Here's to Steve.

Tonight, I carved my first pumpkin. It was a night among nights, to say the least. If you have never carved a pumpkin before, let me tell you: you are missing out. Just kidding if it's because you're not allowed. You should submit to your parents.
Anyways. This has been a beautiful evening. My Christian Doctrine professor, Dr. Steve Guthrie, invited us to his home tonight for a little Halloween shindig. He is the kind of professor who tells you you can call him Steve, and I am the kind of student who just can't bring herself to do it. To his face, at least.
He is a wonderful professor. Christian Doctrine is probably my favorite class.
So. He invited us to his house, and we went. I went with my friend Rachel. She's a new addition. And she's a laugh a minute. (I always wanted to be described that way, so I thought I'd throw it out there.) We drove the twenty-five minute trek to Pegram. (Not Pea-gramm. It's Peh-grum. Apparantly.) And then we settled in with other Christian Doctrine students and Steve's kids to carve pumpkins.
This is the fruit of my and Rachel's labor:

Yes. He has a mustache. This guy was a beauty to behold. So, we took him outside and lit him up:

I have never felt so magical. Okay. Maybe I have. But this was pretty darn magical.

We spent the rest of the night talking and eating and watching "It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown". All in all, a good night.

Also, we got to play with his kids. And it made me realize how very much I miss kids. It's a lot. For some reason they don't keep kids at college. Whatever.

I talked to his daughter Sophie. She was the coolest thing.

I miss babies.

The end.

Then, we named my pumpkin, (Steve, of course.) and were on our way. With all safety measures carefully taken:

Thank you to everyone who made my first pumpkin carving a success!

You Were Made to Meet Your Maker.

"For of what use is the existence of the creature if it cannot know its Maker?"
St. Athanasius.

Well, hello there.
So, I've been thinking lately.
A lot has been about that there quote up there.
A lot has been about some other things.

I think I have a little bit of a confession. Or something.
I think I like to put things on here that I think about, and that should change me, and that could change me. And I think I like to make observations about my life and how it should be different. And I think that I like sometimes for this blog to look like I am really thinking things that are affecting me and effecting change.
And I do think those things. Otherwise, they wouldn't be here.
But a lot of the problem is the effecting change.

For example, a couple o' blogs ago, I talked about doing things to help the poor and the orphan and the widow. You know, James 1:27.
But I didn't do anything.
I didn't do anything.
I didn't do anything.


I've been reading loads about poor people in Isaiah, and God's heart for them is so evident.

For the fool speaks folly, and his heart is busy with iniquity, to practice ungodliness, to utter error concerning the LORD, to leave the craving of the hungry unsatisfied, and to deprive the thirsty of drink.
Isaiah 32:6.

On my way home from home last week, my iPod went out and on the radio there was this cheesy preacher talking. But for some reason I stopped and listened for a minute.
And he said something quite poignant, "Prayer can become a copout for not offering direct aid."
I think that is a very true thing.
A lot of times we offer prayer or money for those who are doing something, and those things are wonderful and marvelous. Truly, almost no one could really help someone without prayer or money.
But, I think it's very important to actually help out, to get your hands dirty, to do.

So this is me. Telling you.
I'm going to do something.
Sure, I can offer excuses. (I have a list of them forming in my head right now.)
But I won't. I'm going to move.
I won't leave the craving of the hungry unsatisfied or deprive the thirsty of drink.

I should probably tie that first quote into this now.
Here it is again so you don't have to scroll back up.
"For of what use is the existence of the creature if it cannot know its Maker?"

St. Athanasius.

The more and more I think of it, the more I want it tattooed across my forehead.
I am nothing if I cannot know my Maker.
If I am not living and doing for Him alone, I am nothing.
What's the point? It will all amount to empty earthly dead praise and love and pride.
But I don't want to see me from earth's standpoint.
I want to see me from my Maker's standpoint.
And my Maker's standpoint, at least in part, is telling me to love the poor, to love the ones I don't want to love, and to live a life contrary to the empty and futile one into which I so often fall.

"In these bodies we will live;
In these bodies we will die.
Where you invest your love,
you invest your life."

"Awake, my soul. You were made to meet your Maker."

Awake My Soul. Mumford & Sons.

Ch-Ch-Ch-Chia!

Look how much my hair has grown since I've come to college.

And apparently it changed colors. Go figure.

Deliver Me.

"We all have emotional needs: the need to love, to be loved, to be accepted, to feel a sense of accomplishment, to feel a sense of self-worth, to feel important, to feel needed, to protect ourselves, to attain status in our own eyes and in the eyes of others, to be secure."
That is from my rhetoric book. Highly insightful for a book on debate.


