The sun has set, we slide back through the gradual dusk. Loon voices in the distance; bats flitter past us, dipping over the water surface, flat calm now, the shore things, white-gray rocks and dead trees, doubling themselves in the dark mirror. Around us the illusion of infinite space or of no space, ourselves and the obscure shore which it seems we could touch, the water between an absence. The canoe's reflection floats with us, the paddles twin in the lake. It's like moving on air, nothing beneath us holding us up; suspended, we drift home. Margaret Atwood, Surfacing (1972)
Once, when I was at Auburn, I woke up at 5:30. The gray sky pressed low into the horizon and the sunlight filtered dimly through the heavy clouds. I realized, with a small panic, that I didn't know if it was morning or night. Daybreak or dusk. So, I did what seemed logical at the time. I called information. It's 5:30 in the afternoon, Sweetie. Said the operator. So I went to get some dinner.
Looking back, I realize that this moment was symbolic of my life at that time. No way to gauge my progress, no daymarks to show my location. Just a gray horizon meeting a gray sky falling into a gray earth. It was a liminal space. A threshold. An in-between. And I think that's why I like Atwood's description of this journey across a lake at dusk. Her "Surfacer" is in such a space between spaces. Infinite possibilities. Hopeful and frightening all at once.
I'm glad not to be there anymore.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Friday, January 25, 2008
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Nostalgia
I've been avoiding my blog lately because there is too much to write about. Someday, I'd like to write about blogging. Maybe in an academic way. I'd like to distill the major themes I see people writing about and try and make some connections between those themes and the way our brains work. It might be interesting to try and draw some correlations between world events and the blogosphere. I don't know. Maybe someday.
Right now, I'm thinking a lot about the American South as a third-world environment. Now, of course I realize that in the non-literary world, the South is not a third-world environment, but it is interesting to see how much some literature coming from post-colonial environments resembles Southern literature. A good example is Anita Desai's Clear Light of Day. It has a lot in common with Faulkner's The Sound and the Fury. What I'm the most interested in is the use of a character as a vehicle for nostalgia, be it for pre-partition India or the myth of the unified American South. Don't be impressed, not that you would be, by this musing. I have outlined the complete breath and depth of my thought process in the above paragraph. I haven't thought ahead any farther.
Nostalgia is something I've been thinking about. I've been thinking about my Shelby County childhood and how I spent it. It's amazing how many things I remember about what we ate and how I played. I drive very near many of the places I spent my childhood as I drive home from Montevallo. Our old house was blown away by a tornado, but the silver-leaf maple trees at the end of our driveway are still there as well as the little tree my dad transplanted from San Antonio. The creek is there, but gone are the spreading green trees and curling flower spaces that used to flank it. There's some kind of warehouse behind it now. It's a strange feeling to go back.
I think my mother has been feeling nostalgic lately, too. She's been providing me with a steady supply of home-made granola and wheat rolls. She used to make the rolls on the days my father would rob his honeybees and we would eat them on our back porch hot with butter and raw honey. This morning, I'll eat them the same way. They honey won't be from my dad's hive, but it's Shelby County raw, and it will taste the same. I like to think my mom is already reaching out to this little baby and already trying to give it some of the things she gave to me. I think, at the heart of this, is that desire to initiate this little one into our family by giving it what we love.
When I sit in church or class, I wonder of he (she?) can hear what is being said and if, in some way, he will be shaped by discussions of William Faulkner and the liturgy and the taste of raw Shelby County honey. I hope so.
Right now, I'm thinking a lot about the American South as a third-world environment. Now, of course I realize that in the non-literary world, the South is not a third-world environment, but it is interesting to see how much some literature coming from post-colonial environments resembles Southern literature. A good example is Anita Desai's Clear Light of Day. It has a lot in common with Faulkner's The Sound and the Fury. What I'm the most interested in is the use of a character as a vehicle for nostalgia, be it for pre-partition India or the myth of the unified American South. Don't be impressed, not that you would be, by this musing. I have outlined the complete breath and depth of my thought process in the above paragraph. I haven't thought ahead any farther.
