A Haiku

some things of deceit
are autobiographies
telling bits not life

I Feel Like It's March Again

As I sit to write this, I am actively procrastinating. I have

• An unfinished 1500 word paper due tomorrow at 1
• An unstarted 3-page paper due Tuesday
• Unrehearsed guitar worship music for Tweens tomorrow night
• Unsubmitted poetry for the liberal arts magazine - deadline tomorrow
• Math quizzes and a lesson plan that needs to be sent in...due the 14th, so no biggy
• Music on the fife that needs practicing and
• a dress rehearsal on Saturday, at which I will learn new drilling, for the
• holiday concert my fife and drum corps is putting on on Sunday, about which I've been asked to 
• write an article for the Company of Fifers and Drummers magazine.
• A visit to the school I'm transferring to on Monday, to register for classes and get my ID photo taken
• A powerpoint presentation for Diversity class, about me, due on Wednesday
• Take-home exams for Diversity and Developmental Psychology that I'll get on Tuesday and Wednesday
• Finals starting.

Last time I was this busy, it was March, and we had CD recordings and theater production and I had a test and another college visit and another article for the magazine and I came down really sick for about 12 hours (before and after which I was totally fine). 

Oh, and I don't drink coffee. 

So for anyone out there who may have actually doubted this, yes, my insane schedule is actually insane, but mostly during finals. Prayers appreciated for all students...'tis the season...

Instrumental Pride!

My family went to see Tuba Christmas earlier. For those who, like me, are totally not part of the band world and have no idea what that is, that is an event where a bunch of tuba players rehearse together and publicly perform a bunch of Christmas music...on their tubas.

A couple of things reminded me of the fife and drum universe:

• The director/M.C. explained a bunch of things about different kinds of tubas, the way one of my corps instructors might explain different types of fife (Model F, Healy, etc.). 
• The tuba players were all exceedingly enthusiastic to be there with their tubas, playing with other musicians with whom they shared the instrument. After all, a gathering of tuba players can't even be as common as a gathering of fifers.

Of course, when I hear things from my friends who are in high school band, I have to think "But unfortunately for you, you're not a fifer." Viola pride doesn't strike that chord in me (no pun intended).
I think there's a life lesson here, but I've got no idea what it is. 

A Limerick

One time I thought, "I want to write
A limerick, but then I might
Get writers' block,
Look at the clock,
Give up and leave my paper white."

Reasons We're All Doomed #4 and 5

#4 The end of the Twinkie and
#5 The fact that Princess Leia is now a Disney Princess.

I'm sure you saw those coming.

Siccing Kids on Theology

I work with a bunch of great kids - kindergarteners, nursery 2-year-olds, and fourth, fifth and sixth-grade church Tweens - and they are totally clueless. They have no idea how old we (teachers, leaders, etc.) are, and I have been asked many times if I'm married, if I have kids, etc. They think we know everything; I had to try to explain chemotherapy the other week.

They say some hilarious stuff too. Yesterday at church, one of the Tweens told me how you would send a letter to God. "You take your letter to Jerusalem and put it in the West Wall." Now that's deep.

It sounds pretty silly to us. I was thinking, though, that the difference in understanding between these ten-year-olds and me is...eight years. Not all that long, comparatively speaking. Whereas the difference between our understanding and the actual reality of God is probably enough to make our most brilliant theologians' writings of wisdom, etc., look just as foolish as the concept of communicating with God via the West Wall in Jerusalem.

It's fairly reassuring, actually, remembering that I'm not expected to get it right, just trust God to steer me where I need to be.

Reason We're All Doomed #3

Okay, so you know that non-credit Paranormal CSI: Ghost Hunting class my school is offering?

Turns out it's actually a one-credit course.

What Do You See?

Her eyes were what really fascinated me. Who knew that a five-year-old could have eyes like that?
In shape and color there was nothing abnormal about them, nothing unique beyond the usual uniqueness of a child's eyes. They were not that much lighter than the brown eyes most of the other students in the class had. Yet...there was something about them...some expression I suppose that made it seem to me that she wasn't really seeing what the rest of us were seeing, that she was seeing something bigger, deeper, brighter perhaps, that the rest of us could not. The rest of her face and her words and behavior didn't contribute to this "vibe," so call it, that I was getting off her. It was just the eyes.
In the following weeks after the first day of school, whenever I was in the classroom I could not help but keep a surreptitious eye of my own on her, wondering what she was seeing. It would not have shocked me to see her tuned out from the world the rest of us lived in, enjoying - or perhaps trapped in - the other world we couldn't see. Her words and behavior remained, however, frustratingly normal, and I wondered all the more strongly what it was about her that I was seeing that no one else seemed to. Maybe it was just me - but what would have provoked that strangeness I couldn't fathom.
Over time I thus continued to look for that strange sight that seemed to characterize her, all the more closely for my doubts. She, like any other five-year-old girl might, was doing just fine in the classroom and, like many of her sweet little classmates, was becoming an indefatigable crusader of a tattletale. And over time, I could not help but notice that the helpless depth I had been inexplicably drawn to in her eyes was fading - indeed, was very nearly gone. Nothing had changed per se, not in her voice or manners, not in her face or expression; still, I had seen something, and that something I was no longer seeing.
It made me wonder whether anything had changed behind her eyes.

Post-Election

"Dudgeon" is not the sort of word that I feel ought to go with the word "high." However, "High dudgeon" is in fact a phrase, and it describes fairly adequately my reaction upon waking up to discover the results of the election. I have difficulty understanding how Obama, with his record, could get more votes than Romney with his. It boggles my mind. Again let me say, also, that I have heard many people today say that we as a country are doomed, that there is no turning around of America now.

