If my socks look red, it’s because I spent the day with the ankle biters. I subbed at an elementary school. An entire elementary school. The teachers had meetings all day, but in shifts, so I subbed to cover their shifts. By the end of the day I had spent time in 5th, 4th, 3rd, 2nd, and 1st grades, Kindergarten and as a lunch room monitor/meanie. Pretty much, not fun. However, luckily my ears and eyes were open to catch some of the following nuggets of greatness:
Completely unsolicited comment from a 3rd grade student: “Today in my lunch I have fruit. An orange and apple. And for drink I have juice. Mostly fruit. No sandwich.”
Me: “Uh, cool.”
Another 3rd grader was supposed to be working on her Thomas Edison crossword puzzle, but instead was speaking to another student in Spanish, hoping to get away with not working. This led to the following exchange:
Me: “Melanie, por que estas hablando? No necesitas hablar ahora, necesitas trabajar. Tienes mucha para hacer. Pero siempre habla, habla, habla. No mas hablando!”
Her: “You talk Spanish?”
Today was “Career Dress-Up Day,” complete with a parade of occupations through the hallways at the end of the day. At this point I was in the kindergarten class. When it came time for all the dressed-up children to go prepare for the parade, one plain-clothes child got in line. I asked what she was doing, and she said, “I’m a teacher.” I let her go.
Another one of those kindergarteners was impeccably dressed in a suit, shirt and tie. I noticed early in class that he continually bossed the other children around. Later, I was told that he had dressed as the President of the United States. Classic.
The moment I walked into the kindergarten class, this happened:
Boy: “Do you know my name?”
Me: “No.”
Boy: “It starts with an ‘n.’”
Me: “Still don’t know it.”
At this point he ran over and got a box of his work with NATHAN printed on it and said, “Can you read this?”
Me: “Yeah, it says Nathan.”
Immediately every other child started yelling: “Do you know my name?”
Me: “Listen! I don’t know any of your names!”
I didn't attempt to learn them either.
While we waited in the hallway, just before going into the cafeteria, one 2nd grader repeatedly asked me, “Do you have a burr?” I kept asking him what he meant and he kept saying, “In your hair. Do you have a burr?” Eventually, the kid next to him said, “You don’t make sense.” And that was that.
After lunch:
2nd grade boy: “Katie called me a maniac.”
Me: “I’m sorry.”
Him: “Katie called me a maniac.”
Me: “Yeah, I heard you. I said I was sorry.”
Apparently he was looking for something else from me, because he looked pretty dejected when he got back in line.
At least 5 times today: “Hey! You cutted me!” Good times with bad English.
A day like this is priceless. At least that’s what the district must think because the price they put on it was far too low.
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
Monday, January 16, 2006
Deeply committed...
I woke up this morning thankful to have slept in. Today is a day off, for my wife and me both. We needed it after working the Dallas Bridal Show all weekend. But today’s day off isn’t just another holiday, as far as I am concerned. Today is different.
A few years ago, my wife and I went on a vacation that deeply impacted me; we went to the South. This vacation left big imprints on me like no other trip really has. We started in Atlanta. While there we did some of the regular ol’ tourist stuff like took in a Braves game (where we saw Greg Maddux pitch) and toured the Margaret Mitchell house (where she wrote Gone With the Wind). But the unplanned part of our trip was to swing by Sweet Auburn. This is the name of the historically black section of town. This part of our trip was unplanned because we didn’t even know it existed until we got there. But are we ever glad we got there.
Sweet Auburn is where Martin Luther King Jr. grew up. It’s where Ebenezer Baptist Church, the church where Dr. King and his father, Daddy King, did their preaching, still stands. It’s where the Center for Nonviolent Social Change, established by Coretta Scott King, operates. This trip through Sweet Auburn showed us the lasting legacy of one of the neighborhood’s finest sons. It confronted us California kids with the ugly truth of rampant racism in a way that we had never seen. It showed us the beauty of diversity. Sweet Auburn was indeed sweet for us. But our vacation wasn’t over.
In Birmingham, we visited the Civil Rights Institute and were confronted by more of the same. On display in this museum were images of senseless brutality, ugly bigotry and a history of which none should be proud. I can honestly say that during that trip I was deeply ashamed to be white. Birmingham and Sweet Auburn produced in me a deep affection for Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.
I know the man wasn’t perfect. None is. But he was a man of courage, conviction, and, perhaps most admirable, commitment. While reading the instructions to nonviolent protesters that Dr. King had drafted, I knew I couldn’t have followed them. Things such as, “Speak quietly and respectfully to any who persecute you,” or “If struck, spit on, or assaulted, do not retaliate,” seem nearly impossible, and yet the world saw them work in the 60’s. Why such tension? How can such a high calling that it almost seems impossible to carry out such instructions and yet such a noble response that it almost seems impossible for it not to work be one and the same? Because Dr. King drew them from the highest of all sources: Christ Himself.
Dr. King consistently applied the teachings of Christ as found in the Sermon on the Mount when directing the nonviolent social change movement. He took seriously teachings such as, “love your enemies and pray for those that persecute you,” and “Do not resist an evil person. If someone strikes you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also.” Also what the Apostle Paul wrote seems to have affected his methodology: “Do not repay anyone evil for evil. Be careful to do what is right in the eyes of everybody. If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone. Do not take revenge, my friends, but leave room for God’s wrath, for it is written: ‘It is mine to avenge; I will repay,’ says the Lord.”
So, what happens when someone lives life with a radical commitment to truth, justice and loving one’s enemies? Evil is exposed, righteousness is celebrated and, ultimately, societies are changed. I pray that I may be a man of such dedication to truth and to righteousness that I won’t rest until justice flows down like mighty waters.
Today, take the time to celebrate the life of a man who was not only courageous and convinced, but also committed. Talk to your children about what happens when you live life with a deep commitment to righteous convictions. Point to Dr. King’s example. And, of course, take time to celebrate the Source of Dr. King’s courage, conviction and commitment. I think Dr. King would want it that way.
A few years ago, my wife and I went on a vacation that deeply impacted me; we went to the South. This vacation left big imprints on me like no other trip really has. We started in Atlanta. While there we did some of the regular ol’ tourist stuff like took in a Braves game (where we saw Greg Maddux pitch) and toured the Margaret Mitchell house (where she wrote Gone With the Wind). But the unplanned part of our trip was to swing by Sweet Auburn. This is the name of the historically black section of town. This part of our trip was unplanned because we didn’t even know it existed until we got there. But are we ever glad we got there.
Sweet Auburn is where Martin Luther King Jr. grew up. It’s where Ebenezer Baptist Church, the church where Dr. King and his father, Daddy King, did their preaching, still stands. It’s where the Center for Nonviolent Social Change, established by Coretta Scott King, operates. This trip through Sweet Auburn showed us the lasting legacy of one of the neighborhood’s finest sons. It confronted us California kids with the ugly truth of rampant racism in a way that we had never seen. It showed us the beauty of diversity. Sweet Auburn was indeed sweet for us. But our vacation wasn’t over.
In Birmingham, we visited the Civil Rights Institute and were confronted by more of the same. On display in this museum were images of senseless brutality, ugly bigotry and a history of which none should be proud. I can honestly say that during that trip I was deeply ashamed to be white. Birmingham and Sweet Auburn produced in me a deep affection for Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.
I know the man wasn’t perfect. None is. But he was a man of courage, conviction, and, perhaps most admirable, commitment. While reading the instructions to nonviolent protesters that Dr. King had drafted, I knew I couldn’t have followed them. Things such as, “Speak quietly and respectfully to any who persecute you,” or “If struck, spit on, or assaulted, do not retaliate,” seem nearly impossible, and yet the world saw them work in the 60’s. Why such tension? How can such a high calling that it almost seems impossible to carry out such instructions and yet such a noble response that it almost seems impossible for it not to work be one and the same? Because Dr. King drew them from the highest of all sources: Christ Himself.
Dr. King consistently applied the teachings of Christ as found in the Sermon on the Mount when directing the nonviolent social change movement. He took seriously teachings such as, “love your enemies and pray for those that persecute you,” and “Do not resist an evil person. If someone strikes you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also.” Also what the Apostle Paul wrote seems to have affected his methodology: “Do not repay anyone evil for evil. Be careful to do what is right in the eyes of everybody. If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone. Do not take revenge, my friends, but leave room for God’s wrath, for it is written: ‘It is mine to avenge; I will repay,’ says the Lord.”
So, what happens when someone lives life with a radical commitment to truth, justice and loving one’s enemies? Evil is exposed, righteousness is celebrated and, ultimately, societies are changed. I pray that I may be a man of such dedication to truth and to righteousness that I won’t rest until justice flows down like mighty waters.
Today, take the time to celebrate the life of a man who was not only courageous and convinced, but also committed. Talk to your children about what happens when you live life with a deep commitment to righteous convictions. Point to Dr. King’s example. And, of course, take time to celebrate the Source of Dr. King’s courage, conviction and commitment. I think Dr. King would want it that way.
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
Kids these days...
I just returned from substitute teaching. Today was elementary school P.E. And I’m concerned. The day went fine, but, when combined with my previous experience teaching this same subject for this same grade level, I have observed some things that concern me. Here they are in no particular order. (Warning: Some generalizations ahead. These may not all apply in every given case, but they ring true in many cases.)
Kids are fat. I realize there is a difference between baby fat and being truly fat. I get that. What I don’t get is how parents can let their children become enormous by the age of 9. Who is overseeing their eating habits? Roseanne? This does not bode well for the future. In an already over-medicated society we are raising up a generation who may be at more risk for health problems than any in the past.
Kids cheat. This you may greet with a bit of a chuckle, but I’m serious. I know that some form of cheating has existed forever. But this feels and looks different to me. This is unlike the innocent, “I’ll only try this because I know my friends will call me out on it” kind of stuff that my friends and I used to pull. This is more ingrained. They cheat when they feel like they can’t win by the rules. And, from what I can gather, they don’t seem to think twice about it. This does not bode well for their future, in any arena of life. What will they become? Prisoners? Professional wrestlers? Home run hitters?
