5 things to do when snowed in at a hotel

You would think this is an uncommon occurrence.

No, this is the second time in 13 months that I have experienced being stuck inside one of these sprawling buildings without pantries, any rooms to call my own, and most of the "stuff" that normally inhabits my life.

Last time we were moving from Maryland to Ohio, and we knew we'd be in a hotel for a week, but we didn't know there would be a blizzard.

This time it's just my dad and me. We've been trying to get home from my uncle's wedding in Iowa for almost 48 hours now... 48 hours that have taken us through 3 hotels and 275 miles. And almost all of those miles were in the first 4 hours. We've been here a bit west of Chicago since noon yesterday, all of the roads in Indiana are closed, it's well below zero (Fahrenheit!) outside, and we're getting a bit antsy.

So, here: Things To Do When You're Snowed In At A Hotel.

1. Eat frozen custard. We did this. Twice. It's so good. It's warm enough inside that it's acceptable, while cold enough outside that it feels like an adventure.
2. Watch Sherlock. I introduced my dad to the show. We've watched two episodes so far; I think we'll watch the third one tonight.
3. Embroider. Good thing I brought my craft bag with me. My bed is a mess of thread and needles... hopefully I won't get poked during the night.
4. Do laps. When one has been sitting for 24 hours, it might be time to walk. When there's a windchill of -40, it might be time to stay inside. Thus: laps. Hallway, stairs, hallway, stairs, repeat.
5. ...while reading. Ever wanted to perfect your simultaneous-walking-and-reading skills? Now is the time. (And if you, like me, perfected this skill as an elementary school student walking home from the bus stop, it's just good fun.)

If you have any other ideas, please tell me. To the best of my ability, I will do all of them.

in which Katie is absurdly easy to shop for

For Christmas this year, I told my family I really only wanted two things: interesting books (because I always want those) and socks (because I've worn holes in all of mine).

Let me tell you something... when you ask for socks for Christmas, you are setting yourself up for buckets full of joy. I ended up with 7 pairs of socks, and I'm thrilled. Wow. I love socks.

But that's not the great part. Here, enjoy a picture of my two favorite finds from this Christmas:

Yes, that is a biography of C. S. Lewis (endorsed by Eric Metaxes, Tim Keller, N. T. Wright, and Michael Ward... so basically guaranteed to be great). Yes, those are socks that look like sheep wearing purple hairbows. Yes, so far I like them both equally.

AND WAIT THIS IS THE ACTUAL BEST PART. I have those lovely, fuzzy, perfect sheep-socks in duplicate. Because not only did my sister get me a pair, but so did my Nana.*

Am I really that easy? I guess so. But seriously, I have sheep socks (and a Lewis biography).

Merry Christmas, friends. And may we all always be thrilled to receive socks for Christmas.

*I traded one pair with my sister for some equally soft snowman socks. Because it was only fair. So I'm down to only one pair of sheep socks.

day of happiness

So I haven't posted in almost a month. Oops.

But today is basically The Perfect Day, so I figure I must post.

Today is the first day of Fall, which is my favorite. It is also Hobbit Day, which is also my favorite. It is also International Curly Hair Day, which is also my favorite. How lovely is that?

...it also happens to be my 20th birthday, which is all kinds of weird. I've been alive for a score. I am in my third decade of life. I'm a twenty-something, ouch.

So how about a fun game of Never Have I Ever In Twenty Years? Okay. Never have I ever:

• Watched Star Wars
• Eaten and enjoyed pickles
• Grown my hair past my waist
• Had a whole conversation with someone in a language besides English
• Done anything actually physically risky
• ...or even run a mile
• Drunk more than half a sip of anything alcoholic
• Driven somewhere out of town by myself
• Traveled abroad without 'grown ups'
• Read War and Peace
• Slept under the stars
• Played a convincing chord on a guitar
• Been to Boston (in the fall or otherwise)

These are all things that I mean to change sometime in the next decade of my life. We'll see. A couple are a stretch, but I think I can probably manage most of them. Most doubtful? Pickles. Definitely the pickles.

God has blessed me a lot, like massively, these twenty years. I'm happy with them. Now I figure it's time for me to be, like, an actual adult. We'll see how that goes.

с соусом неудачника

Translation: with sauce of failure.

I am now back at Notre Dame (glory, glory, hallelujah!). In the past 72 hours...

• My laptop has been opened 5 times total, including this time.
• I have stayed up until 3:30am once.
• I have woken up without an alarm at 7am every single day.
• No gluten has passed through these lips.
• I have only skipped one meal.
• My rector encouraged all of the hall residents to be bitches this year (... meaning, obviously, Babe In Total Control of Herself. We ignore the O.)
• One of my classes learned that our professor is not only cute, Irish, and old, but also the uncle of Evanna Lynch, a.k.a. Luna Lovegood.
• I have attended 2 ISI meetings. (2 more in the next 36 hours! Just like old times. Except more.)
• I have only worn a skirt once. To Riley's chagrin.
• I have developed a healthy fear for the last 2 weeks of the semester (so. many. backloaded. classes.)
• I have been re-convinced of my desperate need to study Russian. Because... соус неудачника.

I got to Russian class yesterday, my first class of the semester, and my professor begins spouting out 20 minutes of fluent, rather fast Russian. Which would be a bit of a shock to begin with, even if she did not keep calling me Катя (Katya), which is traditionally not the name I have gone by in Russian class. She asked us what we did this summer. My response? ...видно, забыла всё (apparently, forgotten everything).

The other classes yesterday were more promising. Children's Literature looks like the best English class EVER EVER EVER, and did I mention it's taught by Luna Lovegood's uncle? Yeah, he's adorable and brilliant. And the booklist is fantastic. The one problem is that the only real assignment is a significant paper at the end of the semester.

I was late to my Brother's Karamazov class, which was embarrassing, but okay. It'll be good. The prof is my favorite, and I know a lot of people in the class. Again, the only problem is that the only real assignment is a significant paper at the end of the semester.

Today I am visiting different classes, and I will decide which one to keep, because TWELVE CREDITS YAY. This morning was a Theo class on the Psalms, which I'm a little unsure about. The professor is all kinds of intelligent, but it felt kind of like he was teaching a class of middle schoolers. I don't know if he is quite comfortable with a level of student that is neither child nor super motivated grad student. But they are reading Bonhoeffer, C. S. Lewis, Isaac Watts, Thomas Aquinas, and other cool people... and the whole Psalter in 2 weeks. Which is never a bad thing.

