Something that my family kind of tries to hide is just how crude we actually are. I'm not sure how it happened. It was maybe all that MTV my sisters and I sneakily watched when we were little that we gradually used to infect our parents, or it is equally likely that both my mom and dad have harbored their dirty jokes in dirty little corners of their minds, waiting for that stage in their three daughters' triune maturation when it could all be unleashed. Either way, we're gross.
That being said, it has recently surfaced that my pastor's wife has mono. Consequently, my pastor has been under the weather as well. My investigative mother made the connection that another young lady in our church had mono not too long ago. Mom's conclusion: all the young couples at our church are having "sex parties." Her greatest concern is not being young enough to be invited.
Thursday, May 12, 2011
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Remembrance
I visited Sally yesterday, and we talked about some things that I realized I really wanted to write down. I could write them in a journal, I suppose, but my possessions aren't known to be very well cared for--when they even exist. I just threw away stacks of old papers and things yesterday without even weeding through for the good stuff. It's not that I get stressed about having so much extra stuff; I just don't see much purpose in it. It's possible I threw away some notes to myself and notes from friends. Perhaps I did toss some good reminders without affording myself the opportunity to be reminded. While talking to Sally yesterday, she started a lot of sentences with, "I so often forget..." and followed with some constant Truth from Scripture. Because for us thinkers and analyzers, that's what we do most often: forget Truth.
That's been the most important part of blogging for me. I can get my words and thoughts out quickly, and they're very easily stored in a place where I can't crumple them up in a wad of old school assignments and toss them away. As a disorganized person by lifestyle, I do lose things and forget to do certain things somewhat frequently. My disorganized lifestyle extends to my spiritual life as well. There is little organization to my communication with God and to my understanding of the things he tries to teach me. I can read his promises in Scripture and five minutes later find myself lost in doubt. Somewhere inside of me, there is a lack of connection and communication that keeps me from holding onto the promises that "I so often forget."
Sally pointed out something interesting about our analytical type. She said the only fix she has discovered for getting out of the mind-stirring effect of over-analyzing everything is to finally pour it all out into others' lives. Often times I feel really selfish for wanting to be around people all the time, and I tiptoe around my introverted family and roommates, trying not to force them to be those people I use for my mind dump. It's not that I am unloading heavy burdens all the time, but my mind is an ever-discerning machine. It churns out ideas and theories and concepts and questions and hopes and fears, but when those have nowhere to go, they start to rot and spoil my brain. Basically, my brain desperately needs people. It just does, so the most difficult environment for it to be in is going to be a place like Mathews where there just aren't many people. As life goes, I currently stand at a sort of impasse where I can't know which route is the right route: to get out of a place like Mathews and go to a place like Chattanooga where there are more opportunities for my mind to thrive and explore and live up to its greatest potential or to stay in a place like Mathews and learn to train my mind to function purposefully in a new and possibly better way. I wonder how much God wants me to follow my passions and indulge the most obvious, easy joys in my life versus how much he wants me to stretch myself and my perspective on who he is and his sovereignty over the things I can't understand. I see purpose in both directions, so I've found myself rolling with the beats. I've been invited to stay in Chattanooga for a while, and I can so that's what I'm doing.
I don't think it's supposed to be a matter of Chattanooga being a right or wrong choice. I can't predict what God knows to be right or wrong about my future experiences. I'm just going to jump in and do this, working toward a remembrance that these things do work toward God's plan and purpose even in my darkest pits of doubt. If life really is all about remembering, maybe I should start plastering pages of the Bible all over my walls, but to refrain from surrounding myself with tacky decor, I should instead work harder on plastering them all over my heart.
That's been the most important part of blogging for me. I can get my words and thoughts out quickly, and they're very easily stored in a place where I can't crumple them up in a wad of old school assignments and toss them away. As a disorganized person by lifestyle, I do lose things and forget to do certain things somewhat frequently. My disorganized lifestyle extends to my spiritual life as well. There is little organization to my communication with God and to my understanding of the things he tries to teach me. I can read his promises in Scripture and five minutes later find myself lost in doubt. Somewhere inside of me, there is a lack of connection and communication that keeps me from holding onto the promises that "I so often forget."
