words

One of my all time favorite sentiments well-expressed in Psalms: (Psalms 103:15-16)
"As for man, his days are like grass; as a flower of the field, so he flourishes.
The wind passes over it, and it is gone, and its place remembers it no more."
And an excerpt from another of my all-time favorite passages: (1 Corinthians 13:8)
"Love never fails. But whether there are prophesies, they will fail. Whether there are tongues, they will cease. Whether there is knowledge, it will vanish away."

The various fascinations we as humans have.. with the written word, with the created image, with the life of adventure.. do they not all stem from a desire to do something bigger than life; to go beyond oneself?

I might suggest that an adventurous life is like a colorful flower. Some flowers seem a little more beautiful than others and some lives appear to be as well... but that doesn´t for a moment stop the wind from passing over them and the place from forgetting their presence.
A word well written of an image well created is like a flower picked and dried. Relative to other flowers it has done well; relative to eternity that doesn´t seem to really matter.

These things we engage in to distract us from our human condition do just that.. they distract, from the admittance that we are less than we think and the realization that that can be an amazing thing.. and they distract from doing what truly brings meaning. In and of itself a word written can´t bring meaning, an image created can´t, knowledge expressed or shared can´t, a moment remembered can´t. Only love enacted can.

My conclusion: writing for the sake of remembering events has no value. Writing as an act of love has value. Everything has value only if love is present in it.

The other day I was reading through my journal from the first days of this trip in Central America. Already my words had been invalidated by new thoughts and realizations. Yet my words were there, imposing upon the present the things of the past which I had moved on from. Words which called to mind past events that competed with my present ability to love rather than encouraging it. Why write such things, why preserve for the future the things that are best left in the past?

“Forget the former things;
do not dwell on the past.
See, I am doing a new thing!
Now it springs up; do you not perceive it" (Isaiah 43:18)

I want to be more selective in what I chose to record... only that which is useful for building up.

"Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already arrived at my goal, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me. Brothers and sisters, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus." (Philippians 3:12-14)

Finally, I realized that the time I spent reading about past events in my life -- even the best past events -- was preventing me from engaging in the best present events. A thought I drafted earlire summed it up pretty well; that is, "If each day of my life is well spent, as it should be, then it will constantly be filled with worthwhile experiences and lessons and there will be no need to sit and read about times past, because I will be living out times present, enjoying the beauty that our God has placed upon us and doing the work that he has established for our hands!" (See Psalms 90:12-17).

Yet.. sometimes I write because I still see it as a service of love. To encourage and support my friends or family; to share experiences which I found meaningful and which others often find meaningful as well if I share them. So this is not the end of writing.. just some thoughts on the subject that I found worth putting words to.

