Mixed-up Mind

Why I Write: Part II

2011-12-28T22:33:00.002-05:00

Sometimes I wishthat I could express myself in other ways. I wish that I could sit down at a piano and emotions would floweffortlessly from my finger tips. I wishthat I could spread wide my arms and my feet would carry me away in a dancethat tells me what I'm feeling. But words, words are my song, words are my dance. To sit and write is how I capture my thoughts, myemotions.

Dear God...

2011-11-14T15:22:00.001-05:00

Dear God,
I'm not sure if You know this, but my mom is amazing. I mean, she managed to homeschool six of us, and I'm pretty sure I would have failed algebra without her. I grew up on homemade dinners and read-aloud stories--I'm just beginning understand what gifts those were. Over and over again I've watched her encourage and mentor younger women to love well and act biblically. She loves Your Word. I've always been amazed and challenged by how much she'd give up just to read it. And the joy she finds in praising You on Sunday mornings, I wish knew it better. She loves You, God.

So God, do You know she can't talk? Do You know she can't eat or brush her teeth? Do You know she can't kiss my dad? Do You know that there's this thing, this pain that is shooting through her face?

I suppose You do. I know I ought to accept this. I know I believe that You are good, that You have a plan, that You're in control and this is Good. But it's hard to swallow.

And I get it, You grow Your saints through trials and suffering; even pain can be to Your glory. But it doesn't make sense; You took out one of Your star players. She has such wisdom to offer, so many ways she could serve Your people, and it seems like You handicapped her. What kind of strategical move is that?

I guess You know best. I hope You know best. Because God, there's a mom down here in pain, and it's breaking my heart.

tiaras and t-shirts

2011-10-25T02:18:00.000-04:00

There are moments when life is frustrating and tiresome and it feels like everything is set against you. I am convinced that most often a girl will respond to this in one of two ways. Either they get all dressed up like they've decided to show up Life in a "you may be horrible but you can't stop this much AWESOME" kind of way. Or they pull out the sweatpants and comfy t-shirt because "I don't care, you can't make me and I WILL be comfy."

Being Known

2011-10-13T01:32:00.003-04:00

To be known. The desire gnaws at me. It drives me to throw my writing, mythoughts, my story at people, whether or not they care. It makes me feel rebuffed when theydon't. It fuels desire for arelationship, where someone desperately wants to know me and is fascinated withwhat I would tell them. Is it selfish?Is this a God-given yearning turnedsour? Sometimes life stretches before meas a string of half-hearted interactions, and it seems like I will go throughlife unknown.

But then I remember,"I have searched you and known you. I know your lying down and when you stand up. In your mother's womb, I knit you together. I know your thoughts and there is nowhere youcan hid from me. I know you." MyLord and Creator knows me. In that, Itake comfort and with the psalmist I agree: "Such knowledge is toowonderful for me, it is high; I cannot attain it."

Superman

2011-10-11T01:17:00.005-04:00

NOTE: Sooo...I missed a few days. Sorry about that. The good news is that it takes the pressure of the tantalizing "perfect record" out of the way. The bad news is, you guys were deprived of my awesomness. Anyways, here's something I wrote for my writing class. Enjoy.

WhenI was six, my dad took me to Friend’s park on a sun-shiney day. I climbed into the old, rubber swing and hepushed me up and over his head until my feet touched the sky. He had to be careful, if he pushed too hard,I might have flown into the clouds.

WhenI was nine, my dad made a rocket that flew higher than the Shoprite across fromour house. It burst into the sky,propelled by Alka-Seltzer and Newton’s third law. If he had decided to, my dad could have beena rocket engineer for NASA.

WhenI was eleven, my dad and I made a late-night run to the bank. The glaring street lights laid out the emptyparking lot like a racetrack, and my dad sped down the lane and did a donut atthe end. He reeled it in just in time,if he hadn’t, the Civic might have gotten air.

WhenI was twelve, my dad shaved his head, lost weight and floated into the sky. The sun kept shining, the sky stayed blue,and the clouds moved on. If he hadwanted to, he could have made the skyturn gray and the clouds cry.

Buthe didn’t.

Washing Feet

2011-10-06T05:24:00.002-04:00

Peter's love, respect and pride well up in an anguished declaration, "You will never wash my feet! You, my Lord, my God, will never stoop to my level. You will never degrade yourself for my sake. I cannot let you debase yourself for me."
In a voice filled with soft firmness, Jesus tells him, "Peter, if I cannot do this, you cannot share in me."
"Then my Lord, take me, wash me, cleanse all of me! I throw myself on you!"

I stand in front of this instrument of torture, this tree of pain. And In horror, respect and pride, I balk. "Jesus I cannot accept you debasing yourself. I cannot let you sacrifice yourself for me. I do not deserve it, and You are too holy."
And in a voice of quiet, loving rebuke, He tells me, "But my child, I already have, and if I had not, you could not share in me."
My Lord, my God, I throw myself into your cleansing grace.
There, I shall rest.

Why I Write

2011-10-05T02:12:00.001-04:00

Sometimes, I capture the words. I've mulled over thoughts and gnawed at ideas and in a moment of sweet fulfillment, I capture the words that embody them. The emotions of a moment, the sensation of scene are perfectly encapsulated. I go back to them, minutes, hours, days, months later and I find myself reliving that experience--re-seeing what I saw---rethinking what I thought. That is the beauty of words...that is why I write...A quest to capture.

Running

2011-10-04T02:05:00.003-04:00

I love running. Not the long kind that ends up hurting everywhere (though there is some sort of painful pleasure in that) but the spontaneous sprinting. When something bursts from my chest and sets my feet on fire. I feel the pavement course through my legs, the energy flows in and out through my soles, and as I pound into the ground, it pounds back into me. I especially love running when there is no one around. When there is no one running faster. When there is no one to tell me I'm not faster than the wind, soaring over the earth, flying to the sky. It is pure exhilaration.

Knowledge and Understanding

2011-10-03T00:30:00.001-04:00

NOTE: I have decided that posting "every day" means "anytime in the period between Allison's waking in the morning and falling asleep later." So even though it is after midnight, this still counts.

There is much with which I am familiar without realizing it. A vast amount of knowledge lies in my brain. Knowledge I use daily, without thinking. Were I to attempt to catalog it, the sheer volume would be astounding. This realization amazes me. It seems fathomless. Consider: I know how to drive and navigate my way around Harford County. I know how to use a shower and a microwave. I know how to use an ellipsometer and perform a titration, how to speak and sound out words, how to cook salmon and knead bread--all this almost without thinking. Not only do I know things, I understand them. Much of this pure fact processing comes with a complex concept behind it, and often personal experience as well.