Nostalgia is something I've been thinking about. I've been thinking about my Shelby County childhood and how I spent it. It's amazing how many things I remember about what we ate and how I played. I drive very near many of the places I spent my childhood as I drive home from Montevallo. Our old house was blown away by a tornado, but the silver-leaf maple trees at the end of our driveway are still there as well as the little tree my dad transplanted from San Antonio. The creek is there, but gone are the spreading green trees and curling flower spaces that used to flank it. There's some kind of warehouse behind it now. It's a strange feeling to go back.
I think my mother has been feeling nostalgic lately, too. She's been providing me with a steady supply of home-made granola and wheat rolls. She used to make the rolls on the days my father would rob his honeybees and we would eat them on our back porch hot with butter and raw honey. This morning, I'll eat them the same way. They honey won't be from my dad's hive, but it's Shelby County raw, and it will taste the same. I like to think my mom is already reaching out to this little baby and already trying to give it some of the things she gave to me. I think, at the heart of this, is that desire to initiate this little one into our family by giving it what we love.
When I sit in church or class, I wonder of he (she?) can hear what is being said and if, in some way, he will be shaped by discussions of William Faulkner and the liturgy and the taste of raw Shelby County honey. I hope so.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
We Anglicans/Presbyterians REALLY got the short end of the spiritual-gift stick.
NO one would be safe if I could do this.
Friday, January 11, 2008
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
Monday, January 07, 2008
Those Stories Were a Good Read, They Were Dumb as Well
I told myself I was going to take a break from blogging so that I could dive into the reading for my Indian Literature class, but I just got an e-mail from my professor that changed my mind. (Apparently, the bookstore didn't order enough books and we're getting a partial by this week. That's pretty unheard of. So, I'm going from having 250 pages to read this week to having 50. And I have some time to spend here. Although, I should be making meatloaf. Really. David hasn't had a proper supper in a while.)
Anyway, I just downloaded some music that I haven't heard since I played it on WEGL. It is making me remember those first two years at Auburn and all of the things I learned and all of the places I went and all of the friends I made. There were two golden years before the blunders and serious life screw-ups of my junior and senior years that broke my heart and brought me to Christ. Two years of being loved and treasured and protected before I went it on my own and lost myself in the barbed-wire of dangerous relationships with dangerous people. I have always been addicted to weirdos. If there is a person within a ten-mile radius who will use me and make my life difficult, I want to make friends. I find dangerous people fascinating. I think I'm passed that now, though. At 31, I'm not as eager as I used to be to delve into something (or someone) strange and try to figure them out. I'm just too interested in my own life. (And fortunately, I was able to marry someone interesting yet sane. Imagine that.) I shed the weirdos from my life like a snake skin. I vow that it's goodbye and God bless.
Right now, right at this minute, the sky over Birmingham is pink and gold. And it's warm. And I want to move to Fort Lauderdale and be a Beach Person. Today, anyway.
I meant to make this a long blog, but really, the meatloaf. So, suffice it to say that to say I am grateful for this moment in my life, for this season, for this time in my history, is the understatement of the century. I have blessings and wonders that I don't deserve.
Anyway, I just downloaded some music that I haven't heard since I played it on WEGL. It is making me remember those first two years at Auburn and all of the things I learned and all of the places I went and all of the friends I made. There were two golden years before the blunders and serious life screw-ups of my junior and senior years that broke my heart and brought me to Christ. Two years of being loved and treasured and protected before I went it on my own and lost myself in the barbed-wire of dangerous relationships with dangerous people. I have always been addicted to weirdos. If there is a person within a ten-mile radius who will use me and make my life difficult, I want to make friends. I find dangerous people fascinating. I think I'm passed that now, though. At 31, I'm not as eager as I used to be to delve into something (or someone) strange and try to figure them out. I'm just too interested in my own life. (And fortunately, I was able to marry someone interesting yet sane. Imagine that.) I shed the weirdos from my life like a snake skin. I vow that it's goodbye and God bless.
Right now, right at this minute, the sky over Birmingham is pink and gold. And it's warm. And I want to move to Fort Lauderdale and be a Beach Person. Today, anyway.
