Pretty sure this has been the worst week all summer. I say summer as in the season, not the vacation from school since it is quite evident to me at this point that I am at school. I'm not angry at this fact--I don't think--but I sure can't figure out how to handle it right now.
I am not a go and do something all the time kind of person. If you step foot in my house, you'll most likely see a Jones in almost every room just chillin'. It's true I have a much bigger heart for adventure than the rest of my family, but that only says so much. Like them, I am still pretty introverted, and I need my rest. As much as the idea of alone time brings me down, it typically does serve to bring me up.
I am also not a multi-tasker. This is not to be confused with being lazy (though I am that, too). I really cannot handle working on more than one thing at a time. On top of that, I don't really organize my things or my life or really anything. The futile attempts I make at doing this often confuse me or stress me out even more. Lists are daunting.
And yet somehow this week, I found that I am being put to the challenge in all of these areas. My heart still feels like it's in my throat, and it's been lodged there since Sunday evening.
I'm not even ready for freshman group.
I already have no idea what's going on in my Abstract Algebra class.
I've already been the worst friend to all of the people I love most.
And the sooner I figure out that I will never be able to pull all of this off on my own, the better. Having a full schedule is completely normal in this country, but it's always been something I avoid out of fear. Guess it's time to get over the fear. Guess it's time to get over myself.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Monday, August 16, 2010
Why People?
Considering the frequency of my blogging this summer, it seems like it's been forever since I last posted. I spent last week at a lakehouse up in the Adirondacks with my dear friend Sarah Holljes and her family, unofficially known as "the Hollji." Despite the family's concern for me being, well, we'll say overexposed to the Holljes way, I really did have a relaxing time and enjoyed the family quite a bit. As Sarah says, it's nice to be friends with someone with whom you can just sit around in silence reading books or go on up to the loft and take a two-hour nap or feel comfortable saying just about anything because you both agree that honesty is the best policy--sometimes no matter how blunt it may be. What Sarah also knows about me is how entertained I am by people in general, meaning I can enjoy me a slab of fine family drama (unless the family is on a reality TV show making a living off their crazies ((unless I'm in 8th grade again watching The Osbournes)).
In an effort to reacquaint myself with my mathematical mind before classes start up in exactly one week, I propose that one of the greatest common factors among families is that they've all got issues. This stems from the fact that each individual person has issues (see original sin). Somehow all of this drivel is supposed to segue into why I paint people, but since I'm not majoring in something that requires fine technique in composition, I'll spare myself the hassle of actually writing well.
Instead I'll go ahead and tell you that I've painted six people now, one of which I painted over since I scratched the idea, and I've got a seventh person in the works. I've also painted a few pieces without people, but I found a lot less fulfillment out of completing those pieces. Partially the fact of that matter is that people are challenging. If the face doesn't look like the actual person, then all my work has gone to painting a foreign personality. It's still a face, but it's not the face I've inspected for the finest detail in nostril exposure. It's also not the face of which I've mentally invaded the lovely surface in order to see the actual person for who she is besides an attractive combination of hues. Painting is a peacefully contemplative art. With each delicate brushstroke of the pupil, I pray for my subject to see the beauty in her life. As I try (and fail) to capture the highlight in each strand of hair, I think about how well God knows and loves this person, as He's got "even the very hairs of [her head] numbered." The continuation of this process until the face becomes a completed two-dimensional form essentially forces me into submission to Jesus' second greatest commandment, to love my neighbor as myself. Exploring and appreciating the qualities of my neighbor is a cause for exploring and appreciating the qualities of our God. If I derive so much joy out of recreating this person's face, I can only imagine the joy of the Lord as He looks at His original creation.
With a simple paintbrush in hand, I am humbled.
In an effort to reacquaint myself with my mathematical mind before classes start up in exactly one week, I propose that one of the greatest common factors among families is that they've all got issues. This stems from the fact that each individual person has issues (see original sin). Somehow all of this drivel is supposed to segue into why I paint people, but since I'm not majoring in something that requires fine technique in composition, I'll spare myself the hassle of actually writing well.