Hoy en Nicaragua

I awoke to the sound of people waking, and following the example set by my roommates I turned over lazily, letting the fan blow lukewarm air across my body. In a few minutes I would get up, check my email on my iPod and hop on the bus to the market in Masaya...
The fan shut off and I lazily noted that I hadn´t sensed anyone near the switch when it happened. Hot air settled oppresively across me and the sheet clung to my skin. I sat up, resolving to climb down from my bunk in a minute, and heard a voice say, "there´s no electricty; the internet´s not working." darn it. I climbed down and threw on a shirt, grabbing some córdobas from my locker that refuses to lock and shoving them into my cargo pocket. Ready to leave.
Wait. That´s no way to start the day. I sat down and prayed, then found my pocket new testament. 1 Timothy. Proverbs 12.. then 13. then 14. I find it hard to stop reading Proverbs once I start. Matthew 5-6. Psalms 10-11. I suddenly realized that the sound I had been hearing, which I thought was rain, was actually th fans which had turned back on in the other room. I wanted to check my iPod. Psalms 12-15. A little meditation. Alright.
Check email, talk to Erica, a girl who explored the bible with me a couple days ago, and reply to email after searching out some recently noticed verses. It´s afternoon, but the morning seems to have been quite well spent.
For some reason, I was not excited to go to Masaya, but I was excited for the day. Yesterday I realized how proundly good of a friend God is- He doesn´t repeat matters but covers our transgression. Each day is a new day, but sometimes its hard to feel that it´s truly a chance to start over, as if nothing in the past matters whatsoever. But today that´s how I felt. My attitute was turned around. I thanked God for my opportunity to be in Nicaragua, for the opportunity to love long distance, and for the beautiful day, and I truly meant it all. And I asked Him to show me how to make the best of my time here, because this is where I am, now.
I got on the bus and the elderly driver left. People sifted through the doors and sat down. When the same woman who came on yesterday to sell her baked goods came on again today, I did not ignore her like yesterday out of embarassment over my Spanish.
"Cuantas?" I asked cheerfully.
"Dos córdobas." That´s about ten cents US money.
"Me gustaría dos," I replied, handing her a ten. "No necesito esto," I added as she pulled out a plastic bag. She handed me two small pastries in the bag as well as six córdobas back.
The bus sat there for a long time without the driver and I began to feel more and more than thi wasn´t the day to go to Masaya. A man with a hugely inflated neck stepped onto the bus. He spoke clearly to the passengers, and to my surprise I understood almost everything he said.
"I have a large tumor," he told his audience. "It´s only through the grace of God, and of you all, that I am alive and can afford medicine." His speech was short and too the point, and his delivery was gracious, polite and matter-of-fact. At the end of his speech I removed my hand from the pocket that had the ten in it for the bus fare, which I was going to give him, and instead reached into my cargo pocket and gave him most of the money I was going to take to the market in Masaya. As he passed onward I stepped off the bus and walked away.
"Vas a Masaya?" Asked a vendor. Often rightly so, the people here tend to assume I have no clue what I am doing and explain in simple terms how to go about getting on the correct bus, only occassionally implying that it would be nice if I gave them a small tip in exchange for their tips.
"No. No voy a ir a Masaya hoy. Posible voy a ir mañana." Maybe tomorrow.
I walked convictedly in the direction of a bakery I saw during the bus ride yesterday. As I got closer I took a detour into a park to loiter for a while. After all I had the whole rest of the day to fill.
A man motioned me and I hesitantly approached. He spoke only in Spanish, but I´ll try to translate what I understood.
Where are you coming from, he asked. Costa Rica. Here for two more weeks, then going back to Costa Rica. He explained something, and the jist of it seemed to be that Nicaragua was more relaxed and less expensive than Costa Rica. Aqui, solo necesito dos córdobas para comprar pan y uno para agua. Si, si. He only needs three córdobas to buy a meal. Necesitas ahora, señor? Do you need a little money right now? I pulled out the six córdobas I recieved as change.
He only needed two. Es bien, you can take them all.
He was trying to tell me something, and I noticed that I was refusing to understand as a safety mechanism. He was definitely saying that I should come with him and he´d buy me something to eat or drink with the money I gave him. Cautiously I followed, keeping a keen eye on my surroundings and him. He stepped into a store. Stores here are tiny rooms guarded by massive metal gateways. Sometimes you can´t go in, but can only hand cash through a small opening in the gate and have your purchase handed out. This store had two gates, one at the entrance that was open and one in front of the counter which was not. My soon-to-be friend opened his wallet, pulled out a 50, handed it in and recieved change as well as two glass bottles of Coca Cola. We left the store and sat on the curb just outside. He seemed truly to just want to enjoy a conversation.
I told him more. I was from the US, and was going to return by plane from Costa Rica in two weeks. He has never been on a plane, but has walked all over his country. Solamente de pies. Only by foot. He has three children, who live in Costa Rica now. I have a sister que vive en las montañas de los Estados Unidos y esta una estudiante. Y una novia que no he visto para tres semanas. And a girlfriend I haven´t seen in three months.
"Tienes una novia!" He seemed truly overjoyed and slapped me on the back.
I don´t remember how the conversation progressed, but a minute later he was crying. I thought his wife had died a year ago, and his heart had died with her. Finally I understood. He had a heart condition and would die within a year. His eyes were red and tears streamed down his face. I hated that I had to ask him to repeat it several times before I understood. Then I just put my arm on his back, trusting that it was the right thing to do. A few minutes later, and we had shared our belief in God and eternity. I struggled to translate a portion of Psalm 103. Las dias de hombres estan como un flor... pero el... el... bien del Señor es para siempre y siempre."
"es eterno."
"Si.. la alma.. es eterno."
Shortly he apologized and wiped his eyes on his shirt.
"Cuando vuelves a Estados Unidos, que cases a su novia." When you get back to the US, marry your girlfriend. Tears lingered in his eyes, and I felt some forming in mine.
"Si, me gustaría a.. a.. hacer eso." Yeah, I would like...uh.. to do that.
The conversation moved on. "Be safe," seemed to be his primary message. En la día, I´m ok. Por el noche, I need to stay in the hostal. "Porque--" He pointed to my eyes, then to the blue building across from us. He pointed at the skin on his arms, then to his short black hair, then to my long brownish hair. It seemed he didn´t think I was getting the point, so I wondered if I was getting the point. Using almost entirely hand motions, he repeated the same gestures and smacked the back of his neck, then one hand into another. I began to equate that motion with some form of violent death. "Me entiendes?" He seemed to be wearing himself out in fear that I didn´t get what he was saying. "Entiendo," I insisted. "No voy a ir afuera del hostal en la noche. Porque quiero a volver a los Estados Unidos para-"
"-para casar con su novia."
"Si. por eso razón voy a usar..."
"su inteligencia."
"exactamente."
"Y no salgas afuera en el noche." Finally seeming satisfied, he continued. Why am I in Nicaragua? I want to learn more Spanish and travel outside the US and Canada for the first time. Maybe I´ll go to León.
"Don´t go to León." He smacked his hands together. "Stay in Granada. If you want to learn Spanish, I have a friend who can teach you. She´s a profesor at a school here. We went to his friend´s house together. A middle-aged woman opened the locked metal door and we went in and sat down on rocking chairs near the doorway. He explained that I wanted to learn Spanish and she explained that she already teaches at two school and has no time. Eventually she directed us to a nearby school.
Manuel, my friend, came inside with me and we were asked to sit down on rocking chairs. "I´ll talk first, since it is easier for them to understand me, and then you talk," Manuel told me. "Entiendes?" Do you understand?" Si.
The kindly man who seated us returned with paperwork. Manuel spoke to him, then I took over, explaining that I want to study for a week and stay with a family, if possible. Somehow this man, who introduced himself as Juan Carlos, made me feel as if I could speak and understand perfectly already. We conversed about everything and unlike Manuel, who spoke loudly and choppily in an attempt to help me understand, he spoke deliberately and clearly at a moderate pace. I would start on Monday at 8 am and would study for four hours each day. My host family should avoid cheese and all dairy products if at all possible, and I would be able to volunteer teaching English or working with youth in some other capacity with my evenings.
"Muchas gracias," I said to Manuel as we left. "Estas mi mejor amigo en Nicaragua." I was slightly overcome by the fact that my sucess in signing up to study Spanish left him completely overjoyed. We walked back to the park, and a few things stick out from the rest of our conversation.
Manuel works in construction, but he himself lives in a plastic shack. For him, it is important to do what he can for those who have less than him. I told him the story of the man on the bus, and how I had given him most of my money but was glad that I did because then I left the bus and met him and got to sign up at the school.
"Si, solamente me gusta ayudar los otros que tienen menos que yo."
"Me tambien. Y es importante tambien para mi novia. Es una de los cosas sobre ella que me gusta mucho."
I wish, said Manuel, that I could afford to fly to the US to be at your wedding. It´s going to be una gran fiesta. Look up at the sky, he told me, and wave hello.
I will, I promised. Siempre voy a recordarte. I´ll take a moment away from the party to wave hello to my best friend from Nicaragua.
But for now, I hope to see Manuel again each day of next week. We agreed to meet at the park a cinco y media - 5:30 - so he can see how my progress is going in school.

Tres dias en Costa Rica

Who knew I´d be more bored in Costa Rica than at home?

As it turns out, it rains a lot here during the rainy season. And, it gets dark by around six o clock!

My hosts are nice, but one is not here much, one is going loco concerning his exciting but stressful new job situation and is not up for much conversation, and the third teaches online english lessons for five hours a day. Today she had the day off, and she took me to downtown San Jose. I ate a delicious breakfast from a bakery -- spicy potatoes baked into doughy bread; and we went to the central market. I had the equivilant of about 12 cents since my debit card would not work in the ATM and couldn´t buy anything, though I tried to hold polite conversations with a few kind vendors. Being on a tour, I did not wander aimlessly like I would if by myself or with Alyssa, so, shortly, we headed back. Sadly I was back in the smoke filled apartment before one o`clock.

What to do with all the time? Until I have memorized every verse in the bible there is something worthwhile to do. I felt very rewarded for doing so. So often there is a bible verse that I want to employ in a certain moment.. I feel that many of the ideas are written the tablet of my heart but now some more of the specific words are too. Having specific words on call to confirm and explicate an idea that is already on my heart definitely gives more power to that concept. Specific words can powerfully combat any oposing sentiment that creeps in to undermine the difficult path to Godliness, whereas a poweful idea left vague or unsubstantiated can be caught speechless and defenseless. I´ve noticed that selfish thoughts sometimes indulge themselves in lengthy mental orations if only because Godly inclinations have not yet learned the few words powerful enough to give expression to such greatness. But those words exist, and time spend alone in solitude need not be a missed opportunity but perhaps a very necessary one. Even in the exciting new location of Costa Rica, surely an hour spent in a quiet room reading and memorizing scripture is an hour very well spent.