Kids don’t play. I’m relatively sure that most children have an after-school itinerary that contains significantly more time playing video games than actual games. Now, I’m not a video game hater; in fact, I wish I had more time to play mine. But there have to be limits. Remember the movie The Sandlot, where the group of neighborhood kids played baseball in the empty lot everyday during the summer? That would never happen anymore. Kids would rather sit staring at a television screen, exercising only their thumbs, than get out, see some scenery and use major muscle groups. Parents, kick your kids outside for an occasional afternoon of real-life activity. It really won’t kill them.
Kids don’t try. I can’t even recall the number of times that I heard a child say today, “I can’t do this.” And usually that proclamation came flying out of their mouths before they had even attempted anything. Granted, today’s tumbling stuff might not be for everyone, but they never even gave it a shot before concluding that it was impossible. I think we need to do some serious methodology review and see how we can convince them that trying is worth just as much as succeeding. (I’m not advocating taking away things like dodgeball where you are “singled-out” as a failure if you don’t perform. In fact, I believe I’m advocating the opposite and mandating that people at least attempt to perform before they single themselves out as failures.)
Kids make excuses. Today this was illustrated to me by way of contrast. In one class, one girl swore she couldn’t participate in the exercises because she wasn’t “feeling well.” In fact, this girl was crying because the other teacher had told her she had to participate. For those of you that may be thinking, “She may have really been sick,” just consider that she wasn’t too sick to do the cartwheels, only the somersaults, the crab walks and the handstands. In the same exact class as this young complaining girl was another young girl who apparently had been born without a right hand. Yet, she did everything we asked, and seemed to have lots of fun doing it. Talk about someone who could legitimately ask to be excused from handstands! But she didn’t ask to be excused from anything, and made it a point to give her best. No more excuses. If you’ve got all of your limbs, were able to get out of bed and haven’t recently seen a doctor, get in there and play.
I thought I’d share these things with the blog community. I'm not trying to indict all parents. I'm just pointing out some of what I saw. Frankly, I don’t know the answer to all of these ills, but I do know one thing. If these things don’t get fixed soon, we’re getting the crap kicked out of us in the 2016 Olympics.
Kids are fat. I realize there is a difference between baby fat and being truly fat. I get that. What I don’t get is how parents can let their children become enormous by the age of 9. Who is overseeing their eating habits? Roseanne? This does not bode well for the future. In an already over-medicated society we are raising up a generation who may be at more risk for health problems than any in the past.
Kids cheat. This you may greet with a bit of a chuckle, but I’m serious. I know that some form of cheating has existed forever. But this feels and looks different to me. This is unlike the innocent, “I’ll only try this because I know my friends will call me out on it” kind of stuff that my friends and I used to pull. This is more ingrained. They cheat when they feel like they can’t win by the rules. And, from what I can gather, they don’t seem to think twice about it. This does not bode well for their future, in any arena of life. What will they become? Prisoners? Professional wrestlers? Home run hitters?
Kids don’t play. I’m relatively sure that most children have an after-school itinerary that contains significantly more time playing video games than actual games. Now, I’m not a video game hater; in fact, I wish I had more time to play mine. But there have to be limits. Remember the movie The Sandlot, where the group of neighborhood kids played baseball in the empty lot everyday during the summer? That would never happen anymore. Kids would rather sit staring at a television screen, exercising only their thumbs, than get out, see some scenery and use major muscle groups. Parents, kick your kids outside for an occasional afternoon of real-life activity. It really won’t kill them.
Kids don’t try. I can’t even recall the number of times that I heard a child say today, “I can’t do this.” And usually that proclamation came flying out of their mouths before they had even attempted anything. Granted, today’s tumbling stuff might not be for everyone, but they never even gave it a shot before concluding that it was impossible. I think we need to do some serious methodology review and see how we can convince them that trying is worth just as much as succeeding. (I’m not advocating taking away things like dodgeball where you are “singled-out” as a failure if you don’t perform. In fact, I believe I’m advocating the opposite and mandating that people at least attempt to perform before they single themselves out as failures.)
Kids make excuses. Today this was illustrated to me by way of contrast. In one class, one girl swore she couldn’t participate in the exercises because she wasn’t “feeling well.” In fact, this girl was crying because the other teacher had told her she had to participate. For those of you that may be thinking, “She may have really been sick,” just consider that she wasn’t too sick to do the cartwheels, only the somersaults, the crab walks and the handstands. In the same exact class as this young complaining girl was another young girl who apparently had been born without a right hand. Yet, she did everything we asked, and seemed to have lots of fun doing it. Talk about someone who could legitimately ask to be excused from handstands! But she didn’t ask to be excused from anything, and made it a point to give her best. No more excuses. If you’ve got all of your limbs, were able to get out of bed and haven’t recently seen a doctor, get in there and play.
I thought I’d share these things with the blog community. I'm not trying to indict all parents. I'm just pointing out some of what I saw. Frankly, I don’t know the answer to all of these ills, but I do know one thing. If these things don’t get fixed soon, we’re getting the crap kicked out of us in the 2016 Olympics.
Thursday, January 05, 2006
After the holidaze...
It's been quite some time since my last post. In fact, it was Christmas Day, which seems like a distant memory. The primary reason that I haven't posted has to do with an intricate conspiracy among two women in my life. Those two women are my mother and my mother-in-law.
They each decided that it would be okay to feed me unnecessarily large portions of food over the holidays. At every meal. This meant that by the time New Year's Eve rolled around my fingers were so fat that I could only type in four letter blocks like thyg or mknj. Now that I have escaped from the clutches of these two women bent on ruining my typing ability, I can blog again.
Some random thoughts and then a little something I wrote over the break before the food conspiracy had its way with my digits:
Rose Bowl thoughts: Last night's Rose Bowl was amazing. Not sure that I'm ready to call it the best game of all time like some people I heard on TV and radio today, but it was great watching. Now, I'm not particularly a fan of that large university in Austin, but I'd rather swallow razor blades than root for SC, so I was quite satisfied with the results. Vince Young is ridiculous. Can't say much more than that.
College Bowl thoughts: Didn't do so well on my college bowl picks for my mother-in-law this year. Finished 13-15. Not pretty. I guess next year I'll have to spend a little more time studying the passing efficiency ratings of the guys in the MPC Computers Bowl.
Traveling thoughts: Parents, please. The rest of us are begging. Never let your 8 to 10-year old children fly alone. Even if it is just from Houston to Dallas. The cuteness factor quickly wears off and the bags of candy that they've been consuming since they got through the metal detector don't. I just kept looking around hoping someone would bring the child some turkey and red wine. So, please don't do that to us. Related to that...please don't ever change your child's diaper in the seat. It's really gross. And if you must, do it discreetly. Nothing is worse than drawing attention to the already completely unnecessary act. And whatever happens, under no circumstances should your ever look at your bare-bottomed child and, loudly enough so that ground control can hear you, say to your child, "Your poop smells just like your daddy's!"
That's about all for now. But I'll leave you with a short theological thought. The following was composed pre-eating crisis, on 12-23. Hope you enjoy.
The Greatest Test of Love...
“Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.” -Matthew 5:44
I once read that this particular teaching of Christ stands out among non-believers as the most distinctive tenet of the Christian faith. I have read this portion of the Sermon on the Mount numerous times. I have heard sermons on it in “big church.” I’ve even taught on it in youth group before. So, I got this down, right? Know this one inside and out? One would think.
Wednesday morning my faith in action was put to the test like never before. Here's what happened:
The Yankees signed Johnny Damon.
Some of you may be laughing at this point, but my initial reaction was something other than laughter. In fact, when I heard it from Regis (yes, Regis broke the news to me), I was not happy. At all. In fact, I raged out loud.
I have spent the last three years convinced that Johnny Damon is an idiot, and not in the “we’re members of the Red Sox and so we do crazy things” kind of way. But like a real, low-IQ kind of way. I had made up songs about him that shouldn’t be reproduced in cyberspace. I had yelled, “I hate Johnny Damon” every time that they had showed his disgustingly hairy, unshaven self on the television. Johnny Damon joining the Yankees is similar to Sherman deciding that he would like to help Atlanta rebuild. This man met every definition of enemy. And now he wore pinstripes?!
Then I got in the shower and started to think. The following things popped into my mind: Johnny Damon is fast, hits leadoff and fills a big void in centerfield. (Now Jeter can hit in the 2-hole again, a much better fit, I say.) His signing will anger Red Sox Nation like nothing in recent memory which is always a bonus. He’ll have to get a haircut in order to meet the Yankees dress code, and in a sweeping gesture of kindness that naturally accompanies anyone associated with the Yankees, will probably donate his shorn locks to children undergoing cancer treatment.
Pretty much, I think I love this guy! Wow, that was easier than I thought!
They each decided that it would be okay to feed me unnecessarily large portions of food over the holidays. At every meal. This meant that by the time New Year's Eve rolled around my fingers were so fat that I could only type in four letter blocks like thyg or mknj. Now that I have escaped from the clutches of these two women bent on ruining my typing ability, I can blog again.
Some random thoughts and then a little something I wrote over the break before the food conspiracy had its way with my digits:
Rose Bowl thoughts: Last night's Rose Bowl was amazing. Not sure that I'm ready to call it the best game of all time like some people I heard on TV and radio today, but it was great watching. Now, I'm not particularly a fan of that large university in Austin, but I'd rather swallow razor blades than root for SC, so I was quite satisfied with the results. Vince Young is ridiculous. Can't say much more than that.
College Bowl thoughts: Didn't do so well on my college bowl picks for my mother-in-law this year. Finished 13-15. Not pretty. I guess next year I'll have to spend a little more time studying the passing efficiency ratings of the guys in the MPC Computers Bowl.
Traveling thoughts: Parents, please. The rest of us are begging. Never let your 8 to 10-year old children fly alone. Even if it is just from Houston to Dallas. The cuteness factor quickly wears off and the bags of candy that they've been consuming since they got through the metal detector don't. I just kept looking around hoping someone would bring the child some turkey and red wine. So, please don't do that to us. Related to that...please don't ever change your child's diaper in the seat. It's really gross. And if you must, do it discreetly. Nothing is worse than drawing attention to the already completely unnecessary act. And whatever happens, under no circumstances should your ever look at your bare-bottomed child and, loudly enough so that ground control can hear you, say to your child, "Your poop smells just like your daddy's!"
That's about all for now. But I'll leave you with a short theological thought. The following was composed pre-eating crisis, on 12-23. Hope you enjoy.