If my own finite understanding and knowledge amaze me, how much more should the infinite, perfect knowledge and understand of an omniscient God blow me away completely? But that, is something I do not understand

An Experiment

2011-10-01T21:11:00.001-04:00

Hello people who read my blog when I sporadically post. I'm going to try something, I'm going to try to post every day in October. No laughter please. Where did this come from you ask? Well, a friend recently decided that my rate of posting indicated that my blog was dead. I think mostly dead is more appropriate, since mostly dead is still partly alive. Nevertheless, I've often wondered if I could post more often and to be honest, I doubt it. So challenge accepted, skeptical me.
I'm also taking a fiction writing class, and I find that words and ideas are flowing less-than-easily, which is not exactly ideal. Here's hoping that forced writing can morph into inspired writing.
This probably also means that posts will be less thoughtful and polished. I can only fit so many well-thought out ideas in my head at one time. So patience is advised.

Well, this should be interesting ... care to join me?

Lessons from Moses

2011-08-22T01:45:00.002-04:00

So I was reading about Moses. You know, the one with the "let my people go" and the plagues and the ten commandments--the great spiritual leader of the Israelites...that one? Well, in the beginning of Exodus it tells his story. And pretty much right off the bat he goes to Pharaoh and says what God told him to say, "Let us take a 3-day trip into the wilderness to worship God." And Pharaoh is like, "No way. In fact, if you're asking for days off, you must not have enough work to do so I'm not going to give you straw to make bricks anymore. You'll have to fetch it yourself. But, oh, I still want the same quota of bricks." I don't know about you, but if I were Moses at this point I would probably be mentally backpedaling with a vengence: Whoa whoa...not the plan. That was not how this was suppose to go down. Did I do something wrong? Wasn't that what I was suppose to say? I'd probably get rather depressed and confused and go to God with this tangle of emotions and one big question: Why? Which is exactly what Moses does. "God, why did you totally mess up these Israelites' lives? I mean, why did You send me?" To which God replies: "Don't worry. I've got this." And proceeds to miraculously rescue His people out of slavery.

On the whole this is a pretty normal human story but it still hit me. It's striking to consider that one of the most successful ministries in history started by going downhill quickly. I mean, the chain of events that ended with free Israelite slaves crossing through the Red Sea, started with Moses causing Pharaoh to double their workload. I guess it's something of an encouragement. As we set off into whatever God may call us to, it is not inconceivable that God might throw a few pharaohs in our way--The conversation that was suppose to lead to the gospel somehow ended with angry words. The event that was planned for fifty had an attendance of one. The organization lacks the funds to support any more aid workers-- We might get turned down and set back and forced to watch things plummet. And we might ask God, and ourselves, "Why am I even here? I'm not helping." But Moses' story is here to tell us, "Don't worry. God's got this."

Nerdhood Re-envisioned

2011-08-14T22:58:00.008-04:00

On the grandiose level we talk about understanding the nature of the universe or discovering truth by logically doing things over and over again. But in reality, on the day to day level, scientists sit around and ask small questions. We don’t question the nature of reality; we question the structure of one polymer. We don’t discover a new way to move mountains, we talk about tossing pebbles. Every scientific leap is preceded by years of miss-steps and baby steps.

Scientists acquire knowledge in a different way. Throughout school and college we’re taught to read, to search, that somewhere, someone has the answer. But what happens when the reference book doesn’t have that value? When Google responds to a yes-or-no question with a shrug? What happens when no one has the answer? Our simple questions become complicated when there is no where to look them up. But we are scientists, and we can test it. So step by step, simple fact upon simple fact,we try to nail down truth.

Science doesn’t always work. In school, when I suddenly measure negative Kelvin in the middle of a lab class, I don’t celebrate redefining the laws of physics; I realize once again that I am an incredibly flawed human being. Research does not have this comfort. When something goes “wrong” (and it will) there is not the comfort of knowing it should have gone “right.” Such is the nature of research:expecting the unexpected. Because science teaches us, not the other way around.

I entered my undergraduate career confident that I was going to become a scientist so that I could understand everything. It may sound like I have been disillusioned about my career choice, that my view of science has shrunk. Not at all. For a summer, I took a corner of the universe and made it mine. Yes, my project was small and hardly life changing, but for a summer, I dedicated my heart and mind to understanding and mapping out that corner. Ten weeks to answer three questions and discover twenty more. Did my view of science shrink? No, instead it rose up in front of me as a mammoth labyrinth of questions that would take an eternity to answer. But working at NIST showed me I didn’t have to answer them all, not alone. I tried to answer one question, but next to me Marlon was answering another, down the hall Matt was answering yet another and in the building across campus, Xinran, Nayool and Ro were answering still more. Science is about much more than simply my ability to puzzle through the universe. It is about a network of thousands of curious, meticulous people working together to answer each other’s questions. That is what I’ve seen at NIST, and that has driven me closer to, not farther from, a career in research. Because being a part of this collaborative community of intelligent, curious people is a more inspiring vision than plodding along on my own solitary intellectual quest.

One of the Reasons I Occasionally Look like a Crazy Person on Campus

2011-06-12T23:44:00.002-04:00

I love to close my eyes. Especially when I'm walking outside. Don't worry, I don't run into things; I only close them when I'm walking in straight lines. See, I'm an incredibly visual person. I learn best through visuals, words appear as pictures in my head, and I am very easily distracted by what I see vs. anything else. But when I close my eyes, I awaken other senses. Suddenly, my brain has a chance to know what the wind feels like, to listen to the rhythmic swoosh of my steps. Do you know what your footsteps sound like? Have you basked in the warmth of the sun on your skin? Or eavesdropped on the whispered conversation of the wind in the trees? This is what I discover when I close my eyes. Closing my eyes opens up a whole new world to know.

Going Home

2011-05-14T14:39:00.001-04:00

Going home. It is a sweet phrase. Three short classes, lunch with friends and I'm going home. Classes are over, just the weekend ahead, throw some clothes in my bag, I'm going home. It whispers at me the whole way back. "I'm going home. I'm going home." The trees, old familiar new-budding trees, pull me along because I'm going home. The whole trip the truth just rises in my chest, filling it and breaking into a smile across my face. Everything is good, because I'm going home. Though the road be long and the traffic horrific, they cannot stop the whisper "I'm going home."

Then, I turn onto Red Pump and the whisper becomes a poem. I turn onto St. Francis and it becomes a song. This is home, this is where I belong. These are the old familiar sights which come filled with memories and experiences, which come filled with my identity. Then, finally, home. "The Haven" the plaque is nestled amongst the ivy on the brick of the cozy town house. And that is what it is, my haven.