My reaction at first was fairly similar. It was not a good morning.

Until God told me through someone to stop worrying.

A dear friend who we see on Wednesdays came in and announced, "Listen to what God told me on the way over!" She then proceeded to describe how she was distressed and despairing after the results came through, and how God solidly reminded that our faith does not belong in men, and that it doesn't matter who is president - Jesus is LORD.

It was really timely, and put a smile of conviction and optimism on my face, the last thing I'd expected to wear in this situation. Frankly, though, what else should I ever need to wear?

"We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed." - 2nd Corinthians 4:8

Whoever Wins,

"I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the Republic for which it stands, one nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all."

Ready For the Next Chapter

I have been accepted to a four-year state school, and I will be living on campus in a dorm.
I will be a normal student.

Oh wait. I will still have difficulty with the questions "Where did you go to high school?" and "How are you a [2nd-semester sophomore, 1st-semester junior] this young?"

Never mind. I will never be a normal student. At least when I'm asked what my major is, I'll have an easy true answer and be one of a multitude where I'm going.

Election Day Thoughts

I've heard many people who have strongly influenced my political beliefs and who I typically tend to agree with opine that if Obama is reelected, it is because socialism, secularism, and in short liberalism have won America.

 

At this stage, I do believe that

a) The future of the country is at stake right about now

and

b) There is nothing else I can do.

 

A meeting once ended with the phrase "This meeting can do nothing more to save the country." At this phrase, a whole bunch of men and boys dressed up as Native Americans and dumped a whole bunch of other people's tea into Boston Harbor. In response to this, the British government closed the ports of Boston in an attempt to starve the city into paying for it. It didn't work.

 

Lena Dunham's political ad was stupid. I feel no more and no less like a woman, which I am, than I did before I went to the polls (at 7 this morning). Oh yes, and if she wasn't an adult she shouldn't have voted. It irritates me that her ad was geared toward my generation.

 

I will not be able to concentrate during tonight's night class. I hope we won't cover anything too important.

 

 

Reasons We're A Little Doomed #2

You'll have to take my word on this one - a poster seen at my school that read in big letters:

Now Available Online:

Public Speaking Exam!

 

Reasons We're a Little Doomed #1

This should be fun. Let's start with Donna the Deer Lady.
Find the story here.

Just a Thought

TeaPartyNation writes:
While the good news is Mitt Romney is likely to win, the bad news is Mitt Romney is not a conservative. 

Well, if he's not a conservative, at least he's not a socialist.

Something to Stand On

I just read an article about Tuesday night's debate. After reading the online article, I scrolled down a bit farther and read the two comments. Both comments were long, and each of them had basically one theme. 

The first: Romney was lying!

The second: Obama was lying!

I keep seeing this behavior in the press, and my question for the "fact checkers" is how they are doing it, how they are checking these facts. I see contradictory information slated as fact everywhere. In fact, between textbooks, newspapers, news items on TV, et cetera, I am not convinced at this stage that I have ever seen any unbiased information anywhere.

I can't trust the people bringing us our information! What does this mean? It means that I can't believe what I hear pretty much anywhere. I generally trust my father's take because it makes sense, is logical and I know he covers a lot of sources. But he like all of us are human, and capable of being deceived. 

First, the attack in Libya was a response to a video. Then, it was a preplanned terrorist attack. I believed the first story because it's what I was told. Then I changed my mind with the information. We spend our lives in this kind of twist. What is undisputed fact taught to children in other parts of the world is almost laughable here, and what can we do about it? 

So is information relative? That's worth another blog post. Something to do later.
Is truth relative? NO. If I think or believe that the earth goes around the moon, that doesn't make it true.

But what if we can't decide or discover what is true? I've kind of been losing my mind over this issue since the campaign started, because the whole thing is full of finger-pointing. I can't count on the country to stand firm, or count on its leaders.
What can I stand on if I can't trust people absolutely? I can trust God, because He has revealed Himself to me again and again in any number of ways, from the smallest, most intimate little reminders to times when the Spirit has shown up in power, blown my mind and had me prostrate on the floor. He reminds me constantly that He is the center, and I don't need anything else to stand on, only His promise.

The Rec Center Has Play-Doh

The rec center at my college has this little bar where they sell the cheapest food on campus. Last Friday I got a hot dog, potato chips, a soda and a chocolate bar for four bucks. It also lets you sign out games like chess, Apples to Apples and Cranium, if you have a student ID. Best place on campus, I think - it's a shame it's only open until 1PM. It has this one cup of red Play-Doh that you can also sign out, that was probably put there as a bit of a laugh. 

This afternoon, though, I became the first student to sign out and play with it. Instant conversation starter - I met a freshman my age and we hung out for a while. 

When I returned my "sculpture," the guy at the desk took it and looked at it. 

"It's beautiful." Pause. "What is it?"

"I don't really know."

Him: "That's good enough for me. It's beautiful. I'm putting it right here for the rest of the day."
Me: "Thank you. You may be seeing me again in a few days."

Something I Know About Now

If I have a friend who needs prayer, that's my responsibility.
If I have a friend who needs to hear the Gospel, that is also my responsibility.
If I have a friend who needs the Holy Spirit, that is something I can't do.

But the first two are crucial.

You Know You're a Community College Student When...