The Greatest Test of Love...
“Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.” -Matthew 5:44
I once read that this particular teaching of Christ stands out among non-believers as the most distinctive tenet of the Christian faith. I have read this portion of the Sermon on the Mount numerous times. I have heard sermons on it in “big church.” I’ve even taught on it in youth group before. So, I got this down, right? Know this one inside and out? One would think.
Wednesday morning my faith in action was put to the test like never before. Here's what happened:
The Yankees signed Johnny Damon.
Some of you may be laughing at this point, but my initial reaction was something other than laughter. In fact, when I heard it from Regis (yes, Regis broke the news to me), I was not happy. At all. In fact, I raged out loud.
I have spent the last three years convinced that Johnny Damon is an idiot, and not in the “we’re members of the Red Sox and so we do crazy things” kind of way. But like a real, low-IQ kind of way. I had made up songs about him that shouldn’t be reproduced in cyberspace. I had yelled, “I hate Johnny Damon” every time that they had showed his disgustingly hairy, unshaven self on the television. Johnny Damon joining the Yankees is similar to Sherman deciding that he would like to help Atlanta rebuild. This man met every definition of enemy. And now he wore pinstripes?!
Then I got in the shower and started to think. The following things popped into my mind: Johnny Damon is fast, hits leadoff and fills a big void in centerfield. (Now Jeter can hit in the 2-hole again, a much better fit, I say.) His signing will anger Red Sox Nation like nothing in recent memory which is always a bonus. He’ll have to get a haircut in order to meet the Yankees dress code, and in a sweeping gesture of kindness that naturally accompanies anyone associated with the Yankees, will probably donate his shorn locks to children undergoing cancer treatment.
Pretty much, I think I love this guy! Wow, that was easier than I thought!
Sunday, December 25, 2005
Merry Christmas and such...
Merry Christmas, y'all. We're in NorCal enjoying the holidays with our families. Hope you're getting an opportunity to spend time with people you love and celebrate Christmas. Also, Hanukkah begins this evening. Light a candle and remember God's preservation of His people and the re-dedication of the Temple after the Abomination of Desolation. His preservation of His people then should give us hope for our preservation and deliverance in the future, too.
Happy holiday.
Happy holiday.
Friday, December 16, 2005
The Week from Sheol...
Rarely have I had a week such as this. Usually my week and I work together in order to accomplish a maximum amount while still retaining my sanity. However, working alongside your week in such a manner can prove hazardous. Weeks, as they are still largely untamed beasts, can behave unpredictably. Occasionally, if you don’t conduct yourself with the utmost care, a week may even turn on you and attack. Such is the story of this week.
This week had been set aside for the final week of school. Nothing too threatening, just lots to do. This negotiation had been clearly laid out months ago. However, last Saturday morning as I sat studying at the kitchen table so that I could get ahead of the week, suddenly my eyes enlarged to roughly the size of grapefruits. The deadline to pay tuition for next semester was yesterday. Stream of unrepeatable words. I quickly logged on to the website of the school that I attend, which shall remain nameless and for the sake of storytelling convention I will call DTS*. The website has a handy online tuition payment option for situations such as these. Or not quite.
The handy online tuition payment option quickly became a less-than-handy online payment-refusal non-option. Apparently once the deadline passes, they further punish the poor soul who only could have forgotten to pay tuition due to the ridiculous amount of work expected at the end of the semester by taking away the online payment option. Inconvenient. I wondered how much trouble this would cause as I had heard that if one failed to pay tuition on time, the school would drop your classes. Owing to the fact that I’ve pretty much scheduled all of my schooling down to most restroom breaks for the next year-and-a-half (and not a minute more, thank you) this was problematic. So, I quickly went to my spring class schedule online. Ahh, good my classes are still there. I’ll work this out first thing on Monday morning when the business office opens again.
Just for the security of my increasingly tortured soul, I continued to check the website all weekend. All weekend, there my classes sat. Breathing easier. Monday morning I called DTS* and spoke to a delightful lady in the financial office who managed to pull off the difficult task of sounding completely gracious as she informed me that she would, indeed, be ripping out my soul by dropping my classes. I asked if there was any way to pay for them now, because according to the website they still hadn’t been dropped. She said, “No.” Then she added the incredibly helpful, “Those are the rules.” As if I needed to be reminded of the rules. Gracias por nada. I decided that this would not do, and that as soon as I was back on campus on Tuesday I would straighten this thing out.
Tuesday morning, 8:30am in the financial office went as follows:
Lady: “Good morning. Can I help you?”
Me: “Yes, I need to pay for my classes for spring.”
Lady: “Oh, I’m sorry you can’t. It’s past the deadline and your classes will be dropped.”
Me: “I’d heard that, but my classes still haven’t been dropped so I’d like to pay for them.”
Lady: “Sorry, you can’t pay for your classes. It’s past the deadline and we’re going to drop your classes.”
Me: “I understand that, but my classes haven’t been dropped yet, so how about I pay right now and save you the trouble?”
Lady: “Sorry, you can’t pay right now. It’s past the deadline. Your classes will be dropped.”
Me: “But they haven’t been dropped. How about I pay and then you don’t drop them?”
Lady: “Well, you can’t pay because it’s past the deadline and so we will be dropping your classes.”
Me: “Are you telling me that nobody will take my $3,000?”
Lady: “Yes, because it’s past the deadline.”
After this fun with circular reasoning, I was rather upset. I was told I could re-register on Thursday. Fast forward to Thursday morning, 8:00am at the registrar’s office:
Lady: “Good morning. May I help you?”
Me: “Yes, I need to re-register for my classes.”
Lady: “Okay.” Expecting her to turn to the fancy piece of machinery on her left referred to in the common parlance as a computer, I was surprised when she pushed a stack of papers toward me. “You need to fill out one of these.” These being a carbon-copy sheet of paper that amounts to a DTS* course wish list. Carbon-copy. Like in 1983.
Me: (as I am slowly recovering from the time-warp sickness) “Okay. So I just list my classes here?”
Lady: “Yes, and then we’ll put them in sometime this week.”
Me: “Sometime this week? Okay, but, one of the courses that I was ‘in’ and now am not ‘in,’ although as of this morning my schedule on the website still showed me ‘in,’ this course now has a waiting list for me to get back ‘in’ even though technically I’m still ‘in.’ If I can’t get back ‘in,’ I need to take another course. How will I know if I’m ‘in?’”
Lady: “You can just keep checking the website and see if it’s listed under your schedule.”
Me: “Like it is right now?”
Lady: “Yes, but we’ll be dropping those classes because it’s past the deadline.”
I filled out the carbon-copy form, tucked my Rubik’s cube back into the pocket of my parachute pants, popped my Duran Duran cassette tape into my yellow Sony Walkman and left. On the way out I worried that I hadn’t used a Dixon-Ticonderoga #2 pencil to fill out the form but figured it should be okay. When I got to library after this little interaction I checked my e-mail and, what do you know, as of that morning my classes had been dropped. Efficient.
By Thursday evening, the classes I had written on the carbon-copy paper had been magically transferred to my schedule on the website. Even the one with the waitlist, upon which I am #4 of 4. Great. So, I went to my night class contented.
I got home last night and thought, Now that I’m registered for classes, I should check my student account bill. So, I hopped on the handy website and checked my bill only to find that my $1,000 scholarship was now gone. I imagined someone in the business office snickering with glee as they thought about all the carbon-copy paper they could buy with an extra $1,000. I did this right before bed. Due to the fact that I sleepwalk when I’m stressed, I spent plenty of time on my feet in the middle of the night.
All of this took place in my final week of school. As you can imagine, it’s been interesting. Where it all stands today: I’ve gotten back into most of my classes (waitlist one the notable exception), and I spoke to someone today who assured me that once I’m officially registered for 12 units, which would qualify me as a “full-time student,” my scholarship money will reappear.
Through this experience, I have learned that missing a deadline is far more hassle than any paper I could be asked to write, that some things in life just don’t make sense and that anytime you decide to write about an institution in which you are currently enrolled (at least according to the shifty website) and publish these writings in a location that anyone with internet access can see, it is always best to be safe and refer to that institution in tricky terms. Here’s to you, DTS*.
This week had been set aside for the final week of school. Nothing too threatening, just lots to do. This negotiation had been clearly laid out months ago. However, last Saturday morning as I sat studying at the kitchen table so that I could get ahead of the week, suddenly my eyes enlarged to roughly the size of grapefruits. The deadline to pay tuition for next semester was yesterday. Stream of unrepeatable words. I quickly logged on to the website of the school that I attend, which shall remain nameless and for the sake of storytelling convention I will call DTS*. The website has a handy online tuition payment option for situations such as these. Or not quite.
The handy online tuition payment option quickly became a less-than-handy online payment-refusal non-option. Apparently once the deadline passes, they further punish the poor soul who only could have forgotten to pay tuition due to the ridiculous amount of work expected at the end of the semester by taking away the online payment option. Inconvenient. I wondered how much trouble this would cause as I had heard that if one failed to pay tuition on time, the school would drop your classes. Owing to the fact that I’ve pretty much scheduled all of my schooling down to most restroom breaks for the next year-and-a-half (and not a minute more, thank you) this was problematic. So, I quickly went to my spring class schedule online. Ahh, good my classes are still there. I’ll work this out first thing on Monday morning when the business office opens again.
Just for the security of my increasingly tortured soul, I continued to check the website all weekend. All weekend, there my classes sat. Breathing easier. Monday morning I called DTS* and spoke to a delightful lady in the financial office who managed to pull off the difficult task of sounding completely gracious as she informed me that she would, indeed, be ripping out my soul by dropping my classes. I asked if there was any way to pay for them now, because according to the website they still hadn’t been dropped. She said, “No.” Then she added the incredibly helpful, “Those are the rules.” As if I needed to be reminded of the rules. Gracias por nada. I decided that this would not do, and that as soon as I was back on campus on Tuesday I would straighten this thing out.
Tuesday morning, 8:30am in the financial office went as follows:
Lady: “Good morning. Can I help you?”
Me: “Yes, I need to pay for my classes for spring.”
Lady: “Oh, I’m sorry you can’t. It’s past the deadline and your classes will be dropped.”