Honesty in Darkness

2011-04-09T01:09:00.001-04:00

I sit in a semi-dark room, working by the halo of a few yellow lights. Only the darkness of a long night and an impossible deadline stretch in front of me. I am alone. With the harsh glare of my computer in an empty dorm room, I face the life I have chosen. The work that is mine, mine alone. I know the alone-ness of the late hours. I sit. I work. I smile during the day and work alone by night . And suddenly it all overwhelms me: the work, the failure, the dreams…the confusion. Tears and snot run down my face as sobs just come, louder than I want them. And I just give myself to it, and then, in a moment, I push it back and return to my work, still crying, trying to keep that wave back, to distract myself by throwing myself into school. I wonder if I'm doing something wrong. It doesn't seem like it should be like this. This hard. This emotional. This much failing. At that moment every part of life is tinged with failure. Except my family, but even there I feel shame. I'm not living up to their standards. 32 on a test. And I know I ought to run to my heavenly Father and seek His peace, His love, but I don't. And I don't know why. But I don't. It's been so long.

There are times when my emotions catch up with me. Sometimes I wonder if it's merely the mood swings that come with being a girl, or a release after weeks of pent up stress from school. The last thing I want to do is go back to my empty dorm room. The last thing I want to do is hang out with a friend. I feel the need to drench someone in a rain of words attempting to drain my feelings. I feel the need to bottle them, shove them down, to just keep doing and pretend they don't exist. I want someone to know, and I smile so no one will. I'm lost and confused in a sea that washes me where it wills.
Sometimes I distract myself. Sometimes I just work harder. Sometimes I try to put my thoughts into words. Sometimes I give up.
Sometimes I think that I'm just magnifying everything. In the sunlit, happy day it doesn't matter therefore my emotions are escalating; I'm just letting them get out of hand. If I release on someone, later I will realize it's no big deal. Maybe I'm even skewing the facts. Hold off Allison, it will pass. Push it back Allison, it will disappear. Distract it Allison, it will melt away. You're just being overly emotional, don't make someone else deal with that.
Deep down, I know I am looking for relief, hoping for relief, in all the wrong places: myself, my friends, the silence, the noise, the words, the distraction. Deep down, I know the only thing I should do is run to my Heavenly Father and rest in His arms. Because He understands the seas. He understands my mind when I do not. He is the only thing I can trust. And yet I fear I am only using Him as a coping mechanism. As something to run to when my head and heart are whirling for no good reason. What right have I to come to Him, when if everything is okay, I just pass Him by.

A Moment of Wonderment

2011-02-11T22:11:00.003-05:00

I can only imagine the day that I will walk forever into the presence of the One.
All doubts will be obliterated. They will seem silly and insignificant. I will know, surely and clearly, the faithfulness and truth of my God. And just like a little child knows that Daddy will always be there for them, but then spends their whole life discovering specific way after specific way; I will spend eternity discovering what is the depth and length and height and truth of the grace He has poured out on me.

Single for life?

2011-01-17T08:00:00.002-05:00

I've been thinking about singleness a lot lately. What it means. What it's for. Whether or not I could handle being single my whole life. What if I don't get married? What if I were merely to go to grad school, get a job, be a scientist, be an aunt, be….single. With an almost child-like simplicity I've always figure that if God called me to be single, He would provide the grace to be content. But there will definitely be some things that would be hard. For instances, for me at least, being single means never being kissed. Ever. And in this "kiss=happy ending" Hollywood world, that could seem crazy. And then I wonder, would it be enough? Could it be enough? To stand at the end and say, "I may never have been kissed, but my lips have not ceased to tell of Him, and His name running across them is sweeter than any kiss could be."

Hating isn't Good

2011-01-15T21:30:00.001-05:00

Sometimes when a problem isn't solving or Excel isn't being helpful or a paper has a thesis that stinks or a deadline is coming faster than I'm ready for it, a little phrase slips out of my mouth. Mostly it's just an emotional release, an expression of frustration and maybe a bit of despair. But out it slips: "I hate my life." Most of the time my study partner/fellow struggler, Kate, is there to hear it. And she always looks up at me in surprised alarm. "I don't really hate my life," I quickly reassure her. "You're one of the last people I would expect to say that," she explains. I suppose she expects this because of my generally cheerful, unquenchably optimistic personality. Yet each time she says that, it hits me: she's right. I should be the last person to say that. And not just because I'm happy, but because I am redeemed. My Messiah died for me, My God has pardoned me, and I've been guaranteed life and that abundantly. "I hate my life," should be the last words out of my lips. Thank you, Kate, for reminding me of that.

Reflections on "Our Town"

2010-11-03T00:01:00.003-04:00

Something I wrote a while back for a class in which we read "Our Town" by Thornton Wilder. Enjoy.

* * *

"I was afraid we wouldn't have material for conversation more'n'd last us for a few weeks. …I was afraid we'd run out and eat our meals in silence, that's a fact--Well, you and I been conversing for twenty years now without any noticeable barren spells."
So says Dr. Gibbs to his wife on his son's wedding morning. It is a small thing--this moment that encapsulates something of the humor and comfortableness in a marriage. It is merely a moment. But what is "Our Town" but a play about the depth and importance in mere moments.
As Dr. Gibbs confesses his previous fear and reflects on their relationship, you glimpse a snapshot of the companionship they share. The ease of conversation that comes with familiarity, security and sharing life together. There is humor here. Humor at a fear we all understand, a slight confession that is funny because the reverse is true. I've known this ease of conversation. I've talked with friends for hours and then sat back and wondered where it all came from. I've also know the confusion and awkwardness of running out of conversation; of things to share.

I have never loved, have never been in such a relationship. But if I am married in twenty years, I hope and pray that I can look back and see that ease of comradeship. That there will never have been not enough to talk about. That the silences will not be awkwardly forced upon us, but that they will be chosen and enjoyed for the deeper communication--the being--they hold. That this simple beauty will weave its way through my life. And that with Dr. Gibbs I will plainly state, with a warm little smile: "You and I have been conversing for twenty years now without any noticeable barren spells."

"Oh. That was awkward....Welcome to Camp!"

2010-09-13T01:56:00.003-04:00

"So basically, if you love Jesus, love being outside, and love kids…you should go be a camp counselor." That's what Tim Milligan said on the night he came to our Intervarsity meeting to recruit counselors for Ligonier Camp. Okay, he might not have said that exactly …but that's what I heard. At the time, I thought: "Huh, that sounds like something that would fit my personality really well and be a meaningful way to spend my summer," and then promptly pushed that idea out of my head because going four hours away to live at a camp I'd never been to was just not part of my plan. I tend to like the familiar. Everything about this idea--from the application process to the location--was unfamiliar. Unfortunately, my "ignore it and it will go away" plan didn't really work, because Tim Milligan has remarkable insight occasionally, so he cornered me. "I forgot to ask you, do you want to work at Camp?" And so it began. After mental battles, parental discussions, over-thinking applications, and desperate praying…I found myself headed to Ligonier Camp and Conference Center to spend the summer with a bunch a kids. And I was freaking out.