1. You know the locations of the gym, the cheapest food, the best star-gazing spot, the free printer access, most of the power outlets, and every sofa on campus. (Depending on who you are, the advising center and tutoring center as well.)
2. You've met people from every walk of life, and they all have the same attitude toward homework.
3. When you try to post a facebook status, your computer automatically assumes you are on campus. 
4. Ramen noodles are a food group.
5. You consider the idea of an "Empty Parking Lot" a legend - no, a myth - about something never seen on campus.
6. Coffee, energy drinks, and/or caffeinated tea are a staple of life. (I have to recognize them even though I don't drink them - they are like a sleep substitute.)
7. "What's your major?" and "Where did you go to high school?" are the questions that immediately follow "What's your name?"
8. Cold pizza is truly the breakfast of champions...now if only I could afford pizza every night.
9. Your professors talk about growing up in the era of sex, drugs and rock n' roll.
10. You've got classmates anywhere from your age to fifty years older than you.

Gotta Say...

I would comment on the debate last night, but I'm too busy (still) laughing, particularly at the moment when our president practically asked Lehrer to change the subject. It was such a sweep even our mainstream media admits it as a major Romney victory.

Relevant Studies

Posters have gone up around my school recommending a "timely" non-credit class currently offered, running through the beginning of November.
Paranormal CSI: Ghost Hunting 101.

I think we're doomed.

How Do You Spell "Arithmetic?"

I tend to learn how to spell words by seeing them, and having read a lot, I have a decent vocabulary. I can spell "eschatology" and "anachronism" and "absquatulate" off the bat. My spell check doesn't even recognize that last one, but take my word or Google's - it's real. 

To spell "arithmetic" I actually had to look it up. Why? Because I never see it. 

There are other places I never see arithmetic, and when I say that, I mean the practice, not the word. Let me explain. In my math class, on the first day, my math professor asked for our math backgrounds. Pretty much the entire class said that they didn't like math, and I was also guilty - the very word "calculus" sends a shiver of intimidation through me. I remember being a kid whining over my pre-algebra and driving my engineer daddy to distraction. It's not something I'm particularly confident with.
This is several classes later, after my professor became the 924th person to tell me I overthink things. From him it seems kind of rich, given his level of observation, as you'll see. We were talking before class, and into the beginning, and we got onto the topic of people not liking math. I became his victim very quickly. 

"I've seen you! You do all your calculations by hand! Don't even use the calculator! I notice these things..." He stabbed his finger at one of my classmates. "Do you like math?" She shook her head dumbly. "You don't do the figures on paper, you just punch it into a calculator, right?" She nodded.

"Because," he said triumphantly, "that's what people who don't like math do! You actually do have a thing for math." 

It would have been useless to argue that doing it on paper is actually faster for me, like navigating through a hard copy Bible instead of my Bible app on my iPod (which is why I always carry a hard version). What I can argue is that I don't want to lose the ability to do math by hand - if I don't remember how to do it, I can't teach it.

The point? Too many people can't do arithmetic nowadays - calculators make that skill unnecessary, but it's a dangerous precedent leading to scary levels of innumeracy. The fact that doing it on paper is seen as meaning I have a "thing" for arithmetic is mind-blowing (because I don't). And I bet a bunch of them can't spell it, either.

Maybe This is Useless

A friend asked for my opinion on recent events in the Middle East a few days ago. While I could provide a basic overview of my thoughts, I have to wonder if maybe it's useless. The government says one thing, facts as I've heard them say another, and maybe...maybe trying to speculate about what's going on is useless.

Let me ask now, and please try to understand. If we can't trust our government or our leaders or our media to tell us the truth...where is our country?

We can be left nominally free to make the decisions, but if we're given misinformation to act off of, how can we vote and choose well or responsibly? If we make choices off the information that those in power give us, they become their choices, don't they?

We say the Pledge of Allegiance at the school I volunteer at now, and it's something I look forward to on kindergarten mornings - standing in front of the flag and pledging allegiance.We end fife and drum rehearsals at attention in parade formation, playing the national anthem. I love America, and its freedom and how it treats its citizens. As a Christian it is my responsibility to pray for and obey those who govern. 

But Uncle Sam is lying to me and to you, to the extent that, when I hear their statements, particularly out of the White House, I don't know what is true and what isn't, and that scares me.

Maybe this is useless. All I can do is pray for wisdom, vote, and put my faith in God and His direction for our country.

"Ka-ZAM!" He Said

The senior fifers in my corps at present consist of six front- and second-line musicians. Of these, I am the only girl, and an adult. The others are all fourteen- and thirteen-year-old boys, including my little brother, who fiddle around with the Star Wars theme (on fife) and are very energetic. Our instructor is a sophisticated and very quiet young woman who color-coordinates her dress and jewelery and who, when the entire corps is drilling together, will stand with the other instructors and not comment. 

Bit of a strange group? Yeah. But in our defense...we're pretty good musicians.

For the past few weeks, we've had an interesting breakout of a strange behavior - hysterical laughing. It all started with these goats and...never mind. The long and short of it is, we think everything is funny. The instructor will go upstairs and we'll form into a tableaux for when she gets back, or one of the boys will whip out his phone and turn on Lord of the Rings theme and we'll all pretend to be intently playing it, etc. We make fun of the fact that we're still practicing the standpiece we've had for two years, and we make fun of ourselves really thoroughly when we screw it up. We laugh at the fact we're rehearsing Christmas music and of how completely clear our instructor is that she is totally against playing Christmas music in September.