Me: “I’d heard that, but my classes still haven’t been dropped so I’d like to pay for them.”
Lady: “Sorry, you can’t pay for your classes. It’s past the deadline and we’re going to drop your classes.”
Me: “I understand that, but my classes haven’t been dropped yet, so how about I pay right now and save you the trouble?”
Lady: “Sorry, you can’t pay right now. It’s past the deadline. Your classes will be dropped.”
Me: “But they haven’t been dropped. How about I pay and then you don’t drop them?”
Lady: “Well, you can’t pay because it’s past the deadline and so we will be dropping your classes.”
Me: “Are you telling me that nobody will take my $3,000?”
Lady: “Yes, because it’s past the deadline.”
After this fun with circular reasoning, I was rather upset. I was told I could re-register on Thursday. Fast forward to Thursday morning, 8:00am at the registrar’s office:
Lady: “Good morning. May I help you?”
Me: “Yes, I need to re-register for my classes.”
Lady: “Okay.” Expecting her to turn to the fancy piece of machinery on her left referred to in the common parlance as a computer, I was surprised when she pushed a stack of papers toward me. “You need to fill out one of these.” These being a carbon-copy sheet of paper that amounts to a DTS* course wish list. Carbon-copy. Like in 1983.
Me: (as I am slowly recovering from the time-warp sickness) “Okay. So I just list my classes here?”
Lady: “Yes, and then we’ll put them in sometime this week.”
Me: “Sometime this week? Okay, but, one of the courses that I was ‘in’ and now am not ‘in,’ although as of this morning my schedule on the website still showed me ‘in,’ this course now has a waiting list for me to get back ‘in’ even though technically I’m still ‘in.’ If I can’t get back ‘in,’ I need to take another course. How will I know if I’m ‘in?’”
Lady: “You can just keep checking the website and see if it’s listed under your schedule.”
Me: “Like it is right now?”
Lady: “Yes, but we’ll be dropping those classes because it’s past the deadline.”
I filled out the carbon-copy form, tucked my Rubik’s cube back into the pocket of my parachute pants, popped my Duran Duran cassette tape into my yellow Sony Walkman and left. On the way out I worried that I hadn’t used a Dixon-Ticonderoga #2 pencil to fill out the form but figured it should be okay. When I got to library after this little interaction I checked my e-mail and, what do you know, as of that morning my classes had been dropped. Efficient.
By Thursday evening, the classes I had written on the carbon-copy paper had been magically transferred to my schedule on the website. Even the one with the waitlist, upon which I am #4 of 4. Great. So, I went to my night class contented.
I got home last night and thought, Now that I’m registered for classes, I should check my student account bill. So, I hopped on the handy website and checked my bill only to find that my $1,000 scholarship was now gone. I imagined someone in the business office snickering with glee as they thought about all the carbon-copy paper they could buy with an extra $1,000. I did this right before bed. Due to the fact that I sleepwalk when I’m stressed, I spent plenty of time on my feet in the middle of the night.
All of this took place in my final week of school. As you can imagine, it’s been interesting. Where it all stands today: I’ve gotten back into most of my classes (waitlist one the notable exception), and I spoke to someone today who assured me that once I’m officially registered for 12 units, which would qualify me as a “full-time student,” my scholarship money will reappear.
Through this experience, I have learned that missing a deadline is far more hassle than any paper I could be asked to write, that some things in life just don’t make sense and that anytime you decide to write about an institution in which you are currently enrolled (at least according to the shifty website) and publish these writings in a location that anyone with internet access can see, it is always best to be safe and refer to that institution in tricky terms. Here’s to you, DTS*.
Thursday, December 08, 2005
Something once in a lifetime...
I wrote this part this morning, at about 8:30am:
Yesterday all the correct weather factors came together at the same time. About mid-morning, white stuff started falling from the sky. Being from the Central Valley of California, I had heard about this elusive phenomenon but rarely experienced it. The snow fell lightly throughout the afternoon, and it got really cold outside. This meant icy roads and dangerous driving conditions (which already exist anywhere Texas drivers congregate, anyway). So, this California boy was about to switch from rare experience to “that’s never happened to me before.” Here it is:
Today school is closed. Because of snow.
Just re-read that. If you live where I grew up you understand how significant this is. This doesn’t happen. School occasionally gets closed on account of an earthquake or mudslide or something, but snow? Nuh-uh.
Now I’m sitting in my pajamas, drinking coffee with hazelnut creamer and reveling in a day off at quite possibly the most critical possible juncture in the semester. Seriously, I couldn’t have chosen a better day not to have school even if I was the one in charge of snowflake distribution. Yet another reason to thank God for being so amazing.
So, I’m off to get a load of homework done and enjoy this free day.
I wrote this part around 4:30pm, as a bit of a summary:
So, of course, I planned to do disgusting amounts of homework today. That was the plan. As I sat in IHOP with some friends, I thought about the plan. Then I shoveled more eggs into my mouth and tried to put the plan out of my mind.
After IHOP I did, in fact, attend to the plan. Got a little homework done, but then I decided that it was time to do something even less appealing than the plan. It’s not that I hate taking showers (no matter what Greta says), but on days when I have nothing to do and nowhere to be, there’s something somewhat magical about just sitting around in my own filth. But, I caved and decided to take a shower. Let me reiterate that it is cold outside. This means that the pipes are cold. This means that everybody takes really hot showers in the dorm building. And most of them do so before 2:00pm. That means that when Benji decides to climb into the shower, the water is going to be cold. Real cold.
Have you ever been so cold in the shower that you use the blow dryer to warm up afterwards? Me neither. Till today. Remember, this whole snow day thing is new to me.
So, here’s the summary: It snowed, school got cancelled, I developed a plan, I ignored the plan and went to IHOP, I got some homework done, I took a shower and nearly froze, I got warm, got some homework done and even got some hot chocolate out of the deal.
Overall, I’d say this was an ideal way to spend a snow day. Compared to the none that I’ve had before, of course. Hope you enjoyed your snow day, too.
Yesterday all the correct weather factors came together at the same time. About mid-morning, white stuff started falling from the sky. Being from the Central Valley of California, I had heard about this elusive phenomenon but rarely experienced it. The snow fell lightly throughout the afternoon, and it got really cold outside. This meant icy roads and dangerous driving conditions (which already exist anywhere Texas drivers congregate, anyway). So, this California boy was about to switch from rare experience to “that’s never happened to me before.” Here it is:
Today school is closed. Because of snow.
Just re-read that. If you live where I grew up you understand how significant this is. This doesn’t happen. School occasionally gets closed on account of an earthquake or mudslide or something, but snow? Nuh-uh.
Now I’m sitting in my pajamas, drinking coffee with hazelnut creamer and reveling in a day off at quite possibly the most critical possible juncture in the semester. Seriously, I couldn’t have chosen a better day not to have school even if I was the one in charge of snowflake distribution. Yet another reason to thank God for being so amazing.
So, I’m off to get a load of homework done and enjoy this free day.
I wrote this part around 4:30pm, as a bit of a summary:
So, of course, I planned to do disgusting amounts of homework today. That was the plan. As I sat in IHOP with some friends, I thought about the plan. Then I shoveled more eggs into my mouth and tried to put the plan out of my mind.
After IHOP I did, in fact, attend to the plan. Got a little homework done, but then I decided that it was time to do something even less appealing than the plan. It’s not that I hate taking showers (no matter what Greta says), but on days when I have nothing to do and nowhere to be, there’s something somewhat magical about just sitting around in my own filth. But, I caved and decided to take a shower. Let me reiterate that it is cold outside. This means that the pipes are cold. This means that everybody takes really hot showers in the dorm building. And most of them do so before 2:00pm. That means that when Benji decides to climb into the shower, the water is going to be cold. Real cold.
Have you ever been so cold in the shower that you use the blow dryer to warm up afterwards? Me neither. Till today. Remember, this whole snow day thing is new to me.
So, here’s the summary: It snowed, school got cancelled, I developed a plan, I ignored the plan and went to IHOP, I got some homework done, I took a shower and nearly froze, I got warm, got some homework done and even got some hot chocolate out of the deal.
Overall, I’d say this was an ideal way to spend a snow day. Compared to the none that I’ve had before, of course. Hope you enjoyed your snow day, too.
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
The return of randomness...
So, it's been a while since my last post. Reasons: School, holidays (turkey hangover makes it really tough to string together coherent sentences), internet failure for a couple days. So, there you have it. But, I'm here again with all kinds of random stuff to share.
I sat in traffic this morning for an incredibly long amount of time. I left my house at 6am for my usual 45 minute drive to school. I arrived at school at 9:40am. The math tells me that something wasn't right. Apparently there was a fuel spill on the freeway, as I found out later.
During the traffic stop (not even a jam, as much as a stop), I looked over and noticed a guy smoking. Wierd thing is I was jealous. Not because I want to form an addiction to nicotine, but because at least he had something to do while he waited. Although, in hindsight, smoking while waiting for HazMat to clear a fuel spill probably isn't the best way to spend time.
During the stop, I popped in the new David Crowder Band CD. Good stuff. A touch strange in places, but great music that runs the gamut. I kind of dig the eclectic mixture of sounds, and throw in the undeniable fact that David Crowder looks exactly like Shaggy from Scooby-Doo, and what's not to love?
One of the worst parts about being stuck in a traffic stop is that rarely do you know ahead of time that such a stop is coming. Most people would like to know ahead of time so that they could call people and let them know they're going to be late, etc. I would have liked to know so that I wouldn't have drinken both travel mugs of coffee. Let's just say, I was really glad to get to DTS for a number of reasons. (That number being 1.)
My sister-in-law came to visit us for Thanksgiving. We had so much fun. We helped her shop for a digital camera that is her Christmas gift from her parents. As we looked around Costco, I found myself wanting a new digital camera, too. Now, granted, ours isn't the best, but it's not like I have to duck my head under a black hood or anything. Greed is funny like that.
Over the Thanksgiving break, dedicated student that I am, I read the new Harry Potter book. I had waited patiently for a time when I could put off doing my homework and not feel too badly about it, because, after all, I've got two weeks off! Let me just say that this latest book made me so anxious to read the next one that I'm seriously frustrated about waiting. How can she do this to me? Write, woman, write!