I love life here.

unnecessary things I pack for school

Packing takes me a long time. This is a reality caused by several factors, the main ones being (a) I have a lot of stuff, (b) I know that I don't actually need all of this stuff but want it anyway, and (c) what stuff I bring to school must be packed to maximize space perfectly.

What are these things, you ask, that you do not actually need but insist on bringing regardless?

1. 12 pairs of purple socks.
   Most of the socks I own are purple, and I just can't bear to leave more than two pairs behind at home. Wearing purple socks just brings so much joy to me and the people around me. At least, that's what I like to think.
2. More weird hippie skirts than pants.
   Skirts are just so much more interesting than pants. So what if I could only bring myself to part with one of my five paisley skirts? 
3. Pleasure reading.
   What kind of literature major wastes time reading books that aren't even for class? This kind. This semester's list includes Glory, by Nabokov, and The Cost of Discipleship, by Bonhoeffer.
4. Lending reading.
   Last year I had a fully operational C. S. Lewis Lending Library in my dorm room. It got quite a bit of use. This year I (alas!) cannot fit the whole collection, but I'm bringing a couple of those along with some other books I've found myself lending to lots of people (Walking on Water, by Madeleine L'Engle; Bonhoeffer, by Eric Metaxes; Desiring God, by John Piper).
5. All of my class textbooks.
   'But you need those, Katie!' Yes, and because I'm an idiot, I had them shipped to home instead of straight to school. 'Great way to add 20 pounds to the load, Katie.' Sorry.
6. My unicorn-rainbow-hearts-stars beach towel. With my name on it. A thing of beauty is a joy forever.
7. Like three journals.
   I'm afraid that I'll run out of pages in the middle of a crisis. Woe. Also, what if I come up with a new category of thought that needs journalling? I can't put life analyses in my quote journal, and I certainly can't make to-do lists in my prayer journal.
8. Acrylic paints and chalk pastels.
   Sometimes even the most obnoxiously task-oriented among us need to take a rainy Sunday afternoon to make art.
9. A jar of Nutella.
   Because, Nutella.
10. Approximately 23 hairbows.
    Friends, I'm a little obsessed with hairbows, and I have a whole box full of them. I can justify it because I've never bought a hairbow in my life: they have all been hand-me-downs from friends who grew up in the nineties and realize just how ridiculous they are OR bows that I have had since I was 4. (Yes, I have been wearing the same hairstyle for as long as I've had hair to style.) Proof:

Me, circa sometime-in-the-nineties, wearing a fabulous white hairbow.

the gag reflex

In light of The Gospel Coalition's recent post* about how we should take advantage of our gag reflex in arguing against same-sex marriage, and the four posts on my blog feed reader in the past six hours responding to it (that's 50% of all of the posts on said feed reader in said time frame)...

I am going to leave it up to all the people who say it better than I could to talk it out. And then I am going to do a perhaps-inconsiderate and un-serious thing and talk about an indisputable application of the gag reflex, one that I saw for myself that time my cat pooped in my sister's lap.

Friends, I have been dying to tell you this story.

When my family went on vacation a few weeks ago, none of us had any ideas about taking the cat with us. So we left him with my grandparents, who live about a half-hour away. Very conveniently, my sister had an end-of-the-summer party near them, the day after we got back from vacation. The plan was:

• Katie drops Kristen off at party
• Katie reads The Idiot at grandparents' house for 5 hours
• Katie packs up the cat and his paraphernalia in the car
• Katie picks up Kristen and takes everybody home

And it was going swimmingly. The plan was very streamlined and fine with everybody involved. Except, apparently, the cat.

Historically, Hummer has been an excellent traveller (along with the darned cutest feline I ever did see). He has always done well on car trips. Sometimes he would even sleep on the dashboard.

But this time, he was not having any of it. Because I have a heart, I couldn't keep him in his crate in the backseat. I let him roam the car, as is his wont.

When I got to Kristen's party and picked her up, Hummer began to wander between the back dashboard, where he had been sitting, and my sister's lap. He would lie down one place for a while, get up, move to the other, lie for a while, migrate back, etc. Kristen and I ignored him, having our merry conversation about her party and whatever else we were discussing.

All of a sudden, I heard from the passenger seat,

Wait, Hummer, what-- what are you do--

OH MY GOSH HE POOPED ON ME.

KATIE PULL OVER. PULL OVER RIGHT NOW.

So, laughing hysterically, I scanned the road for a place to pull over. It was a little after midnight, so the local warehouse parking lot was deserted. We parked there, Kristen hyperventilating and almost throwing up. I went around to the back of the car to get out the roll of paper towels... to discover, of course, that he had also gotten carsick all over the back of the car. Sigh. C'est la vie.

I shoved the little monster in the crate, ignoring his woeful plaints, and proceeded to clean up my car and my sister. Laughing, still. (What kind of cat decides that a person's lap is the best place to do his business?? REALLY.)

After I collected the pile of nasty paper towels, I began to search for a place to dispose of them. Not a trashcan in sight. But as I wandered around the warehouse building at midnight, I guess I triggered something, because next thing I know,

KATIE. We've been caught.

There was the police car pulling in behind my car. Wheeee. I giggled at the absurdity of the situation. Kristen still looked like she was going to throw up.

What's going on? Is everything alright here?

Yes sir. We just pulled over because the cat pooped on my sister.

The cat?

Yes. We're bringing him from my grandparents' to home, and he had an accident.

Ew. Sorry. I just wanted to make sure you all were okay.

Thank you, sir.

I deposited the paper towels in the litter box, which was situated in the trunk (woe! ah, alas!). I got in the car. We drove away. And I laughed. And Kristen spent the next 20 minutes punctuating Hummer's cries from the backseat with exclamations of,

HE POOPED ON ME.

What a day.



...anyway, here are some cute pictures of my kitty, just for fun.

*Warning: the Gospel Coalition article contains some obscene language. I didn't read the whole thing.

that part when hard things happen

My friend Sam and I have a long-running joke about the dining hall at school. Every time, both of us circle the room, looking for something that appeals to us-- and inevitably end up back at the pasta line. 'And while he was still a long way off...' we intone, because we love taking Bible verses way out of context.

It would seem that for the next few weeks, at least, this will no longer be the case. Because I, the girl who has 'Carbs' listed as one of her 'Activities' on Facebook, think I might be gluten intolerant.

Yeah. It's pretty terrifying.

Ever since last fall, I've been suspecting that some things I was eating in the DH were causing me trouble. Particularly after eating a meal like pasta stir-fry or a grilled ham & cheese sandwich, I would feel lethargic, distracted, and uncomfortable for the rest of the day. I just chalked it up to chemicals in the lunchmeat, because really, that stuff IS kind of gross.