That morning my stomach was in knots. Four hours of riding in a car didn't help it either. Finally…Ligonier Camp….and some random dudes playing banjo and blowing a plastic horn at the top of the drive way to welcome me. Despite the fact that my unease had certainly not abated, something told me this place was special.

The eleven weeks that followed blow my mind. I sit here, trying to put the pieces back together and hold them close, trying to make each memory--each moment--as vibrant and permanent as possible.
It started with two weeks of whirl-wind orientation. During which I learned many things: what a funky chicken is suppose to look like, 55 games to amuse idle campers for 5 minutes, the origin of the word "belay" (it's French, by the way), how to not lose campers, why the bathroomwas called the KYBO (Keep Your Bowels Open!), Controlling Campers 101 and exactly just how awesome Goldrush is. It was also two weeks of slowly realizing that the 80 odd college students I was spending the rest of the summer with, my fellow counselors, were all crazy, kid-loving, Jesus freaks.

And then, the kids came.

Incoming day was one of my least favorite parts of camp. It was awkward. The arrival of kids and their parents brings with it a host of dilemmas. To hover or not to hover? Say hi? Shake hands? Oh, their hands are full. Every kid wants a top bunk, every kid wants to sleep next to their friend, every kid is from some small PA town or suburb and I have no idea where in the world they are talking about. My simple excuse: "I'm from Maryland." But eventually parents disappeared and the kids did not disappear it was my turn to step up and start running the show.

Sometimes I feel bad for my session one kids, because I still didn't really have a clue what I was doing. But one of the many rules of being a counselor is: "If you don't know what you're doing, make it up," so it worked out okay. Session one was a group of quiet girls, who somehow managed to give me one of the most incident filled weeks of my summer. I had one pee in a trashcan, one throw up in a trashcan, one throw away her retainers and therefore require me to go digging through a trashcan, and one sprain her ankle second day in (no trashcan involved).

Session two followed session one, oddly enough. I didn't realize how quiet session one was, until I got to session two. I was afraid that some of the incoming group dynamics were going to lead to disaster. But lo and behold the girls got along beautifully. One of my favorite moments happened that session, and it involved being hot and sweaty (as most things at Ligonier did). Most of the tribe played soccer, which made challenging one of the boys tribes to a game significantly more intense. In the end, We tied. It was one of my favorite bits of the summer.

Jessie, the pool director, was my co-counselor for the first three weeks of camp. I think she imparted to me my shoes-that-tie philosophy. Which is: if you ask me if you need to wear them, you do. Spending three weeks together with campers meant a great many shared laughs, including one in the middle of our candy raid. Candy raids occurred after Taps when the campers were suppose to be asleep. We'd sneak down to the dining hall and let them stuff their faces with sugar before then bringing them back to go to bed. Yeah, it doesn't make sense to me either. In the midst of spewing wrappers and gobbling sugar, Ainsley--a camper--calmly states, "I think I swallowed my tooth." Blame the sugar or the long day or the curious way in which she said it, but like good, responsible counselors, Jessie and I just burst out laughing. Ainsley laughed along with us and her next words merely multiplied the merriment, "I felt something hard and then my tooth was gone. I eat popcorn a lot, so I thought it was a popcorn kernel." We were eating Laffy Taffy. There was no popcorn in sight.

But as we had said time and time again: Campers are sinners and campers are stupid, but we love them anyway.

The story's not over, the adventure continues, you'll have to wait… but not for long.

Joshua IV

2010-08-28T23:00:00.001-04:00

Hey! Have you heard the news!?! Joshua is alive! No! No! Wait! Hear me out. I know it sounds crazy--but it's not. I mean, I wouldn 't believe me if I heard me telling you that Joshua was alive, but he is. I saw him. I saw Joshua again! I don't know if you get what I'm trying to say, but I didn't think that was ever going to happen. He was dead. Like underground, like entombed dead, like not-coming-back dead--but he's back. I don't know exactly how it happened. We were all kinda huddled in a house, trying to lie low after, well…after what happened. Mary cam flying in, freaking out, saying she didn't know where Joshua's body was. I was like: "How do you lose a dead body from a crypt?" So Pete and Jon just run out, trying to figure out what's going on. I mean, you don't want to lose the only thing you have left after three years of hoping. Then they came back, saying that the body wasn't there but the wrappings were. Which is kinda weird. I mean, what type of creep takes the body and leaves the clothes? But suddenly it didn't seem as confusing as it should have. I t was like I could just halfway remember him saying something which didn't make sense at the time, but might have had to do with this. How do you let yourself hope after the biggest disappointment of your life? I wasn't sure how, but I couldn't help it. Then Mary came in again, she said that she had seen him, had spoken with Joshua. That was like…"Whoa….this just got a whole lot more legit." You have to understand. Mary's not the type to get worked up or confused easily. I wanted to believer her so badly. I wanted to talk to him. She said she thought at first that he was the gardener, and then he said her name. Just her name and she knew it was him. I guess with Joshua all he has to say is your name. He said once that his sheep knew his voice. And to hear Mary talk about it. It's like she was a kid who's dad had finally come home. But he was more than a dad to her, more than a friend, more than a leader--her Lord was alive again.
So later Joshua came to where we were hiding. He just appeared, like a magician or something. I mean, all the doors were locked, but he just popped into the middle of us, kinda startling and amazing all at once. He was there, right here. He showed us his wounds and was talking with us. He was talking with us. Then he disappeared again.
Tom, poor Tom wasn't there. And when we tried to tell him about it, he wouldn't believe us. I guess I understand. He was only being logical, refusing to put his hope where he saw no reason for faith. If you watched that execution, you knew Joshua was dead. Why should he believe us? But we were so excited we just kept telling him. Tom was almost angry with us, fed up with our stubborn "delusion." He said he'd only believe if he could touch the nail holes and feel the gash in Joshua's side. Yay sarcasm. He was fuming for over a week. We were all hanging out again when Joshua did his magical appearance thingy. He walked right up to Tom and said, "Put your finger here and see my hands, and put out your hand and tough my side. Do not disbelieve, but believe." Wow. What do you say to that? Joshua knew exactly what Tom needed---so he met him where he was. "This is what you need to believe? Here you go…believe." Tom was just blown away. You could just watch him reprocess everything. Then he responded: "My Lord, and My God."
Joshua is alive. I can't stop thinking that thought. Every thing in me just sings it. This changes everything. I have to believe now. I have no choice. I finally really get it, and it's wonderful. Before, Joshua earned my admiration and even my allegiance, but not he demands my all. I want to spin and dance and sing and work... and live for him. He's beyond anything I ever imagined. So I stand and say with Tom, "My Lord and My God."

