Night

I've always loved the night sky. I still remember the first time I took time to notice it. I was in 5th grade, on track to be the school's greatest overachiever. We had been studying stars, the earth, moon, heavenly bodies, what have you. Later that week, walking around outside my church after the Wednesday night program, I looked up. I didn't see little dots or "pinpoints of heaven". I saw Orion. Or more specifically, his belt. And I stood there, for a very brief moment (I was only 10), in recognition that what I saw was a lot more than I had ever seen before.

A few years later, I decided I wanted to be an astronomer. I made the mistake of reading a Christian Purpose-Finder type book, which posed the question, "What could you do for a long time without getting bored or tired?" My answer? Look at the stars. Thus, the astronomer dream was born. While I've realized since then my calling does not involve science or math or anything connected to either, I still have a tender, if pedestrian, love for the night's lanterns.

Tonight, after running around the last few weeks like crazy making friends, going out places, and keeping up with classwork (no easy task, I'm finding), I was able to look up again. I had spent the night participating in a whole-campus mission: impossible style scavenger hunt, covered in shaving cream (my team was ambushed). As I walked toward my residence hall, I continued past the front door and on a whim, headed for the vacant soccer field. There, in the seclusion of the cool grass, I reclined and stared up at the dark heavens.

And I thought, I really like college.

Somehow, in this huge universe extending for unfathomable light years in all directions, I am important. Not in a "the world couldn't run without me" kind of way. Just in a "Someone thinks I'm significant" way. Who am I that He is mindful of me? If His blessings are any indication, then apparently, I'm quite something.To Him, at least. He put me here, at "No, it's not Davidson" University, my personal Nineveh, and has blessed in spite of myself. He's doing something. He's using me and guiding me to certain places and people on campus, and only He knows where we're going to end up. Although I'm surprisingly excited to see where that will be. Perhaps it's not as bad as I always anticipate.

"And he will make the face of heaven so fine
That all the world will be in love with night,
And pay no worship to the garish sun."

Mixed Emotions

I'm here. I've actually been here for a week now, although it feels like a month.

I have an announcement to make: I like my roommate. She's great, and I regret the time I spent worrying about life with her. We both believe in the "Be Considerate" attitude, and what's more, we've had some really great conversations about deep stuff. It's true, you become friends fast in college. That's also held true with one of mine and Roomate's suitmates. She's so kind and genuine. The other suitemate will be interesting to live with, considering she came in drunk at 5:00 am the first day we were here. We'll see.

I've been really enjoying the whole experience. I think I can handle this level of independence, being able to do what I want when I want. The making friends thing isn't that hard, either. People are sad and scared. Putting on a confident, happy face draws them out in droves. It's nice to be their comforter.

That said, it's getting tiresome. The whole week I marvelled at my adjustment (as did Roommate: "Aren't you homesick?"). But then my car's battery died - twice [see last post to understand how devastating that was]. And Roommate went home for the weekend, as well as Nice Suitmate. Drunk Suitmate is goodness knows where. I probably won't see her until tomorrow afternoon. I locked myself out of our room, but no one was there, so I ashamedly had to call security.

I'm really homesick. I miss my family, my friends, my life. I just want to recognize a face or hear a voice I know well. I wish my "I" key wasn't sticky because I let Drunk Suitmate borrow my laptop. I want someone to say my name without a question mark on their face. I want to stop "getting to know" and just "know". I want to make myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I want to visit a familiar park bench. I want to hug my mom and pet my cats. I'm tired of forgetting people's names. I want to let down this pretense of having it all together. The empty dorm room is getting lonely, and I sincerely wish I had gone home this weekend, that the thought of going home so early wasn't viewed as such a weakness or detriment, that Labor day weekend was closer.

The saddest thing in life is to be needy, because the shame you feel from your condition prevents you from ever directly seeking help.

Forgive the Déjà Vu

I leave for college today.

If anyone on this earth has semi-faithfully read this blog, they'd pick up on one obvious detail: I really don't want to leave. I like living in my home, seeing my family everyday, hanging out with the best friends I've ever had in my life. Why would I want it to change?

I was upset yesterday, which was really inconvenient, as I was attempting to celebrate my birthday. Don't get me wrong, thanks to some of my dearest friends, I had a great time. But the whole day was overshadowed by the finality of the past week. I've been wished well, told good bye, hugged, and photographed so many times in these last few days, it's really no wonder.

So that kind of explains why I did it.