But after a summer living at home and eating pretty safely, especially since my mom has gone on a health food kick thanks to the Vitamix (ALL the green smoothies!), I can no longer blame bad processed meat. No, I think the fault lies somewhere else.

Like gluten.

The thing that tipped me off was actually a celiac Facebook friend's post with 10 Signs You're Gluten Intolerant. I had never seen gluten linked with skin problems before, but that was a major, major red flag. So I did some more research, which froze my face into a shape much like the one pictured.

I have had eczema for as long as I can remember. Eczema is... awful. The best way I can think to describe it is layers upon layers of tiny little blisters that perpetually feel like blisters do right when they're about to fall off (read: intensely itchy). The more you scratch at them, the more layers of blisters build up, and the deeper the itch runs. Parts of my body have come close to losing all feeling because of so many years of this... the nerves are dead to everything but insatiable itch.

Eczema has been not only a physical trial for me, but also a social and spiritual one. It's hard to be a 6-year-old in a gymnastics leotard or a 16-year-old in a bathing suit when you have rashes and scars all over your legs. And it's hard to pray when your whole consciousness is being constantly tugged to an itch that does not go away, unless you lather it with cream that instead makes the whole area burn so deeply that you literally can't think about anything except how much it hurts.

And it turns out that, for a lot of cases which, like mine, didn't go away at puberty and don't have any other immediate links, gluten intolerance can be a factor in the flaring up of eczema. Who knew?

So I'm going to try the elimination diet for a few weeks and see what happens. Could be rough going; we'll see. (By 'could be' I mean 'absolutely will be'-- I am an unrepentant carboholic, so I don't know if I will actually be able to make it longer than a few days. erk. haha)

in which katie is a magnet of awkward

I spent this past weekend in Buffalo, NY, visiting friends. Ladies and Gentlemen, I humbly present myself to you as one who is for some unknown reason highly attractive to Awkward.

Allow me to paint the scene... Actually, a few scenes, selected from the weekend.


LOCATION: a Greyhound bus terminal in Cleveland, OH. 
TIME: 8:30am.
ATMOSPHERE: sketchsketchsketch.

Our protagonist, a certain 'Katie,' has just watched her father exit the bus terminal in order to go to work. She begins to feel very conspicuous in her yellow Snoopy t-shirt and bright red hoodie with a giant paisley-printed pretzel on the front. She grips the book she is reading (Bad Religion, by Ross Douthat) a bit tighter and concentrates on the pages a bit more intensely, convincing herself that she will be able to disappear into the walls if she assumes a posture of nonchalance and I-could-hardly-care-less-that-I'm-in-a-Greyhound-terminal. Finally, she is called to load onto the bus. She is one of the first to board and finds a window seat in the middle. She hopes that no one will sit next to her.


LOCATION: a Greyhound bus from Cleveland, OH, to Buffalo, NY.
TIME: 11am.
ATMOSPHERE: desperation.

Our protagonist has been joined by a man of about 30 in bluish pixelated camo pants. He smells of cigarettes and sweat... or maybe that is the Amish family sitting across the aisle. He decides that a 4.5-hour bus ride is a perfect opportunity to share his life story, including discussion of past romantic relationships and drug use, all the while cursing like a sailor. We find Katie about halfway through the ride, staring furiously at her fingernails.

STRANGER: So my sister is getting married. Her engagement party is September 22!
KATIE [whose birthday is the same day]: Oh! that's... Hobbit Day.
STRANGER: ...Hobbit Day?
KATIE: Yes. Bilbo and Frodo Baggins' birthday.
STRANGER: You are such a dork. [Katie wonders what gives him the right to say this.] --But it's cute. You're cute. You look like a princess.
KATIE [wishing to exit the bus]: Umm...
STRANGER: Am I making you uncomfortable?
KATIE: Well...


LOCATION: a park in Buffalo, NY.
TIME: 9:30pm.
ATMOSPHERE: doom.

Katie and her friend Rebecca have met up with Rebecca's high school friend, Kelsey, to see a free performance of Shakespeare's Measure for Measure in the park. It is intermission.

KATIE: Where are the bathrooms, do you think?
REBECCA: There are port-a-potties up over there.
KATIE: Thanks!

Katie finds said port-a-potties. There are two rows facing each other. The closest source of light, other than a very smart woman's headlamp, is about 20 yards away. Katie enters a port-a-potty... and soon finds herself unable to exit. She begins to feel claustrophobic in the pitch-dark, 4x4' square that kinda smells bad. She runs her hand frantically over the door, attempting to find the latch while keeping her hair from falling into the urinal to her right. She considers what a port-a-potty rescue mission might look like.

KATIE: God help me.

Katie eventually finds the latch and exits the Place Where Light Goes To Die.


LOCATION: a house in a Buffalo suburb.
TIME: 8pm.
ATMOSPHERE: slap-happiness.

Katie has gone to visit her friend Mary Kate. They have just feasted on a lovely pasta supper, and they plan to make raspberry puff pastries. (By 'make' we mean 'take out of a box and bake on a cookie sheet.') They retrieve the pastries from the freezer. Somehow the pastries have managed to thaw and re-freeze, rendering them permanently attached to each other. Katie and Mary Kate proceed to put the whole block of them on a sheet and hope for the best. They have just been discussing relativism and are much more interested in their conversation than in digging up an ice pick to dislodge pastries from each other.

KATIE: They might not look like puff pastries, but I'm sure they'll still be good.
MARY KATE: If they don't look or taste like puff pastries, are they still puff pastries?
KATIE: Of course not! They can claim whatever they want, but saying they are puff pastries does not make the puff pastries.
MARY KATE: They are still useful, but they are not the fullness of puff pastry!
KATIE: The heretics.

Katie and Mary Kate at this point decide that keeping a straight face is no longer important, and summarily dissolve into peals of laughter.


LOCATION: a wings restaurant in Buffalo.
TIME: 6:45pm.
ATMOSPHERE: hope.

Katie, Rebecca, and Rebecca's mom have gone to get wings for dinner. Katie has never had wings before. She is a little frightened, knowing that Buffalo Mild Wings will still probably be too Wild for her. She is slightly placated by promises to get the mildest of the mild, even a step milder than Rebecca usually gets. Their order of Mild and Parmesan Garlic wings arrives.

KATIE [tasting a mild wing]: Hey! This isn't... too bad.
REBECCA: Good!
KATIE: Oh just kidding. My lips are burning.
REBECCA: You can eat the parmesan ones...
KATIE: Holy smokes my mouth hurts. Water!!