And she has, self-admittedly, just as much enjoyment in our rehearsals as we do, cracking jokes and laughing at statements that aren't really funny, because she knows that the rest of us will also laugh very hard. I know for a fact that she has been having a really bad year. She did, however, describe the rehearsals as the bright spot of her summer. For Monday nights, that's not bad.

We did not get through all the music we were supposed to rehearse last night. But thinking about when one of the boys took his sheet music and exclaimed "Ka-ZAM!" when placing it on the stand, I feel good about the fact that someone's mood is brightened by all this madness.

Why I'm in Education

Every once in a while, I stop and wonder why I've been pursuing a career and training as a teacher. Then, of of the kindergarteners I work with comes out with something really adorable and I think Awwww! That's why! And every once in a while, I'm reading the college newspaper or a syllabus and see a wrong spelling of a word, or a dreadful mistake in punctuation or grammar, and I think Ugh! That's why!

I really ought to have titled this post "How Easily Elisabeth Gets Off Track." 

Yesterday I got out of math and went to meet a friend of mine, as previously arranged. We were in Computers 101 last fall, and as we happened to be about the same age, and to be the members of the degenerate yet technologically literate generation that the older people in the class would turn to for assistance, we wound up hanging out, sitting next to each other in class, etc. In our quiet discussions and in class break we got to know each other some and now we're back again, hanging out.

We wound up, yesterday, on the topic of public schools. Or rather, her experiences in hers. She shared some things about her school and why she dropped out (she's very smart and very practical), and about her life in general. The things I heard about the school clicked with things I'd heard about others, perhaps summed up as said in The Outsiders: "Things are rough all around." 

I strolled with her to meet her ride, and we talked about languages and geography. However, she had no sooner driven away when I felt a tremendous pressure, the Holy Spirit telling me to go, sit down, pray for the school system, right then. I found the nearest picnic table and sat right down - the order was not optional - and prayed what the Spirit brought up to my heart for several minutes, realizing most of the way through that I was speaking aloud, regardless of who might be going by. What I prayed was for the people in the schools, not the financial or administrative issues, but for the futures of the people in them. It was for healing.

After that...and after a good while spent slightly stunned, before my next class...I went to my first Developmental Psychology class where (just for extra measure) I heard more about what is going on inside our schools (our professor a) was in the education field for 38 years in counseling, etc. and b) loves talking about himself and his experiences). 

Basically, I got a solid reminder as to why I'm really in this field. It's because the kids in our schools need help. It's because they need the hope that can only be given by God, the love He demonstrated in Jesus. It's not for the moment when one of them mixes blue and yellow and cries out in delight, "It's like magic!" It's for the moment when a little boy starts yelling obscenities he learned from his family and bursts out the door, making a dash to get off school property. It's for the moment when a high school underclassman is forced to deal with a friend's suicide attempt, and has to make the decision as to how to react. 

It's for those moments when God uses someone to be part of the healing process for a broken person in a broken system, and provide hope for even one person.

School Again

Y'know, I find it amusing that the only level of class I've never seen is high school.

As a fully matriculated community college student, I have reentered the scholarly game with a vengeance - do what I can this semester before transferring to a campus where they don't know me yet. >Gives evil laugh< Or rather, don't know me or either of my brothers. (I actually have a professor this semester who had my older brother a couple years back.) 

Basically, returning to school means learning my schedule, learning when are the best times to do homework and when I have time to eat (the cafe on campus has 35 cent hunks of pita bread), learning the shuttle schedule, and so forth.

I do have a confession to make here, and y'all are going to have to forgive me.

I enjoy my classes. I enjoy a bunch of my homework. There's a reason I call it a game, and that's because it's fun. 

I do not enjoy all my homework, not being a bug-eyed alien from Mars or even, more forgivably, a genuine nerd or even a genuine geek. Yet, still, there is something about looking for the most challenging yet most accurate answer I can find. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't. However, it's worth doing. It doesn't work in math class or in science class, but in literature...ooooh yeah.

I am also working with yet another group of kindergarteners...in the same classroom with the same teacher (though a new para) as I have for 4.5 years. The kids learned the letter 'M' on their second day of school. It's a good year.

So, thoughts on morality? That's what we hit in literature today - why should we be moral? My top answer was basically "Because God." Yes, that's a full explanation. Still, it's interesting to hear my classmates' thoughts.

Goodbye, Summer

And autumn can't come soon enough. 

Having banged my head against the wall wishing for people all summer, it is time to begin a new chapter - one that will in all probability last only one semester.

This semester, I'm taking five credit courses and one non-credit. My junior corps won't kick me out until I transfer in January to a residential school, but I'm still joining one or two more corps, and signing up as a youth leader at my church. 

Oddly enough, I am excited again. Excited to take literature and ed courses because when it comes to those, not only can I play the scholarly game, I'm good at it and even enjoy it. Less excited for math and science, because those are, typically enough, my problem areas, but confident that it'll go fine. And excited to be back in people's lives, ready to serve in new ways, ready to see and be part of God's love for and plan for the world in more active ways.

So, one more weekend. One more parade. And on the fifth, it's back to school.

Thoughts About the RNC

I am very pleased with the opportunity to vote for such a demonstrably excellent ticket as Mitt Romney and Paul Ryan this November.

They are taking a good attitude toward the opposition, described by my dad as essentially a "more in sorrow than in anger" attitude, summed up by Romney in his speech with the statement "I wish Obama had succeeded. I want America to succeed."

They are practical in their approach to the (obscene, monstrous) national debt, as described by Ryan - "We need to stop spending money we don't have." It was perhaps the first time I've heard my father amening during a political speech.