After visiting my high school for one more (unsuccessful) farewell, I broke down. I could barely make it to my car. Once inside, I started driving. I sought out my bench, but the maintence people were at the cemetery. So I kept driving. For an hour.

I went on my favorite roads, especially the ones by our local "mountain". The kind of curvy ones where the tree cover is so dense, the sun shoots its syncopated blinks through the branches. It was good. I was able to take a break from the meeting and the talking and the packing. I could just be upset. Granted, it didn't solve my problems or change reality. (Which my grandfather confirmed that night when he ignored me as usual.)

My solace is not playing the flute, running, or even deep sleep. It's driving. The funny thing is, on my 15th birthday, I was completely terrified of driving. I was dead convinced (no pun intended) that I was going to kill someone the second I slid behind the wheel. Before I had even tried it, I decided I wasn't going to like it and that it was too dangerous. Unlike most 15 year olds, I avoided getting my permit until my mom dragged me to the DMV.

However, once I started practicing in parking lots with my pugnacious grandmother, I warmed up to it. I went to driver's ed, and actually enjoyed the interstate training. By the time I got my liscense (this time, I did the dragging), I was thrilled.

Driving's a good thing, regardless of what I thought orginally. Could the same be true with college? It's new, terrifying, and dangerous. But perhaps it'll become enjoyable and thrilling.

We'll see. For now, I'd better hit the sack. I have a long drive ahead of me.

Mountaintop Experience

I went away to the mountains for the weekend with the Young Adult group at my church. More reason to rue growing up: having to acclimate to a whole new age group, right when you find yourself comfortable in the old one. It actually wasn't that bad. I fit in. Not perfectly. But I fit. Somewhere.

We went for a hike on Saturday. "5.4 miles" and "strenuous" were the only words we could find in the guide books to describe our chosen destination... and we went anyway, most likely for the promised 70 foot waterfall at the end of the trail. Between the blisters, roots, rocks, and sweat, the way up was unpleasant at best. It took me an hour and ten minutes to make it 2.7 miles. The waterfall was awe-inspiring, though. The sheer drop off the rock face was spectacular, the mist refreshing, if not chilling.

Was it worth it? Yes. But not for the waterfall.

As we headed back down the mountain, I ended up in the lead group. Our pack of five spread out a bit as our paces changed. Eventually it was only me and one of the leaders. Then, odd as it was, we both started running. We caught up with the other three and they ran, too. Again, we spread out, and I was alone, bounding over the same rocks and roots I had stumbled over previously.

Never in my life have I felt so much energy, and never in my life have I felt more like a child of God, a wanted, accepted, delighted in daughter. He "renewed my strength" while amazing my eyes with the wonder of his creation. There's something about nature, mountains especially, that help you get focus. There's no crazy job, no confusing relationships, no college health forms, no roommate's facebook profile, no cell phone, none of the usual distractions.

So we talked. We hadn't done that in a while (that hadn't involved a meal, anyway). I asked Him to take the next few weeks to teach me. I know I'll be learning about God all my life, but there's a lot of stuff I'm missing, about who He is and who I am to Him, important stuff that I need to know. I desperately want to learn and perhaps... even be healed.

Hey, he got me running. Maybe I can still soar.

This Can't Be Good...

The Roommate. The single most dreaded aspect of college life for many incoming freshman.

First, you get a name. In the mail, at orientation... somehow, the name comes. In my case, there was a phone number along with the name. But on the day that little paper of fate blessed my mailbox, I had little knowledge of it's importance. Instead of opening the envelope bearing "No, It's Not UGA" University's letterhead, I took a nap. Imagine my confusion when I was awakened by a phone call, from the roommate herself.

"Hello?"
"Hey... it's [name here]...?"
"Oh... Hi?"
"Your... roommate?"
"OH! Hey!"
"Didn't you get the little paper of fate in the mail today?"
"It's... possible."
[discussion follows about who would bring what for the room.]

No, she didn't say "little paper of fate." But she did ask. I felt stupid. And that was when [name here] learned her first thing about me: I like to take naps.

Next, thanks to the magic that is facebook, you are able to get a nice snapshot of who your future best friend exactly is. I was able to enjoy this experience tonight, and I can't help but wonder what it all means (or what she thinks about my profile).