I meant to make this a long blog, but really, the meatloaf. So, suffice it to say that to say I am grateful for this moment in my life, for this season, for this time in my history, is the understatement of the century. I have blessings and wonders that I don't deserve.
Glory Be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost.
As it was in the beginning, is now and EVER shall be,
World Without End.
Amen.
As it was in the beginning, is now and EVER shall be,
World Without End.
Amen.
Wednesday, January 02, 2008
Peachy Dreams
This is the last week of my Christmas break and the first week I've felt like doing anything I had planned to do. Finally, I'm feeling human. For some reason, this makes me think of summertime in Alabama. If we can get some rain and avoid late freezes, we should have a good peach crop this summer. I'm going to eat all of the peaches I can. I am going to pile peaches up in my bedroom and sleep on them. I am going to pie them, ice cream them, cobbler them and preserve them. I am going to eat them ripe and right off the trees. Then, I am going to work my way through the blackberry patches of Chilton County like a woman with a mission. A blackberry eating mission. And I am going to eat tomatoes and corn and okra. And I am going to roll around in produce-inspired delight and laugh to myself about how much I love summertime in Alabama. But before the peaches and blackberries and corn and okra comes strawberry time. This year, I am going picking by myself and I shall waddle out into the patch and do the best picking I can. I will laugh at myself.
But today is absolutely freezing. My old house stands stoically against the bluster outside. Today, I will knit and eat soup from a tin. I cannot open the back door because it is frozen shut, so I guess Corduroy won't get to go pee today. I hope she can hold it. Poor Corduroy.
Lately, I've been waking up at three 'o clock in the morning. Precisely. This morning, I woke up and wandered around the house and just looked around. My house, when it sleeps, is peaceful and calm. In the night, in the space between waking and sleep, I hear the voice of the Lord say No tragedy will befall you. I am present and working in all of your relationships. I protect your loved ones. I secure your future. And I believe Him.
But today is absolutely freezing. My old house stands stoically against the bluster outside. Today, I will knit and eat soup from a tin. I cannot open the back door because it is frozen shut, so I guess Corduroy won't get to go pee today. I hope she can hold it. Poor Corduroy.
Lately, I've been waking up at three 'o clock in the morning. Precisely. This morning, I woke up and wandered around the house and just looked around. My house, when it sleeps, is peaceful and calm. In the night, in the space between waking and sleep, I hear the voice of the Lord say No tragedy will befall you. I am present and working in all of your relationships. I protect your loved ones. I secure your future. And I believe Him.
Friday, December 21, 2007
Weird Dream
Last night, I dreamed that I was walking around a room full of people in brown trench coats. I noticed that as they came in the door, someone gave them a coat and as soon as they put it on, they bowed their head and started to cry. They walked around wringing their hands. When I asked, one of them told me that sadness was God's will for her and that suffering and struggle were signs of authentic faith. Ironically, not one of them questioned the fact that they came in happy and got handed something that made them miserable. Finally, I stood on a chair and said "Don't put on that coat! It's not even yours!"
Then, I woke up. And I wonder this morning how much of the current suffering I see literally overcoming the people around me is something they picked up at the door. Why do we so distrust our basic ability to know when something ...sucks?
Then, I woke up. And I wonder this morning how much of the current suffering I see literally overcoming the people around me is something they picked up at the door. Why do we so distrust our basic ability to know when something ...sucks?
Friday, December 14, 2007
Finished Finished Finished
I'm finished with my first semester at the University of Montevallo and I've had a beautiful time. Today, I'm going to bundle up my class notes and writing and store them away until I need them to study for comps. I am exhausted. There is a good chance I'll make a 4.0 this semester. I dare to hope.
Next semester, I'll be taking Post-Colonial Literature and Ecocriticism. This will be difficult and I will learn a lot. We're reading Salmon Rushdie and Wendell Berry (and many, many other people.) I've read Wendell Berry, but not in an academic context. This should prove to be interesting. (I am surprised to see him make the jump, frankly. Whereas some people read Wendell Berry and say "I love Wendell Berry!" English students are more likely to really dig into the text and not even talk about the author. You get at the knowledge from another angle.)