On a similar note: We recently undertook the mighty endeavor of watching the show Alias. We had never watched so much as one episode before, so we were starting from the very beginning (which is a very fine place to start). We got hooked, quickly. We finished 4 seasons worth of Alias in a little under 2 months. That's a lot of calling Blockbuster/Hollywood Video and asking if the disk that was already somewhere in the mail from Netflix was in stock on their shelves because, who can wait? Now, we're finished. Problem: Season 5 is currently on TV. Not on DVD. This means we have to wait. (Again, not my favorite thing.) And there was a HUGE cliffhanger at the end of season 4. I think the entertainment industry is conspiring against me.
Speaking of the entertainment industry: Go see Rent. Today if you can. If not today, then tomorrow. (But then, there really is no day but today.) You may not like all of the characters and their actions, but the message is pretty compelling. Really live today, embrace community, and be real. Funny these messages aren't coming from the church.
That's all for now. Except for:
Word of the day: commodious, adj, comfortably or conveniently spacious, roomy
Try it on your friends like this:
You: "Wow, those pants seem commodious."
Them: "What?! I just washed them?! Are you serious?! Do you think that girl at the bank noticed?"
or
You: "Your living room is so commodious!"
Them: "Uh, the commode is down the hall if you have needs."
I sat in traffic this morning for an incredibly long amount of time. I left my house at 6am for my usual 45 minute drive to school. I arrived at school at 9:40am. The math tells me that something wasn't right. Apparently there was a fuel spill on the freeway, as I found out later.
During the traffic stop (not even a jam, as much as a stop), I looked over and noticed a guy smoking. Wierd thing is I was jealous. Not because I want to form an addiction to nicotine, but because at least he had something to do while he waited. Although, in hindsight, smoking while waiting for HazMat to clear a fuel spill probably isn't the best way to spend time.
During the stop, I popped in the new David Crowder Band CD. Good stuff. A touch strange in places, but great music that runs the gamut. I kind of dig the eclectic mixture of sounds, and throw in the undeniable fact that David Crowder looks exactly like Shaggy from Scooby-Doo, and what's not to love?
One of the worst parts about being stuck in a traffic stop is that rarely do you know ahead of time that such a stop is coming. Most people would like to know ahead of time so that they could call people and let them know they're going to be late, etc. I would have liked to know so that I wouldn't have drinken both travel mugs of coffee. Let's just say, I was really glad to get to DTS for a number of reasons. (That number being 1.)
My sister-in-law came to visit us for Thanksgiving. We had so much fun. We helped her shop for a digital camera that is her Christmas gift from her parents. As we looked around Costco, I found myself wanting a new digital camera, too. Now, granted, ours isn't the best, but it's not like I have to duck my head under a black hood or anything. Greed is funny like that.
Over the Thanksgiving break, dedicated student that I am, I read the new Harry Potter book. I had waited patiently for a time when I could put off doing my homework and not feel too badly about it, because, after all, I've got two weeks off! Let me just say that this latest book made me so anxious to read the next one that I'm seriously frustrated about waiting. How can she do this to me? Write, woman, write!
On a similar note: We recently undertook the mighty endeavor of watching the show Alias. We had never watched so much as one episode before, so we were starting from the very beginning (which is a very fine place to start). We got hooked, quickly. We finished 4 seasons worth of Alias in a little under 2 months. That's a lot of calling Blockbuster/Hollywood Video and asking if the disk that was already somewhere in the mail from Netflix was in stock on their shelves because, who can wait? Now, we're finished. Problem: Season 5 is currently on TV. Not on DVD. This means we have to wait. (Again, not my favorite thing.) And there was a HUGE cliffhanger at the end of season 4. I think the entertainment industry is conspiring against me.
Speaking of the entertainment industry: Go see Rent. Today if you can. If not today, then tomorrow. (But then, there really is no day but today.) You may not like all of the characters and their actions, but the message is pretty compelling. Really live today, embrace community, and be real. Funny these messages aren't coming from the church.
That's all for now. Except for:
Word of the day: commodious, adj, comfortably or conveniently spacious, roomy
Try it on your friends like this:
You: "Wow, those pants seem commodious."
Them: "What?! I just washed them?! Are you serious?! Do you think that girl at the bank noticed?"
or
You: "Your living room is so commodious!"
Them: "Uh, the commode is down the hall if you have needs."
Monday, November 21, 2005
New blog...
In a recent post I added a bunch of links and introduced each new friend that had been invited to the storytime rug. At the end I mentioned that there was another blog that I was really excited about adding but had been told it wasn't "ready." Apparently, it's ready now.
Ladies and gentlemen, internet junkies of all ages, allow me to introduce...my wife.
Her blog is pretty much just like mine except for the fact that hers features well-written posts on stuff that really matters while mine typically majors in drivel. Also, she can be trusted to tell stories about us from a completely different perspective...one that's correct. One other small difference is that she is chock full of ideas, meaning her blog should remain relatively fresh and updated. I on the other hand usually stare blankly until inspiration hits me and I begin typing another almost-new post about the Yankees. Other than those things, though, they're pretty much identical.
So, cruise on over. You can use the new link at the top of the links section, or you can just click here. I really don't care how you get there. Just get there.
Soon.
Like now.
Seriously, there's nothing left here to read.
Why are you lingering?
You're starting to creep me out.
Ladies and gentlemen, internet junkies of all ages, allow me to introduce...my wife.
Her blog is pretty much just like mine except for the fact that hers features well-written posts on stuff that really matters while mine typically majors in drivel. Also, she can be trusted to tell stories about us from a completely different perspective...one that's correct. One other small difference is that she is chock full of ideas, meaning her blog should remain relatively fresh and updated. I on the other hand usually stare blankly until inspiration hits me and I begin typing another almost-new post about the Yankees. Other than those things, though, they're pretty much identical.
So, cruise on over. You can use the new link at the top of the links section, or you can just click here. I really don't care how you get there. Just get there.
Soon.
Like now.
Seriously, there's nothing left here to read.
Why are you lingering?
You're starting to creep me out.
Thursday, November 17, 2005
Behavioral issues...
Recently, I subbed in a class for children with significant behavioral issues. These children do not function well in a traditional classroom.
I worked with possibly the most patient woman I’ve ever seen in action (besides my wife, of course, who is sainted simply for putting up with me). This lady sat and took verbal abuse from these children who were not shy about calling her names. She sat and took professional abuse as these children openly messed around while she attempted to teach them. She read and did nothing but try to help them while they acted as if they couldn’t care less. But, she pressed on and never once raised her voice. She was stern when necessary, constantly reminding them that their choices would dictate her response, but she never yelled or appeared angry. In the middle of the day, I had a thought.
This must be a little glimpse at what it’s like for God to watch the church sometimes. He waits patiently as we openly disobey, abuse His name through our lifestyles and don’t listen to the things that are intended to do us good. He reminds us that our choices have consequences, as we laugh and make jokes about grace. Simply put, the church has significant behavioral issues.
I was terribly convicted in that classroom. I thought that the teacher showed way more patience than necessary, staying calm during times when I would have blown up. Then I thought how glad I am that God does the same as her. He stays patient with us when He would be more than justified to respond in anger.
I’ve been reading through the Old Testament lately and have been impressed with God’s patience, mercy and grace. His people were disobedient and He chose not to destroy them. He is the same way with the church. When we are disobedient, He extends grace and mercy. I know that I give Him plenty of opportunity to extend such grace and mercy and am thankful every day that I serve a patient God.
I worked with possibly the most patient woman I’ve ever seen in action (besides my wife, of course, who is sainted simply for putting up with me). This lady sat and took verbal abuse from these children who were not shy about calling her names. She sat and took professional abuse as these children openly messed around while she attempted to teach them. She read and did nothing but try to help them while they acted as if they couldn’t care less. But, she pressed on and never once raised her voice. She was stern when necessary, constantly reminding them that their choices would dictate her response, but she never yelled or appeared angry. In the middle of the day, I had a thought.
This must be a little glimpse at what it’s like for God to watch the church sometimes. He waits patiently as we openly disobey, abuse His name through our lifestyles and don’t listen to the things that are intended to do us good. He reminds us that our choices have consequences, as we laugh and make jokes about grace. Simply put, the church has significant behavioral issues.
I was terribly convicted in that classroom. I thought that the teacher showed way more patience than necessary, staying calm during times when I would have blown up. Then I thought how glad I am that God does the same as her. He stays patient with us when He would be more than justified to respond in anger.
I’ve been reading through the Old Testament lately and have been impressed with God’s patience, mercy and grace. His people were disobedient and He chose not to destroy them. He is the same way with the church. When we are disobedient, He extends grace and mercy. I know that I give Him plenty of opportunity to extend such grace and mercy and am thankful every day that I serve a patient God.
Thursday, November 10, 2005
Making the grade...
The following story is true. The dialogue has been reconstructed from the best of my recollection. Welcome to my world.
I had finally given in to the inevitability of my fate and extracted my Greek homework from its Timbuk2 cocoon, when the door handle sounded.
She's home.
"Hi, Gretters."
"Hi." She said it with her turned-up nose and raspy voice, almost a hiss, that usually means I've done something kinda wrong (not really wrong which merits far different non-verbals).
Couldn't be my fault, I've just been here doing my homework.
"What's up? How was class?"
"I'm so frustrated!"
This can't be good, and yet it's kinda funny.
"Why are you frustrated?"
"I got a B on my paper. An 89. Seriously, how could that not just be a 90?"
"Honey, there's nothing wrong with a B."
"I wanted an A."
"I know, but it's not like you've got nothing else going on in life."
She turned the tables. "Wouldn't you be frustrated if you got a B?"
"Probably."
Her eyes sparkled. "What about the paper lying on the desk? You got a B on that. Doesn't that bother you?"
She'd seen that? I generally hide all evidences of my shame in the file cabinet lest anyone see behind the curtain.
"Actually, yeah, it does. But, I don't have a full-time job. There's no reason for me to be getting a B on anything."
"Yeah, I guess you're right. You shouldn't be getting Bs."
I love being married to a smart, funny woman.
I had finally given in to the inevitability of my fate and extracted my Greek homework from its Timbuk2 cocoon, when the door handle sounded.
She's home.
"Hi, Gretters."
