On the Origin of Nomenclature

Call me Ishmael.

For real though, please don't. 

It occurs to me that when I began posting I didn't offer any explanation of origin or any preface of apology. And really I think I'm ok with that.

I figure somebody would ask if they really wanted to know why I named this doohickey mabob or any of my posts what I did, and as for any expression of regret for poor grammar and worse spelling, I don't relish the idea of pointing out beforehand that I'm going to mess up so you can look for it later. I'm all about surprises.

I feel like my sense of style is very well developed in my writing. I don't enjoy talking out loud most of the time, but I don't mine writing down what I think usually. *I think it's because I'm less afraid of conflict and embarrassment when I don't have to worry about a face-to-face interaction.* I can pretend everything's ok in a really regrettable situation if I can't see the person's reaction to the entirely stupid thing I just said.

I'm not afraid to make mistakes in my writing, sometimes because I'm blissfully unaware and sometimes because I just don't care. It's not that I'm completely ignorant of proper English or utterly rejecting of the structure. Sometimes I just like the way it looks. Sentence fragments have their uses. Even if they are the bane of every high school English teacher.

* denotes random psychological wandering

It is I

Starting college was probably the toughest experience of my life. Which isn't saying much I don't guess...there aren't just a whole lot of terrible things to be in the running for worst. But moving away from home was definitely tops.

I've always liked being at home. I don't know why I have such a strong bond with my parents, but I do, and the thought of being without them for extended periods of time causes me nearly physical pain. And I understand that it's something I need to grow into. I'm working on it. Just don't rush me.

But the first couple months of my first time ever not living at home was easily the lowest point of my life. 

One night I was talking to Momma about how everything seemed to get worse at night. I would be laying in bed with nothing but my pillow and my thoughts to  haunt me, thinking about home, almost obsessing over how much I wished I could be there to eat a real supper with them, watch tv, go pile up in bed and just be together. And Momma said that well, you know, the devil knows just where to get you and when. Don't think he doesn't know that those thoughts are what's going to hurt you worst right now.

But that's not the part that really fixed things. It helped, a lot, but the next part did too.

She said that when the apostles went out on the boat and the storm hit, don't you think it was terrifying? And then Jesus was there, and the storm was still going, but He was there in the middle of it with them. And when Peter started walking toward Jesus he was on top of the water, but then he realized where he was an he started paying too much attention to the storm and the waves and his faith faltered and he was afraid again and sank. And life is a lot like that. We can't pay so much attention to the storm that we take our eyes off God or we start to sink. God will keep us afloat, just have a little faith.

That story seems to pop up in times when I really need it, and Brother David mentioned it again this weekend. It also works really well as a starting place from which my metaphor-loving brain can branch out rather rapidly.

I've been on boats of all sizes ranging from little kayaks to great big cruise ships, and there's a certain level of unnatural-ness to all of them. The first time you step into a boat of any size there's a sort of new connection that you form with the water. It's a sort of respect-based relationship where all the respect has to come from you or the results aren't pretty. You have to understand that you are dependent upon the water, you have no connection to solid ground anymore, and if you refuse to acknowledge the way the water moves and sways, you won't stand long. 

And life's situations are a lot like that. You have to accept that there's very little you can do to control the movement of the water, the predicament you're in, and you just have to hold on and float.

Once you see that you can survive though, you notice a sort of rhythm to the sway. It's a beautiful dance between you and the wave, slowly climbing to the crest and then gliding smoothly back to the trough. And when you realize that holding on to something solid, looking at God instead of the storm, will keep you safe, you really enjoy it.

And I've been to the ocean several times. I can't say that I enjoyed all of them, but I've been. 

I just hate sand. It multiplies. You wash it off your feet and out of your clothes and then suddenly it's everywhere again. 

Anyway, the things I actually enjoy about the beach are the waves. The way they come and go. Again kind of like life's troubles. 

But if you focus on a particular spot in the ocean, a particular distance away in the future, you see the water rise and fall over and over in a weird way so that the water never looks like it's getting any closer, which makes you not only feel tiny and insignificant, but also a little sea sick. We can't spend all our time worrying about a point in the future when there's so many little ripples tickling our feet, bringing in little seashells and sea glass bits of happiness.