We also did things like talk, watch Gone with the Wind (for my first time!), and visit Niagara Falls. But let's be honest, the above scenes are probably more amusing to the general populace.

Also, pictures:

Niagara Falls

Relativist Puff Pastry with a side of Heresy

summer vacation + young adult fiction

Last week my family went to The Middle Of Nowhere, MI. We stayed there for a week. It was great for me. Books, fudge, and a 32-mile bike ride. For my sister... well...

The showers were a little short.

The water was a little cold.

But she's still really pretty.

I began and completed two books over the week (aside from A Year of Biblical Womanhood and most of The Idiot: Lois Lowry's Son and Orson Scott Card's Ender's Game.

It's been a while since I've let myself read popular fiction, but I liked them both. Why? They don't answer all the questions.

Lots of people on goodreads have been throwing fits over both books, because both leave lots of annoying open room at the end. They don't tie off all of the fraying ropes. There are things you want for the main characters that you just don't get. That they just don't get.

Both Lowry and Card, even within the context of weird, futuristic worlds where kids have unprecedented 'powers' and all of civilization depends on a teenager, stay true to reality. There is no deus ex machina. No implausible solutions to insoluble problems. This is probably more true for Son than Ender's Game, but I'd say it holds for both.

And even though there was no crazy 'perfect ending' that answered every question I might ask, there were... endings. Endings that resolved the main tension that had driven the plot to that point. They fulfilled my list of ending requirements that I came up with on the spot back in June. So I'm happy.

My biggest beef with Ender's Game was probably that the thing identified through most of the book as The Real Enemy is left completely undealt with and undiscussed after the climax. Hrumph.

feminism & me part 2 (the fallout)

First: A Year of Biblical Womanhood.

The review at Desiring God mostly takes issue with Evans' approach to Scripture, less than her takeaways from it, as she looked in depth at femininity in the Bible. The reviewer summarizes her complaints:

Throughout A Year of Biblical Womanhood, Evans works to prove that the Bible is not without error and therefore cannot be applied literally — and in some cases cannot be trusted.

I think that is... false. I did not see proving the error of the Bible as a goal of AYoBW. Did I see some historical critical analysis? Yes. Do I think that's an awful, heathenish way to read the Bible? Not necessarily.

Fact: the Bible cannot always be applied literally. We learned that even in my Sola Scriptura high school. For example-- The Song of Solomon is a poem. It's not a love manual. (cough Mark Driscoll cough)

The Word of God is living and active. It is not a static text. But this does not mean I agree with all of Evans' interpretation. She claims at the end that it is essential to read with a 'prejudice of love' (295). When talking to my parents about the book, though, I realized that it is also very important to read from a posture of humility. In reading Evans' thoughts on women's roles in relation to men, in the church and in the family, I did not find that I could read the Scripture with a prejudice of love and a posture of humility and get quite the same answers she did.


Next: Gender in the Church

One of the reasons I love Christianity so much is because my value as a person comes from God, who will never stop loving me. I am valued because I am loved, not the other way around. This is the same for me, as a woman, as it is for a man. I am valuable regardless of my occupation and life situation. Period. Martin Luther got this:

'A cobbler, a smith, a farmer, each has the work and office of this trade . . . and everyone by means of his own work or office must benefit and serve every other, that in this way many kinds of work may be done for the bodily and spiritual welfare of the community, even as all the members of the body serve one another.'

Man or woman, occupations are to be taken to the benefit and service of the community, the construction worker as well as the pastor.

But wait. Women pastors? --I'm not really sure what I think of Evans' justification for the passages that instruct women not to teach in church. But I do know that the discussion of women & men in church is heavily linked to the relationship between husbands and wives. The words Paul uses in 1 Corinthians 14:34-35 and 1 Timothy 2:11-12 maybe should be translated as 'wives' and 'husbands' rather than 'women' and 'men.' So...

Last: Gender in the Family

I talked to a friend of mine for hours over video chat the other day, hammering out what we thought of complementarianism vs egalitarianism in marriage. If those words confuse you, join the club.

I think what it comes down to is this: complementarianism at its best and egalitarianism at its best are the same thing. To say that men and women have complementary roles in marriage and to say that men and women are of equal value and dignity (with roles decided by giftedness rather than gender) are not mutually exclusive.

I'll take two couples as examples of this: my parents, and a couple from my church in MD.

1. My parents follow fairly stereotypical gender personality patterns. Dad is an ISTJ. Mom is an INFP. He likes building things. She likes gardening. He's well-read and wise. She's intuitive and passionate. There's a sort of sense that my dad is a leader, but he values my mom more than himself. Zero hierarchy. They do things for the family based on what they are gifted to do.
2. The other couple does not follow any 'regular' pattern. He is a scatter-brained artist. She is organized to the max. He makes music and dinner. She fixes the plumbing and the finances. And again-- there is a sort of sense that he is a leader, but I've never seen him give her orders. He takes the initiative to serve her whenever possible. And they do things for their family based on their gifts.

In both of these, the men take on the leadership 'role' as one of servanthood: taking the charge to lead as one to love sacrificially. And in both of these, the women take on the submissive 'role' as one of... well, graciously being loved, and loving back. And in both of these, the 'roles' in organizing the family follow what the men and women are gifted to do, not some weird 1950s household code.

Once in a co-ed Bible study, we talked about marriage. What we came to was basically this:

1. Women should submit to their husbands. (Eph 5:22)
2. Men should love their wives. (Eph 5:25)
3. Christians should submit to each other. (Eph 5:21)
4. Christians should love each other. (John 13:34)

Soooo... basically, let's make this whole thing a question not of who obeys whom, and more of who serves whom. And we might get a little farther with the whole 'gender roles' business.

(I do not see how this helps me with gender in the Church, of course, but that's okay. I don't want to be a pastor anyway, so we can leave it at that?)

feminism & me part 1 (the context)

There. I said it. The dirty word that, when applied to a woman, means that she has clearly fallen off the top shelf, is a few crayons short of a full box, or is just irredeemably wicked. That one.

I recently read Rachel Held Evans' (very controversial) book, A Year of Biblical Womanhood. It is a record of her experiment within the context of being Christian and a woman: she was going to do All The Things! that a good Christian woman ought to do. She was going to live Biblical Womanhood.

'Biblical Womanhood' is a very ill-defined term, as she came to realize, but she did it anyway, and discussed it with great finesse and snark. While I don't think she is as totally derailed as John Piper's people do, I also did not have a life-changing revelation of oh my stars I've been wrong all along.