He has not dealt with us according to our sins, nor punished us according to our iniquities.
For as the heavens are high above the earth, so great is His mercy towards those who fear Him.

As far as the east is from the west, so far has He removed our iniquities from us.

For as a father pities his children, so the LORD has pity on those who fear Him.

For he knows our frame; he remembers that we are dust.

As for man, his days are like grass. As the flower of the field, so a man flourishes,

The wind blows over it and it is gone, and its place remembers it no more,

but from everlasting to everlasting are the LORD´s mercies to those who fear him, and his righteousness to children´s children.

Psalm 103:10-17.

The idea supported by these verses is simple, yet gains so much power when the mercy of God is specifically given expression in words. I am called to find within me or to call on God for the strength to forgive -- because I have been forgiven of far more than I have ever been asked to forgive. And my life is gone with a breath of wind, but at least my time on earth can be like a flower that brings beauty if I seek to be clothed in Godliness. My body is dust but into it has been breathed a spirit -- a spirit able to either to harm and cut down or heal and build up -- may God make me able to do the latter for the short time that this frame of dust supports the incredible capacity for it!

There is one more thing. I had no place to go upon leaving this couchsurfing host, and no idea where I would stay or how I would get there. On night one I shared my beliefs with my host and another athiest surfer after he asked about my Tour of Poverty shirt containing the verse from Matthew 25 - whatever you do for the least of these, you do for me.

I spoke as candidly and honestly as I could, and since I didn´t feel I had the authority to try to speak words that I am only just learning and learning to have faith in, I just read some of the bible and let the words speak for themselves.

Peter (the other surfer) was definitely up for a polite conversation; I think that it helped that I was not trying to convince him of anything; just sharing candidly. Still, my faith felt too weak to do me any good, let alone to be shared with someone else.

That night, I prayed and read the bible and emailed Alyssa about my doubts and fears for the unknown three weeks of this trip. On day two, I returned to the apartment after a long walk and prayer eanestly, feeling better despite still having no idea where I would go when I left. Just then Kerensa came and started dishes. I finished up my thoughts and prayers and then headed to really talk with her for the first time. Almost completely without lead in, she suggested that I go to Nicaragua where things are cheaper and stay at the only place she ever stayed in the country during her own brief visits. It is a hostel owned by a Dutch lady.

"She is a very, very nice person," she explained. "She has been developing a program for local children that she supports through the hostel income."
"Can you volunteer there while you stay at the hostel?"

"Actually, it is encouraged and you will get a discount."

"Perfect! Just put me on a bus in the right direction!"
"That will be easy. It´s only about $9 to get there if you only take local busses. And, I never have any day off except for Sunday, but tomorrow is my five-month anniversary with my boyfriend so I took it off. he actually couldn´t get off until eight though, so I can take you to San Jose and show you where to get on the bus and just show you around."

So... tomorrow it´s off to Nicaragua!

Day 2 of the Jazz Band Tour

"You're missing your turn," I inform Dr. Teichmer, who for the last twenty minutes had been counting down the miles until we reached our destination but had then become engrossed in conversation with a trumpet player named Justin who had moved into the front seat.

"Oh, thank you!" yelled Dr. Teichmer. "I would have missed the next one too!" The GPS reset itself and Dr. Teichmer pushed the vehicle into a sharp left turn. Headlights illuminated a guardrail, then rough pavement, then muddy dirt, and finally deep snow punctuated with the rutted tracks of preceding vehicles. That is how a dozen Spring Arbor University students came to be sliding down a snow-covered two track in a fifteen passenger SAU people mover packed with band equipment. For a mile we drove, entertained by a running commentary from the peanut gallery located in the back of the bus. The road got smaller and the snow deeper until we crested a hill with tires spinning and saw in the distance a yellow road sign with the words "ROAD IMPASSABLE." Fortunately, the GPS indicated a right turn immediately prior to this point. We turned onto another dirt road, and our long anticipated destination would appear in .3 ..... .2 ...... .1 ......... The GPS said that we had arrived, but we were in an empty, snow covered field with no houses in sight. Dr. Teichmer resolutely drove onward, which was the right thing to do. In about half a mile we saw a house -- and it was the one we were looking for. Everyone joyfully piled out of the people mover and into a house filled with the smell of freshly grilled burgers. It was 9:30 --- two hours later than planned -- and the SAU Jazz Band had just arrived at its first ever stop on its first ever tour!

Now, only sixteen hours have passed, but it seems that so much has happened! But it will have to be written about later. It is 2:00 am -- thanks to daylight savings time -- and later this morning I will be going to church with our host family, and playing at the same church after that! The jazz tour has been wonderful so far.

Peace and love to everyone!

G'night.

Earthen Vessels

Isaiah 45:9

Woe to him who quarrels with his Maker,

an earthen vessel with the Potter!

Does the clay say to him who fashions it,

"What are you making?"

or "Your work has no handles?"

I don't have the seemingly unshakable faith that some people appear to have. I'm alternatively amazed by, inspired by, humbled by, or even exasperated by people who seem to be as familiar with God as I am with my own earthly father. People who speak with a gentle, trusting and humble faith tend to be my favorite people in the world, whereas those who have what I see as an arrogant, unbending and closed-to-discussion certainty of their version of God challenge me to keep my words kind of non-existant. But all I know is -- I have neither.

Sometimes I wonder if there is really a God who hears each prayer as clearly as if it was words spoken between roommates. But throughout my life I have always prayed, sometimes more or less. Lately it's been a lot more than ever, even though my faith was becoming so shaky and vague. And it's been quite interesting. It seemed like I was doing quite a good job of shaping my life. I had a good life in many ways, and even Godly people told me so. But they didn't see some of the struggles which I didn't have the strength to deal with. Ever since I stopped trying to be the potter, and started asking God to do that job--almost an experiment, if you will, though my faith was weak--my life and heart have been formed in incredible ways. I am not one to make bold claims about the nature of God, and I have not been a big evangelizer. My own faith is and has been too weak. But if this keeps up, maybe that will change, and it already is. I have made clumbsy pinch-pot attempts to reshape my heart in the past, but lately it's been as if a young art student's first attempt got thrown onto the pottery wheel and completely reworked by the master.

John 14:13-14

And I will do whatever you ask in my name, so that the Father may be glorified in the Son. You may ask me for anything in my name, and I will do it.

In the last couple days, I think that I have seen every bible verse that says this basic thing. I think it is to confirm that it is right to make sincere, righteous and unselfish requests to God in prayer. This is different than quarelling with Him or telling Him that he is making his pottery wrong. In fact, by allowing Him to be the potter, I feel that He is forming my heart into one that desires the things He wants to do anyway. So I am asking for things that already may be on His agenda, so to speak. Perhaps, He uses the timing of that thing that He already chose to do to confirm His presence and power, by doing it right when it was prayed about and therefore fulfilling his promise to answer sincere prayers in Jesus' name.