While I am neither Mormon nor Roman Catholic, I am very pleased with the idea of having men of faith, people who trust in God, in the White House and heading the executive branch of the American government. And it's hard to find a more upright person in terms of personal life in politics than Mitt Romney. 

They are both good speakers, and their speechwriters or whoever (I've got no illusions about how this sort of thing is done) know what to focus on. Jobs and the lives of Americans need to be the priority, and there were no statements anywhere near as absurd as "This is the moment when the oceans stop rising and the planet begins to heal." 

Like I said earlier, I certainly have hope for the future of America. I do have more now than I had before listening to the things said at the Republican National Convention. I'm sure the PC Police will find some way to make a bunch of them horribly racist - that's what you get when an incumbent can't run on his record.

If I had to choose between the playlist on Romney's iPod and Ryan's, I would probably go with Ryan's. Just saying. And holy mackerel, is that a lot of balloons.

In Defense of Hope

Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not talking about Barack Obama's "Audacity" (though he's got plenty of that) or any of his hopey-changey teleprompter stuff. In fact, I'm not going to get into his politics right now - political rants annoy me. But this is something I've been thinking about on and off for a while, and I wanted to address it.
I was discussing the current election and state of our nation with my little brother and with a friend of ours. This young man and his family are members of our church, he and his sister have done the same theater as we have these past two years, he and I graduated together as the class of '12, and our families are quite close. It has to be understood that they are wonderful, godly people, and this particular fellow makes me look liberal. (That takes some doing.)

However, we do not agree on all things. We will both be voting for Romney/Ryan this coming November, and I will take great pleasure in doing so. He, however, said that he believes that "America is lost to socialism." He also said that he has no hope for the future of our country.
Now, my friend understands well that our hope should not be in this life but in the next. We are told to store up treasures in heaven "where moth and rust do not destroy and thieves do not break in and steal." (Matthew 6:20) However, we are told to do as follows: "First of all, then, I urge that supplications, prayers, intercessions, and thanksgivings be made for all people, for kings and all who are in high positions, that we may lead a peaceful and quiet life, godly and dignified in every way. This is good, and it is pleasing in the sight of God our Savior..." (1st Timothy 2:1-3)

Let me use a fictional example and quote a passage from "Hamlet" that our Production Team cut for the sake of contemporary sensibilities, a passage that seemed to demonstrate something important regardless and sent me on a hunt through the script trying to understand why it would happen.
Hamlet: Thou livest. Report me and my cause aright to the unsatisfied.
Horatio: Never believe it. I am more an antique Roman than a Dane. Here's yet some liquor left... (Picks up poisoned cup)
Hamlet: As thou art an man, give me that cup - by heaven, I'll have it...
To understand, I looked at the background, the basic beliefs of the character and came to a lot of factors that could, combined, provoke this reaction, but there's only one I'm interested in here. By the beginning of that last scene, his last hope in terms of the world being really right again (given setting, etc.) would be for the rightful king to kill the usurper and take the throne. When this...fails to work out...that last hope for the world being right, the way he knew right, is gone, and with it his motivation or desire to face up to life and its difficulties. Without hope, there's no fight left.

Let me say that again. Without hope, there's no fight left. And without fight, you probably don't win.

Paul makes that point better. "Do you not know that those who run in a race all run, but only one receives the prize? Run in such a way that you may win. And everyone who competes in the games exercises self-control in all things. They then do it to receive a perishable wreath, but we an imperishable. Therefore, I run in such a way, not as without aim; I box in such a way, as not beating the air; but I buffet my body and make it my slave, lest possibly, after I have preached to others, I myself should be disqualified." - 1st Corinthians 9:24-27

Let me reiterate that these words are speaking of salvation, not of the renewal of an earthly nation. However, this passage also applies to the things we do in our lives for the glory of God - not by half measures, and not having given up hope in advance. We are told to pray "Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven." (Matthew 6:10) This means not only that the will of God should be done here on earth when Christ returns, but that until that point we must continue to serve God and advance His agenda while we are on earth.

It is our hope that gives us strength - hope that comes with the faith that in every situation God is in control. There is a reason that "these three remain - faith, hope and love." (1st Corinthians 13:13) Love may be the greatest of these, but we still cannot do without both of the others. And it is the hope God gives us in every situation that allows us to keep fighting without slackening off, without giving up, without quitting the race, because maybe it is God's will that this time we win.

"A day may come when the courage of men fails, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship, but it is not this day. An hour of woes and shattered shields, when the age of men comes crashing down! But it is not this day! This day we fight!" - Aragorn, The Return of the King (movie)

World Home of Fife and Drum?

Back at the end of June, my fife and drum corps traveled to perform at the International Muster in Basel and the Liestal Tambouren und Pfiferfest, in Switzerland.
There were a few things that amused me about what we found there; Switzerland is the world's primary dwelling of fife and drum, supposedly, and it held the International Muster in Basel. Why would this amuse me?

1. There is a noise restriction in Basel - neither we could fife nor the drummers drum inside the city limits except during the muster.

This led to serious withdrawal on the part of those of us, a fair number, who arrived about a week before the muster. Between corps meetings and drill rehearsal, we did a lot of sightseeing, and yes, we traveled in packs. As I believe I mentioned a long time ago, when fifers get together we don't typically talk, we play. However, deprived of that safety net, we wound up spending a lot of time hanging out and enjoying each others' company. The only thing wonkier than the fact that I spent more than a straight week hanging out in a foreign country with mostly middle-school aged boys is the fact that I thoroughly enjoyed their company and sense of humor, and they appeared to enjoy mine.
   