"Hi." She said it with her turned-up nose and raspy voice, almost a hiss, that usually means I've done something kinda wrong (not really wrong which merits far different non-verbals).
Couldn't be my fault, I've just been here doing my homework.
"What's up? How was class?"
"I'm so frustrated!"
This can't be good, and yet it's kinda funny.
"Why are you frustrated?"
"I got a B on my paper. An 89. Seriously, how could that not just be a 90?"
"Honey, there's nothing wrong with a B."
"I wanted an A."
"I know, but it's not like you've got nothing else going on in life."
She turned the tables. "Wouldn't you be frustrated if you got a B?"
"Probably."
Her eyes sparkled. "What about the paper lying on the desk? You got a B on that. Doesn't that bother you?"
She'd seen that? I generally hide all evidences of my shame in the file cabinet lest anyone see behind the curtain.
"Actually, yeah, it does. But, I don't have a full-time job. There's no reason for me to be getting a B on anything."
"Yeah, I guess you're right. You shouldn't be getting Bs."
I love being married to a smart, funny woman.
Friday, November 04, 2005
Ruminations on art...
I've now been to the Dallas Museum of Art twice in the last week. I know that sounds real Vanderbiltian of me, but it was free both times. Well within my price range. On Tuesday, I went for my Creative Writing class (more on that below). Last night, I went with my Christian View of Art Class. Both were great trips. Each was unique. On Tuesday, I found a couple of pieces that I appreciated. For whatever reason, I liked them. On Thursday night, I walked around mostly with my professor and heard what I'd missed on Tuesday. Good stuff. If you live in the 'Plex and haven't been to the DMA, you need to go. It's fun, free on the first Tuesday of the month and every Thursday after 5pm, and features some great art. By people you've heard of. But whose work you've never seen. Until now.
Speaking of art, I just finished reading Modern Art and the Death of a Culture, by Hans Rookmaaker. I thoroughly enjoyed it. Rookmaaker traces the development of art in its historic contexts and shows how what we seen in modern art is really a logical consequence of modernism and the Enlightenment. Great argument. Being a Christ-follower, he also discusses what Christians' responses should be to art. Surprisingly, I don't think he'd like what he sees at Mardel.
I mentioned my creative writing trip to the DMA. We had to pick a piece of art and write about it, and make sure that we could bring a postcard or something that had the image to class. I selected a very tall European painting of a man, dressed in red and holding a battle axe. In the absence of any postcard, I selected a different image, but one that had still struck me. I wrote about Peaceable Kingdom, (above) painted by Edward Hicks. Apparently, Hicks was fascinated by this theme and produced some form of this painting over 100 times. My piece on this piece follows:
Peace came to Pennsylvania; predator rested with prey. With olive branch in hand, the child led nature’s cease-fire. William Penn, treaties and co-existence. Isaiah foresaw it all. With contented sighs the animals jostled, frolicked, nudged, played. Breathing in the honey air, who would want to leave? But this peace could not last. Man works like that. Peace came to Pennsylvania. Did you miss it?
Peace came to Palestine; the predator had his prey. With nails in hand, the child led judgment’s cease-fire. Pilate, beatings, agonizing existence. Isaiah foresaw it all. With horrified shrieks the women doubted, questioned, sobbed, prayed. Screaming in the blackened air, “Father, why did you leave?” But this death would not last. God works like that. Peace came to Palestine. Did you miss it?
Speaking of art, I just finished reading Modern Art and the Death of a Culture, by Hans Rookmaaker. I thoroughly enjoyed it. Rookmaaker traces the development of art in its historic contexts and shows how what we seen in modern art is really a logical consequence of modernism and the Enlightenment. Great argument. Being a Christ-follower, he also discusses what Christians' responses should be to art. Surprisingly, I don't think he'd like what he sees at Mardel.
I mentioned my creative writing trip to the DMA. We had to pick a piece of art and write about it, and make sure that we could bring a postcard or something that had the image to class. I selected a very tall European painting of a man, dressed in red and holding a battle axe. In the absence of any postcard, I selected a different image, but one that had still struck me. I wrote about Peaceable Kingdom, (above) painted by Edward Hicks. Apparently, Hicks was fascinated by this theme and produced some form of this painting over 100 times. My piece on this piece follows:
Peace came to Pennsylvania; predator rested with prey. With olive branch in hand, the child led nature’s cease-fire. William Penn, treaties and co-existence. Isaiah foresaw it all. With contented sighs the animals jostled, frolicked, nudged, played. Breathing in the honey air, who would want to leave? But this peace could not last. Man works like that. Peace came to Pennsylvania. Did you miss it?
Peace came to Palestine; the predator had his prey. With nails in hand, the child led judgment’s cease-fire. Pilate, beatings, agonizing existence. Isaiah foresaw it all. With horrified shrieks the women doubted, questioned, sobbed, prayed. Screaming in the blackened air, “Father, why did you leave?” But this death would not last. God works like that. Peace came to Palestine. Did you miss it?
Sunday, October 30, 2005
New links...
I've updated my links list with some new blogs that I've grown to enjoy. Most of these people are affiliated with my creative writing class in some way. That means that that list on the right is like the on-ramp to the creative superhighway you've been hearing so much about. (Okay, so maybe you haven't heard, but if not, then it's your fault for running with the wrong crowds.)First is my creative writing professor's. I've referenced her work many times and thought to myself, "Self, why not just put her blog in the link list? That's a splendid idea, self. Wait, we can't both be self, that's confusing! Well, I was self first, so you can just leave!" I can't remember much else after that but now I've got a crazy headache and a hankerin' for some pintos and rice.
Next comes Toph. In creative writing, his work is always fun to read and pretty novel stuff. Not like an actual novel, because we're limited to one page. Although I'm sure he could write a novel. I'm sure he could do just about anything if he'd only apply himself. (How many times did he hear that from teachers growing up? Wait, that was me.)
Leani is an excellent writer from South Africa and always has a fresh perspective on America, Texas, Dallas. Can you believe that not everything we do here is normal? I know, that may take a while to soak in.
Jacob is just flat out funny. He makes our entire class laugh out loud numerous times each day. Which is really great because I know a guy in the Hebrew class that meets next door. Apparently, while they're slaving away trying to read and reproduce chicken scratch, we're howling like a bunch of banshees. Kind of fun knowing we're frustrating the scholars.
Then comes Jacob (see above, if you haven't, but if you haven't ask yourself what kind of a person doesn't read a blog in order) and Ben (which is not me because my name is Benji, and we're different people). Their blog is good times, too. Not good x 2, which is different and stunningly difficult to solve.
So, there they are. There is another blog that I'm anxiously awaiting adding to the links list, but have been informed "it's not ready." When it is, expect fun times.
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
The lesson I learned today...
Let me tell you how God is good.
I worked in a 4th grade class today. After spending the weekend writing my paper (which I finished in a succinct 33 pages, thank you), I had much to do at school yesterday to catch up in Greek and last night to catch up with my online lectures. Then, of course, Game 3 went extra innings and even though I didn’t see the whole thing, I still hit the pillow well after midnight. Frankly, when all was said and done, I was whipped. I had zero desire to work in a 4th grade class.
I really don’t enjoy teaching elementary school. I prefer high school and middle school. They function, they cope. Elementary school kids cling and need. Not my idea of good times after the past couple of days. I wanted ease. High school = ease. I even prayed that God would get me an easy high school job. I’m not above admitting my selfish prayers. But no such job came. I kept checking the website, calling the sub lady at the district, nothing. No high school. 4th grade it is. I changed my prayer and asked God to make me a good sub in this less than ideal situation.
The morning got off to a rocky start. I got up early, but still left the house in a rush. The guy in front of me at Starbucks took a long time to examine his coffee beans, then paid via credit card. Nothing rapid about this man. It didn’t help when I realized that I’d left my substitute ID at home and had to ask Greta to bring it to me.
When I got to school, I was a little frazzled, but here’s where things got better. The real teacher was there for a minute before she left for her meeting, and assured me she had a good class. She then told me that it should be an easy day; small class (only 19), well-behaved kids, art for 45 minutes first thing in the morning, a visit from the counselor for 45 minutes later in the morning, half-hour lunch, half-hour at the library after lunch, a 40 minute video followed by a half-hour recess to close the day. Simply, the ease I was looking for. Humbling.
I had painted “ease” into a corner. I asked God for exactly what I thought would bring me ease. He showed me that He’s greater than my plans. Even when He chooses to bless me, which He doesn’t have to do, He can bring me what I ask for in ways I can’t imagine. He reasserts His sovereignty in little and big ways. God is good to me even when I’m difficult, demanding and needy. In other words, when I’m acting like the elementary school student.
I’m so thankful that He didn’t beg out of my day.
I worked in a 4th grade class today. After spending the weekend writing my paper (which I finished in a succinct 33 pages, thank you), I had much to do at school yesterday to catch up in Greek and last night to catch up with my online lectures. Then, of course, Game 3 went extra innings and even though I didn’t see the whole thing, I still hit the pillow well after midnight. Frankly, when all was said and done, I was whipped. I had zero desire to work in a 4th grade class.
I really don’t enjoy teaching elementary school. I prefer high school and middle school. They function, they cope. Elementary school kids cling and need. Not my idea of good times after the past couple of days. I wanted ease. High school = ease. I even prayed that God would get me an easy high school job. I’m not above admitting my selfish prayers. But no such job came. I kept checking the website, calling the sub lady at the district, nothing. No high school. 4th grade it is. I changed my prayer and asked God to make me a good sub in this less than ideal situation.
The morning got off to a rocky start. I got up early, but still left the house in a rush. The guy in front of me at Starbucks took a long time to examine his coffee beans, then paid via credit card. Nothing rapid about this man. It didn’t help when I realized that I’d left my substitute ID at home and had to ask Greta to bring it to me.
When I got to school, I was a little frazzled, but here’s where things got better. The real teacher was there for a minute before she left for her meeting, and assured me she had a good class. She then told me that it should be an easy day; small class (only 19), well-behaved kids, art for 45 minutes first thing in the morning, a visit from the counselor for 45 minutes later in the morning, half-hour lunch, half-hour at the library after lunch, a 40 minute video followed by a half-hour recess to close the day. Simply, the ease I was looking for. Humbling.