Joshua III

2010-08-24T13:20:00.001-04:00

Joshua is dead. They executed him. Why? WHY? He was so…good! So…innocent! He was helping people! Curing their problems, caring for them. I don't get it. He raised Laurence from the dead, and they condemned him for it. He seemed like Mr. Invincible or something, but he was betrayed by a friend. How could anyone betray Joshua? I saw what he did. They must have planned it, because they just swooped in and arrested him. The men came to take him, and all his followers just scattered. They dragged him away, and it felt like they were dragging me into my scariest nightmare. There was a trial before they beat him up and made fun of him. Everything just started spiraling downward.
And yet, through it all, he had this…assurance, authority even. He stood asking hard questions of his questioners just as he always had. I was watching my world fall apart, and saw him stand, unfazed in the midst of it. They started hitting, beating with whips. They wouldn't stop. The man I had watched stand so powerfully before multitudes was crippled in pain. The man whose gentle touch had healed the sick, was cruelly wounded. Finally they nailed him to a cross. I've never seen such pure meanness, pure human cruelty . He couldn't breath. He was basically literally dying of thirst. I couldn't watch. They left him to die. Hanging on a tree he died. "It is finished." I don't understand. How can he be gone? He who raised the dead, died? He who fed hungry crowds was slaughtered by an angry one? I don't believe it. I can't. Despite my eyes and the empty pit in my heart. But I saw. What should I do? What should I believe? All I thought I knew is stripped away, my feet swept from under me. He is dead. Was this the plan? To leave us floundering? Confused without wisdom? Wandering without guidance? I thought that in finding Joshua, I had been found. Now I am lost again.

Joshua II

2010-07-11T23:54:00.002-04:00

Hey. Yeah, so, I'm not really sure where to start. I mean, what kind of words do you try to pin to these last couple weeks? Amazing? Eye-opening? Radical?...Life changing? Okay, at first I was like: "this guy is weird but kinda interesting. Intriguing really I watched him. I guess you'd call me a stalker, or at least creepy, but I wanted to see what he did. I don't know, you ever have those people you just can't shake? Anyways, it was going pretty good. I mean, he was saying a bunch of confusing stuff, but somehow it started making sense. Which doesn't make sense, but it did. Some of what he says really worried me. I mean, he is drawing some really distinct lines; and I'm not always sure which side of that line I wind up on. I guess you could say he is challenging me. But for a while that was all. Sure, this guy is a charismatic speaker, revolutionary even. And there's not doubt he's smart. Which is cool. But is it enough to demand that I follow him? I wasn't sure. But then, Laurence died. Laurence was one of Joshua's good buddies, his sisters were too. You could tell that Joshua loved that family. He was like the fourth sibling. Well, while Joshua was out doing his thing, Laurence suddenly got sick and died, nobody was expecting it. Joshua got there four days later. I was there when he arrived. Maria and Marta each came out to him: "If you had been there you could have saved him." He looked at them. Just looked at them for a minute, and his face just caved. His eyes filled with sorrow. He loved them. Yikes. To see the ones you love wrenched with grief, staring up at you with tear stained eyes; feeling their reproach. The pitiful sob and "if you had come.." and yet they still have faith, still. They took him to the grave site.... He cried. I didn't know he could cry. Then he asked the weirdest thing...he asked them to open the grave. I don't know if you're thinking what I was thinking, but I was thinking that is creepy and that is going to stink. Someone had the sense to mention this to Joshua, but he just said: "Didn't I tell you, you were going to see the glory of God." So they did it, opening the grave. He prayed something and then said: "Laurence, come out." And. he. did. A dead guy was up and walking. Can anyone say epic? But what gets me...what gets me...he knew. He knew he was going to raise Laurence. He looked at Maria and Marta and he knew that in one moment their tears would be tears of joy. He knew that in one moment he was going to fix it *snap* and they'd be restored. He knew that in one moment he was going to turn their sorrow into unspeakable raptures, but in that moment, he shared their sorrow. He knew all that, yet he bore their grief with them. Joshua wept. And so I follow him. For he leads and he loves. And maybe he would lead and love even me.

Nicodemus

2010-04-28T01:06:00.001-04:00

It was dark when I went to see Jesus. Some might have called it foolish for me--a leader of my people--to be visiting an upstart teacher. But I had to know, I had to find out. I needed an answer to who this Jesus was. I didn't know what he wanted or if he was good or bad. I just knew he was something…something that needed to be investigated. So I went. The man who met me that night affronted my pride, questioned my reality, and left me with more questions than I originally had. I went to him a leader, respected by my peers and by those I led. I told him I knew he was from God, that no one could do the things he had and not be. But I wanted to know more. Who was this small town teacher performing such wonders? So in the dark I challenged him. But his answers made no sense. They weren't answers. He sat in front of me and spoke absurdities. Does he think me a fool? It is like he is playing a game with me. Be born again? It is not possible. A grown man? There is no way to get back in. Everything we see around us states the impossibility. But now he turns my challenge back to me: Are you a teacher of Israel and don't understand these things? He begins speaking of being born of water and the spirit, of spiritual things not the physical, of the heavenly not the earthly. And yes, I was familiar with these words and ideas but never in this context; never in this manner. I am lost. Left in his dust. But I try to follow this trail of dust. I sit and try to mold some shape out of the cloud. Again he asks me: How can I tell you heavenly things when you cannot grasp the earthly things. He says I do not understand. He's right, I don't, I can't. But I want to. I want to follow and discern the truth I see lurking in his words.
In one night, this man had turned my world upside down. I walked in, sure of myself, confident in my position, in my reality and in God's chosen people--Israel--wondering who this Jesus was. I left unsure of my position, floundering in a sea of new thoughts with answers that had become questions. But still not sure of who he was. Who is he? He said that God loved the world so he sent his Son, so that those who believe would have eternal life. Could this be Jesus? This Jesus of Nazareth. This carpenter turned teacher. This man of wonders, this man of God? Who is this Jesus? Who is he? And I….who am I?