That conversation that night still makes me cry every time I think about it, partly because that particular pain is still somewhat of a fresh hurt, and partly because Momma's advice was so true. 

I've spent many long nights thinking about it since then, giving me plenty of time to come up with strange, vaguely-connected metaphors in order to (psychology alert) make me feel like I understand something about the squall of life so that I can be better prepared to batten down the hatches. 

Ahoy maties... 

Purple

I've always liked little things.

I don't know if it's because I've always had small hands so little things fit better or if it's just another in a long list of quirks, but I like really little things.

I remember this toy castle I had when I was little. It had towers and banners and a drawbridge and such, but my favorite parts were the tiny unicorn and Pegasus that went with it. They were small equine even to a five year old.

I've always had an eye for detail. I enjoy looking really closely at things, seeing the minute intricacies. I think the human body, physically anyway, is most interesting on a cellular level.

I think it's good, important even, to pay close attention to small things, to details.

And enjoy them. That's the most important part.

Wiggle your toes. What does it feel like? Are you wearing socks or are your feet under a blanket? What does the fabric feel like? Is the space you're in warm? 

Touch your skin. Think about how weird it is that you can feel that contact in two different places. Think about the thousands and thousands of cells in that one spot. 

Now touch somebody else. Ponder for a moment how strange it is that that's as close as you'll ever be to another person in this life. You can't get any closer than physical contact and that's weird. You can't be with them like you can God, and that's good, just strange to me.

And the sense of touch isn't the only one that's good for detail-appreciation.

Listen really closely. Can you hear the air move? Can you hear your heartbeat? Have you ever been able to feel and hear your heartbeat at the same time? It's so cool. I wish I had a stethoscope just so I could listen to my own heartbeat. It's a trippy feeling, just to know that you're alive. It's really poetic and enigmatic and all that stuff and it gets really deep really fast so I can't do it for very long, but it's still nice.

And if you're still long enough, concentrating on just being, you get really into noticing things. Emotionally invested. You see a leaf fall and you notice all the colors in that one little bit of nature and it makes your heart ache to know that so much beauty can be held in four square inches of leaf. You hear your cat sneeze and it evokes a surprised burst of laughter because there's something indescribably funny about animals sneezing.

The saying is that the devil is in the details, but I really think God's got a monopoly on that market. 

Bugs are a really great example of that. There are bugs that look like plants and bugs that look like other bugs and bugs that look like the stuff of nightmares, but each one is a miraculous accumulation of cells that works almost flawlessly for a very brief span of time for an almost neglegible purpose (individually, put very many together and some work will get done one way or another, consider the ant). 

In lots of different yoga exercises the instructor will say to imagine your breath/life/energy flowing into every part of your body. Inhale and let it reach deep down into your toes. Exhale as you rid yourself of bad energy/vibes/thoughts. Inhale and let yourself relax, feel your connection with the ground; exhale and relax your muscles as you imagine your worry being released. Which is sometimes a bunch of bologna, but the idea is kind of nice and actually useful I think. 

We should live in and with every piece of ourselves, experiencing everything fully, which might be the most hippy-ish thing I've ever said. 

God created the most amazing stuff. I want to stop and look at it.

The Struggle Bus

The one thing that I gleaned from California when we went for FBLA (other than the fact that sand bugs are real and quite harmless, albeit incredibly creepy when you notice antenni tickling your feet) is that there is this vehicle that everybody rides on even if you don't know it. It's known as the struggle bus.

One of the speakers at the national convention told us this story about one day when everything was going so wrong that he wasn't on the bus but chasing after it frantically begging to ride.

There are those that casually step on and ride for a stop or so, those that drive, those that chase it down the street, and those that have a permanent seat. I would be a reluctant member of the last classification.

But I don't begrudge whoever it was that snuck me that lifetime ticket. Really.

I'm the kind of person that gets hit in the face by falling leaves in the middle of a crowded public space. Which is more symbolic really than actually traumatizing.

I'm the kind of person that spends hours studying and then stretches for approximately 37 seconds before falling and landing with all my body weight on an electric plug, imbedding the larger of the two prongs in the soft tissue between my thumb and index, making it forever impossible to open pickle jars.