Sally pointed out something interesting about our analytical type. She said the only fix she has discovered for getting out of the mind-stirring effect of over-analyzing everything is to finally pour it all out into others' lives. Often times I feel really selfish for wanting to be around people all the time, and I tiptoe around my introverted family and roommates, trying not to force them to be those people I use for my mind dump. It's not that I am unloading heavy burdens all the time, but my mind is an ever-discerning machine. It churns out ideas and theories and concepts and questions and hopes and fears, but when those have nowhere to go, they start to rot and spoil my brain. Basically, my brain desperately needs people. It just does, so the most difficult environment for it to be in is going to be a place like Mathews where there just aren't many people. As life goes, I currently stand at a sort of impasse where I can't know which route is the right route: to get out of a place like Mathews and go to a place like Chattanooga where there are more opportunities for my mind to thrive and explore and live up to its greatest potential or to stay in a place like Mathews and learn to train my mind to function purposefully in a new and possibly better way. I wonder how much God wants me to follow my passions and indulge the most obvious, easy joys in my life versus how much he wants me to stretch myself and my perspective on who he is and his sovereignty over the things I can't understand. I see purpose in both directions, so I've found myself rolling with the beats. I've been invited to stay in Chattanooga for a while, and I can so that's what I'm doing.
I don't think it's supposed to be a matter of Chattanooga being a right or wrong choice. I can't predict what God knows to be right or wrong about my future experiences. I'm just going to jump in and do this, working toward a remembrance that these things do work toward God's plan and purpose even in my darkest pits of doubt. If life really is all about remembering, maybe I should start plastering pages of the Bible all over my walls, but to refrain from surrounding myself with tacky decor, I should instead work harder on plastering them all over my heart.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Uncomfortable
I like to imagine what I will say about this blog of mine ten years after I abandon it. I will likely laugh at my ignorance, my immaturity, and my general young-twenties-ness. Ten years ahead is a funny place to look. It's important for me to focus on the far distant, not guaranteed future during these times of transition, though, or else I get sucked into the vortex of my paralyzed present. I've spent the greater part of this day holed up in my room, occasionally stepping out to grab lunch with mom, sit outside, or desperately search for a distraction from my present depth of thought. I can't be left on my own. My mind never ceases to amaze me in how well it can beat me up and cast doubt on everything Good in my life.
I'm going to be in Mathews for less than a week, and I can't even handle that. Like a distraught child sneaks out and runs away from home, I want to run away from my mind. But just as that child can't ever truly escape, nor can I. We have to deal. I was sick of being at college. No, I don't want to go back, but there's not much more comfort in the unknown--even less comfort in liminality. Clearly, God won't stop trying to show me true comfort in himself. Stubborn child, it's time to sneak back home.
I'm going to be in Mathews for less than a week, and I can't even handle that. Like a distraught child sneaks out and runs away from home, I want to run away from my mind. But just as that child can't ever truly escape, nor can I. We have to deal. I was sick of being at college. No, I don't want to go back, but there's not much more comfort in the unknown--even less comfort in liminality. Clearly, God won't stop trying to show me true comfort in himself. Stubborn child, it's time to sneak back home.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
That Time I Jumped on the Chattanooga Choo Choo
One thing procrastination can't destroy is desire, and I've put off planning for this next stage long enough. It's day one of being a college graduate, and my blond-haired, blue-eyed nephew is sitting here next to me, babbling about the remote control. I want to get to know this kid even as far as getting to know this remote. I have a desire to be part of his life. On this Mother's Day and beyond, I also desire to let my mother know how much I truly care about and appreciate her for not just the things she does for me, but for who she is as a person and who God has shaped her to be. I desire that for every member of my family. The prospect of still having many prospects gives me some variety of choice amongst all of the things I desire.
