After a whirlwind tour of goodbyes yesterday and this morning (most of which were comfortably casual and callous, and a few of which were uncomfortably tearful and painfully real), I set out today for Johnson City, Tennessee, to begin an internship which will last...all summer. Not so excited about my first summer away from home, but looking forward with nervous anticipation to what God is going to do through the whole experience.

As I was driving the six hours from Lynchburg, Virginia to Johnson City, Tennessee, I passed several interesting signs that deeply impacted my inner psyche in ways that I still have not fully processed.

For example, I passed one sign on the outskirts of Johnsonville that read "Leave Johnsonville." So I did. But secretly, I thought it a rather rude sign.

Further along, as I continued to drive down the road, eating blueberries out of a carton and thinking about how driving in the mountains is a hair-raising experience at times and pondering the rudeness of the Johnsonville sign painter, I saw something else that was just as fascinating as the Johnsonville sign, albeit in a slightly more abstract sense. It was a white picket fence, with huge white painted lettering:

MYTHIC ALPACAS

My knowledge base doesn't extent to the realm of the mythical alpaca, so I texted my handy little sister, Michelle, to ask her expert opinion:

Michelle: Um. I think they don't really have alpacas. It's just a myth. But they really like alpacas, so they put up that sign...

Great. I really like tea. I'm gonna start a mythical tea farm where glass cups and china pots grow on trees...and then I'll invite all my friends over to drink imaginary liquids with me. Dude, I thought people in the North were weird...

Mother's Day Reflections

I woke up this morning feeling keenly aware of--and incredibly grateful for--the fact that nearly 22 years ago, my mother was willing to give me life. And I was brought to tears by the fact that in the decades since then, she's continued to impart life by nurturing me spiritually, preparing physical nourishment for me, and guiding me to grow academically and personally--my mom and dad are awesome, and I think the world of both of them--even more so now that I'm in this frightening balancing act which the world refers to as "young adulthood." Independence is often times a terrifying reality, but you take that for granted when you're a little kid and your parents are there to face it first and break the ice...I'm so thankful that they were.

All of these thoughts were going through my mind as I rolled over and jumped off the top bunk onto the linoleum to start the day. I was feeling pretty mushy and sentimental as I walked across the tiny dorm room to grab a washcloth from my dresser, which serves as a night stand/dressing table/dish & food storage unit, and a few other things besides. I was still a wee bit drowsy and not quite fully alert as I glanced over the random assortment of things on top of the dresser...and that's when I noticed something strange in my glass cereal bowl. I had washed it before going to bed, and left it to air dry on my dresser. And for some ridiculous reason, a centipede had decided that my bowl would be a really dandy place to camp out for the night and just make himself right at home.

Ew.

My sentimental feelings don't extend to the insect world...and I really wasn't thrilled to see this little thing...at the same time, I wasn't sure how to discretely dispose of him. I flicked the bowl. He didn't move. Rats.

So I turned the water on in the sink and let it get as hot as it would...and put my bowl in the sink. The centipede didn't seem to be ok with the hot tub concept. So he died. It was tragic.

An hour later, I was sitting in church, listening to the children's choir sing, looking around at all the beautiful women beaming beside their husbands as they sported corsages on the lapels of their brightly colored dresses...and I thought to myself what a beautiful thing it is that God allows us to live in a multi-generational context, where we have this incredible opportunity to learn from those who are older and wiser, and minister to those who are younger and filled with uncertainty. I wished quietly in my heart that my mom could have been there. I miss her.

Later still, in the Sunday school class that I attend, we were told that one of the class patriarchs had been diagnosed with prostate cancer. My heart bled for Dick and his gracious wife, Jean, as they continue to deal with this diagnosis...and I was struck by the irony of the fact that those upon whom we lean most heavily will at some point need to lean on us. I thought of all the people on whom I have leaned--sometimes desperately--throughout my life...and I was grateful and saddened at the same time. Grateful because they'd been there. Saddened because I know I've taken them for granted many, many times.

I found one of the other girls from the class crying in the bathroom. She'd been really close to Dick and Jean, and this was the first that she'd heard of his illness. I don't know her very well, but sometimes, it really doesn't matter...I put my arms around her, and we just cried together. Because sometimes, life hurts.

My mind was churning, and my heart was full as I drove home alone this afternoon. And as I sit here now, I write this with tears in my eyes and a smile on my face...because life is beautiful and complex and painful all at the same time. And because, as humans, we're broken and hurting and often lonely...and yet, in that very moment when we stand despairingly on the brink of our own personal hell, we find ourselves face-to-face with the gracious, loving God who made us and longs to redeem us, heal us, and transform us.