Rainy Monday

2010-03-23T01:32:00.002-04:00

Rainy days are some of my favorites. I call them Gershwin days. Nothing adds sophistication to a gray-cloud sky like Rhapsody in Blue. Sometimes it is necessary to just stare at the gray sky until you start to see it as a color again, because gray is a lovely color. Rainy days are jazzy, with a mellow, blue feel. What is worse, the certainty of portending downpour, or the downpour itself? Walking in the rain makes me want to sing like Gene Kelly, and if there is a sign or light pole of some sort nearby, I'm always tempted to grab it and swing around in that "Singin' in the Rain" twirl. Rain is a sweet sensation; little pitter-patters on your skin. Watch the rain drops, drip down things, plummet into puddles, it's like it's a dance. There is a strange beauty in a rainy day.
Today is a rainy Monday. It being Monday somehow makes it even better. It feels like something from a book, a childrens' book. The one where the adventure starts in the attic beneath the gentle drumming of the rain. Or the one where someone goes on a walk in goulashes and a yellow rain coat, jumps in puddles and discovers an animal oddity of Dr. Seuss proportions. Nothing should be rushed on a rainy day. Every bit should be enjoyed, as slowly and elegantly and fully as possible. Rainy days are for tea and cookies, soups and crackers, slow sips and mellow munchings, well-written books and favorite blankets... all under warm lamp light.
Today is a rain soaked day...come Gershwin my old friend...we have a sky to watch.

Twenty

2010-03-14T00:27:00.001-05:00

Two-Zero. Double Decades. Twenty. It can be an intimidating number. A little girl once told me that by the time you're twenty you're "old and hunched over." I suppose, after all, you are no longer a teenager at that point. You're not quite the twenty-one-year-old adult, but at the same time, you mostly definitely don't belong in the group with the 13 year olds any more. Twenty.
I turned twenty today. And it hit me while I was brushing my teeth: Two decades. That's two decades worth of sin that God has forgiven. Two decades worth of pride and self-righteousness, of impure thoughts and selfish motives, of hateful words and spiteful actions, of self-adsorption and hypocrisy, of idolatry and rebellion. Two decades. That's a lot of forgiveness.
And then, there's twenty years worth of intervention. There is a lot of opportunity in twenty years to take a wrong step, start on a wrong path, to stray so far. But God…(don't you just love those words?)…has kept me from so much. Here--but for the grace of God--stands a life in ruins.
For this I am thankful.
Twenty is old. But I'm okay with that. My dad told me it's just a number. And it's a nice round one at that.

Joshua

2010-02-09T23:28:00.003-05:00

So, I, uh, met this guy. I mean, I had heard a lot about him before. And I had a good amount of interaction too, but you know how there's that one point in a relationship where a person's personality really comes out--it's almost like meeting a completely new person? It is meeting a new person--the real person.
Well, anyway, his name is Joshua, and I just can't figure him out. You see, there's this street preacher I've been following, Johnny B. One of those really powerful, charismatic types, the kind that make you sit up and listen. That speak old truths with such fervor you almost get up and go that second to do something about it. A lot of people have. Been very affected that is. Well, Johnny is always talking about another guy, someone that was suppose to come around after him? Not like a protégé as much as a replacement. Johnny is the opening band and this guy's the main act. I don't know.
At first, I didn't really take much notice of it. Johnny's always stirred up about something. But then, one day, this guy appears. Joshua. They say he's suppose to be the "Lamb of God." I'm not too sure what to make of that. But I figured I might as well keep up with him too. He turned out to be another street preacher, of sorts. But pretty soon, more people were following him than were following Johnny. Boy, he can talk. He'll spin circles around his questioners without really answering their questions and somehow still manages to lead them exactly where he wants them. And he's the son of a carpenter! Some of what he says seem so off the wall, I don't know where it comes from. But then I feel bad for not getting it.
He's charismatic alright. And he started doing stuff. Miracles. Impressive ones. They say he turned water into wine. That was at the beginning. He's healing people too, now. I was actually there for one of them. A man came up, begging, he said his son was sick, he asked Joshua to heal him. Joshua just said "Your son is healed." That's all. No loud pronouncement or grandiose prayer. The man got up and walked away. I heard later that at that exact moment, his son began to get better. It's hard to believe. I mean, I couldn't have had the faith of that man. I would have demanded evidence, or at least action. I've always been a skeptic--hard to convince and proud of it. But this guy is…different. The way he talks…the things he does…I'm not quite sure how to process it…what to do with him. If it's true he's more than amazing he's…incredible. I can't wrap my head around it, this guy is like nobody I've ever seen. I guess I'll just have to stick around and see what happens next.

Reflections after returning from Helping Up on a Friday Last Semester

2010-01-13T23:35:00.005-05:00

Today I went to helping up mission to serve dinner to the guys who are staying there. I'm not sure why I go.

I look around at those guys and realize they're people and they have stories. I think about how safe I am. How all I have to do is sit there and serve up soup. I can make eye contact if I want to, I can smile if I have to. But it would be really pushing my comfort zone to go and sit down with a group of them. To sit and talk and get to know them. I think about how I go to a school where everybody older and more experienced than me seems to say that doing such things is amazing and eye opening and very cool. So I think I should do it. That some day or sometime I should get out of my comfort zone and expand this middleclass, harford county-ian upbringing. But I'm scared. I'm scared for the situation in general. But I'm also scared of the result. I am scared that I will be changed. That I won't be able to stay in my little sophisticated comfort zone any more. That I'll be called to go and do bigger things in a community where I am not at all comfortable. I want to be an academic! I want to study science! I do not want to become involved with the inner city! So I'm scared. I'm scared of how I'll change.

Also, talking with these guys gives a lot of perspective. Because sometimes the guys I work with will ask how your week has been. My normal answer during the week would be: okay, but hard because of all the exams. But telling that to these guys it doesn't sound like that.

When I think about saying "Hard, I've had a lot of exams," I feel that somebody should come back at me with: You are in middleclass America, able to get a good college education without paying for it, eating without working for it, and you're upset because you have to deal with exams? The idea that exams are the hardest thing in my life seems so stupid when talking to those guys.

I was talking with Tony, who was helping to serve up the food. He told me about how he's worked in construction, and one time he was working on a building right next to the Orioles Stadium. He said they could sit up on the scaffolding and watch the game for free. I told him that I was studying chemistry. He asked what type of science that was. It's kind hard to explain what chemistry is: "I study chemicals and what they do?" "I study the bits and pieces that make up the world?" (I should probably figure this out before I graduate). Eventually I told him I was going to be a scientist, the mad kind that walk around in the white lab coat and blow things up. He spent the rest of the night wondering at this short, curly-haired girl that was gonna blow things up-- The "Little Scientist". It was cool to actually connect.