     2.   They don't play the fife in Switzerland. They play the Swiss piccolo.

Talk about missing out, right? Seriously, though, the Swiss piccolo is a very similar instrument, though it is slightly more complicated and makes a different sound. One day before the muster our director took any of us fifers who wanted to go and we went to a piccolo-making wind instrument store, where he loosed us on any number of piccolos, flutes, recorders and even a bugle. (Now that's a weird instrument.)

One more strange thing about Swiss corps (or "cliques," as they're called)? When they march in parades the drummers march in front.

Yes, there is a person over here

Yes, there is in fact a person supposedly posting on this blog. She has seen nothing demanding "Blog me! Blog me!" all summer. However, with the descent of another semester, another autumn, it is time to resume the writing drill, hopefully with some semblance of regularity.

Just for reinforcement...

http://www.redstate.com/jordanrickards/2012/06/10/barack-obamas-20-most-impossibly-self-absorbed-moments/

Senioritis

Since I have heard a great many references to the strange malady known as senioritis, but have never seen a list of symptoms, I perhaps owe it to scholastic science to record how it affected me. (Some symptoms also can possibly be attributed to spring fever, which I develop when everything ends every year.)

• Loss of all motivation save a very powerful fear of failure.
• Major upswing of nostalgia and looking back at the four years - actually, the last almost 18 years.
• Sadness and surprise that hits upon realizing all the things that I'm not going back to.
• Confusion and increase of difficulty understanding myself.
• Vague sense of lightness - all the things I've worried about for four years academically, or for extracurriculars, fading. 

Final thoughts on my theater experience

In all probability, I will refer back to it in relation to other topics. But here are some thoughts on my brief stint in drama. 

Over the course of junior and senior year, I participated in two productions, "The Merchant of Venice" and "Hamlet." They used five casts in total, two in "Merchant" and three in "Hamlet." In total, I played six extras (three last year and three this year), one minor character (last year), and two major characters (this year). Overall, out of these nine figures, eight of them were male and one was a teenager; I enjoyed them all and genuinely respected two (the major characters). I have been requested to "Please be more snotty!" and heard "You were so obnoxious!" and "You were totally over the top!" and "We could just see you being evil and scheming!" used as compliments. I have been given advice on how to practice crying, had special throne-sitting, fake-blood-applying and "dying" practice, literally pushed around someone I had nothing but sympathy for, worked on keeping my voice an octave lower than normal, chased a robber while waving a scimitar, been part of a howling, murderous mob that stormed a castle, run through the hallways in a four-foot-in-diameter skirt frantically asking all my castmates if they'd seen my husband, held a friend as she/he "died," played my fife and wore a mask during a masquerade through the streets of "Venice," and freaked out at the sight of the Ghost - my little brother.

Now, all that insanity said, what have I learned (the hard way?), experienced more fully, and taken away that is of value?

Assistance - Costume changes in "Hamlet"
I had two quick costume changes this year, both as the queen. I was not expecting what happened the first time I got to one of these changes (the first dress rehearsal with me in the role). I stepped offstage with the intention of running to the dressing room, but five of my co-actresses had anticipated the situation, appeared at top speed the moment I got offstage with my costume change and literally were changing me before I could say "Hang on - " This was a process I participated in from the other side in the cast in which I was not onstage during the changes. Between making Ophelia crazy, making Ophelia dead, putting the queen in and out of mourning, and helping those who had to change characters, we had (infrequently) the moment of leisure to contemplate how it would all work if we didn't help each other. The answer, of course, is that it would not work. If the extras did not run through the hallways looking for the characters' props (I remember being an extra and combing the hallway for the queen's handkerchief and almost freaking out) and taking responsibility for being helpful, the production would go down the toilet. I, and many others, owe a good deal to the diligence of our castmates.

Who rocks? Extras rock! Moroccans in "Merchant"

The most fun I had in "Merchant of Venice" was probably participating in an extras group that was, simply, the train of a minor character who only appeared in two scenes. However, we were special - because we decided it would be remarkably fun. We had turbans and had this ridiculous "Formal" pose like the stereotypical genie that we would jump to when our Prince of Morocco signaled us. We would be clapping, nodding, and cheering at him, and he would glare and we would jump to attention and freeze. We asked for boffers (Fake swords) at one point, and the wonderful armorer came back with a whole bunch of miniature versions of the Prince's curved scimitar that she had made for us. We had a ton of personality, and were so funny that we got more applause during curtain call than any other appearance other than Shylock.

Studying Horatio (because nobody's boring)

Most of the major characters in "Hamlet" get a lot of negativity. Horatio gets a little trash-talking (for being "boring" and for "not being a good storyteller") and a bit of a good reputation (for being loyal and for not being evil, murderous or mad), but mostly he doesn't get much of anything at all. There is so little explicitly said about him, and so little that he does that is over the top (a suicide attempt at the end doesn't count for much, I suppose, and the Production Team cut those lines anyway). However, I really enjoyed playing him this year. The first thing I did upon seeing the cast list was email the person who would be playing Hamlet and we went back and forth many times before the first post-audition rehearsal, deducing everything we could about "our" mutual past and relationship. Not only was it fascinating and enjoyable, but there was so much that I could learn about the character that only needed someone to actually think about it. There's so much he goes through, so much he does and so many decisions he makes that are difficult and/or selfless and/or courageous, that people don't seem to notice. At this point, not only am I very well familiar with a character few people tend to think about, but I have an incredible amount of appreciation for him as well.