So I want to talk about my understanding of womanhood, femininity, feminism, gender roles, whatever... but first I want to give some context by way of stories. I grew up deeply entrenched in Evangelical Christianity. Baptist grandparents on both sides. Firm Bible-believing Apostle's-Creed-Christian parents. Presbyterian (PCA, for that matter) school. 100% of my friends were professing Christians... the conservative, Protestant kind. And what did that mean for me?


1. The ideal family model is complementarian.
All I ever saw from my parents and grandparents followed the assumption that

'Men and women are equal in the image of God, but maintain complementary differences in role and function. In the home, men lovingly are to lead their wives and family as women intelligently are to submit to the leadership of their husbands. In the church, while men and women share equally in the blessings of salvation, some governing and teaching roles are restricted to men.' (Council on Biblical Manhood and Womanhood) 

There was an assumption of male headship... even if the leadership my dad or grandpa practiced was not a strictly hierarchical or even remotely power-mongering sort, it was definitely leadership. Don't ask me to explain how; I can't. It just was.

2. Certain jobs are For Men Only.
A girl at my school was at one point certain that she was being called to be a pastor. This inclination was summarily tempered by gentle instructions from teachers (with Scripture references) and less-than-gentle scoffs from her 'less rebellious and more appropriately submissive' female peers. Myself included. (We, of course, did not use those words or actually scoff... but we were thinking them.)
Within the school, it was certain that Bible teachers for grades 7+ were to be men. The headmaster of the school also ought to be a man. This has led to an interesting conundrum for some as recently the headmaster left the school, and his job has been filled by an interim principal... the female principal of the Grammar School.

3. Actually, all leadership is For Men Only.
Even if that was not what was spoken, that is definitely what was heard. The student body president and vice president needed to be male. Female leadership in business and government was spoken of with a twinge of distaste (remember Hillary Clinton? Large twinge of distaste).
This has caused some angst as graduates went on to college and found ourselves in leadership positions. After being asked to serve as vice-president in ISI my freshman & sophomore year, I had to worry through the implications of what I would say if asked to be president. No can do. I can't be in charge; I'm a woman! But what if I'm the most qualified? I'm still a woman. Drat. (note: have gotten over this, especially since the role of 'Commander-In-Chief' has been pretty much dispelled entirely.)

4. A woman's ideal place is in the home.
People always spoke with pity about those kids whose moms worked out of the home. It was just a shame, wasn't it? Motherhood (particularly stay-at-home-motherhood) was always assumed to be the ideal for women. When asked, though, my parents seemed okay with the idea that I might not get married and have kids. As long as I didn't want to live at home forever.

5. Modesty is the prime consideration in dress.
Very early on, I heard that it was my job to remember boys when I was getting dressed. What would they think, looking at me in this outfit? Is it too revealing, too tight? (Secret: I was very glad that I at 13 had roughly the figure of a 13-year-old boy. I pitied the girls who actually had to worry about things like cleavage.)
If I had doubts, I could check the Modesty Survey posted on the Rebelution page, where boys and men had weighed in as to what exactly constitutes modest dress.

6. Taking the initiative is never my job...
To have told a boy I liked him without him approaching me first would be sleazy, desperate, and taking away his inborn right to/gift of leadership. And oh, did I ever cast judgement on those girls who did.
When it came to senior prom, my best friends and I were in a terrible bind... there were five of us in our class, two boys and three girls. Those two boys were pretty much definitely not going to ask us, and even if they had, there would have been at least one of us left over. We had to ask other boys to prom, unless of course we just bit it and went alone. We were quite angry at this predicament, and discussed it for long hours into the night. I would be lying if I said I didn't feel a teensy bit guilty inviting a friend of mine... and I would not have done it at all had I not been certain there would be no chance of dating happening and anyone saying that I had started the relationship. What a scandal that would be.

7. ...in anything.
My church hosted swing dances a few times a month. It was fairly well-established, in my social circle, that boys were to ask girls to dance. There were some boys who would say no on principle if girls asked them to dance. If they didn't ask you, you were doomed to sit the evening out or learn how to lead so you could dance with other girls.
There was also the impression that emotions were only to exist as responses. It was shameful, I felt, to admit to having feelings for a guy if he had not indicated his first. Just embarrassing. And also wrong. I should get rid of those and not have feelings until I have been approached by a guy; then I am allowed to have feelings. (What good are they anyway, if I can't do anything with them?) (This is something I am still trying to get over.)

8. To be forward is to fail.
My good friend Christine and I use to tease each other about being 'forward' or 'brazen' or whatever. If it had been true, though, there definitely would have been an intervention. Our duty was to cultivate quiet, submissive spirits in all things. (That did not work out so well for me.)

9. Purity!
Were I to become emotionally attached to someone, I would give him a bit of myself I could never get back, so I should probably avoid that. Lesson taught complete with visual illustration/activity.
Physical boundaries were introduced into my head at age 11--no sex until marriage, for sure. Probably also no kissing until then either (although I'll admit I made that up... if we are going to do purity, let's do it right! The less physical contact, the purer; the purer, the better).
I thus learned that saying 'no' was very much allowed and very much important. I did not need physical intimacy to validate me. --In fact, maybe the lack thereof validated me? Thoughts.

10. Men should respect me because I am a woman.
After I entered my school in 6th grade, I think the only door I opened for myself was the door to the Ladies' Room. We were automatically first in line for everything and given preference if there were not enough seats for everyone. It was really nice, actually.
(This, unfortunately, did not always extend to our co-ed gym class, where I was not so much 'shown honor as a weaker vessel' as not really wanted for anybody's team ever. Whoops.)


There are probably a lot more implications of the culture in which I grew up on gender roles, but these are some of the outstanding ones. Obviously, some of the things that stand out the most are the things that are at disconnect with my desires and/or culture, so this list may seem overly negative, but that is not my intention. I just want to give an accurate frame to my discussion of AYoBW and feminism.

a sonnet for kmax

I am aghast! Somehow I have managed to get through the whole summer without posting ridiculous poems in forms far too grand for their subject matter (which is what I most love to write, let's be honest).

But, as I said to a friend who confessed that she never used AIM in middle school... It's never too late to start living.

This sonnet is a summation of my oft-repeated sentiments toward the Fabulous Maxfield Family. These feelings were reawakened when Katie sent me an email the other day noting some statements her 'dear old dad' made at dinner, so I decided to pour them out in the form of a sonnet.

This is high art, y'all.

O, to be a fly upon the wall
In places where the Maxfield clan resides
And Katie and her family members all
With pithy speech the summer hours bide.