And yeah, there are a lot of other desires on my heart. For being a cynical, doubtful person, this list far exceeds the bounds of expectation. I started reading Quitter, the latest book by Jon Acuff, last week thanks to Claire ordering it in time for dead week. I'm in the middle of Jon Acuff exploring this concept of a "dream job," the one you are always kind of working toward or wishing for while in the throes and woes of your settled job. Acuff discusses identifying your dream job and working toward it. Timely for a college grad, no? That's what Claire was thinking, and I agree with her. She asked me if she should read it right away. I said maybe, probably. Mostly I suggested that she should read it in bits and pieces. This man has endured over a decade of wasting his life on strange suppositions about careers and misguided pursuits. He had a lot to write in just a few hundred pages.
He writes quite a bit about hinge moments, which are defined to be those times you usually note in retrospect when something in your life was pointing you toward your dream job. One of his hinge moments was when his first grade teacher laminated and "published" a book he wrote in first grade, because she believed in his writing even then. After years of working for IT, he has finally recognized his dream job, writing. Looking back, he knows he was headed for it all along.
This seems like some worthwhile reflection, and I've done it from time to time in the past. I know people who are stuck in their not dream jobs currently and live for retirement. Ludicrous. I'd like to believe God gave us passions for a reason, and I'm going forth to search the depths of what God has laid on my heart. Now that those silly academics are out of the way, Imma put my pursuit pants on and get it. In Chattanooga! See you on the flip side!
Note: I still think I have mental issues. I plan on getting that checked out in Chattanooga, too.
I'm including this video for Sadie Smith:
Chattanooga Choo Choo by brainstorm
*EDIT*
I changed the layout, because that other one was super hard to read. I simply didn't care enough to change it until now. Sorry about the pain it may have put you through while it existed.
*EDIT*
And yeah, there are a lot of other desires on my heart. For being a cynical, doubtful person, this list far exceeds the bounds of expectation. I started reading Quitter, the latest book by Jon Acuff, last week thanks to Claire ordering it in time for dead week. I'm in the middle of Jon Acuff exploring this concept of a "dream job," the one you are always kind of working toward or wishing for while in the throes and woes of your settled job. Acuff discusses identifying your dream job and working toward it. Timely for a college grad, no? That's what Claire was thinking, and I agree with her. She asked me if she should read it right away. I said maybe, probably. Mostly I suggested that she should read it in bits and pieces. This man has endured over a decade of wasting his life on strange suppositions about careers and misguided pursuits. He had a lot to write in just a few hundred pages.
He writes quite a bit about hinge moments, which are defined to be those times you usually note in retrospect when something in your life was pointing you toward your dream job. One of his hinge moments was when his first grade teacher laminated and "published" a book he wrote in first grade, because she believed in his writing even then. After years of working for IT, he has finally recognized his dream job, writing. Looking back, he knows he was headed for it all along.
This seems like some worthwhile reflection, and I've done it from time to time in the past. I know people who are stuck in their not dream jobs currently and live for retirement. Ludicrous. I'd like to believe God gave us passions for a reason, and I'm going forth to search the depths of what God has laid on my heart. Now that those silly academics are out of the way, Imma put my pursuit pants on and get it. In Chattanooga! See you on the flip side!
Note: I still think I have mental issues. I plan on getting that checked out in Chattanooga, too.
I'm including this video for Sadie Smith:
Chattanooga Choo Choo by brainstorm
*EDIT*
I changed the layout, because that other one was super hard to read. I simply didn't care enough to change it until now. Sorry about the pain it may have put you through while it existed.
*EDIT*
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Dead Week Alive
Thus commences dead week. Quite a name to live up to, yeah? This whatever I have, which I've come to term "the disorder" doesn't seem to understand the connotations of dead week. As Claire said earlier today, we can't easily deny the reality of having something medically wrong with a brain if we clearly see that we can have knee, liver, and stomach problems (amongst others). It's been verified (again). There's definitely something wrong with my brain.