PC's ugly head (Political Correctness, not Personal Computers!)

When the Nazis performed "The Merchant of Venice" they tended to change it so that Shylock's daughter Jessica was his stepdaughter instead. They would cast this blue-eyed blonde so that it was clear that they weren't related. Now, as a youth company, most of our group looks nothing like each other. It was interesting, putting together six families in "Hamlet" this year, winding up in one cast with a 5'3" girl playing the father of a 6'7" young man. However, in order to "not offend anyone" and make it clear we weren't doing a Nazi version of "Merchant," they found this (really ugly) black wig and made one of the Jessicas wear it. (The other Jessica was, although not the stereotypical "ethnic" look, in fact Jewish, and the costume fairies and producers had the sense not to make her wear it.) Still, I feel like this kind of behavior simply reminds us all that the racism exists. Obviously no one actually expects two kids from different families to actually look like father and daughter, or people to resemble an ethnicity they don't belong to. (And the wig was really ugly.)

So, it has been a fascinating and fun complement to my final two years of minordom and high school. What's next?

Thought for the day

Luck is God reminding us that anything is possible in His hands in His universe.

Odes to the desks in my Biology classroom

Red

Woodgrain
   A tiny seat and desk
  becomes, for three hours,
     a bubble.
A tiny little world
   but safe.
A barren classroom
   White walls, grey-green floor
       with carpet tiles.
But the desk seats are red.
One splash of hot blood, three, thirty
    on a backdrop, a canvas
      of nothing.
Somehow the red gives the
   dead room life.
Rhythm-centered music
      pulsing to the heart.

Woodgrain River

Grain of the wood flows within
Patterned without repetition
Silent ripples in the din
For those who try to listen
Water frozen in the act
Colored like honey, pale and gold
While the voice goes on about cold facts
The wood has another tale to be told.

Something to laugh at

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Eye_of_Argon
Read this. Then read "The Eye of Argon."

The Occupiers' legacy

Occupy Wall Street is over, technically speaking, and has been for several months. What did it leave behind?

• People with paraphernalia proclaiming that they are the 99%. 
• Ruined parks and destroyed public spaces.
• Jokes and statements that demonstrate that the "Occupy ______" phrase has entered general terminology.
• Knock-off movements such as Boston's "Occupy the MBTA" protesting raising fares in favor of providing it with taxpayer money. (It used to be common sense that they people who use something should pay for it, but not anymore.)

In fact, despite its dormancy, I have to take into consideration the idea that perhaps the Occupy movement is "Not Dead but Sleeping" and may perhaps rear its head again in the future.

Some thoughts on the National Day of Silence

The National Day of Silence is, as everyone probably knows by now, the annual day when students protest the frequent treatment of the LBGT community by remaining silent in classes. 'Tis a Monday this year, so I have no classes on that day, but it's interesting to think about whether or not to participate as a Christian who believes that homosexuality is wrong.
The first question to ask is "What exactly are they protesting?" If they are protesting the lack of general acceptance of homosexuality as a relationship with the same moral status as a heterosexual relationship, I do not agree and cannot participate. If, on the other hand, they are protesting actual hate assaults (which have happened and still do) then it is within my conscience to participate.
The next question is "Is remaining silent in class a good way to protest?" First of all, is it fair to take out this dissent on the teachers and professors, who are trying to teach us and to help us succeed in our lives and in our future careers, by not participating and making their job harder? The answer here is "Probably not," meaning that we next need to ask "Are the results of the protest enough to justify one day of this inconvenience?"
At my school, at least, every class contains a few students who speak up and participate and a bunch of students who sit there and never say a word or participate. So the only ones who would be noticeably participating in the Day of Silence would be those who frequently participate in class. (Such as myself.) While this lowers the inconvenience caused to the professors, it also lowers the effects of the protest. Finally, would participating in class be seen as protesting the protest? That is very possible. So the most important question that it all comes down to is, what message are you trying to get across, can you get it across, and how?

Resurrection Sunday

Mark 16:1-7

1 When the Sabbath was over, Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome bought spices so that they might go to anoint Jesus' body. 2 Very early on the first day of the week, just after sunrise, they were on their way to the tomb 3 and they asked each other, who will roll the stone away from the entrance of the tomb?
4 But when they looked up, they saw that the stone, which was very large, had been rolled away. 5 As they entered the tomb, they saw a young man dressed in a white robe sitting on the right side, and they were alarmed. 
6 "Don't be alarmed," he said. "You are looking for Jesus the Nazarene, who was crucified. He is risen! He is not here. See the place where they laid him. 7 But go, tell his disciples and Peter, 'He is going ahead of you into Galilee. There you will see him, just as he told you.'"

Good Friday

Mark 15:33-39

33 At the sixth hour darkness came over the land until the ninth hour. 34 And at the ninth hour Jesus cried out in a loud voice, "Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?" - which means, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" 
35 When some of those standing near heard this, they said, "Listen, he's calling Elijah."
36 One man ran, filled a sponge with wine vinegar, put it on a stick, and offered to Jesus to drink. "Now leave him alone. Let's see if Elijah comes to take him down." he said.
37 With a loud cry, Jesus breathed his last.
38 The curtain of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom. 39 And when the centurion, who stood there in front of Jesus, heard his cry and saw how he died, he said, "Surely this man was the Son of God!"