And O! to hear first-hand the wond'rous words
I now find only through the internet:
Perchance to add myself some thoughts absurd
(Because strange thoughts more of the same beget).

But most of all, I revel in the way
KMax's family takes such time to tease
The living daylights out of their poor prey
(That is, the giggling dame: Kathryn Louise). 

And as I love to poke fun at my friend,
With such good company, 'twould never end!

(And this is why Katie should begin plotting now to ensure that I never spend extended periods of time with her family.)

everyday church part 1 (the story)

Here are some stories of faithfulness for you:

My family had a rough time finding a church. In fact, they have been having a rough time, as this entire summer has consisted of visiting different churches every week. It did not take long for me to fall into the habit of sitting in the backseat of the car grumbling about how it's been six months and can't we just pick someplace and stay there? Losing 100% of my spiritual community would be hard enough even with a band-aid to stick on myself temporarily. But a few weeks ago, finally, we visited a church in the next town over and decided to come back. And then decided to come back again. And I was (and am) overjoyed.

Another story: KCal gave me a copy of Everyday Church at the end of the school year. I had no time to read it then, so I packed it away. After pretty near demolishing my summer reading list, this week I began to peruse my own bookshelf for books I owned but hadn't read yet... And that one jumped out. So I read it. Finished it Saturday. Thought it was amazing.

Where these things intersect? Last Sunday was our third week visiting this church as a family. Afterwards we went to their monthly 'find out about our church' meeting. One of the pastors sat us down and told us about the way they structure life at the church, specifically discipleship. And I was having major déjà vu, because as he was explaining the structure and functionality of the 'growth groups' that make up the church, it sounded kind of like he was quoting Chester & Timmis. When I asked him, he confirmed this suspicion.

We found like the only church in Ohio following the Everyday Church model*. Okay, maybe not only, but it's still cool. Especially considering the timing.


Other semi-related stories of faithfulness:

Gospel community? Only 99% lost. I found out a few weeks ago that one of my friends, who hasn't shared my geographical location for over a year, lives in the town-next-door! How. amazing.

I dropped my English major, officially, and I feel so much peace. Except that somehow I am still moved by other people's expressed hurt/disappointment. Sigh. Humanity. Anyway, after thinking and praying about this for about 4 months, I am convinced that it's right, and LOOK AT ME GUYS I'm learning to discern Value from Apparent Usefulness.

          (as if an English major were ever apparently useful...)



*Notes on What I Mean By This Ambiguity tomorrow

what have you done

Dear Vision Mentor of 2013,

What have you done.

Yes, you, the one still wearing facepaint from last night's scavenger hunt because you were too busy writing affirmation letters at the last minute to take a shower. The one stuffed full of Victory Waffle. The one ready to collapse in bed at 9pm, except that Vision Prom is tomorrow and you want to practice your Tunak Tunak Tun moves in the mirror some more (besides the fact that your room is currently 95 degrees and smells like Raid). Yeah, I see you.

What have you done?

Oh, friend. You've just spent four weeks getting paid to be a saint. Which is totally easy peasy.

...Take Mary for an example. Mary wasn't awesome because she worked her butt off to follow all of the rules. No, the thing that made her a saint was what was inside of her: Love. As in, the Person, in-the-flesh Love who also happened to be God.

And that happened to you this month. You became, for each other and for the students, a vessel for the in-the-flesh Love who also happens to be God. Can you grasp that? Can you understand how ridiculous and yet true that is, that God would give us not only the permission but the ability to hold Love (i.e. Himself) inside of us?

But you of all people know that to hold Love inside yourself is synonymous with pouring Love outside of yourself. If it's locked up in a safe somewhere in you, chances are 100% that it's not actually Love. No, when God gives Himself to us it's earth-shattering. It changes not only you, but everybody around you.

Maybe that's the coolest thing about what you just did. Not only did you have literally nothing else to do or be but Love, but you were doing and being love with 65+ other people in exactly the same position.

If the fact that you have the actual living Jesus inside you changes everybody around you, what do you think of the fact that you were around 65+ other people who also have the actual living Jesus inside them? Those people have also held Love, and they have also poured Love out, and that has changed you.

There's no other way it could have been.

Why am I sending this to you now, instead of on Monday or next month, when you are actually starting to process what-you-have-done? Because I want you to be confident, as you say goodbye, that it's not over. When the actual living Jesus gives Himself to you, and you hold Love inside yourself, there is nothing that can stop that.

--Unless you stop that. Unless you stop pouring Love outside of yourself. Because then what you have will no longer be Love.

As someone who has made it through a whole year since the end of my Vision experience, I can tell you with 100% certainty that opportunities to pour Love out are never going to cease to throw themselves at you. And I can tell you with 100% certainty that you have gotten so addicted to Love that you will do anything, and give anything, to get more of it.

...I'm not telling you not to be sad you have to go home. I'm not telling you not to cry tomorrow. (Oh, you will cry. Just wait till you hear the reading at Mass.) But I'm telling you that leaving is not loss. It is gain.

If what was being brought to an end came with glory, much more will what is permanent have glory. (2 Corinthians 3:11)

Now go be God's.

With so much love,
Vision Mentor of 2012

why I'm thankful for my commute

Allow me to say it up front: I hate driving. I don't think it's that much fun, and I'm not naturally good at it (which means that often I AM that terrible driver you probably curse at sometimes. I sincerely apologize).

This summer, I have been blessed with the chance to live in a neighborhood that is a 25-40 minute drive from everything: from my sister's school in one direction and my dad's work in another... from my VBS in one direction and my church in another... from the actual city in one direction and the community college in another. In fact, there are three community colleges in my county, and I live 25-40 minutes from all of them.

What this means is that I spend a LOT of time in the car. Every morning I drive 30 minutes to the college, and every afternoon 30 back. Sometimes I hit rush hour both ways, which makes it longer.

And I'm so grateful.

My commute means that I pray daily, whether I mean to or not. I was struggling a lot the first few weeks of summer to hold myself accountable and seek God when my life was so mundane that I was neither drawn to Him by overwhelming joy nor driven to Him by difficult circumstances. But put me in the car and oh boy. Every day I get to work in one piece is a miracle, and every minute behind the steering wheel is a minute of active reliance on God. People are stupid when they drive, myself included--with as many close calls as I've had and as few accidents (zero), I will never underestimate the ability of God to use the same thing to draw AND drive you to Him. Every day if need be.