Instead I'll go ahead and tell you that I've painted six people now, one of which I painted over since I scratched the idea, and I've got a seventh person in the works. I've also painted a few pieces without people, but I found a lot less fulfillment out of completing those pieces. Partially the fact of that matter is that people are challenging. If the face doesn't look like the actual person, then all my work has gone to painting a foreign personality. It's still a face, but it's not the face I've inspected for the finest detail in nostril exposure. It's also not the face of which I've mentally invaded the lovely surface in order to see the actual person for who she is besides an attractive combination of hues. Painting is a peacefully contemplative art. With each delicate brushstroke of the pupil, I pray for my subject to see the beauty in her life. As I try (and fail) to capture the highlight in each strand of hair, I think about how well God knows and loves this person, as He's got "even the very hairs of [her head] numbered." The continuation of this process until the face becomes a completed two-dimensional form essentially forces me into submission to Jesus' second greatest commandment, to love my neighbor as myself. Exploring and appreciating the qualities of my neighbor is a cause for exploring and appreciating the qualities of our God. If I derive so much joy out of recreating this person's face, I can only imagine the joy of the Lord as He looks at His original creation.
With a simple paintbrush in hand, I am humbled.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Family
This evening, my family celebrated my grandmother's 70th birthday at her house in Gloucester. Grandma invites all four of her daughters' families over for lunch at least one Sunday a month, but this specific celebration brought on a lot more to celebrate than just my grandma (and I tell you--that woman is worth a huge celebration). Deb, Jared, and Leo have been in town and were able to stay through tonight in order to make it to this dinner. On top of that, my cousin Morgan was in attendance, fresh off another stint of trips, this time to Haiti, New York, and Boston.
Even though I really was dead tired most of the time I was there, I made the effort to soak in the uncommon atmosphere. My two great-grandparents we dread the day of losing. My sister's family with no real guarantee of finally coming back home to Virginia from their current residence in Tennessee any time soon. My aunt who is so thrilled by my discovered painting abilities that she starts on a list of subjects she knows would sell in her consignment store if I painted them. My sister Becca. Morgan with her triumphant weight loss and adventurous spirit.
And then my mom telling the story of when she decided she wanted to be a foreign missionary back in college. Her daddy asked her one day when they were working outside, "How do you think you can serve in another country if you're not serving at home?" My mom took him up on that challenge and spent the next summer in Vermont doing some type of mission work. It turned out to be the most traumatizing experience of my mother's life, and she hated every moment of it. Once my grandmother spoke to my crying mother on the phone, she began writing her letters every single day just to give her something to look forward to everyday. My mom told that story with gratefulness in her voice. Then Morgan, choking back tears, thanked grandma for coming over to her house the very day Morgan's dad died of a heart attack to play Monopoly with her when she was 11.
And then I noticed a huge thing. Grandma makes us all feel like the favorite. All four daughters and all thirteen of their kids and then all six of the grandchildrens' kids. She makes getting together as a family something to celebrate every single time by showing us the love she's so quick to say can only come from her own Father.
Even though I really was dead tired most of the time I was there, I made the effort to soak in the uncommon atmosphere. My two great-grandparents we dread the day of losing. My sister's family with no real guarantee of finally coming back home to Virginia from their current residence in Tennessee any time soon. My aunt who is so thrilled by my discovered painting abilities that she starts on a list of subjects she knows would sell in her consignment store if I painted them. My sister Becca. Morgan with her triumphant weight loss and adventurous spirit.
And then my mom telling the story of when she decided she wanted to be a foreign missionary back in college. Her daddy asked her one day when they were working outside, "How do you think you can serve in another country if you're not serving at home?" My mom took him up on that challenge and spent the next summer in Vermont doing some type of mission work. It turned out to be the most traumatizing experience of my mother's life, and she hated every moment of it. Once my grandmother spoke to my crying mother on the phone, she began writing her letters every single day just to give her something to look forward to everyday. My mom told that story with gratefulness in her voice. Then Morgan, choking back tears, thanked grandma for coming over to her house the very day Morgan's dad died of a heart attack to play Monopoly with her when she was 11.
And then I noticed a huge thing. Grandma makes us all feel like the favorite. All four daughters and all thirteen of their kids and then all six of the grandchildrens' kids. She makes getting together as a family something to celebrate every single time by showing us the love she's so quick to say can only come from her own Father.
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