I've met many new friends that I hope to see over the holiday. So much diversity that is good for me. So many really kind people who have sharp minds and honest hearts. And who never ever ever talk about Red Mountain Church. (Or would really know what to say if they did.) And this is a pretty good thing. For the first time in a long long time, I'm being judged outside of a church context and it is refreshing to just be Susan the Person. Nobody cares where I go to church or where I went before that or before that. Susan the Person exists in the now.
Nobody ever says "grace" or "struggle" or "community." To be clear, I am desperate for real fellowship with other Christians, but I am much relieved to have an escape from that particular language. In some context, these words are devoid of meaning for me anyway and they taste like sawdust in my mouth.
And the most amazing thing is that I haven't met a single person who doesn't respect my faith. I'm not getting any of the Anti-Christian backlash I would have expected and I have almost decided that it doesn't really exist. Christians hate Christians. I'm working on personal integrity and the confidence to just say what I believe without fear of judgement. I am working on being an "integrated" person if that makes sense.
In our Bible study, we talked about prayer and how the Holy Spirit intercedes for us with a language above and separate from human language. (Groanings too deep for words. Isn't that beautiful?) This is what I'm counting on. My faith has become simple and necessary. I have great need of simple things. And in some ways, while I'm more confident than ever before, I am also more aware of my fragility and my great need to be prayed for.
Next semester, I'll be taking Post-Colonial Literature and Ecocriticism. This will be difficult and I will learn a lot. We're reading Salmon Rushdie and Wendell Berry (and many, many other people.) I've read Wendell Berry, but not in an academic context. This should prove to be interesting. (I am surprised to see him make the jump, frankly. Whereas some people read Wendell Berry and say "I love Wendell Berry!" English students are more likely to really dig into the text and not even talk about the author. You get at the knowledge from another angle.)
I've met many new friends that I hope to see over the holiday. So much diversity that is good for me. So many really kind people who have sharp minds and honest hearts. And who never ever ever talk about Red Mountain Church. (Or would really know what to say if they did.) And this is a pretty good thing. For the first time in a long long time, I'm being judged outside of a church context and it is refreshing to just be Susan the Person. Nobody cares where I go to church or where I went before that or before that. Susan the Person exists in the now.
Nobody ever says "grace" or "struggle" or "community." To be clear, I am desperate for real fellowship with other Christians, but I am much relieved to have an escape from that particular language. In some context, these words are devoid of meaning for me anyway and they taste like sawdust in my mouth.
And the most amazing thing is that I haven't met a single person who doesn't respect my faith. I'm not getting any of the Anti-Christian backlash I would have expected and I have almost decided that it doesn't really exist. Christians hate Christians. I'm working on personal integrity and the confidence to just say what I believe without fear of judgement. I am working on being an "integrated" person if that makes sense.
In our Bible study, we talked about prayer and how the Holy Spirit intercedes for us with a language above and separate from human language. (Groanings too deep for words. Isn't that beautiful?) This is what I'm counting on. My faith has become simple and necessary. I have great need of simple things. And in some ways, while I'm more confident than ever before, I am also more aware of my fragility and my great need to be prayed for.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Proclamation for a New Year
Over the past few months, I've been ambushed by friends and encouraged by strangers. I've been the smart kid in the class and the scapegoat. I've been alone in community and a part of something in isolation.
I've learned that most of your friends won't stand up for you, but some of your enemies will.
I've learned that most people prefer comfortable liars to a hard truth. I've learned that to follow your conscience is to shake hands with loneliness. I've seen the man behind the curtain.
(There's someone standing behind him, too. And it's probably a woman.)
I've learned not to trust those people who declare themselves "leaders." They just want to put you on their resume.
I've decided that struggle is sweet. I've decided that easy is almost always wrong and right is almost never easy. I've decided that no one is allowed to tell me who I am. I've decided to dig down deep and see what's there.
This year, I've reacted to unkindness with submissiveness because that's how I deflected heat when I was a child. It was a good way for a small person to survive. But, I'm not a small person any more. And when I was a woman, I put childish things behind me. I have no need to be afraid anymore. God's love has done away with my fear.