Matthew 6
Giving to the Needy 1 “Be careful not to practice your righteousness in front of others to be seen by them. If you do, you will have no reward from your Father in heaven.
2 “So when you give to the needy, do not announce it with trumpets, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and on the streets, to be honored by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward in full. 3 But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, 4 so that your giving may be in secret. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.
Prayer 5 “And when you pray, do not be like the hypocrites, for they love to pray standing in the synagogues and on the street corners to be seen by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward in full. 6 But when you pray, go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father, who is unseen. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you. 7 And when you pray, do not keep on babbling like pagans, for they think they will be heard because of their many words. 8 Do not be like them, for your Father knows what you need before you ask him.
9 “This, then, is how you should pray:
“‘Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name, 10 your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. 11 Give us today our daily bread. 12 And forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors. 13 And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from the evil one.’
14 For if you forgive other people when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. 15 But if you do not forgive others their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins.
Fasting 16 “When you fast, do not look somber as the hypocrites do, for they disfigure their faces to show others they are fasting. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward in full. 17 But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, 18 so that it will not be obvious to others that you are fasting, but only to your Father, who is unseen; and your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.
Treasures in Heaven 19 “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moths and vermin destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. 20 But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moths and vermin do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. 21 For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.
22 “The eye is the lamp of the body. If your eyes are healthy, your whole body will be full of light. 23 But if your eyes are unhealthy, your whole body will be full of darkness. If then the light within you is darkness, how great is that darkness!
24 “No one can serve two masters. Either you will hate the one and love the other, or you will be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve both God and money.
Do Not Worry 25 “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? 26 Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? 27 Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life?
28 “And why do you worry about clothes? See how the flowers of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. 29 Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. 30 If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you—you of little faith? 31 So do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ 32 For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. 33 But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. 34 Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.

Isaiah 58

In biblical tradition, three is a number of great significance. In the first 20 years of my life, I think that I may have read or heard Isaiah 58 perhaps three times. Maybe. So I found it significant when I came across that very convicting chapter of the bible three times in less that 24 hours through no intention of my own.

Some or all of it was read in chapel yesterday, and I thought "those were some good verses" shortly before forgetting all about them.

Late that night I sat in the prayer room, eyes closed in attempted meditation, breathing in and out deeply, intending each exhalation to signify the worries and distractions leaving my being, making room for God's spirit to flood in like a rush of life-giving oxygen replenishing deflated lungs.

"Fill me with you alone," I prayed, but remnants of show tunes danced through my mind. I sat there for a long time, determined that God would reward my patience and that if the distracting thoughts did not leave, it meant I was not being patient enough and meditating long enough. It makes sense that God would desire discipline in seeking Him; that He doesn't simply provide a quick fix for those who suddenly realize they would like to be filled with God. But eventually I felt that the best spiritual benefit I was receiving was that which comes through having clean lungs to sing God's praises with. My eyes almost flickered open, but a part of me couldn't fail, couldn't allow all that time spent in meditation to end without significance. My eyes stayed closed as if my eyelids were magnetized. Clearly patience was winning out. But for some reason it seemed wrong. Again my eyes attempted to open, but I refused their instinct. This happened a couple of times before a strange determination rose up inside of me and I threw open my eyes to stare at the bright yellow wall in front of me. I grabbed my bible and flipped it open, and my sight fell onto Isaiah 58. I didn't recall it from chapel due to the name, but I started to recognize it as I read. This time I read slowly and paid close attention to each sentence.

Isaiah 58

True Fasting

1 “Shout it aloud, do not hold back.

Raise your voice like a trumpet.

Declare to my people their rebellion

and to the descendants of Jacob their sins.

2 For day after day they seek me out;

they seem eager to know my ways,

as if they were a nation that does what is right

and has not forsaken the commands of its God.

They ask me for just decisions

and seem eager for God to come near them.

3 ‘Why have we fasted,’ they say,

‘and you have not seen it?

Why have we humbled ourselves,

and you have not noticed?’

“Yet on the day of your fasting, you do as you please
and exploit all your workers.
4 Your fasting ends in quarreling and strife,
and in striking each other with wicked fists.
You cannot fast as you do today
and expect your voice to be heard on high.
5 Is this the kind of fast I have chosen,
only a day for people to humble themselves?
Is it only for bowing one’s head like a reed
and for lying in sackcloth and ashes?
Is that what you call a fast,
a day acceptable to the LORD?

6 “Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen:
to loose the chains of injustice
and untie the cords of the yoke,
to set the oppressed free
and break every yoke?
7 Is it not to share your food with the hungry
and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter—
when you see the naked, to clothe them,
and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?
8 Then your light will break forth like the dawn,
and your healing will quickly appear;
then your righteousness^[a^] will go before you,
and the glory of the LORD will be your rear guard.
9 Then you will call, and the LORD will answer;
you will cry for help, and he will say: Here am I.

“If you do away with the yoke of oppression,
with the pointing finger and malicious talk,
10 and if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry
and satisfy the needs of the oppressed,
then your light will rise in the darkness,
and your night will become like the noonday.
11 The LORD will guide you always;
he will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land
and will strengthen your frame.
You will be like a well-watered garden,
like a spring whose waters never fail.
12 Your people will rebuild the ancient ruins
and will raise up the age-old foundations;
you will be called Repairer of Broken Walls,
Restorer of Streets with Dwellings.

13 “If you keep your feet from breaking the Sabbath
and from doing as you please on my holy day,
if you call the Sabbath a delight
and the LORD’s holy day honorable,
and if you honor it by not going your own way
and not doing as you please or speaking idle words,
14 then you will find your joy in the LORD,
and I will cause you to ride in triumph on the heights of the land
and to feast on the inheritance of your father Jacob.”
For the mouth of the LORD has spoken.

For a while longer I read in the bible, then decided to engage in another spiritual discipline -- prayer.

"Dear God," I started off, intending to incline my heart towards humility and receptiveness, "I don't know what your will is, but please just give..." again something in me revolted and I threw my eyes open in rude interruption to my prayer. Yes I do! Don't I already know what His will is, and isn't it for me to be kind, selfless, to give my life for the good works that He has prepared for me? Again I grabbed my bible and opened it up, and my eyes fell upon the words of Luke 6:35 -- "But love your enemies, do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return."

The surrounding verses laid it all out pretty plainly as well.

Luke 6.

20 Looking at his disciples, he said:

“Blessed are you who are poor,
for yours is the kingdom of God.
21 Blessed are you who hunger now,
for you will be satisfied.
Blessed are you who weep now,
for you will laugh.
22 Blessed are you when people hate you,
when they exclude you and insult you
and reject your name as evil,
because of the Son of Man.