I had painted “ease” into a corner. I asked God for exactly what I thought would bring me ease. He showed me that He’s greater than my plans. Even when He chooses to bless me, which He doesn’t have to do, He can bring me what I ask for in ways I can’t imagine. He reasserts His sovereignty in little and big ways. God is good to me even when I’m difficult, demanding and needy. In other words, when I’m acting like the elementary school student.
I’m so thankful that He didn’t beg out of my day.
Saturday, October 22, 2005
How I spent my Saturday...
So, I thought I'd give y'all a little glimpse at how I spent my Saturday.
I had a little something called an argument paper that needed my attention. Those are the resources I used. I spent roughly 7 hours on it. Still not done. Ugh. At least I've got until Tuesday at midnight.
Right now, though, the World Series is on, and I'm watching. Books put away, crtl-s for the paper until tomorrow, baseball on the telly box. Things are good. Besides that, I've missed the Series. They didn't have it last year, right? I don't recall seeing one.
I had a little something called an argument paper that needed my attention. Those are the resources I used. I spent roughly 7 hours on it. Still not done. Ugh. At least I've got until Tuesday at midnight.Right now, though, the World Series is on, and I'm watching. Books put away, crtl-s for the paper until tomorrow, baseball on the telly box. Things are good. Besides that, I've missed the Series. They didn't have it last year, right? I don't recall seeing one.
Thursday, October 20, 2005
Random seminary thoughts...
Today, while walking toward the library, I saw a black dog running free on campus. Just cruising along checking out the plants and the people, he seemed rather content. Here in seminary, contentment may not be in short supply, but it's dwindling like Sly Stallone's believability in Rocky VI. I smiled as I watched the dog, not knowing how soon my smile would erupt into something louder. The dog meandered this way, then that way, until he found some bushes. Then, he squatted and delivered. Yeah, what can brown do for you? I started laughing so hard. Something about seeing an animal so completely free of pretension that he was willing to drop a load in the bushes at THE Dallas Theological Seminary that produced sheer laughter and a little envy. Not envy for what you're thinking, potty head. Envy because I never feel that free and comfortable in my own skin on campus. Envy because I constantly obsess over what I wear, how I look, sound and smell that I bother myself. Leave it to an animal to teach me something about contentment. Speaking of the animals...
I've been reading Annie Dillard's Pilgrim at Tinker Creek for my creative writing class. If you've never read her, you should. You'll either find that you love her, or that it's a great exercise in following through on what you've started no matter the cost. In PaTC, she won the Pulitzer for basically talking about nature for 200+ pages. Now, I'm not a particularly huge fan of "nature," per se, owing primarily to my aversion to sleeping in the dirt, but this book is interesting. If I can grant Dillard nothing else, I at least have to grant that she seems to know how to see in ways that I can't, or just choose not to. She spends pages relating the sheer morbid experience of mating praying mantises. She talks in depth about microscopic organisms that few others would bother more than a paragraph on. And it's all because she sees. She sees beauty and intricacy and value in unlikely places. She's got me wishing I could see.
My creative writing professor broke her collarbone in a freak accident on Tuesday night. You can read all about it on her blog. Please pray for her.
On Tuesday, my Old Testament History prof showed us a bunch of relics and such from Israel. Some of the stuff was dated to be about 3,000 years old. Yeah, from 1,000 bc. Pretty crazy. He had pottery, a couple small idols, a spear shaft and stuff like that. And then he passed around a bag with bones in it. Human bones. Like from some Israelite's hand. How incredibly creepy will it be when the resurrection comes and that dude needs that again?
That's all for now. I'm supposed to be writing a paper. A laptop with wireless internet just seems like it should be put to more fun uses than that.
Word of the day: revenant, n, "one who returns after death or a long absence"
Like the one-handed Israelite.
I've been reading Annie Dillard's Pilgrim at Tinker Creek for my creative writing class. If you've never read her, you should. You'll either find that you love her, or that it's a great exercise in following through on what you've started no matter the cost. In PaTC, she won the Pulitzer for basically talking about nature for 200+ pages. Now, I'm not a particularly huge fan of "nature," per se, owing primarily to my aversion to sleeping in the dirt, but this book is interesting. If I can grant Dillard nothing else, I at least have to grant that she seems to know how to see in ways that I can't, or just choose not to. She spends pages relating the sheer morbid experience of mating praying mantises. She talks in depth about microscopic organisms that few others would bother more than a paragraph on. And it's all because she sees. She sees beauty and intricacy and value in unlikely places. She's got me wishing I could see.
My creative writing professor broke her collarbone in a freak accident on Tuesday night. You can read all about it on her blog. Please pray for her.
On Tuesday, my Old Testament History prof showed us a bunch of relics and such from Israel. Some of the stuff was dated to be about 3,000 years old. Yeah, from 1,000 bc. Pretty crazy. He had pottery, a couple small idols, a spear shaft and stuff like that. And then he passed around a bag with bones in it. Human bones. Like from some Israelite's hand. How incredibly creepy will it be when the resurrection comes and that dude needs that again?
That's all for now. I'm supposed to be writing a paper. A laptop with wireless internet just seems like it should be put to more fun uses than that.
Word of the day: revenant, n, "one who returns after death or a long absence"
Like the one-handed Israelite.
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
Sports-heavy randomness...
I know I haven't posted anything in a while, so here goes. Another installation of the randomness rolling through my brain. It will be a little sports-heavy, but, Nicole and Greta, please keep reading.
I can't rationally discuss the Yankees. I tend to dissolve into an incoherent mess. I do know that they have major needs to address in the offseason, and no matter what the guy with the THICK New York accent wants you to think, trading A-Rod is not one of them. Without him, the Yanks don't make the playoffs. Let's not forget that. Related...it's rather frustrating to see three former Yankees starters mowing through folks in the postseason. Andy Pettite, Roger Clemens and Jose Contreras all look good. Would we like to have any of the three at the moment? Uh, yeah.
Patriots linebacker Tedy Bruschi is coming back to play just months after suffering a stroke. Yeah, a strok
e! He's in his early 30's and in great shape and had some inexplicable stroke. Crazy. Originally he was going to sit out the entire season, but apparently doctors have cleared him. So, here's why this matters: It's clear that the starring role in the Tedy Bruschi Story ESPN movie will go to Mario Lopez. He's already played Greg Louganis 
and the immortal A.C. Slater. But, who gets cast around him? Ashton Kutcher as Tom Brady? The Unabomber as Bill Belichick? This is when the voyeurs need to rise up and comment. (I know you are out there, too. You just come for a peek, but never let anyone know you were here.) Now is the time for my sporting friends to band together, rise up and complete the casting call.
Albert Pujols is ridiculous. Even if you're an Astros fan, you had to feel that last night's monster-bomb was inevitable in that situation. What wasn't inevitable, however, was the 1,000 feet that ball would travel and the ensuing hole it punched in the ozone layer.
I HATE USC. You all just need to know that. (I realize hate is a strong word, but I only used it because I can't think of one stronger.) Their win in South Bend on Saturday was sickening. Mostly because they looked super-beatable, the Irish looked like they were just supposed to win, I was already jumping up and down thinking they had, and then Matt Leinart spun like a top, holding the ball in space and nobody stopped him, knocked the ball loose or punched him in the throat. Mostly because of that.
Non-sports nugget: I love registering for new classes. I get to do so today, and it's one of the highlights of the semester for me. For some reason, I dig the idea that I'm in control for a while. The only downside is that every time I register for the next semester, without fail I'm ready for the current one to end. Problem. But worry not for me. I will carry on.
Word of the day: flaneur, n, one who strolls about aimlessly, a lounger, a loafer
Just say this word for a while. Fun for the whole tongue! The fact that it has legitimate conversational value is simply gravy.
I can't rationally discuss the Yankees. I tend to dissolve into an incoherent mess. I do know that they have major needs to address in the offseason, and no matter what the guy with the THICK New York accent wants you to think, trading A-Rod is not one of them. Without him, the Yanks don't make the playoffs. Let's not forget that. Related...it's rather frustrating to see three former Yankees starters mowing through folks in the postseason. Andy Pettite, Roger Clemens and Jose Contreras all look good. Would we like to have any of the three at the moment? Uh, yeah.
Patriots linebacker Tedy Bruschi is coming back to play just months after suffering a stroke. Yeah, a strok
e! He's in his early 30's and in great shape and had some inexplicable stroke. Crazy. Originally he was going to sit out the entire season, but apparently doctors have cleared him. So, here's why this matters: It's clear that the starring role in the Tedy Bruschi Story ESPN movie will go to Mario Lopez. He's already played Greg Louganis 
and the immortal A.C. Slater. But, who gets cast around him? Ashton Kutcher as Tom Brady? The Unabomber as Bill Belichick? This is when the voyeurs need to rise up and comment. (I know you are out there, too. You just come for a peek, but never let anyone know you were here.) Now is the time for my sporting friends to band together, rise up and complete the casting call.Albert Pujols is ridiculous. Even if you're an Astros fan, you had to feel that last night's monster-bomb was inevitable in that situation. What wasn't inevitable, however, was the 1,000 feet that ball would travel and the ensuing hole it punched in the ozone layer.
I HATE USC. You all just need to know that. (I realize hate is a strong word, but I only used it because I can't think of one stronger.) Their win in South Bend on Saturday was sickening. Mostly because they looked super-beatable, the Irish looked like they were just supposed to win, I was already jumping up and down thinking they had, and then Matt Leinart spun like a top, holding the ball in space and nobody stopped him, knocked the ball loose or punched him in the throat. Mostly because of that.
Non-sports nugget: I love registering for new classes. I get to do so today, and it's one of the highlights of the semester for me. For some reason, I dig the idea that I'm in control for a while. The only downside is that every time I register for the next semester, without fail I'm ready for the current one to end. Problem. But worry not for me. I will carry on.
Word of the day: flaneur, n, one who strolls about aimlessly, a lounger, a loafer
Just say this word for a while. Fun for the whole tongue! The fact that it has legitimate conversational value is simply gravy.
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
Numbing the ache...
We just returned from a wonderful weekend in Southern California. We spent the time eating, talking with friends, and just enjoying “home.” And as great as it was to be there, I feel like crap today. Not your typical post-vacation tired feeling (although there’s plenty of that going around, too), but something deeper and more powerful.