I embrace radical un-niceness.
And I have been delivered from a fate that's worse than death.
More than once.
And I won't forget it.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
People I love
Because you're the wisest people I know.
Because you're prone to telling the truth. Because you're brave.
Because you're happy when I have good news. You have emotional integrity. And you just do what's happy.
Tuesday, December 04, 2007
I'm back.
This has been the longest hiatus from blogging I've taken in quite some time. I don't know how productive I've been in the paper-writing department, but I think the break was good for my brain. Last night, I presented my "Wanderer" paper to some other graduate students, some faculty, and my sweet husband who took off work early and drove an hour to be there. I think it is no small feat to listen to academic papers being presented even if you love the subjects. I was glad to have him there because it gave him some kind of insight into this weird life I've been having without him. Afterwards, some of us went to this weird little coffee place/bar/bookshop. I think that David liked hearing the professors talk about their work and their students. It made me feel loved to have him be there and enjoy it.
Our little family is the only thing that makes any sense to me most of the time.
I am so grateful for so much.
I've been thinking about a church-service we attended on Sunday. It made me realize that the only thing that matters to me about a church is that it employs a pastor who has a high regard for the Scriptures. I love to hear H.R. preach for that reason. He takes the Scriptures and his responsibility to/for them seriously. He handles them like a scholar. I like to hear J.R. at St. Peter's for the same reason. So many preachers feel that they can't just present the Scripture to their congregation without doing something to make it "relevant" or "interesting." This makes their preaching silly and insipid. Like high school.
Several of the papers presented last night were about teaching long classic poems to high school students. (Why they were talking about classic poems is a puzzle to me being that the class was about 19th Century Romantic British poetry.) Anyway, the consensus seems to be that high school students can't learn classic poetry unless the teacher does something like equate it to Tupac Shakur or make it into a rap. Seriously? One of the papers even referred to 9th graders as "beginning readers." The horror of that! Our educational system is churning out some stupid people who go to school and become high school teachers. (Now, to be fair, several of the education majors at Montevallo are not stupid. I can think of three.) There are no "good" public schools. There are students who learn to take tests and do what the government tells them. This issue will stand like a flagpole on the grave of American democracy. Count on it.
And the same thing is happening in church. We can't study Romans anymore. We've got to study "hope" or "marriage." There is a light at the end of the tunnel, though! There are groups of people who are reclaiming their right to think! This is a good thing. Resist! Stand up to the forces of darkness that would consume your brain! I really and truly believe that there is some conspiracy a foot to turn all of us into non-thinking means of production. I really believe that. We've got to do something about that!
Just to show that some poetry-raps are pretty funny, here is an advertisement tourism in Cambria. This is where William Wordsworth was from.
Our little family is the only thing that makes any sense to me most of the time.
I am so grateful for so much.
I've been thinking about a church-service we attended on Sunday. It made me realize that the only thing that matters to me about a church is that it employs a pastor who has a high regard for the Scriptures. I love to hear H.R. preach for that reason. He takes the Scriptures and his responsibility to/for them seriously. He handles them like a scholar. I like to hear J.R. at St. Peter's for the same reason. So many preachers feel that they can't just present the Scripture to their congregation without doing something to make it "relevant" or "interesting." This makes their preaching silly and insipid. Like high school.
Several of the papers presented last night were about teaching long classic poems to high school students. (Why they were talking about classic poems is a puzzle to me being that the class was about 19th Century Romantic British poetry.) Anyway, the consensus seems to be that high school students can't learn classic poetry unless the teacher does something like equate it to Tupac Shakur or make it into a rap. Seriously? One of the papers even referred to 9th graders as "beginning readers." The horror of that! Our educational system is churning out some stupid people who go to school and become high school teachers. (Now, to be fair, several of the education majors at Montevallo are not stupid. I can think of three.) There are no "good" public schools. There are students who learn to take tests and do what the government tells them. This issue will stand like a flagpole on the grave of American democracy. Count on it.