23 “Rejoice in that day and leap for joy, because great is your reward in heaven. For that is how their ancestors treated the prophets.

24 “But woe to you who are rich,
for you have already received your comfort.
25 Woe to you who are well fed now,
for you will go hungry.
Woe to you who laugh now,
for you will mourn and weep.
26 Woe to you when everyone speaks well of you,
for that is how their ancestors treated the false prophets.

Love for Enemies

27 “But to you who are listening I say: Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, 28 bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you. 29 If someone slaps you on one cheek, turn to them the other also. If someone takes your coat, do not withhold your shirt from them. 30 Give to everyone who asks you, and if anyone takes what belongs to you, do not demand it back. 31 Do to others as you would have them do to you.

32 “If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? Even sinners love those who love them. 33 And if you do good to those who are good to you, what credit is that to you? Even sinners do that. 34 And if you lend to those from whom you expect repayment, what credit is that to you? Even sinners lend to sinners, expecting to be repaid in full. 35 But love your enemies, do good to them, and lend to them without expecting to get anything back. Then your reward will be great, and you will be children of the Most High, because he is kind to the ungrateful and wicked. 36 Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful.

Judging Others

37 “Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven. 38 Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap. For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.”

Once I got done with some reflexion time and talking with Tyler and Trevor, plus starting my Gospels and Acts homework, which was a summary of the entire Old Testament with many short answer-response type questions, I didn't go to bed until almost 2 am with much of the homework unfinished. So the next morning, after Tyler and I got up at 7:00 and read a couple chapters from Matthew together, I skipped my usual Tuesday/Thursday morning nap and finished the homework instead. Our teacher had chosen excerpts from the Old Testament all the way from creation to the Book of Maccabbees. About 800 pages of scripture had been pared down to 20. And among all the historical accounts he chose, one passage really stood out. It was the entire chapter of Isaiah 58. Even though I felt rather familiar with it at that point and was cutting it very close on time, I read the entire thing very carefully.

A deep breath

I've been wanting to add to my blog, but didn't know where to start writing at first. There's the obvious: the awesome weekend I spent with Trevor, Andy, Lulu and Alyssa. The latter three watched me play saxophone at Jilly Beans Coffee House in Hillsdale where for an hour I tried to translate my thoughts into music as I watched Alyssa translate hers into writing. Andy and Lulu had less chance of losing anything to translation, since they simply let their thoughts be thoughts.

Then we went to my mom's house and prayed together before eating together and sharing all of our thoughts in the form of meaningful, funny, and sincere conversation together. We taught my mom how to play "Settlers of Catan" and smiled when her naive strategy of building primarily on "3's" paid off as threes were rolled on almost every turn.

Trevor arrived, more conversation occurred, and one am crept up amidst our stories and laughter. Most everyone was ready for bed, but Alyssa said she was ready for exploring the town on foot. I thought she was joking, but when I realized that she was actually being that ridiculous, I decided that I would be that ridiculous as well. Such everyday ridiculousness is not something I have partaken in enough of lately, and our explorations reminded me of why that needs to change. A single degree stubbornly declared its presence from the bank's display board as we sauntered down the middle of windswept and deserted streets. Our conversation was like our breath in the cold air, exhaled into the night to drift, disperse, dissolve, disappear, and be recycled invisibly in the dark, once again to be breathed in and out -- so natural we hardly think about it, so cosmic we hardly can.

But you know what I'm talking about. At least I hope so. If not, go find out. Find your roommate, your best friend, your new friend, your spouse, your parents, your neighbor. Go do something one or both of you has never done; look at the world, and each other, from a new perspective. Talk about something you never talk about, ask questions, let your conversation be like breath on a cold night, a testament to life; when it drifts and disappears have faith that it will return, let it be natural yet mysterious, sometimes scary but often beautiful.

********************************************

The following day the group of us out for a while longer at my mom's; we joked and prayed and ate together again, then went out to my dad's. We put on skis and took the dog, Zorro, out with us. Some classic winter scenes ensued: crashing on hills, climbing on hay bales, laughing and taking pictures. Once everyone was good and cold we trudged back to my dad's double-wide rental trailer. Cheap trim clung precariously to the walls and stains accented the carpet. An ancient military-issue down sleeping bag was hung as insulation at the end of a hallway, obscuring the entryway to half of the house. So we gathered into the remaining area, sitting on mismatched furniture or slouching against the walls. This was the first time Andy had hung out with Lulu and Alyssa and the first time my dad had met any of those three. Yet the run-down rental felt like a home and the hastily formed group felt like family. My dad (Papa) pulled chocolate soy milk from amidst the modest contents of his fridge and heated it over the open flame of a gas stove. We listened to an eclectic selection of music and leafed through a book of Albert Bierstadt's incredible western art as my dad chopped a simple mix of veggies and spices into a frying pan. Given the meager supply of dishes, we put the meal on a single plate on top of a stack of books and sat in a circle on the ground. Again we prayed together and ate together, and the fanciest restaurants I've eaten at never cooked up anything as good as that stir-fry. For dessert we sampled handfuls of Ghirardelli's chocolate chips.

The evening continued and I loved how new friendships played out in a way that was so cordial, yet casual, comfortable, close. The conversation once again meandered naturally, inclusively, fluid enough to take the shape of each personality while retaining its original substance.

But you know all about that, I hope. Hence the conundrum concerning blogging about the weekend. Everything that is good when written or read or viewed is even better when lived. The details, the specifics, the topics of conversation of the weekend, were hardly important. They could have taken place in a thousand right ways. The thing that I suppose is worth mentioning is that we got out there into the unknown of new people and places and experiences and allowed things to happen in just one of those right ways. This entry is not an accurate account so much as a reminder -- a reminder to me that this is the stuff of life I find worth inhaling deeper than oxygen -- and if you agree, a reminder to us both to keep breathing deeply!

Church on Sunday

Last Sunday Alyssa, Lulu and I went to a church that was conducted in both Spanish and English. There was a nice little sermon, spoken by a woman in English and translated on the spot into Spanish by a former Spring Arbor student. Yet the sermon's message didn't affect me nearly as much as the messages sent in a few other ways.