I'm thrilled to be alive today. I'm grateful that we're given so many second-chances to learn from our mistakes. I wish that I had always appreciated my Mom the way that she deserves, but today, I want to say to her, and to the rest of you moms out there, Happy Mother's Day. Because what you're doing matters, and it's infinitely more important than what people give you credit for. :-)

I love you Mom.

Magical moments

You know how at the check-out lines in WalMart, they always surround you with tempting little items that might lead to a last-minute impulse buy before you walk out the door with the 257 things in your cart, 5 of which you actually needed?

Yeah. They do the same thing in cafeterias. I'm not sure why they push the sweets, but seriously? I'm convinced that they do. Because in order to walk out of LU's cafeteria, after you walk the gauntlet past all of the people-watchers who just sit there for two hours every meal time watching people and commenting on their hair styles (or lack thereof), the first thing you come to is the cookie island.

As if one kind of cookie weren't enough temptation to resist, they usually have two or three different kinds--every dentist's nightmare.

And if you make it past that, then there's the icecream machine. With six different flavors. Well, actually, usually only three, but still...that's three more than zero, so...that's pretty decent.

While approximately 50% of LU students (I reached this figure by joining the people-watching crowd for an afternoon and staring at my fellow students for uncomfortably long lengths of time) successfully make it past the cookie island without snitching, only a rough 15% make it past both the cookie island AND the ice cream machine. Huge percentages can't resist the temptation to grab that little soft-serve cone to enjoy as they walk around campus. Or, in the case of a surprisingly high number of LU students, a soft-serve cone to throw at the nearest squirrel as soon as you exit the building (this is the only thing I can think of to account for the ridiculously high number of yucky ice cream cone puddles around campus).

Two days ago, I was NOT one of the 15% who exited the building without icecream or cookies. That is to say, I found myself in line for the ice cream machine. And for whatever reason, that particular day, we had some very little members joining our cafeteria, so the little dude in front of me was an adorable black boy who was maybe about six years old.

He courageously approached the machine, quaking as he faced the steely grey monster with his rather unimpressive empty icecream cone. I watched as he lifted it gingerly to place it under the spout, as he pulled down on the lever...pooof! the icecream machine sometimes attacks people and tries to blow the cone out of their hands by spewing out icecream in such high volumes at such high velocities that the person drops the cone. And this time, the ice cream machine was sure giving it a valiant effort.

To his credit, the little man held onto his cone. But he didn't end up with the great and glorious glops of icecream on top of that cone that he'd clearly anticipated in his sugary dreams as he entered the cafeteria. As I stepped up behind him, he looked up at me with a somewhat pitiful expression, unsure of what to do with his unsatisfactorily-small cone.

I had an empty cone too. And I wanted to put a little bit of ice cream in it, because I wasn't planning to plaster any squirrels, and I simply hoped to eat it. But the icecream machine was still pretty excited, so when I pulled down on the lever, it came out really fast. And I ended up with a really BIG cone...one with nice, even glops that glooped smoothly and deliciously in large even layers.

The little kid's eyes popped almost out of his head, and his mouth formed a big O.

"WOOOOWWWW!!!" he said, looking in amazement from my cone to his.

I laughed, and then I had an un-nurse-like thought (it didn't involve germs, for a change).

"Hey buddy," I said, "Do you wanna trade?"

His face lit up. "Yup! Sure!!!" he beamed enthusiastically, handing his cone over like it was yesterday's moldy toast.

I left the cafeteria laughing inside. And he probably left it with a MAJOR sugar buzz, and his mom may not be my friend for a very long time. But she has one super cute little man to call her own, and talking to him made my day.

P.S. It was really good icecream.

Coffee house conversations

Tonight my sweet little sister is in Lynchburg with me. And that is an AWESOME and beautiful thing.

Lynchburg is kind of a small town, and not particularly interesting until you look beneath the obvious and poke around a bit in the dust of the obscure. But tonight Michelle and I felt like doing a bit of poking, and with that in mind, we drove downtown to the historic (aka slightly-rundown, rather ancient--for America) parts of the city where the streets are still cobblestone and the architecture is reminiscent of another era.