Speaking of stupid drivers, my commute means that I see my sin. How in the world can I be so ungracious as to mutter at the person going 2mph under the speed limit? But I am. Once upon a time I thought I was patient; I don't kid myself any more. Also, interacting with people when we're all in enclosed metal vehicles means that my self-centeredness is totally unveiled. I am the only person on the road I know about. I know my needs and my story, and everybody else may as well be a computer player in MarioKart. They are vehicles, not people. ...except that they are people. Oops. As long as I am driving, I doubt I will ever ascribe perfection to myself.

So, when I turn off my inner analysis-monologue? My commute means that I can practice silence. Silence. Focus. Complete distance from Facebook, texts, and (in a car with a broken cassette deck, no CD player, and no radio stations I like) music... there is exactly one task at hand, which is getting where I'm getting safely. If I'm doing other things, that first one is in jeopardy (which is usually the case, but there are few things that motivate you to singlemindedness like the choice between 'distraction' and 'death').

But sometimes my commute means that I can listen to Tim Keller every day. In the mornings the traffic is usually tame enough that I can handle a sermon podcast on my phone. And there is nothing like a theologically sound discussion of the Lord's Prayer at 7:15am.

And if I decide against both of those, my commute means that I can sing as loud as I want, up to an hour a day. And there's not a lot more to say about that.

Finally, my commute means that God really does turn our least favorite things into incredible blessings, which I probably should have figured out sooner... but driving? Who would have thought? How silly.

One of the things I was most scared about for this summer has turned out to be one of the things I'm most thankful for. But (let's be honest) I still hate driving.

teaching & me

Somehow I have gone one month/eleven blog posts without really talking about the only semi-legit thing I'm doing this summer... that is, doing [stuff] in the ESL program at my local community college. Yeah, I said it was only semi-legit.

Basically what I do:

• Observing Reading & Writing 3 for the whole semester (8:30-10:10, for 10 weeks)
• Observing Grammar 2/Grammar 3, alternating about every two weeks (10:30-12:10, also 10 weeks)
• Email-tutoring one student
• Conversation-tutoring two students
• Intensive-GED-reading-tutoring one student

I don't get paid for any of it (except a nominal fee from my GED student), and out of the 20ish hours a week that all encompasses, I'm only guaranteed to be doing anything for 7. The rest is just sitting in a classroom, listening, taking notes, doodling, and occasionally walking around the room and helping students with independent exercises.

But recently, the Grammar 2 professor gave me one of the greatest gifts I've received yet, and offered to let me review the class' latest test with them AND teach a whole hour and forty minute class on comparative adjectives. 

The class will come next month. The test review was Thursday. And oh... friends, this is hard work.

I've known since about sixth grade that I probably shouldn't be a teacher. Back then I thought it was because I understood things too easily, and I would expect my students to be as brilliant as I am (and that expectation would 99% of the time be false). Yes, I was quite a wonderful sixth grader. And humble, too.

Anyway. In recent years, I've stuck to my conviction that I shouldn't be a teacher, but for slightly less annoying reasons--mostly just because I don't know if I'm gifted that way. I think education is one of the most important structures in society, and it bothers me a lot when people say things like, 'Oh, I don't know what I want to do with this degree in [    ]. I'll probably just end up teaching it to high schoolers.' 

Just because you know something doesn't mean you can or should teach it. 

And that is being reinforced quite thoroughly into my head this summer. Do I know English? You bet. Can I work with one student to make them understand it? Sure. Can I teach it to a class? Questionable.

It's funny... I think I'd take teaching small groups of Catholic high schoolers about the Sacraments (as I did last summer) over teaching classes of international adults about English (as I am doing this summer). In the first case, I (being Protestant) knew less than my students did, but I had a different perspective, a different angle... and some real humility to boot. Here, I know a lot more than they do. I ought to. I'm a native speaker. And there is only one possible perspective, one possible angle. I have it; they don't. But they need to, and I need to get them there. And somehow manage to stay humble.

It doesn't just have to do with right and wrong answers. Teaching is about getting the students to think in a way they don't naturally think. Once you get them started in the right place and moving in the right direction, the answers will come. And, again: this is hard work.

And it makes me wonder... is teaching just a gift you have? Or, like theology or the English language, is it the sort of thing that I could arrive at just by starting in the right place and moving in the right direction, with a little guidance from somebody who knows what they're doing?

one-month check-up

I’ve been summer-ing for a little over a month. I’ve been blogging for almost exactly one month. That’s a third of my summer. Yeesh. To keep perspective… time for a check-in with the goals, yay!

Shadow ESL classes at the community college

Check. I've been pretty consistent, and only skipped two days (one for being out of town, the other because I almost-fainted twice before breakfast and thought driving would be stupid).

Gain the professor's respect enough that she lets me do something useful in class by the end of the semester

Yep! Well, two of the profs anyway. And I'm tutoring four students now, which is awesome.

Learn more about community college life by picking up "Community" as my summer bad habit of choice

Just kidding. This hasn't happened, and I don't think it will. I discovered 'Sherlock' instead, which is AWESOME and RIDICULOUS and POST COMING SOON.

Find a job that pays money

Negative. Every time I apply somewhere, they're like, 'Oh, you're leaving in 2.5 months? Sucks to suck.' (I'm sorry. I'm beginning to sound bitter. I'm not, really, just sad. But now that we are down to 2 months left, I have resigned myself to unemployment and will no longer spend hours scouring Craigslist for job openings. I will instead spend that time tutoring wonderful international students in the most frustrating language on the planet, i.e. English.)

Take that job

I WILL IF YOU LET ME PLEASE!!

Do not spend the money on frivolous things

To my sister's dismay, this one's a success.

Read books edifying to my intellect

Well...

• Brideshead Revisited, Evelyn Waugh 
• Spirit of the Liturgy, Joseph Ratzinger 
• 1984, George Orwell 
• Story of a Soul, Therese of Lisieux
• Tale of Two Cities, Charles Dickens 
• The Cost of Discipleship, Dietrich Bonhoeffer
• Wives and Daughters, Elizabeth Gaskell
• Every Good Endeavor, Tim Keller
• Lolita, Nabokov
• Various poems by Державин, Ломоносов, & Пушкин

Read books not quite so edifying to my intellect

A few. None on my list except a few Twain short stories.

Write some sort of reflection on my experiential and/or book learning at least once a week

Not just once, but twice a week! aha! ...Can I get double points on this one?

Take three consecutive internet-free hours every day, exclusive of the hours when I'm working

Unfortunately, I have not been consistent with this one. I have limited the number of times I check Facebook per day, and I've stopped using the internet while I'm working. heh.