First of all, the church (which so many Christians passionately define as a worldwide body of people in their rhetoric yet still refer to as a specific congregation or building in their day-to-day speech) met in a nondescript community building somewhere in the vicinity of downtown Jackson. We had arrived early for a 10:00 service, but the service really started at 10:15, which in Spanish is roughly translated as "10:20 or so." Two Spring Arbor students holding battered guitar cases and a young hispanic guy had already arrived, and we had to wait with them for someone to show up with the keys to the building. Once I stepped inside, I felt like there must have been some mistake and I was wandering through some outdated inner-city school instead. The primary room was bland and square and filled with the kind of chairs I remember sitting in during the 5th grade. It took me a moment to realize that I did not have to keep searching for the sanctuary: this was it. Lulu and I had just been talking about this kind of thing the day before, but I'm rather embarrassed to have been so surprised to see it actually done. While the issue at so many churches is "is a 50/50 split between God's work and building upkeep good enough?" or "do we really need to spend $50,000 to renovate the church building," the issue here was more of "do we really need a church building at all?" And come to think of it, that really didn't even seem to be an issue.

As it turned out, one of the members of the small congregation had just lost her younger brother to a heart attack, so at one point in the service she came forward so that the rest of the congregation could gather around and offer prayers. But first she asked to say a few words about her brother. She looked to be about seventy, and as she stepped forward I immediately noticed that she radiated a complete confidence that was softened with a perfect grandmotherly gentleness. In English colored with a light accent she explained that her and her younger brother were great "pals" as they grew up together. Briefly she recounted how he turned from God but she kept loving him just as much, until he again followed the Lord and did many good works throughout his life. So much joy, faith and thankfulness beamed from her that I felt like I could absorb it like sunlight and walk around for at least a couple of days with a summery spiritual complexion. When she was done talking we gathered around and several people prayed for her. I'm sure she wasn't the person in the room most in need of prayer.

Of all days, that Sunday happened to be the 18th anniversary of a peace pact signed in el Salvador to end 12 years of civil war. And of all things, one of the members of the congregation used to be an el Salvadorian soldier. As the final portion of the service, he shared his testimony.

"When you say thousands were killed," he began in Spanish, looking at the Spring Arbor guitarist who had introduced him and summarized the conflict, "it really was thousands.

It is very different to be able to say this in some theoretical sense than to have actually lived through it." I looked at the guitarist and noticed that he nodded with respect to that truth. The statement, I felt, was not directed towards him and he rightfully did not appear to take it personally. The ex-soldier continued, saying explaining that he felt he could identify with Paul's conversion from violence in the new testament. His accent was very strong and I had a much harder time understanding his Spanish than the Spanish of the native-English speaking translator. The word "guerra" (war) and a few others stuck out frequently, and I waited for the translator to piece them all together.

My busy thought process was interrupted when the man became silent. Finally I stopped considering reactions, Spanish phrases, and his biblical understanding, and caught on to the only thing worth considering. This story was worth being told because it was so powerful that silence explained it better than words. He had stopped talking because he was about to cry. Only then did I realize that this was not a man with a Sunday-school lesson or an interesting perspective. This was a hardened soldier who was so moved by a conversion that happened as long ago as I've been alive that he couldn't speak of it without being brought to tears.

He spoke a short sentence, and the translator had to lean in to make out the words.

"I gave up my M-16." He said, "And took up the bible."

"All thanks to God." He left the stage, and the service was over.

J TERM at Spring Arbor, Part III

Monday came around quickly, and I had told Lulu that Trevor and I would make her and Alyssa dinner at 6:00. At 5:30, Trevor was in the common area working on a project with a classmate and I was setting up in the kitchen. Alyssa came in and handed me a batch of their homemade tofu-like wheat substance called "seitan."

"Is there anything I can do to help?" she asked.

"Maybe just finish cutting up the orange pepper," I replied as I tossed the seitan into one frying pan and our chicken into the other.

"So I guess I know basically nothing about you," Alyssa said by way of opening up a conversation. "Like, what your major is or anything."

"Yeah, haha. Oh, right. Well my major is actually Spanish," I responded, afraid that she might know it and start speaking it.

"Oh, that was originally my minor," she said. Shoot.

"What did you change to?"

"English writing and education," she said. "It's not really what I want to do. But it'll get me through college. Are you going to study abroad soon? I'm doing the Guatemala semester next fall."

"Oh man! I almost did that one but I was too late!"

Alyssa finished with the peppers and turned to make eye contact. I wished that I didn't have to look up to make eye contact with so many girls.

"Darn! I wish you were on it.. because.. there aren't many guys in the group. Are you going to go in the spring then?"

"Well, I don't know. I actually need to find out..well.. how much is it?"

"It's only $2,000 on top of regular costs."

"Yeah.. but I mean, do those costs include the cost of housing and the meal plan? Cause that would actually end up being a lot more money that I thought." With a little pride I added, "I actually pay month by month, so I'd have to save up for that."

"How do you do that?! Do you have a regular job.. or.. what?"

"Well, I mean I admit I don't have nearly as much expense as most people." I usually don't like to brag about scholarship offers, but I also hate steering entirely clear and saying that I get to go to school for free because my mom works at Hillsdale College. So I explained both that I was offered full rides to several colleges due to my PSAT scores, but choose to attend Butler first, then transferred to Spring Arbor through the an exchange program.

"Why didn't you like Butler?"

"Well.. it was just a very secular school. I mean, that's not so bad, but just overall a lot of little things really got on my nerves. Like people smoking right outside my dorm window all the time. And everyone just wanting to party every weekend. I mean, I shouldn't say everyone; there were a lot of good people there and good aspects to the college, but it's just hard to jump in and I felt like it was even harder when only 10% of people were really onboard with the type of lifestyle I was looking for."

"Oh, yeah, that makes a lot of sense. Do you like Spring Arbor? I mean, of course you're not going to like any place perfectly." She thought for a minute and changed the question altogether. "What don't you like here?"

I decided for once to just jump right in and be totally transparent. Usually I tone down my opinions because so many people just seem to be confused or critical.

"I guess, I just don't like the whole college thing in general."

"Why not?"

"Well, I've always just.. been rather adventurous and I don't see myself ever doing anything with my life that will actually require a diploma. Like right now - I'm paying for all of my college expenses by myself, and everything in my life has always worked out like that. I just like to travel and live simply and the way I want to, and not be stuck at college."

"Oh, well of course, I just want to travel and help people… and stuff, with my life," she offered.

Lulu and Trevor arrived in the kitchen. "Oh my, this looks amazing!" exclaimed Lulu.

I laughed, looking at the vegetarian creation simmering in a preliminary saute of soy sauce, brown sugar, and various spices. I decided to steer the conversation further down the road less travelled. "Reminds me of the time Trevor and I were in Canada and someone we stayed with cooked us a delicious vegetarian stir fry."

"You guys were just in Canada… like.. hanging out?" asked Alyssa.

"Yeah," said Trevor. "You know, just staying at random people's houses--" he began as I wondered if I should explain the concept of couchsurfing in more concrete terms.

"Do you couchsurf?!" exclaimed Lulu, breaking out of her quiet character.

"Oh my word!" I responded with a good deal of surprise. "You guys have heard of that? Have you couchsurfed??"

