you get what
you wanted from this life, even so?
I did.
And what did you want?
To call myself beloved, to feel myself
beloved on the earth.

-RAYMOND CARVER, "LATE FRAGMENT"

My Favorite 2-year-old

Let me tell you about my favorite 2-year-old. Actually, I guess she's 2 1/2. Anyways, I got to have dinner with her the other night. And it reminded me how much I dislike being so far away from her and missing out on watching her grow up.

We took a walk while we were waiting for our food. Hand-in-hand, she pointed out the flowers blooming, the buds on the trees, the Green volkswagen beatle. I asked her what she did at daycare that day.

"I did work."
"Really? What kind of work?"
"I built a tower that the princess lived in."
"Wow. That's hard work."
"Yeah." She sighs. "It was very hard work."

She cracks me up constantly. She's very flirtatious and told everyone around us, the waitstaff included, about the turtles on her shirt. Apparently, when her mom asked her if she had to go potty a month or so ago, she said, "That's not a priority right now."

I'm always impressed at her ability to carry on conversations and was not the least bit dismayed that she was already cheering on an ACC team, even if it wasn't the one I typically cheer for. It was too adorable not to love. She can spell her name and when she sings the "BINGO" song, she can switch it up and insert her (conveniently 5-letter) name into the song instead.

I know that none of you can appreciate this simply from reading this post but no matter what is going on in my life, this little girl has an uncanny ability to make my day (though sometimes she has to make my month, depending on when I'll get to see her again!)

Call Me Judgmental...

I remember when I was about 7 years old, I saw the wreaths that the governor of N.C. had placed on the gates on the premises surrounding the mansion where the first family of the state traditionally lives. The wreaths were probably 10-15 feet in diameter and made almost entirely of fruit. At seven, this made no sense to me. I engaged my mom in a discussion about the ways that fruit could be put to better use, rather than just rotting as a decoration. It could feed hungry people, I'd told her. She didn't argue with me, but it's been an image-- one of confusion and disbelief-- that's stayed with me since.

And so, when I saw an article today on Yahoo detailing the big multi-billion (yes, billion NOT million) dollar mansions that people around the world own, my heart hurt. People really think they need a gold-plated pool, don't they? They really believe that a cinema inside is a necessity, don't they? They really find security in having a garage big enough for 20 cars, don't they?

So, I could digress here and talk about how we all place the weight of our souls on various things throughout our lives, how we are always saying: "If I can just have/get ________, then I will be happy. Then I will be satisfied." And we are, for a few minutes or a couple days, and then we long for the next distraction.

But that's not what disturbed me. What disturbed me was that while reading this article and growing nauseous over the things that these people poured money into, my mind went back to a missions trip I went on to Los Angeles and to the week I spent serving the urban poor here in Greensboro. How people lived underneath overpasses, all their worldly possessions around them on the bare earth. How tents and sleeping bags lined the sidewalks. How a meal or a conversation meant so much. How I finally understood what it meant to be blessed and simluataneously found that it had an entirely new meaning.

I don't want to sound judgmental. Because in the eyes of the rest of the world, I live lavishly.

1. If you have food in the refrigerator, clothes on your back, a roof overhead and a place to sleep, you are richer than 75% of the people in the world.

2. If you can attend a church or synagogue meeting without fear of harassment, arrest, torture or death you are more blessed than three billion people in the world.

3. If you have never experienced the danger of battle, the loneliness of imprisonment, the agony of torture, or the pangs of starvation, you are more blessed than five hundred million people in the world.

4. If you have money in the bank, in your wallet and spare change in a dish, you are among the top eight percent of the world's wealthy.

5. If you woke up this morning with more health than illness, you are more blessed than the million who will not survive this week.


With 80% of the world's population living on less than $1/day, it's hard to understand why George Lucas or anyone else needs a house with 50,000 sq. feet. I wish that we could "share the wealth," truly. So many problems stem originally from poverty and its affects. But that's for another post. I've ranted long enough.

The Motions

No regrets, not this time. I'm gonna let my heart defeat my mind.


-"The Motions," Matthew West

His

Intervarsity has been a huge part of my life since I entered college, and it became an even bigger part of my life when I applied to be on leadership at the end of my freshman year. Since then, it has been one of the hardest and best experiences of my life.

Now, as our chapter faces a tumultuous future in the next few months, I found myself trying to take on responsibility for everyone and everything. Somehow I thought I could hold everything together, make it all okay, and keep everything under control on my own. The worst wasn't that I thought I could-- it was that I thought I had to.

I felt this burden of responsibility to make sure the chapter kept breathing, kept going, kept...whatever...in the face of an uncertain few months. I thought that God had allowed the "worst case scenario" to come true and I thought it was up to me to fix everything.

I thought I could single-handedly (or maybe not single-handedly, but at least partially) carry our chapter through this. I realized that I had taken control from the God of the Universe. I thought that He couldn't or wouldn't see us through this. I thought that the Creator would allow our chapter to self-destruct. I thought the Healer would never restore our chapter. I thought the Almighty could fix other people's problems and attend to other people's needs, but that I would be the one to see Intervarsity through.

And God showed me something...(surprise surprise). If I am on leadership or not, Intervarsity is His. If I go to meetings or gatherings, Intervarsity is His. If I want to serve or not, Intervarsity is His. And in the midst of this trial, Intervarsity is His. He reminded me of His faithfulness. Of His goodness. Of His nearness. And of His love. And when I realized how sinful it was to think that I was so amazing that I had to take care of everything and everyone, He reminded me of His mercy and forgiveness.

The Chapter is His.
The University is His.
The world is His.
I am His.

And whether I have it together, whether I am hurting, whether I am leading, whether I am scared, whether I am ready, whether I understand, He is there. And He is in control.

My Heart Will Choose to Say...

"God is too wise to be mistaken. God is too good to be unkind. So when you dont understand, when you dont see His plan, When you cant trace His hand, trust His heart." ~Babbie Mason

I don't know what to say. I'm so frustrated with everything that's gone on. Drew and I broke up. I found out that my ovary isn't where it's supposed to be, meaning I'll have surgeries in the near future and may have a lot of trouble ever having children, if I can at all. Our Intervarsity Chapter is going through a very difficult and rough transition, and I feel like a huge burden is on me to carry us through because I will be on leadership all next year, and I have been serving the longest of anyone currently on leadership. And to boot, I have mono, so I am exhausted constantly and have not really processed anything emotionally because physically it's hard to just get through the day.

I don't know how to see the bigger picture and frankly, I'm tired of trying. I'm tired of asking why, of being frustrated, of the tears, of the heartache, and of the wondering when the next "blow" will be dealt.

I'm trying to trust, to have faith. But I'm really struggling.

"Who can hold the stars and my weary heart?
Who can see everything?
I've fallen so hard, sometimes I feel so far
But not beyond Your reach.
...Whatever's in front of me, help me to sing Hallelujah."