That, compounded with the knowledge that I could have done so much better in college but didn't, drags me down to a feeling of being nearly dead. What am I even doing to show God my gratefulness for all he's done for me? How am I rejoicing in him despite my circumstances, or even due to these circumstances. I am by far not the worst person off on this planet, and all of this doesn't have to feel so alienating. I've had some of the most amazing conversations with friends and family over these past few days that have shown me that I'm not alone and I'm not a lost cause. For that I am grateful, and that's where I slowly start to find joy and peace through these trials. God could leave me moaning in the corner, but he has equipped my friends and family to pull me up from that place even when they don't know how. Love finds a place in these times and spreads until it's finally all I can see.
That, compounded with the knowledge that I could have done so much better in college but didn't, drags me down to a feeling of being nearly dead. What am I even doing to show God my gratefulness for all he's done for me? How am I rejoicing in him despite my circumstances, or even due to these circumstances. I am by far not the worst person off on this planet, and all of this doesn't have to feel so alienating. I've had some of the most amazing conversations with friends and family over these past few days that have shown me that I'm not alone and I'm not a lost cause. For that I am grateful, and that's where I slowly start to find joy and peace through these trials. God could leave me moaning in the corner, but he has equipped my friends and family to pull me up from that place even when they don't know how. Love finds a place in these times and spreads until it's finally all I can see.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Questions
I am that crazy person who checks her motives at the first sentence of each blog post.
Why am I writing this?
Why am I writing this here?
When I was around the age of five, my second cousin Christopher threatened to give me a "knuckle sandwich" every time I spoke, because I had to question everything. Considering how terrible my memory is and how few specific childhood events reside in my memory vault, it's pretty pertinent that I can remember multiple family members tirelessly telling me to, "Stop asking questions!" You may be thinking that was rather insensitive of them, seeing as I was just a young, curious child. No, they had reason. I really did question everything, including the answers. I played, "But why?" on repeat.
It can be somewhat unsettling to look back on childhood patterns and say, "Oh, not much has changed there..." In some of my processes of psychoanalysis, I've been fairly certain that I asked the same questions over and over because I never listened to the answer. I was too invested in the question.
If this pattern doesn't sound familiar to you, I can point you to more than half of the posts on this blog.
The ringing truth in this assessment gets most unsettling when I think of that mantra: "Jesus is the answer!" The side of me that wants so desperately to remain kindred to my non-Christian friends is the one that won't accept the answer, the one still playing "But why?" on repeat.
But I also know I can't go on a schizophrenic attack against the curious side of myself. The God who transforms hearts allows for renewed minds, and I have no clue what He actually, specifically wants that to look like in me. Still, I don't think it means God wants me to stop questioning things, because there are a number of things He has told me to question.
But anyway, I only bring this up and blog about it, because it has been a consistent characteristic of my four years of college. Through all of the change I did undergo, this string of sometimes dangerous curiosity continues. I'm hoping a future Katie on the edge of mental crazy can look back on this and recognize the pattern for what it is. There's only so much I can beat myself and others up about until I have to get to the answer.
Why am I writing this?
Why am I writing this here?
When I was around the age of five, my second cousin Christopher threatened to give me a "knuckle sandwich" every time I spoke, because I had to question everything. Considering how terrible my memory is and how few specific childhood events reside in my memory vault, it's pretty pertinent that I can remember multiple family members tirelessly telling me to, "Stop asking questions!" You may be thinking that was rather insensitive of them, seeing as I was just a young, curious child. No, they had reason. I really did question everything, including the answers. I played, "But why?" on repeat.
It can be somewhat unsettling to look back on childhood patterns and say, "Oh, not much has changed there..." In some of my processes of psychoanalysis, I've been fairly certain that I asked the same questions over and over because I never listened to the answer. I was too invested in the question.