In the process of our meanderings and snooping, we found a quaint little coffee shop where they play live country twanger music and have beautiful shelves stocked full of books upon every topic imaginable. And--wonder of wonders--people could go in, and order rather nasty coffee (or very tasty mochas), and sit and talk, and peruse the marvels of aforementioned books, and be enlightened, depressed, amused, or confounded, as the case might be.

Michelle and I ordered one rather nasty coffee and one very tasty mocha, and sat down to ponder our surroundings, enjoy each other's company, and be secretly amused and amazed by the intellectual pursuits and fascinating conversations all around us. We had apparently stumbled upon a rather well-known college hang-out, because several dozen Liberty students meandered in and out during the course of our three hour stay.

To be honest, tho, we hadn't come in search of human subjects to observe, or great literature to read, or wonderful atmosphere to absorb, although all of these things were to be found there. We had come to get away from campus for a bit, to sit and look each other in the eye, and talk about things that really matter. And we did. It was the most incredible conversation that I've had all semester. We laughed. We cried. We remembered. We read Scripture together...and we prayed. As sisters. As friends. As two women who love each other more richly, more deeply, and more genuinely than anything else that I've ever experienced or hope to experience.

I came away with one over-arching thought...and it was this:

Truth doesn't change. God's nature doesn't change, and the truth of Christianity exists objectively regardless of our individual experience of it or how deeply we understand it. (I fully believe that there are many Christians who, sadly, exist without ever experiencing, on a personal level, the full transformational power of Christ.) But when you meet Christ face to face and are suddenly confronted by the truth of Christianity in a personal way, you absolutely cannot walk away unchanged. It is no longer merely an ideology, merely a way of life, merely a belief system. A personal encounter with the risen Christ rattles you at the very core of who you are and forces you to rip away the constructs and the rules that often times serve as replacements for a deep and meaningful relationship with the God who exists--the God who is really there, and Who created mankind to be in relationship with Himself. This encounter transforms you. It purifies you. It changes the very core of who you are on a deep and permanent level, and confronts you with the stunning reality of the justice, mercy, and love embodied in the cross. It opens your eyes to the fact that salvation itself is a heart-breakingly beautiful miracle--that God could completely love a finite creature who is so completely broken, and that, because of His love, He would offer to completely heal, completely forgive, and completely restore so that mankind would someday once again be completely whole...this is salvation. And this is grace beyond what I have the capacity to understand. And when one is overwhelmed by the vastness and the realness of such a God and such a gift, it is impossible not to passionately share the magnificence of such a hope with those around you.

Of Raindrops and Mudslides...

Yesterday, as I was heading home from the library after several long hours of studying for Tuesday’s theology test, I was suddenly struck by a note-worthy craving for some type of Good Earth tea—something with a bit of punch on the fore-end, and a zingy afterbite…oooh yeah.

Now obviously I could have chosen to ignore the craving, but we recently watched a lovely video in our psychology 201 class about the stages of pregnancy, and one of the things which very strongly came out was the fact that some pregnant women have cravings—most of which are apparently life-threatening and relationship-destroying things if not instantly fulfilled. Therefore, although I didn’t feel that my situation was life-threatening or relationship-destroying in urgency, I decided I ought to start practicing the whole finding-creative-ways-to-fulfill-a-craving thingamajig, just in case some day I were ever to wake up and find myself with child and dying of a particularly awful craving for mint toothpaste. (Always best to set some sort of historical precedent BEFORE one is actually placed in the situation, you know).

So I dropped my 300 lb backpack in my room (I seriously think they started making textbooks and laptops heavier in the past five years), kidnapped a few trusty friends who were up for a bit of psychotic shopping, and we set off in the rain, huddling under our umbrellas like a bunch of shriveled Chinese grandmothers wearing Inuit mukluks…

It’s uncommonly difficult for two people to walk under the same umbrella, we discovered, even if that umbrella happens to be a massively-huge golf umbrella with double layers and a highly-sophisticated plastic hand grip.

But we made it to WalMart, greeted the greeter, and set off to find the tea aisle feeling rather proud of ourselves. (Thea is directionally challenged, so it was a good thing her friends had come along to help her with that part, or she might still be wandering the aisles of the electronics section looking for tea bags… )

Walmarts in Wisconsin have lots of tea…presumably because Wisconsinites have highly-developed palates when it comes to the art of tea consumption. Walmarts in Virginia, however, do not. This is presumably because everyone in the south drinks a somewhat nasty substance known as “sweet tea,” and therefore, they do not have refined palates when it comes to the art of drinking real teas. Thus, when I finally entered the longed-for tea aisle, and stood before the measly little selection of nice cardboard boxes, I discovered that there was not a single box of Good Earth tea to be found in Lynchburg’s pitiful excuse for a WalMart. Alas.