California is wonderful (no matter what the Texans say), but all is not right. I’m not talking government, politics, wildfires or value systems, I’m talking life. Even though I can’t possibly imagine a more beautiful and wonderful place than California, like every other temporary paradise, sometimes it stinks like hell.
This world cannot possibly be home for those of us who call ourselves Christ-followers. I think God wants me to constantly remember this fact. I can almost hear the Spirit whisper in my ear, “Don’t get too comfortable, because this isn’t it.” Peter called us “aliens and strangers in this world” and I’ve never felt that more tangibly than now.
Switchfoot says “I don’t belong here/It feels like I don’t belong here.” We don’t, in fact, belong here. We were created for something greater and more beautiful than this sin-stained and broken world. Every glimpse of anything beautiful is an undeserved reminder of the amazing grace of God.
Celebrate the moments where unexpected and undeserved beauty breaks through the clouds of this ugly and barren world. Thank God for grace and that He has prepared a place for us where He will finally wipe every tear from our eye. That, my friends, is what I hope for.
California is wonderful (no matter what the Texans say), but all is not right. I’m not talking government, politics, wildfires or value systems, I’m talking life. Even though I can’t possibly imagine a more beautiful and wonderful place than California, like every other temporary paradise, sometimes it stinks like hell.
This world cannot possibly be home for those of us who call ourselves Christ-followers. I think God wants me to constantly remember this fact. I can almost hear the Spirit whisper in my ear, “Don’t get too comfortable, because this isn’t it.” Peter called us “aliens and strangers in this world” and I’ve never felt that more tangibly than now.
Switchfoot says “I don’t belong here/It feels like I don’t belong here.” We don’t, in fact, belong here. We were created for something greater and more beautiful than this sin-stained and broken world. Every glimpse of anything beautiful is an undeserved reminder of the amazing grace of God.
Celebrate the moments where unexpected and undeserved beauty breaks through the clouds of this ugly and barren world. Thank God for grace and that He has prepared a place for us where He will finally wipe every tear from our eye. That, my friends, is what I hope for.
Thursday, October 06, 2005
3 reasons I love October...
1. Baseball's playoffs are, by far, the best in professional sports. Football only plays once a week, basketball takes 3 months and hockey, honestly, who cares? But baseball is a nightly event for three weeks in October. Great pitching matchups (like tonight, Clemens vs. Smoltz), big drama, fun storylines (like will defending champs Boston be swept by Chicago, will the upstarts in Houston win on pitching), baseball provides it all. Having the Yankees in the playoffs obviously helps (more on them later).
2. The weather is getting more reasonable all the time. Although in Texas, to get to reasonable there must be a 30 degree drop overnight with a chance of thunderstorms, but hey, at least it's not 98 anymore (at least until next week).
3. My Dad's birthday, on the 14th. (Had to include that one if I was going to retain any future hope of gifts on my birthday)
As promised...
The Yanks give me fits, but I'm excited about where they're at right now. Tied 1-
1 with the Rally Monkeys of Northern Hemisphere, West Coast Of America, Southern California, Orange County, Los Angeles, But Not Really Cause We're Actually In Anaheim, going back to the Bronx with Unit on the hill. I'm liking it. Now, if the bats could wake up a little, especially near the top of the order, and if Ruben Sierra can continue to hold down his crucial spot at left bench, I like the looks of things. Also, I'm glad they're going back to the Bronx because, hopefully, this means the end of games that start at 9pm and end the next morning. (Should be an interesting night class tonight, thank God for caffeine.)
Word of the Day:
soporific, adj, "causing sleep, tending to cause sleep"
Although this word sounds like a measurement you'd use to determine the worthiness of a roll for Rudy's bar-be-cue, its real appeal lies in the fact that you could probably get away with using it on someone who bored you because they'll think you used some version of "terrific." Por ejemplo;
"So, Ted, what'd you think of my presentation to the board on how cutting back on the use of staples and using more paper clips would save the company money?"
"Well, Mike, I thought it was simply soporific."
"Gee, thanks!"
"Don't mention it."
2. The weather is getting more reasonable all the time. Although in Texas, to get to reasonable there must be a 30 degree drop overnight with a chance of thunderstorms, but hey, at least it's not 98 anymore (at least until next week).
3. My Dad's birthday, on the 14th. (Had to include that one if I was going to retain any future hope of gifts on my birthday)
As promised...
The Yanks give me fits, but I'm excited about where they're at right now. Tied 1-
1 with the Rally Monkeys of Northern Hemisphere, West Coast Of America, Southern California, Orange County, Los Angeles, But Not Really Cause We're Actually In Anaheim, going back to the Bronx with Unit on the hill. I'm liking it. Now, if the bats could wake up a little, especially near the top of the order, and if Ruben Sierra can continue to hold down his crucial spot at left bench, I like the looks of things. Also, I'm glad they're going back to the Bronx because, hopefully, this means the end of games that start at 9pm and end the next morning. (Should be an interesting night class tonight, thank God for caffeine.)Word of the Day:
soporific, adj, "causing sleep, tending to cause sleep"
Although this word sounds like a measurement you'd use to determine the worthiness of a roll for Rudy's bar-be-cue, its real appeal lies in the fact that you could probably get away with using it on someone who bored you because they'll think you used some version of "terrific." Por ejemplo;
"So, Ted, what'd you think of my presentation to the board on how cutting back on the use of staples and using more paper clips would save the company money?"
"Well, Mike, I thought it was simply soporific."
"Gee, thanks!"
"Don't mention it."
Sunday, October 02, 2005
Having trouble with my vision...
As many of
you know, I am currently attending Dallas Theological Seminary, which I love most of the time. However, there are definitely times when I struggle feeling like the proverbial square peg. Allow me to explain.
Within our degree plan, we have ministry tracks, which are like mini-majors. For example, while getting a Master's in Theology degree, one could be on a Pastoral Ministries track, or a World Missions track or something of the like. I am on a Media Arts in Ministry track, which is very different than any of the others. It is different because it is broad. Now this broadness is both a good and a bad thing. It's good because it allows for us creative types to have some freedom and not be shoved into any box. It's bad because it allows for us creative types to have some freedom and not be shoved into any box. At times I think I would welcome a box.
It seems to me that most of the people walking around campus have their plans figured out. They know what they want to do, and when and where they want to do it. Although James warned against such presumption, it is also kind of a nice security. I, on the other hand, am like Linus without my blanket. I have no such plan.
The other day a dear friend of mine asked what I wanted to do when I left seminary. I refrained from saying, "Sit down with a beer," because I'm sure he was thinking long-term. I had to confess that I don't know. The problem is that I want to do too much. I want to impact our culture with Truth in so many different ways that most days they all just runtogetherinablur. So, I gave him a bunch of the ideas running through my head. Funny, he seemed fascinated and excited by what typiclly leaves me frustrated. His reaction was therapeutic for me.
The truth is, I don't have to have it all mapped out for me, although that would be nice. I do, however, have the responsibility to be faithful where God has brought me and be a good steward of the gifts He's seen fit to entrust into my care. So what if I don't know if I'll be a pastor, a teacher, a writer, or a whatever. (Even in writing that list, I see that it's not really as long as I tend to think.) God knows, and I guess that's good for me, for today.
He knows His plans. He knew when Joseph was in prison. He knew when Moses was in the desert. He knew when Job was in pain. He knew when Esther was in the king's harem. He knew when Israel was in exile. He knew when Judas was one of the 12. He knew when His Son sweated drops of blood and begged for the cup to be taken from Him. So, since I am surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, I guess I can comfortably conclude that He knows now, while Benji is in seminary.
Word of the Day:
encomium, n, high or glowing praise
Think how much fun you can have with a word that sounds like the name of an antacid, but actually means praise instead. "The lobster bisque was so great, I didn't have enough encomium to last through the meal."
P.S. Yes, Virginia, the Yankees did win the AL East yesterday. No, there was never any doubt on my part.
you know, I am currently attending Dallas Theological Seminary, which I love most of the time. However, there are definitely times when I struggle feeling like the proverbial square peg. Allow me to explain.Within our degree plan, we have ministry tracks, which are like mini-majors. For example, while getting a Master's in Theology degree, one could be on a Pastoral Ministries track, or a World Missions track or something of the like. I am on a Media Arts in Ministry track, which is very different than any of the others. It is different because it is broad. Now this broadness is both a good and a bad thing. It's good because it allows for us creative types to have some freedom and not be shoved into any box. It's bad because it allows for us creative types to have some freedom and not be shoved into any box. At times I think I would welcome a box.
It seems to me that most of the people walking around campus have their plans figured out. They know what they want to do, and when and where they want to do it. Although James warned against such presumption, it is also kind of a nice security. I, on the other hand, am like Linus without my blanket. I have no such plan.
The other day a dear friend of mine asked what I wanted to do when I left seminary. I refrained from saying, "Sit down with a beer," because I'm sure he was thinking long-term. I had to confess that I don't know. The problem is that I want to do too much. I want to impact our culture with Truth in so many different ways that most days they all just runtogetherinablur. So, I gave him a bunch of the ideas running through my head. Funny, he seemed fascinated and excited by what typiclly leaves me frustrated. His reaction was therapeutic for me.
The truth is, I don't have to have it all mapped out for me, although that would be nice. I do, however, have the responsibility to be faithful where God has brought me and be a good steward of the gifts He's seen fit to entrust into my care. So what if I don't know if I'll be a pastor, a teacher, a writer, or a whatever. (Even in writing that list, I see that it's not really as long as I tend to think.) God knows, and I guess that's good for me, for today.
He knows His plans. He knew when Joseph was in prison. He knew when Moses was in the desert. He knew when Job was in pain. He knew when Esther was in the king's harem. He knew when Israel was in exile. He knew when Judas was one of the 12. He knew when His Son sweated drops of blood and begged for the cup to be taken from Him. So, since I am surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, I guess I can comfortably conclude that He knows now, while Benji is in seminary.
Word of the Day:
encomium, n, high or glowing praise
Think how much fun you can have with a word that sounds like the name of an antacid, but actually means praise instead. "The lobster bisque was so great, I didn't have enough encomium to last through the meal."
P.S. Yes, Virginia, the Yankees did win the AL East yesterday. No, there was never any doubt on my part.
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