If this pattern doesn't sound familiar to you, I can point you to more than half of the posts on this blog.
The ringing truth in this assessment gets most unsettling when I think of that mantra: "Jesus is the answer!" The side of me that wants so desperately to remain kindred to my non-Christian friends is the one that won't accept the answer, the one still playing "But why?" on repeat.
But I also know I can't go on a schizophrenic attack against the curious side of myself. The God who transforms hearts allows for renewed minds, and I have no clue what He actually, specifically wants that to look like in me. Still, I don't think it means God wants me to stop questioning things, because there are a number of things He has told me to question.
But anyway, I only bring this up and blog about it, because it has been a consistent characteristic of my four years of college. Through all of the change I did undergo, this string of sometimes dangerous curiosity continues. I'm hoping a future Katie on the edge of mental crazy can look back on this and recognize the pattern for what it is. There's only so much I can beat myself and others up about until I have to get to the answer.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Underqualified
Here's a sort of reflection-y post for you. I am currently sitting with multiple tabs open for editing my class website. It took me entirely too long to weed through the CSS in my chosen wordpress theme just to change the background color of my header, so now I'm taking a break, realizing how long this could actually take me. My professor intends for these websites to characterize our professional selves in order to tempt potential employers with the endless possibilities of what we can do based on what we have done.
One thing about college that has always eluded me, though, is how little it actually does prepare you for the professional world. The greatest of my digital endeavors is an edited image of Justin Bieber's head on the screamer in Edvard Munch's "The Scream." Hardly professional. Sub-amateur even.
I can't help but wonder if my professor is just mocking us or giving us a reality check. Like, "See? You're not ready for the world. All you can do is fiddle around with CSS for half an hour and then get distracted by YouTube, Twitter, and Facebook." Is it true that I won't survive in a digital age if I don't catch up on CSS and HTML? If I don't run my own domain, will I really be that much less successful at life? I like a challenge, but I don't like living my life in or-else mode. My mathematics degree supposedly wants to send me off to some sort of computer or engineering job. That is, unless I want to teach. Still not sure about that one either. The seeming problem is that after all of this time and supposed preparation, I'm still daydreaming about what I could be and where I could go. I fear the slap in the face I'll get from my diploma next Saturday will crush my daydreams with the harshness of reality.
It's like I'm slipping into survival mode.
"Get a job!"
Which job?
"A job!"
Oh... well, okay.
I have a tendency not to fear the future, and I figure everything will be fine no matter how much effort I put into that guarantee. Part of it is laziness, part of it is because I've always had parents to make sure everything really is fine, and part of it is because I have no idea what the hell I'm doing.
One thing about college that has always eluded me, though, is how little it actually does prepare you for the professional world. The greatest of my digital endeavors is an edited image of Justin Bieber's head on the screamer in Edvard Munch's "The Scream." Hardly professional. Sub-amateur even.
I can't help but wonder if my professor is just mocking us or giving us a reality check. Like, "See? You're not ready for the world. All you can do is fiddle around with CSS for half an hour and then get distracted by YouTube, Twitter, and Facebook." Is it true that I won't survive in a digital age if I don't catch up on CSS and HTML? If I don't run my own domain, will I really be that much less successful at life? I like a challenge, but I don't like living my life in or-else mode. My mathematics degree supposedly wants to send me off to some sort of computer or engineering job. That is, unless I want to teach. Still not sure about that one either. The seeming problem is that after all of this time and supposed preparation, I'm still daydreaming about what I could be and where I could go. I fear the slap in the face I'll get from my diploma next Saturday will crush my daydreams with the harshness of reality.
It's like I'm slipping into survival mode.
"Get a job!"
Which job?
"A job!"
Oh... well, okay.
I have a tendency not to fear the future, and I figure everything will be fine no matter how much effort I put into that guarantee. Part of it is laziness, part of it is because I've always had parents to make sure everything really is fine, and part of it is because I have no idea what the hell I'm doing.
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