And the same thing is happening in church. We can't study Romans anymore. We've got to study "hope" or "marriage." There is a light at the end of the tunnel, though! There are groups of people who are reclaiming their right to think! This is a good thing. Resist! Stand up to the forces of darkness that would consume your brain! I really and truly believe that there is some conspiracy a foot to turn all of us into non-thinking means of production. I really believe that. We've got to do something about that!
Just to show that some poetry-raps are pretty funny, here is an advertisement tourism in Cambria. This is where William Wordsworth was from.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Sing your song, Margie
And when you ask them "How much should we give?" The only answer is MORE MORE MORE.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Last Word from Me for Awhile!
So, this week I'm going into term-paper hibernation and I probably won't be posting for awhile. This is good for me, I think. I'm a little obsessed right now with school and I don't want for all of my posts to be about that. I'm a girl with a one-track mind.
I've got a preliminary green-light on my thesis. Whoopeee!
This is the happiest I've been in quite some time, my friends.
I've got a preliminary green-light on my thesis. Whoopeee!
This is the happiest I've been in quite some time, my friends.
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Goodbye Portrait
Holding a note that reads: "I have had a happy life and thank the Lord. Goodbye and may God bless all!" Chris McCandless, August 1991
Thursday, November 08, 2007
Death from Above
In class yesterday, I was assigned the role of "major responder" to the paper of the unfortunate undergraduate student sitting next to me. Her paper was a brief comparison of the "Veiled Lady" in Hawthorne's "The Blithedale Romance" and the White Wale in Melville's Moby-Dick. It's a potentially interesting comparison that she wasn't quite ready to make. Her comments reminded me of Colonel Kurtz's monologue in Apocalypse Now.
Horror. Horror has a face, and you must make a friend of horror. Horror and mortal terror are your friends. If they are not, then they are enemies to be feared. They are truly enemies.
Why does Melville's Ishmael paint a picture of the color white as horrible?
Because white is the color of hope, and when it belies a deep malice, it's truly an enemy to be feared. White belies the horror of a pastor who preaches hope and equality and intense community and leads his people to a cup of Flavor-Aid in a Guyanese jungle. White belies the horror of a marriage ceremony that ends in infidelity and immeasurable loss. White belies the horror of a nation who invades to liberate and instead rapes and tortures and kills despite its best intentions. White belies the horror of a Colonel in a jungle who set out to follow orders and ends up a demagogue in a self-made feudalism.
Thwarted hopes are the horrors of the world below.
And all of these things make us plead weak-kneed for God to make his face known as we sweat out those dark nights of the soul that give Evil an opportunity to whisper that it just isn't true. But hope, hope comes in the morning and with it comes courage to face a Red Dawn. Hope that will not ultimately be disappointed because, after all, has he not told us he went to prepare a place?
So bold I go before the mast knowing the sinking of the ship will be the victory of my soul. And if it is not, I cling bravely to the only lifeboat I know and face down the waves beneath the spreading sky.
Horror. Horror has a face, and you must make a friend of horror. Horror and mortal terror are your friends. If they are not, then they are enemies to be feared. They are truly enemies.
Why does Melville's Ishmael paint a picture of the color white as horrible?
Because white is the color of hope, and when it belies a deep malice, it's truly an enemy to be feared. White belies the horror of a pastor who preaches hope and equality and intense community and leads his people to a cup of Flavor-Aid in a Guyanese jungle. White belies the horror of a marriage ceremony that ends in infidelity and immeasurable loss. White belies the horror of a nation who invades to liberate and instead rapes and tortures and kills despite its best intentions. White belies the horror of a Colonel in a jungle who set out to follow orders and ends up a demagogue in a self-made feudalism.
Thwarted hopes are the horrors of the world below.
And all of these things make us plead weak-kneed for God to make his face known as we sweat out those dark nights of the soul that give Evil an opportunity to whisper that it just isn't true. But hope, hope comes in the morning and with it comes courage to face a Red Dawn. Hope that will not ultimately be disappointed because, after all, has he not told us he went to prepare a place?