The bottom line is: I suspect that the reason I go to Helping Up Missions is more to give myself a little self-righteous pat on the back or to push down some form of guilt than a desire to help. But, in spite of that, they're teaching me. I'm still trying to figure out what exactly I'm learning…but I think I am learning...

2009 in Facebook Statuses

2010-01-01T18:43:00.004-05:00

Allison is gonna do a Panama!
Allison is doing this little thing she calls bebopulus. Which is listening to bebop while doing calculus
Allison feels like a mad scientist. She just completed her first real chem lab and has a goggles marks on her face.
Allison hopes....confident expectation...contented acceptance of future occurances...peace with times at hand
Allison just learned that there is a dollar difference between 1.99 and 2.19. Kayla told her so.
Allison learned about mutant cynlindrical onions in calculus yesterday
You know you're gifted when you can accidently, simultaneously shoot yourself in both eyes with an cloth/elastic headband.
Allison hopes there are Macs and Walters in real life.
Mohawk....*pause*...on a leash?
Allison's eyes are trying to tell her something. She thinks they talk in code, but the closest she can come to a translation is this: When we won't stay open anymore and feel like someone stuck bumps inside your skull...you aren't getting enough sleep
Allison managed to hit herself in the head with the bathroom door after bouncing it off her foot. yeah...impressive.
The palm tree is a octet agent! Move nonchalantly to the target area!
He screamed: "My God! My God! Why have you forsaken me?" so that we might sing "Nothing will ever seperate us from the love of God"
Allison: "Because it was more dense." Margy: " More dense?" Allison: "Yeah, more dense...it's better than denser." Margy:"No, denser is better than more dense." Allison: "Fine, you're denser than me." Margy: "Yeah...wait...no"
Allison is now an expert at jumping a dead battery. And to those who did not know: jumping on a trampoline takes a lot more energy than it seems.
Allison wonders if engineers make better gingerbread houses.
Once upon a time, there lived a girl in the lovely county of Harford. And this girl was as happy as the sunshine sparkling over deer creek.
Allison found her first gray hair today at age nineteen.
Allison enjoyed a crab feast! Instructions to my nephew: "We don't eat the crunchy part." I feel like a Marlinder :)
Happy hellos and sad goodbyes..
Allison has never been the type of girl to let what she was wearing keep her from diving for the frisbee. Therefore I have grass stains on my new jeans. And I missed.
Mom: What do we do with the dirt? Me: Feed it to the pigs. Margy: I thought you just ate lunch? my sister loves me....
Allison heartily enjoyed finding a lost dog, naming it frido, leaping on rocks, dropping her shoe in a river, jumping in the river, climbing a large hill, finding woodland meadows, discovering a pool from Narnia, laughing at Lisa, heading back on the double quick
David: "I'd say Alli's got rhythm, I just don't know what kind."
Allison had to have a mom help her put the straw in her juice box. She's not sure how that makes her feel, but believes she is amused by it.
Me: "What do you like to do?" Six-year-old: "Nothing, everything in the world is boring." Sounds like a child's version of ecclesiastes to me :)
Allison just 'trotted' down the Ma & Pa trail with her sister clapping her cupped hands behind her.
Allison just checked a tracking number online to see that it said the status: delivered and the Lcoation: Porch. Sure enough, when I went down, there it was sitting on the porch.
Things I like about summer: fudgesickles, watching Alton Brown in all his witty, nerdy awesomeness, running around in sudden thunderstorms, wind, rain, icecream, movies everynight, green leaves and clouds.
Allison is debating the merits of taking playdough along to her dorm
Allison: "Don't you think you're a little young to get married?" Katie: "Not in real life, in pretend." Allison: "oh, how old are you in pretend?" Katie: "umm...fifteen, does that sound good?" Allison: "How about a little older, like twenty?" Katie: "But when you're twenty you're old and hunched over" Allison thinks:sucks to be me....not a lot of time left.
Allison wants to throw out her arms and spin around at the bigness of the sky as she walks by Erickson field.
Allison dished up two bowls of icecream and set up the movie while carrying Margy on her back. yeah....
Allison just thought to herself "I'm a measley freshman" and then realized she wasn't a freshman anymore. She's a sophmore and it is scary.
"They are not different, but they are not necessarily the same"-UMBC Prof. Thank you...education is so enlightening.
MUSICAL!!!!!!!!!!!!!! "And she sings everywhere she goes...lala la la la!"
Allison resolved: take legible Analytical Chem notes. That must have been the morning I basically fell asleep. Resolved: Study Analytical Chem regularly so I remember what equations mean. Resolved: Know which equations to memorize and which will be given. Resolved: Do not die tomorrow.
Irony of my week: Survived two chem labs, everything preciptated, titrations were a lovely pale pink...went to dinner and set my roll on fire in the dining hall.
So...somebody had the letters Kb randomly on their socks. And I had a nerd moment and looked at it and thought: "Hmm...that seems familiar. Oh! It's the base dissociation constant!" yeah...
Allison is exhaustified.
"That's why you come to UMBC, to nuture your nerdhood."
Liz's prayer for dinning hall food: "Lord, please let our food be tasty, but if it can't be tasty make it nourishing and let us get the most out of it possible. Amen"
Krisztina: I'm really liking this conversation with yourself. Allison: It is a conversation with myself. Which is a problem, because myself isn't rational so it's really hard to talk to me.
Facebook poll: Carrying a orgo-molecule (made from a model kit) around attached to your backpack is a)really nerdy or b) completely awesome.
Allison resisted the urge to suggest that two random, unrelated people on crutches race eachother to find out who was fastest, bought a beaker mug and an elemental cupcake, discovered that you can spell thermodynamics with chemical element symbols, got out of lab an hour before end time and plans to eat dinner with her cohort (hopefully). It's been that kind of day :)
Allison loves offtrailing with her sister during a hike. "Is that a snake" "umm...*crash, run run*...maybe. Just run fast."
To whom it may concern: Allison Kelly has evaluated the accuracy of the measurement markings on her beaker mug via volumetric flask and has found it to actually be fairly accurate.
Allison: Shabby raven, poorly plumed, are my simple wishes doomed, stay you not above my door? Roddy: Though you tape and string and putty, lo I much prefer the floor. Quoth the Raven "evermore."
She sat there, playing the same thing over and over. As I watched, i had to wonder what kind of crazy person would choose to do this as their life. It was her "studying", this ceaseless round of practicing day after day, this was her schoolwork. Why would anyone want to do that? But then, I looked down at my rows and rows of numbers and equations and calculations and realized: "Maybe we're both a bit crazy."
Allison is pleased that she got to say "If I tell you, I have to kill you" in a spanish chat :)
Allison is incredibly thankful for the godly counsel of parents...and their ability to simultaneously put you in your place and pat you on the back.
Thoughts on pouring tea into a beaker mug: "hmm...I'm pouring this into a beaker, I should titrate it. Wow, did I just think I should titrate my tea? I've been doing too much A-chem. Hmm..I wonder if you could titrate it. I'm sure there's some acid in there somehwere. Did we do that in a lab?"
Allison likes it when her chemistry books says: "one scheme for separating metal ions..." because it makes her think of a group of frazzled chemists, sitting around a table with a crazy look in their eyes, emitting low chuckles and placing their hands finger tip to finger tip (like sherlock holmes).....scheming....
Allison named the pumpkin friend Krisztina brought back Barouche
Allison things I like about chemists: They say: "this is very dangerous" and then go and do it. Also... Prof. Perks: "When I was in college I took a whole course on steroid chemistry." Allison (safely and quietly from the 6th row of LH2): "Did it count as PE?"
Allison briefly thought she ought to get out her redcard when walking into Friendly's. I need to get out more.
Krisztina: I should probably clean out the fridge. Allison: I don't think we should open the fridge.
Allison could laugh and sing and dance around for she has got a B in A-chem. And this is a gift from God.
Allison took a walk in the snow and wrote HI! in big letters on Erickson field for all the people living in Erickson. Someone opened a window and said Hi back :D
Guess what? I believe that if I get straight B's, that's exactly what the Creator of the Universe wants because in some mysterious way...it will amazingly bless me beyond what I can see now.
Allison is so glad to be home, glad the semester is over: 21 exams, 22 quizzes, 41 homeworks, 12 pre/postlab & 10 datasheets...16 weeks.