Lulu and Alyssa explained that they had couchsurfed in Toronto with a group of ten, and somewhere else with a host who had had as many as thirty people at his place at once. The conversation continued enthusiastically as the food bubbled into two fantastically aromatic dishes that we dished generously for ourselves.

At Alyssa's invitation I offered a prayer of thanks for food and fellowship, then we continued talking of adventures. "That reminds me," I said at one point, "of the time Tyler and I were hitchhiking in Canada--"

"What, you hitchhike too?!" interjected Alyssa.

"No way.. you've hitchhiked?"

"No, you just… do everything. You know what? I know of something you should really invest in. A --"

"a Hammock."

"hamm-- HOW DID YOU KNOW?!"

This was turning into a spectacularly fun conversation. I grinned widely. "You don't think I've thought of this already??"

"Well, you should think about getting one. Tell me more stories about hitchhiking."

I continued.

"Did you ever have to wait a long time?"

"Oh, yes." I said. "Definitely."

"Well, then you need one of these along with you," she suggested, waving her finger between herself and Lulu.

"Haha -- a girl?"

"A girl and a guy is the best combination for hitchhiking."

"You've researched this."

"Um.. yeah, well no offense, Lulu, but I'd rather go with a guy."

"Yes, definitely" I said. "I couldn't possibly recommend any girl to go hitchhiking. It is something to think seriously about. I don't know what the proper combination of faith and caution is."

"Oh, well I just always throw caution to the wind and it always works out fine!"

"Oh, of course! That's what I do; I just can't feel good about advocating it to other people."

"Alright. Well let me explain why we should go hitchhiking." She expounded upon the importance of doing so.

"I am trying to figure out what I want to do this summer," I mused. "But what I was really wanting to do was go down to Mexico or Central America."

Alyssa dealt me a forceful blow to the shoulder. "SHUT UP!"

I recovered with a grin.

"Would you hitchhike down there?" she asked.

"I don't know about that, considering that I've never been down there before. And busses are really cheap."

"And you could take an American bus to... a border town or something."

"Brownsville, Texas."

"No way! How do you know these things??"

"Same as you -- Google."

When we finally parted ways with the agreement that Trevor and I would meet them the next day for their turn at making dinner, everyone seemed to have been filled with more than just good food. I thought back three days previous, when I wondered how the heck one goes about meeting like-minded people. It's funny how these things work out.

J TERM at Spring Arbor, Part II

Saturday ended up being packed with fun. Madelyn, Jen, Andy and I went sledding on Mt. Beebe, and since my back was still messed up from the last time I sledded over a jump on Mt. Beebe, I went down the hill and hit the jump on my mountain bike instead. Later that day my friend my friends Nick and Renee Nestorak also invited me to come sledding at their house in our hometown of Hillsdale.

"I would really love to," I responded to Renee on Facebook, "but I promised someone I would jam with him tonight."

That someone was named Joe, a fellow Spanish major who commuted and was in my "cell" group as a fellow incoming transfer student. We hadn't been in touch much, but earlier in the week he had invited me to jam and I had hesitantly agreed. I also invited our friend Brittany, also a transfer and cell group member, and co-sufferer with me for three hours of history each morning, to join us. We were going to meet at 7:00 in my room, which was the time when open hours started -- those elusive time frames on a Christian campus when girls can be in a guy's dorm room so long as the door is open and no one so much as thinks about sitting on a bed.

At 5:15 I met Andy Hinz for a round of ping pong, which didn't end until 5:45 when I rallied from 16-20 to win the tie-breaker 22-20. Since I didn't have a meal plan, Andy, Madelyn, and Jen wanted to sneak me into the Dining Commons. Since students are allowed to take their plates of food out of the DC to eat in the cozier Cougar Den, Trevor gave me a half-finished plate so that I could walk in looking as if I had already been in once. I felt very uncomfortable with it, since I don't mind sliding one by the system but I do feel badly about sliding one by any of the very nice ladies who's job it is to swipe cards and admit students. Long story short, it didn't work, and I returned to the Cougar Den. Andy and Madelyn were already in the DC, but Jen politely sat with me in the Cougar Den as I finished Trevor's almond chicken, then went in to get me some more. I wanted to find some wonderfully pleasant thing to start a great conversation about, but my attempts continued to flop because the only thing that was really on my mind was my uncertainty of direction in life. Finally I just brought that topic up. Jen listened thoughtfully and asked a few questions where appropriate, until the conversation meandered into topics that she wanted to talk about as well. By the time we were done talking, I realized that it was five after seven and I raced back to U-hall, hoping that the clocks were five minutes fast and I would be able to meet Joe on time for our 7:00 jam session.

Joe was in the lobby studying, and when I came in we both texted Brittany and headed to my room. He was rather awed by Tyler's Marshall half-stack that was "just chillin'" in the corner, so I invited him to try it out as I plugged my Fender Strat into my 15 watt Peavey. Once Brittany walked in I was working out a lead part for a moderate pop-rock tune with Christian lyrics that were hard to hear over the amplifiers. So far I was pleasantly surprised. Just because someone has recorded music doesn't mean they are any good, but I assumed that this was an original and as such it was as good as most. I anticipated the next couple changes and brought the melody back to the root before jumping up and pulling up a chair for Brittany. Joe turned back the distortion and strummed out a pretty little progression, so I sat back down and did my best to add an expressive melodic line. We built the song from thoughtful to triumphant, then brought it back around for a unified resolution.

"Hey hey," I said, meeting Joe's grin. "That's my new favorite." Joe cranked the Marshall back up and the room was drenched with heavy distortion. I turned the dials on the little Peavey until each note I played seared with electricity.

"IS THIS TOO LOUD?!?" I yelled to Brittany.

"WHAT?!?"

"IS IT TOO LOUD?!?!?"

"YOU'RE FINE!!"

With the amp maxed out I could manipulate any given note until it melted into turbulent stream of scorching overtones, or run my fingers over the frets like an adrenaline-laden tourist sprinting across a bed of coals. I searched unfamiliar territory on the guitar neck, finding some surprises and meeting them with enthusiastic intuitions as Joe raced through an exciting barre chord progression in C major. For the grand finale I shredded out 64th notes as Joe grabbed a chord form at the bottom of the neck and brought it upward across every single fret, then pulled his pick across the guitar strings like a thousand nails hitting an amplified chalkboard.

"That's my new favorite," I said, quickly turning back the distortion and looking sheepishly at Brittany, who laughed heartily.

Joe and I continued to play for another hour. At the height of our creativity, I spontaneously emulated his rhythm guitar with a simpler double-time riff, and he took the opportunity to improvise a new, complimentary rhythm part with barre chords sliding and shifting but somehow always resolving.