I'm the kind of person that, almost exactly one week later, steps on glass and walks around leaving tiny blood smears because it's shallow enough to be only minorly painful but too deep to get out.

I'm the person who nearly a week later wakes up with extreme stomach pain, passes out in the hallway, wakes up with a bloody lip, and goes to the doctor to find out it was literally nothing. (And the same person who found out after not being able to purchase textbooks that scholarship money does not cover that particular health expense.)

It's kind of nice to belong to a place, even if it is a cracked plastic seat on imaginary public transportation. I like to imagine it like I show up at the bus stop every morning, maybe with coffee in hand, greet the chipper, plump, older gentleman named George who drives the bus, and sit in my old familiar seat with a quiet appreciation of routine. 

And none of this has intentionally been a complaint, simply an admission of an accepted fact. I am comfortable in my seat, even if it does have slightly higher medical and insurance bills. I like to think it's part of my charm. An adorable little quirk if you will.

Being able to laugh at yourself is an important, even if slightly painful, ability to develop. 

I like to think of the little things that happen as challenges. It kind of makes me want to walk in slow motion while really cool music plays and something explodes in the background because I know I've got this. 

Eschew

It sounds like the tag line for a cheesy zombie movie or something.

Evil. It's everywhere. And it wants to eat your brains.

But for real...it's an oozing, infectious disease climbing over the defense walls of your mind to eat away at your conscience and make you hate yourself.

We have to remain ever vigilant and be continuously rebuilding and adding to our armory, always making sure to wear the armor of God and keep it polished. A sword is no good if you let it get dingy.

We should do our best to separate ourselves from things we know are bad. And that's the hard part for me, not knowing what's wrong, but admitting that I know it is. I'm really good at convincing myself things aren't really as bad as I think they are. Oh cake? Well I had a salad at lunch. 

It's almost an art really. Training yourself to listen to that little voice instead of quietly smothering it quickly in the back of your head. I heard a preacher say one time that your conscience is a little pointy thing inside of you that pokes you when you do something wrong, but if you ignore it long enough it wears down and doesn't hurt anymore. I think realizing that your little pokey thing has been ground down to a dead little circle is much worse than getting poked because then you're faced with the difficult task of sharpening it again. 

And the devil. He's a crafty character. He knows where the walls are crumbling and he can ooze his way in. He knows when you're at your weakest and he can easily overpower you. I don't know what he looks like and I would imagine that I don't want to know, but that picture of him as the mustache-twirling, maniacly laughing guy with horns works well enough. 

I try to never forget to pray for forgiveness. I do it at odd times sometimes. Just walking down the sidewalk or brushing my teeth it'll just pop into my head and I repeat it over and over because I know with every breath I should be begging forgiveness and giving thanks that I'm already forgiven.

Praise The Lord.

Beg forgiveness.

Pray for His blessings.

Thank Him.

And repeat.

Tiiiiiiiiiime is on my side

I really think that Einstein's work was probably realy depressing. I mean, you spend so much time thinking about time and, given enough time, you find out you really know nothing and can do nothing about time. 

The strangest thing I can think of off the top of my head is time. I think it's so weird to look back on something you did not too long ago and remember what it felt like in that particular moment to be alive in that particular situation. It's almost like you leave a little piece of yourself in every moment and when you remember things you're going back to visit ghosts.

But enough of that existential mumbo jumbo.

Another thing that has recently come up that I think is worth a few characters on the digital equivalent of a diary you leave out in the open secretly hoping somebody will read it because you have the underlying desire to feel interesting and included and are incapable of divulging your thoughts to an actual person so you have to do it in a passive method...(no, no psychology gobbledygook here at all...)(I'm just a tad impressed by my knowledge of synonyms for nonsensical jargon)

Anyway...

Time is a fickle creature. It doesn't like you to think you can control it.

Which is where faith comes in to play yet again.

It's kind of funny how much peace we can find when our plans go down the drain. The future is actually one of the few things I don't worry about too much because I know that it'll all be okay eventually. I have faith. It gets tested, but that just gives you a really great feeling when you come out stronger than you were before (kind of like how I imagine exercise must be for other people).

Whatever happens, God is with you. He will take care of you. There are so many wonderful reminders of faith in scripture and in song. His eye is on the sparrow, and I know he cares for me. 