I hardly knew what to do. I lowered my head and had a moment of silence for the death of my tea dream. (the WalMart clerks were just relieved that I had finally stopped talking out loud to myself for a few seconds…apparently this is NOT normal shopping behavior). And then I thought a whole bunch of friendly thoughts about WalMart, and the state of Virginia, and after that, it was all good. So my dear little friends and I picked out some other items, just to show WalMart that we weren’t the kind of people who hold grudges about poorly-stocked tea aisles.

As we were meandering up and down the long cart-racing tracks of which WalMarts are composed, we perceived (due to the dull roar) that the heavens had opened above Lynchburg, and that what had once been a gentle sprinkle had turned into a regular ark-requiring torrent outside. Heh. Good thing people aren’t made of sugar or earthworms…neither of which seem to do very well in the rain.

The sole male member of our party wanted to walk half a mile up the highway to get something hot to eat, because he hadn’t made it to the cafeteria before closing time that night…a sad occurrence which tends to leave people feeling rather hollow in their innards.

So off we went, with the rain trying in vain to dissolve our umbrellas, and the little rivers in the parking lot successfully soaking through our boots. We nearly got run over on three different occasions, and each time, we made a mental note to ourselves of the fact that walking on highways in the rain without a sidewalk after dark is probably one of the more high-risk behaviors engaged in by Lynchburgian college students…oh well.

One fine young chap from campus stopped to ask us what on earth we were thinking, to be thus walking around in the rain, and he offered all of us a ride in his truck. However, the only available riding space happened to be in the very-much-open bed of his truck, and therefore, we decided that, rather than riding home in the moving kiddy pool which had magically appeared in the back of his truck, we would simply take the risk of walking on our multiple sets of feet.

Which we did. Only, rather than walking back all the way that we had come, Thea thought it might be a smart idea to climb up the embankment behind the restaurant and take a short-cut through the woods. It wasn’t a good idea. But we did it anyway.

Virginia has a lot of…dirt. And when dirt gets wet, it makes…mud. So we were trying to climb up the 20 foot embankment behind the restaurant…which was made out of dirt. Which had become mud. And it was so, sooo fun. But very, very dirty.

Gabi, my Argentine roommate, had come along for the grins and giggles. At this point, she was thoroughly convinced that the concept of climbing the embankment was a ludicrous aspiration, but one worth attempting nonetheless. After a few memorable near-death sliding experiences, we had made it up the first embankment…and found ourselves facing a very, very long set of train tracks. I like train tracks. They’re so…solid.

Directly on the other side of the train tracks was a ditch. Only it was raining really hard. So the ditch had become a stream…which was significantly wider in some places than in others. Being intelligent college students with stunning deductive and inductive reasoning skills, we naturally looked for the narrowest point in the stream at which to cross. But we couldn’t find it. So we ended up just finding a slightly skinniesh looking section and jumping. And…Gabi kinda didn’t make it and landed in the water, but by that point, our boots were so thoroughly soaked it didn’t really make a hill of beans’ worth of difference.

There was another embankment right on the other side of the stream…so we linked umbrellas, got a run at it, and half-hauled, half-pushed each other up to the top, where we landed in a delightfully slimy stretch of reddish-brown something-or-other (which may or may not have had substantial nutritional value for the resident earthworm population, none of whom were visible at that moment…perhaps they were all out practicing the breaststroke in the local earthworm swimming puddle. Btw, the earthworm population? Desperately in need of qualified lifeguards. None currently appear to exist.)

After shaking ourselves off doggy-style and wringing out our rather bedraggled umbrellas, we raised our precipitation-filled eyes several centimeters and discovered that we had emerged from the woods almost directly in front of our dorms. Oh, life is full of beautiful surprises!

As we walked back into the dorm, Gabi looked at me with eyes full of wonderment. “Thea, in all my life, I have never done something like this. My mom would have said it was crazy, but really, I had a lot of fun!”
I assured her my mom probably would have said exactly the same thing. Apparently moms are kinda the same in every culture—who ever woulda thunk it?!

But regardless of whether or not I am lacking in saneness, it was a memory-making experience, which, although sadly lacking photographic evidence due to the lackage of underwater cameras available for use, shall remain a part of our Liberty experience.

Thank God for sane mothers, warm showers, crazy friends, and WalMart.