So bold I go before the mast knowing the sinking of the ship will be the victory of my soul. And if it is not, I cling bravely to the only lifeboat I know and face down the waves beneath the spreading sky.
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
Susanism for the Greater Good
I met with my adviser yesterday to talk about my "future." It seems funny to schedule an appointment to talk about your "future" on someone's office door in fifteen-minute increments. But, that's what happened.
We talked about my "safe schools." (And at this point, I realize that if it's going to amount to attending my "safe school," I might just skip it. I've had too many bad experiences with elephants if you get my drift.) We talked about my "reach school." And it's quite a reach. There are two other schools I'm interested in at the moment. I have three semesters left to punch up my vitae by presenting papers at conferences, making some really good grades and writing as much as I possibly can.
The good news is that my grades are (thus far) solid, I'm planning to co-write a paper for a conference in February for which I'll get a grant and I'm writing a prospectus for a conference at Tennessee Tech in March. (Cross your fingers for me.)
Here's an outline of what I've learned. Maybe I'll expand upon it later. It might be arrogant, but at least it's honest.
1. I like to work hard. I've had jobs that didn't require me to work hard. Sometimes, I kind of got in trouble when I tried. This gave me a complex. Hard work is more important to me than I realized.
2. I like to be challenged. I like to do my best and have to wonder if I'm going to fail or not. Safety is not as important to me as I thought.
3. I don't know if I'm a fantastic writer, but it's what I'm supposed to be doing.
5. I'm more of a feminist than I thought. (Or, maybe I'm just a Susanist.)
6. God cares what goes on inside the Ivory Tower. God is a passionate linguist and truly, truly, the Father of all kinds of Wisdom. There is no wisdom apart from him. He is generous with that wisdom, however, and he shares it with people who don't even believe in him.
7. I'm smart. I'm not the smartest, but I'm smart. I've finally started to wonder what was wrong with all those people at my old job who thought I wasn't, instead of wondering what is wrong with me. (I realize the wrong and I forgive it. This is power. And progress. And immeasurable joy. And gratitude to God who doesn't leave us where we fall.)
And to sum it up with what seems to be the end line of all my best writing ( you who would be joy-thieves):
Amen, Hallelujah.
(And gratitude to God who Does NOT leave us where we fall.)
We talked about my "safe schools." (And at this point, I realize that if it's going to amount to attending my "safe school," I might just skip it. I've had too many bad experiences with elephants if you get my drift.) We talked about my "reach school." And it's quite a reach. There are two other schools I'm interested in at the moment. I have three semesters left to punch up my vitae by presenting papers at conferences, making some really good grades and writing as much as I possibly can.
The good news is that my grades are (thus far) solid, I'm planning to co-write a paper for a conference in February for which I'll get a grant and I'm writing a prospectus for a conference at Tennessee Tech in March. (Cross your fingers for me.)
Here's an outline of what I've learned. Maybe I'll expand upon it later. It might be arrogant, but at least it's honest.
1. I like to work hard. I've had jobs that didn't require me to work hard. Sometimes, I kind of got in trouble when I tried. This gave me a complex. Hard work is more important to me than I realized.
2. I like to be challenged. I like to do my best and have to wonder if I'm going to fail or not. Safety is not as important to me as I thought.
3. I don't know if I'm a fantastic writer, but it's what I'm supposed to be doing.
5. I'm more of a feminist than I thought. (Or, maybe I'm just a Susanist.)
6. God cares what goes on inside the Ivory Tower. God is a passionate linguist and truly, truly, the Father of all kinds of Wisdom. There is no wisdom apart from him. He is generous with that wisdom, however, and he shares it with people who don't even believe in him.
7. I'm smart. I'm not the smartest, but I'm smart. I've finally started to wonder what was wrong with all those people at my old job who thought I wasn't, instead of wondering what is wrong with me. (I realize the wrong and I forgive it. This is power. And progress. And immeasurable joy. And gratitude to God who doesn't leave us where we fall.)
And to sum it up with what seems to be the end line of all my best writing ( you who would be joy-thieves):
Amen, Hallelujah.
(And gratitude to God who Does NOT leave us where we fall.)
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