Profile Picture: [name here] posing happily with two friends. That's nice. She has friends. Wait. What's that? Oh! They're drinking something. Good. I like drinking liquids, too. This is great. Oh, that's funny, her can is silver... and blue. Hm. Maybe it's... Pepsi? Oh, hold on. The friend in the middle's holding a huge QT style plastic cup of light brown liquid. That says "Big Ass Beer." Ah-HA! Yeah, that's cute.

Stats: Ah, looks like [name here]'s in a relationship. Let's hope they like to talk to each other every hour I'm sleeping. And... oh, boy. She's "Liberal." Better break out the Ann Coulter books. Seems she likes every kind of music (so she won't have a problem with Coldplay?) and has no favorite books, saying she "only reads magazines." Heck, I like books enough to be an English major.

I'm starting to think we're not so... compatible.

So what's the next step? Who knows. I wrote on her wall. I think we need a cabinet or something for the TV (that she's bringing), so I thought I might offer. It's just bizarre, really. This person who probably can't pronounce my last name will know intimate details about me and how I live by Labor Day.

Man, I love growing up!

Storm Clouds

I hate droughts.

The water bans. The not-so-flourishing flora. The sticky, humid mood that blankets the air as well as your skin the second you step out of air conditioned bliss.

This summer, like every summer, we're having a drought. Thus, we deal with frustrations, such as those listed above. But more than that, the oddest thing happens to us: We forget rain.

A few days ago, I was backing out of my garage when I heard the strangest noise beating the rear end of my car. I immediately applied the brakes, completely startled by the incessant tapping. Then I looked in the rear view and saw huge raindrops plopping on the back windshield. It had been so long, I didn't recognize rain.

I think one of the reasons I was so bewildered was the stark presence of the sun. You know that weather rarity when it's pouring rain, but the sun's still in full glory? It was bizarre, to say the least. It's sunny. There should be no rain. We're in drought. There should be no rain.

Everyone in my state would agree: the few showers we've been having recently couldn't have come sooner. The rain's been a gift, much needed and much appreciated.

The idea of gifts has struck me lately. In Bible study, we were discussing Hannah in 1 Samuel. She prayed for a child, though it was a distressing situation. She earnestly believed that God would give her exactly what she needed, when she needed it. Then, when she finally received her baby boy, she gladly gave the gift back to God.

When we ask God for something, I've realized our refining comes both in the waiting and in the receiving. Often, you wait so long for something, a drought of sorts, that it takes some time to recognize it for what it is. You begin to enjoy it and marvel at it, thanking God for its arrival.

Sometimes, gifts are only for a season. Then, you are called to give them back. You must, for this is the will of the LORD.

But what about the times when the gift is there, present in your life, but the circumstances seem wrong, like the rain in the sunshine? It's still a gift, but is it yours to have? I'm not sure, but I wish I knew.

Vision Impaired

"Today I wonder why it is God refers to Himself as 'Father' at all. This, to me, in light of the earthly representation of the role, seems a marketing mistake. Why would God want to call Himself Father when so many fathers abandon their children?" - Donald Miller, Blue Like Jazz

I think there is truth in the idea that we view God much like we view our fathers, although that conclusion gives rise to personal confusion. How does this leave me, a daughter of a father for only 7 years, viewing God?

If I view God in terms of my dad, I am left with a hazy, incomplete picture. He was there for my family. He made us laugh. I have vague memories of him pretending to suck my toes up in the vacuum, grabbing my wrist and chastising me in a low voice at Kroger, singing me to sleep, reading the family devotional after dinner, letting me ride on his back like a horse. I've heard things about him through other people. Every time I ask my mom something theological, she sighs and says how much she wished Dad were here because he'd talk to me about it. I'm told he loved plants and animals and sneezed when the sun hit his eyes just right. His books are downstairs; a couple of his shirts hang in my closet. But the man? He's hardly been here when I needed him. His memory hasn't made much of a relationship.

After he died, my grandparents moved two miles down the road, and my grandfather assumed the physical role of alpha male. I make a point of only saying physical. He was there every night at the dinner table. But if I view God in terms of my grandfather (and I'm beginning to think I do), then God must spend most of His time trying to pretend like I don't exist. He never asks about me or about my life. I could be gone for a week and not hear more than five words from him upon my return. For a while, I played along, talking about my day as if he were listening. But recently, I've given up. Just sit there until he's done with his meal, after which he goes to the living room and turns up the TV loud enough to drown out our noise. It doesn't matter how much I try to do or say or achieve, I will never be more important than the 6 o' clock news.

So God abandons me or ignores me. Either way, it explains the silence.

Happy Father's Day.