Maundy Thursday

Luke 22:14-23

14 When the hour came, Jesus and his apostles reclined at the table. 15 And he said to them, "I have eagerly desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer. 16 For I tell you, I will not eat it again untilo it finds fulfillment in the kingdom of God." 
17 After taking the cup, he gave thanks and said, "Take this and divide it among you. 18 For I tell you I will not drink again of the fruit of the vine until the kingdom of God comes."
19 And he took bread, gave thanks and broke it, and gave it to them, saying, "This is my body given for you; do this in remembrance of me."
20 In the same way, after the supper he took the cup, saying, "This cup is the new covenant in my blood, which is poured out for you. 21 But the hand of him who is going to betray me is with mine on the table. 22 The Son of Man will go as it has been decreed, but woe to that man who betrays him." 23 They began to question among themselves which of them it might be who would do this.

What are they teaching?

Apparently, they do not teach handwriting in Massachusetts Public Schools anymore.
Why? Because they're worrying about other things. Like MCAS scores.
When I took the SAT back in November, there was a section that you had to copy out in cursive and sign your name to, and all the other high schoolers in the classroom were complaining. The proctor conceded that "this is probably the hardest part of the SAT."
How is it that we don't teach our children to write anymore? The kindergarteners I work with are learning basic algebra (4 + ? = 6) and nonfiction! Why can't these kids learn to write?
Because the teachers are worried about their MCAS ratings, more than they are about enrichment for the children.

What have I learned from March?

Now that was a month.
Production week - a week and a half with a total of 49 rehearsal hours, most of which were spent in costume.
Recordings! - fourteen total hours spent at a recording studio with the corps, producing our first CD.
Parade - After four hours spent waiting in a parking lot, we marched in a 2.75 -mile parade for St. Patrick's Day.
Performances! - Two Friday nights, two Saturday afternoons, and two Saturday nights, with closing day involving spending the afternoon as Queen Gertrude and the night as Horatio, and getting home at midnight to find - 
Article - a request for an article for the Company of Fifers and Drummers magazine about the recording of the CD.

And then? Spring break ended, I returned to college, and the rest of my schedule continued or resumed. Theater ended with a cast party and is permanently done for me.

What have I learned?

• There's no better cure for fifty hours of "Hamlet" and prep for opening night than stacked pancakes and ten hours of Veggietales with a friend you can just chill with (in this case, a youth groupie who also participated in "Hamlet" and whose family and mine have practically adopted each other).
• After too much time in hoopskirts, doublets, waistcoats, high stockings, tricorns and other strange hats and garments, "civvies" are the best things ever. Excepting pajamas. PJs rock.
• You can study a work of literature from the inside for six months and still be able to not make up your mind as to who's the "good guy." You just develop prejudices that belong to your characters instead of yourself.
• Painful irony means coming down sick in the middle of a college biology class while discussing digestion.
• Thrones are nice, but perching yourself regally on the six-inch edge of yours because of the shape of your skirt is far less comfortable than sprawling in a folding chair in jeans.
• Hair nets are wonderful and convenient when you know how to use them. (If you have long hair, obviously.)
• The more politically impotent you have, the less likely you are to be assassinated or targeted.
• Sheet music - good. Sheet music that means everyone needs to relearn a basic song or ten - bad.
• The faster you get used to having five people "help" you change (assuming you're wearing shorts and a T underneath) the more likely you are to get to your entrance on time.
• If just one drummer can't play the song, it'll take a dozen takes before they finally boot out the offender and record the song correctly.

If the person you're holding is supposed to be "dead," be extra gentle because they're helpless and you're responsible for them until the pall-bearers turn up. And always, always, ALWAYS wait for all the lights to be down before coming back to life and leaving the stage for curtain call.

More than WE can handle?

I've heard, as I expect most people in the U.S. have, someone in life or on TV or somewhere state that "God will never give me more than I can handle." Or perhaps the opposite view's equivalent statement, "God can't be real, because if He was He wouldn't give us more than we can handle."
This seems to me to be an amazingly confused issue.
God doesn't ask us to handle anything on our own. He tells us to go to Him for strength in all things, to turn to Him in prayer and trust Him to work things out. So. How does this apply?
God does give us things we can't handle. But He gives us nothing that He can't handle. And says, "Trust Me on this."

Going to pretend...

Right now, I'm going to pretend that a) I'm not embarrassed that it's been so long since I've posted and b) that I can sum up the past month in a couple of paragraphs.
So. In the past month?
I finished the fall semester of college. Overall pretty good grades, but when they first came out, it registered my Intro to SpEd grade as a C-. Shock and awe (I got in all my assignments and I know they couldn't have been failed). Upon emailing the professor, the issue was resolved and the C- became an A-. The heart attack was still unpleasant.
My soldier brother came home for Christmas. We enjoyed the total lack of anything that needed doing, and had an excellent break.
Theater metasized and became this two-rehearsal-a-week thing that has us overly used to each others' presence. (Last week's rehearsal was the most intense for me - I did all my most intense acting short of dying. Be angry, grief-stricken, terrified, jump off the stage, etc.) Tech week is approaching quickly. Our fife-and-drum CD recording is also approaching quickly, with the first recording session being on a Sunday smack dab in the middle of theater tech week. We're preparing for our international trip as well.
So now - Starting this week, my life consists of two theater rehearsals a week, two mornings a week spent at kindergarten, fife and drum weekly rehearsals, Tuesday biology classes (two of them, a normal and a lab), online Intro to Philosophy, youth group, church, high school work, and perhaps a total lack of sanity.