This is a prayer.
We prayed one very similar to it at a prayer walk at that church that SMI partners with during Easter. And I suppose always.

Lord deliver me from the desire to be noticed,

                from the desire to be loved,

                from the desire to be exalted.

Lord deliver me from the desire to be favored, 

                from the desire to be popular,

                from the desire to be chosen,

                from the desire to be acknowledged.

Lord deliver me from the fear of being wrong,

                from the fear of being forgotten,

                from the fear of being ignored.

Lord deliver me from the fear of being humiliated,

                from the fear of being left behind.
Grant that I may seek to comfort rather than be comforted by others.

Grant that I may understand and love more than be understood and loved well.

Lord deliver me from the desire to be noticed and encouraged.

Lord deliver me from the desire to be appreciated and included.

Lord deliver me from me.

Lord deliver me to You.

That is just something I need sometimes. Like now. And always.

This prayer is beautiful, I think.

Lord, deliver me from the desire to be noticed.

How to be Alone.

This is Haley.

This is Haley.

She is one of my favorites.

She is my best beast.

This picture is blurry because she did not take it.

I did.

If she took it, it would have been beautiful.

I would put her flickr thing on here so you could believe me, but I don't really know if that's my place.

Haley's got brains AND brawn.

She's the whole package.

Quite truly I would like to tell you about my Haley.

This story has several different beginnings, but we can start in Costa Rica. Because so many good things start in Costa Rica.

Haley went on a mission trip with me to Costa Rica. That week was a hard and beautiful time of my life. There's nothing like working side-by-side with someone for Jesus to weld your souls together. And that's what happened. Before Costa, Haley thought I hated her, and I thought Haley hated me. Then, miracle! Friends Forever.

In Costa Rica, we depended a lot on each other.

And after Costa Rica, we depended a lot on each other.

Haley shows me what it means to be known by your love.

She shows me that it's possible to be selfless.

And she shows me that breaking can be really, really good.

Haley is someone who knows what it means to be loved and redeemed by Christ.

She belongs to the Lord.

She knows what I am feeling sometimes before I feel it.

And she knows how to say words that sometimes I can't.

And she is blessed with marvelous gifts and talents. She is gifted and talented. Put her in a special smarty school.

She takes pictures that mean things and say things and are a beauty to behold.

She loves like other people don't.

She has a way of understanding and desiring scripture in a beautiful way.

She is wise beyond her years.

I love her as my friend and as my sister.

This is Haley.

Amen.

This Blog is About the Bathroom.

Tonight, I had to go to the bathroom. My friends and I were watching a movie, Donnie Darko, and it was after visitation hours, so we were sitting outside trying to shield ourselves from the elements, aka the ever sprinkling sprinklers and the newly arriving cold. But, I simply had to go.
So, I got someone to let me into a dorm building so that I could go to the basement restroom and relieve myself. I walk down a flight of stairs and search the basement, with the constant fear of that creepy bunny Frank from Donnie Darko popping up around each corner. No bathroom.
Luckily, there's a creepy tunnel passage to a place with a bathroom. A long creepy tunnel passage that seems to extend with the ever growing urgent urging of my bladder.
Finally, after what seems like a mile's fidgeting awkward dance to the bathroom, I push open the stall door to find..
No TP.
Maybe in the handicapped stall?
Nope.

At this point in the story, the main character is at a crossroads. She is really in a Catch-22. There is no way to tell her bladder no, and yet there is no way to get to an appropriate toilet in time. Please bear this in mind as you take in the next bit of the story.

Well, after much deliberation that took place in the accelerated but convoluted state of reason that is imminent urine mind, I came to the relatively reasonable conclusion to use the men's restroom. I'm in the basement, so who's gonna come in here, right?
Well, as I am making use of the gentlemen's facilities, I hear the honking creak of a door desperately in need of WD-40.
creeeeeonkeeeeeonkeeeek.
ziiiiiiiiiiiiip.
ziiiiiiiiiiiiiip.
tinkletinkle.
tinkletinkle.
"So, how's it going, man?"
"Doing alright, how are you?"
"I'm good. And, man in the stall, how are you?"
Silence.
"He must be sick or something... Man in the stall, you doing alright?"
Silence.
Silence.
With the realization that these guys are not going to leave until they've smoked me out, "There was no toilet paper in the women's bathroom, okay? I had no choice!"
Stifled laughter.
"Hey, that's alright. I use the girls bathroom ALL the time."
Me, silent, waiting for the sound of zipping to ensure my safety from the view of any undesired images.
Finally, ziiiiiiiiiip.
ziiiiiiiiip.
And they were gone.
And then came the awful walk of shame past the bathroom boys and back to Donnie Darko with color rising in my cheeks every minute.

Thank you, bathroom boys. Thank you.