Write a libretto for Braeden's oratorio of The Great Divorce

Good progress. I'm pleased. Tomorrow we start Chapter 9, and I get to subject him to all of my George MacDonald fangirling. :D :D :D :D :D

Sew myself an elf cloak

Have pattern. Have main fabric. Have plans to embroider (another hobby I've picked up recently). Need lining fabric. Need to locate sewing machine.

Thanks to y'all for sticking with me. On the list of things-to-do-this-month, I am book-clubbing Brideshead Revisited and Lolita with Molly, as well as Biblical Womanhood: How a liberated woman found herself sitting on her roof, covering her head, and calling her husband 'Master' with KMax. I'm excited.
I have also resolved to keep my room clean, eat more vegetables, drive no more than 5 miles over the speed limit, and play nice with my sister. Standard.

If I can tack on one extra thing... I would appreciate prayers. I have found that I have a terrible time motivating myself to, you know, do things, when I'm home, not knowing anyone around, and not working full time. These 'things' include everything from reading (haven't really read anything for about 2 weeks) to praying (which has gone better than reading, but not by a lot).
I guess part of me is so afraid of doing something and finding out I've been wasting my time all along, that instead I do nothing at all. That way I know I'm wasting time from the start, which somehow makes it easier. I think Andrew calls this ennui. I call it inertia. It's annoying. I'm not used to it and I don't like it.


BONUS just because:

(They're like a cross between A Fine Frenzy and Lisbeth Scott... really good.)

bel air, maryland

Well, I don't have anything intelligent to say this fine Monday evening.

I spent 80 hours this weekend with people... straight (aside from a 25 minute break, and sleeping Saturday night). But I love all of those people.

Yes! I got to go back to Bel Air this weekend! It was awesome! I did nothing useful but so many things valuable!

I loved getting to hang out with some of my very close friends from my high school days... Marina, Rachel, David, Kristina, Douglas, Megan, and Caleb (in order of appearance).
It's so great that I can go months without seeing or communicating with them, and the first time we see each other we go right back into real conversation about real things. (Although it is NOT so great that we go months without communication.) And I know that whatever questions they ask me, from 'How are you' to 'How can I pray for you,' they really care about my answer.

That is the best feeling in the world.

Also, I got to see Rachel's dad, who was my Calc1/Calc2/Physics/WorldHistory/Latin1/Latin2 teacher in high school. He's the coolest. We made calculus jokes. Fun fact: he breeds spiders for kicks. (That part's a little weird.)

So Bel Air is no longer exactly home for me, even though it is home to many of the people whose company is home for me. Regardless, I would like to make a list of Reasons Why Bel Air, Maryland is Actually Pretty Cool Regardless of the Fact that it is in Maryland.

1. It is the biggest town in Harford County. If you live in Harford County, you probably have to drive to/through Bel Air to get anywhere/do anything.
2. Even though it is big, it is green and it is clean. Including downtown.
3. There are all sorts of pretty places hidden around its neighborhoods... there are creeks everywhere.
4. They actually teach kids our State Song, even though other Marylanders (cough Baltimore) are trying to pass legislature to change the lyrics and destroy our history!!!!! (sorry, rant)
5. Speaking of the Confederacy, John Wilkes Booth grew up there.
6. Wegman's.
7. Humidity makes my hair do fun things!
8. A lot of neighborhoods have themes... like the one Megan and I found yesterday where all of the streets had Shakespeare-themed names :D #nerds
9. The town is putting up a darned good fight to prevent the new Walmart. Props to you.
10. All the coolest people live there, really. (Obligatory cheesy last reason, sorry.)

Yep. Pretty cool weekend. And now I'm exhausted because, you know, introvert.

community college, community church

Today, I’m going to take a break from writing about books. Because really, I promise, I have done other things besides read this summer! I have also been observing classes and tutoring in the ESL program at my local community college.

And I’ve realized… ‘community college’ is a terrible misnomer.

Maybe it’s because the college is servicing students from a 15-mile radius. Maybe it’s because it’s the summer and not the semester. Maybe it’s because I’m not actually taking real classes. But there is not much ‘community*’ about this college. 

Frankly, I miss it. I miss Notre Dame and the community I have there. I miss New Covenant and the community I had there. I have always associated school with really intense relationships and a committed Emmaus-walk mentality. I’m not exactly finding that at community college.

I guess it’s not necessary to get at school, though. I do interact with other people besides the ESL folks. I go to church with my family every Sunday! …whatever church we’re visiting that week, anyway. And when Sunday mornings look like that… ‘community church’ is just as misleading a name.

We’ve visited a couple of those. A couple of Baptist churches. An LCMS church. A Methodist church. And none of them, the community churches included, have been very forthcoming with the fellowship. Maybe that’s because we’ve never been anywhere more than twice… but still.

And I miss it. I miss Fulkerson and the community I have there. I miss Mt. Zion and the community I had there. I have always associated church with discipling and being discipled, with life together with people who share my priorities and my loves. I haven’t gotten that in church the last few weeks.

I miss community.

I don’t think I’ve ever gone more than two weeks of my post-middle-school life without community, without good friends and strong spiritual support physically present to me. When my friends at ND used to talk about their trepidation going home on breaks… that it was harder to remain disciplined, harder to see God, harder to feel loved, harder to feel happy… I never got it. Yes, the community available at school (especially through ISI & various other campus ministry groups) is amazing. But I went home to community that was only slightly less awesome, if at all.

I get it now.

I’m wondering about the next few months. Do I choose a place, dive in, and try to ‘create’ community… and all of the accountability, vulnerability, and self-denying love that goes with it… or do I hold out another 11 weeks on my own? The whole make community happen now thing seemed to work last summer, at Vision. We only had 5 weeks together, and we went from strangers to best friends. I’ve got more than twice that amount of time. But somehow it’s scarier now.

So I wonder, what do you do when you’re in a place where

• you have no existing community?
• there are no structures in place to facilitate community?
• you know you’re only going to be around for a few months?

That’s not a hypothetical question. It is very relevant to my life now, and it becomes even more relevant looking ahead at the month I’ll be spending here this winter, the months I’ll be spending in Russia next spring, and whatever I’ll be doing somewhere in the world next summer. Since my family moved in January, I officially live a life-in-transit. I don’t have a stable ‘home’ anymore, and I don’t have any guarantees that the places I’ll be over the next years will be good at faking it. How do I handle myself?

Do I…

• find people and surreptitiously adopt them into what I will secretly call my community?
• find people and ask them to be brothers and sisters to me?
• sit still and wait with anticipation for God to provide people for me?
• render myself (somehow) independent of the need for community?
• do something else entirely?

I don’t exactly know. 



* Click the link. Definitions of overused terms/jargon are good.