Even if ye have to suffer an infirmity for thirty and eight years, it doesn't mean that relief will never come. Hold out hope, have faith. Even if it doesn't happen like you were planning, and who are we to plan anyway, The Lord will provide.

Oh ye of little faith, stay strong just a little longer.

Rainbow

I've heard Bro James mention the rainbow analogy at least twice in the past month, and I've enjoyed it every time. It's an accurate metaphor I think. For a moment every now and then God grants us the ability to clearly see the beautiful blessings He gives us, but if we're too busy looking at the storm of things going on around us, we miss getting a glimpse of His grace and goodness. I heard it said once that God gives us little "handfuls of purpose" like Boaz did for Ruth (a beautiful picture that continues further than that I think and that I love to read about), but that if we don't do our duty and take advantage of the blessings like Ruth did, then it's just grain to be eaten by the birds while we starve.

We should live in the moment more than we do. The man who is sad because things are over lives too much in the past, and the man who worries about things lives too much in the future. If we don't focus on what's happening right now we only really half live our lives.

Find something good in this moment right here. This heartbeat is another one that you didn't deserve but God saw fit to give you. Cast all your cares on Him, someone who can bear them a lot better than you can, and be grateful that you can do that.

I have a thing on my wall in my room that says "Live every minute with love in your heart, grace in your step, and gratitude in your soul." I can't help but think that maybe the person who designed that one knew what they were talking about because randomly strung together words that are supposedly "inspiring" are rarely so accurate. I see it nearly every day, and I should take it to heart more often. 

Live in the moment. Trust God. Tell Him about your worries and let Him handle it because you don't have to try to do it all yourself. 

It'll be ok.

Prayer

Prayer is a really great thing, which is an understatement. It keeps me going better than coffee during finals. 

It seems silly to me that we worry so much about everything when all we really have to do is talk to God about it and chill because He's got this. 

Right now, for instance, I'm laying awake when I should be going to sleep, allowing the dread that I've been more or less successfully fending off for weeks now to build up while I think about my pending journey back to the realm of academia, but more disturbing - away from home.

I don't like living by myself. I'm definitely not a people person, but I've been in a house with 4 people and several pets for almost a dozen years now, and I don't handle a quiet Shoebox very well. It gives me time to think up things to worry about, including, but not limited to: classes, waking up to go to them, studying, doing well on tests; being an antisocial, second breakfast-loving hobbit on a campus of 25,000+ people; thinking I should be involved in more things to beef up a future resume; being away from home...

I lay awake sometimes worried that I'm not worrying about more. Like if I'm not developing stomach ulcers I'm not getting the job done. (Which is a common characteristic in people with anxiety disorders by the way. Not that I spend just as much time diagnosing as I do worrying.) It's like a twisted kind of hobby.

Which is really just incredibly stupid when all I have to do to experience the most profound peace I've ever felt in my anxious little life is pray about it.

I worry about being alone. And when I get scared of something I break it down and analyze it and try to understand why it scares me. And it's not really that I'm afraid of being alone. This definition of alone being by myself for an extended period of time with no direct contact to people I love, you understand; I can handle sitting in a room by myself or reading alone for a few hours. Most fears are of some unpleasant stimulus being present like snakes or spiders or crazy looking guys with weapons, which are healthy fears to some extent, but I dread being alone because it's a loss of a comfort I've come to rely upon greatly.

One of the great things about God, though, is that He's really mobile. Put Him in your pocket. Take Him anywhere. I shouldn't dread being locked in the Shoebox because I can pray to Him from there as well as anywhere. 

We should develop praying like a reflex. Like when we're little and we get a scrape and we run to Momma for a bandaid. Every time we get a cut or nick emotionally or any other kind of -ly we should run to God looking for comfort. 

And I want to do that. I want to talk to Him constantly. I want to walk down the sidewalk with a conversation going in my head like I'm talking to my best friend. I've always thought it would be kind of neat to have someone who's able to hear your thoughts and talk to you with theirs. And then I smack myself and think of what an idiot I am for not realizing I do have one.

Everything's going to be alright.

It's all part of the growing process which is always challenging and more than a little painful.

Just take deep breaths. Enjoy this moment while it's here and quit worrying about the next one.

Remember to pray.