"I LOVE THAT RIGHT NOW YOU'RE IMPROVISING OVER HIS IMPROVISATION," Brittany yelled. Joe once again slid a barre chord slowly up the entire neck and slashed his pick obnoxiously across the strings.

"IT'S THE ONLY WORTHWHILE WAY OF ENDING A SONG!!!" I yelled to Brittany, and Joe launched into another song filled with hammer-ons and pull-offs.

There are only so many strings on the guitar, but somehow Joe managed to grab extraneous notes on top of his barre chords that encouraged and directed my surprisingly successful forays into unknown scale structures.

"Ok, one more song," Joe finally said.

"Let's make it another pretty one," I said. My heightened musical intuition had been dwindling and I felt more like a tourist who had lost his adrenaline rush and continued to stumble painfully through the remainder of coals.

The last song came to a close quite literally on a good note, and Brittany insisted that we should play at an open mic night. I really wanted to -- not only because I like girls and girls like guitarists, but because this was exactly the kind of thing I wasn't doing to make my college experience worthwhile. Thank goodness Joe was persistent in getting ahold of me.

"Joe, I really enjoyed this, and I would love to get together again soon to do some more jamming."

"Thank you, good sir. I'll be in touch."

J-TERM at Spring Arbor, Part I

Friday, January 7th, 2011. A massive time warp had just occurred, causing the first hour of my American History class to last nearly 18 months. I wasn't sure exactly what had caused the time warp in the first place, but I felt certain it was likely to occur again in the second and third hours of the class, and I wouldn't leave the building until sometime in mid-summer of 2015. My course of action was clear. As soon as we were released for a ten minute break I strode towards the stairs, kicking my way through a cluster of obligations that lingered obnoxiously en-route. I arrived on the second floor and sucker punched several cultural expectations before shouldering through a window with my course schedule hot on my tail. Shards of glass exploded on the sidewalk as I aimed for a small patch of grass, landing in a clean shoulder roll, seizing the course schedule and using it to deflect heavy verbal fire from the Establishment. By the time the smoke cleared, the schedule lie broken on the ground in a pool of ink and I was sprinting through the distant freshman parking lot, my blood coursing hot through my veins even as each deep breath crystalized in the winter air and was left behind me as vaporous evidence of my passing. My feet carried me as if they possessed the wings of Mercury, and-

"Jimmy."

"..I… what's up?" My friend Brittany had arrived and clearly wanted to share some urgent information.

"I think everyone is heading back into class now."

"Cla… oh! Right. Class." I summoned my cheesiest grin. "Just two more hours, right?"

The remaining two hours of class did indeed last approximately three years, but no one else seemed to notice and the clocks around campus neglected to record the discrepancy. Remarkably, my iPod touch had enough battery power to survive the elongated class period. "Humans were not intended to endure three hours of lecture about history. Back in the good ol' days before history, all we had to do was battle Mastodons and discover fire," I posted to my Facebook status.

When I left class, my iPod had also failed to account for the time warp and stated that it was still only 11:30 am on the same Friday. I got back to my room and struggled with the idea of sleeping for the remainder of J-term. Finally I managed to take off my socks and shoes, replace my t-shirt with a different one, and wander into the weight room downstairs. I placed a 25 pound dumbbell under the chin-up bar and stood motionless. After a few minutes of mental struggle, I grabbed the bar with my hands and the dumbbell with my feet and spent a few seconds in the physical struggle of actually doing chin-ups. That process was repeated three times, and after about ten minutes in the weight room I racked up and walked out the door feeling much more in touch with my neanderthal roots.

"Good work out today," I complimented myself. For the final portion of my morning routine, I got into the shower, letting the hot water envelop me and entering into a state of comatose.

By the time I got out of the shower, 1:00 pm felt like the dawn of a new day. I set about making myself breakfast and attempting to fill my day with things that seemed worthwhile. I played some guitar and studied some Spanish notecards; hung out with Trevor and helped him run lines for his play. All the while, some of my time was spent studying the perennial problem that always arises at every transition to a new semester -- is this really what I should be doing?

"man, nearly $2,000…" I thought. That's what I would have if I dropped out of college, took the money, and ran. "Wait, wait, I've gotta consider," I cautioned myself, "if I use that to pay off the second semester right now… I could probably save up nearly as much again by summer. And then I wouldn't be burning any bridges."

Another, fainter but truer voice added, "No matter where you go, you have the opportunity to make the best or worst of it. Of course you're not going to enjoy college if you always spend it daydreaming about being somewhere else."

"But it's so hard! I need some people who can be on the same page with me. Of course there's gotta be likeminded people at this college, but how the heck am I supposed to to find them?"

"The only time I tend to get to know new people is through having class together," I noted, deciding to be optimistic about the second semester of classes coming up once I survived the accelerated J-term. I looked back on past experiences in life, noting that whenever I stuck something out for long enough, things tended to fall into place just when it seemed most unlikely.

Alright, let's do this. I texted my friend Jazmine, who had taken my old macbook home over break so that her brother could instal Snow Leopard on it for a $30 fee. I figured that, with the new OS X installed, I could sell it on eBay for close to $400 and be that much closer to paying off the second semester.

"Can I come trade you $30 for my computer sometime soon?" I texted Jazmine.

"Of course! Lemme know when and where."

"How about that common area where I met you last time in about 5 minutes?"

"The basement lounge?"

"Yeah -- that's the one."

"K!"

In five minutes I arrived in the girl's dorm, Muffit, and tramped downstairs.

"Hey, you're cooking your own food!" I exclaimed to a girl named Lulu who had been in my World Views class, and another girl who was with her.

"Yeah," said Lulu.

"I know, no one does - right?" added her friend as if jumping back into a conversation with her own brother.

"Actually, my friends and I are famous for it over in Mainey," I replied with a grin.

"Really? Well we should totally cook together!"

"Alright, definitely. Is this tofu you're using?"

"It's similar," said Lulu.

"It's mostly wheat," her friend added. "I just made it. We're going vegan for J-term."

"Oh, so basically as a sort of fast??" I asked with interest.

"Yeah! Well, kinda. It's just something we decided to do and it worked out like that."

Jazmine appeared with the computer and I wrapped up the conversation.

"I.. don't have either of you on Facebook, right?" They responded in the negatory.

"Lulu, I'm sorry, but I don't even remember your real name since I always call you Lulu."

"That's alright; I like when people call me Lulu," she replied. "That's even how I have it on Facebook."

"I'm so glad you admitted that!" said her friend, "cause it happens to everyone and they pretend they remember her name. By the way I don't think we know each other."

"Oh thank goodness! I was afraid I was supposed to know you from somewhere!"

"Oh - yeah, I thought you two must have known each other too," Lulu added.

"No. My name's Alyssa. So add Lulu on Facebook and then find me, and we'll make dinner together! This is going to be so fun!"