Anxiety: Part II

2009-12-08T23:14:00.002-05:00

Anxiety: Part I

2009-12-08T22:58:00.004-05:00

I stand there, the broad, open horizon surrounding me. Nothing there, I stare into it. Then, in the distance a mass takes shape. It grows and grows, coming closer and closer. It towers above me as it rushes towards me. A black ominous wave that has also become it's own overbearing cloud. A wall of darkness and trouble and toil. Whimpering, frightened and unsure I curl up and try to brace myself against the oncoming mass. I whimper and cling to nothing. Knowing full well my strength will fail; that here all alone, my best is not good enough. I know, and it shakes me to my core. That in spite of anything I might try, I am holding on to nothing, and I am about to get swept away into that darkness. My fear sinks into my stomach, settles and then begins to spread. It is only moments away now and all I can do is stare at it: hopeless.

Thankful

2009-11-26T13:51:00.003-05:00

Movie quotes only Margy gets, group hugs with David, rainy days and Gershwin, skype videochat, Steinway pianos, phenolphthalein titrations, vibrant fall days, UMBC, UMBC nerds, UMBC non-nerds, the cohort, parental units, exedrin, GCC, homemade meals, Atonement, imagination, grace, sugar, sanctification, art, the Bible, The Race of Joseph, The Master Artist, Good things, the wind, walking, talking, words, jazzy-smaltzy music, Beckly, Mike-the-Bike, Fred, Gnome, My Papoose, J.A.K.2, Rob, Frank, 1355, Watson, literature, jumping in puddles, spinning in fields, running down hallways, cozy evenings, sleeping in, invisible carbons with their hydrogen friends, the Krazy Kellys, the fingerprints of God…
For these things, I am thankful.

A Slap in the Face

2009-11-25T03:21:00.001-05:00

Sometimes I doubt God's love for me. I wouldn't say it in so many words, but nonetheless, I doubt that day that He loves me. This is because I am basing His acceptance, His good pleasure on my performance. Today I did not live it out the way I thought I should, so God is not pleased with me, I am out of favor. In short, God does not love me. But then He turns to me and says:
"I poured out ALL my wrath onto my one and only Son. I crushed the One with whom I had perfect fellowship. I gave you His blood. And yet you doubt? What more can I do? What more would you demand of me? What more can you ask?"
God has given me all I ever will need, in the person of His Son, and I turn around and slap Him in the face.

Fall

2009-11-01T19:47:00.008-05:00

I've thought about this for a while now, and I still can't figure out how to put it into words. It's such a complexity of things. It means so much to me. All the sensations, the tingling air, the smell of dead leaves, the colors brighter yet still subtle, the softer sun, I love fall. No, it is more than that. Fall does something to me, it has power over me. I walk around outside and I just soak it in. The leaves rustle beneath my feet, oh so many colors. Brighter than I remembered from last year, yet not gaudy, rather…sophisticated. The air is so…fresh. It tingles, it makes me feel alive. Humidity of summer is oppressive, but this cool touch of a fall breeze lightly brushes my skin into sensation. Just stand there. Close your eyes, breath it in, stop and wait for the smell of the leaves. That dry, rough, old yet fresh smell. Feel your face as it meets the breeze, every bit of it alive, tingling and new. Look around and see the colors. Trees decked out in so many colors. Even among the browns there are red browns and light browns and just plain old brown (which isn't plain or old at all). And then, there is so much nostalgia wrapped up in these sensations. There are the vivid memories of homeschooling in the fall. Driving up to Lancaster and seeing pumpkin fields freckled with orange. Writing poems, it was during fall that I wrote all my high school poems. Walking around the block. Playing outside in the cold with friends and siblings. Building leaf nests and hibernating in them. Oh the industry of busy little people piling leaves without a rake. It took a lot of work. Coming in from the cold to a warm, well lit house with homemade dinner waiting. Then there is always the faint promise of the season to come. The holiday season, with it's many joys of family and carols and planning and oh…the wonders! How can I capture this? I can't…I can merely stand back and marvel. Because…

This is fall...

And this is fall....

And this is fall...

And I just want to soak it up.

Thoughts from a Chemistry Student

2009-10-10T00:42:00.005-04:00

I don't know why I am a chemistry major. Eh, I know why. Well no, I don't. I'm slowly figuring it out. I mean, I would never have said I have a passion for chemistry. I like it, sure. I find it fascinating, sure. I'm passionate about it? Eh…. But I might be slowly reconvincing myself.
Or am I just trying to find a label? I like labels. I think I like the idea of having my character all defined out. I like feeling special. So knowing I'm a 'nerd' and not 'just another person' makes me feel good. Do I play into this? Do I act the nerd? I'm an actress…I could do it. I know it. But I think I genuinely am excited, I just…Am slowly figuring this out. Because I guess I thought being excited about this stuff was normal? But apparently not everybody else looks forward to Dr. Perks' lab lectures. Hmm…weird.

I've slowly been picking up more and more signs of developing nerdhood. I keep having 'nerd moments'. Like recognizing the letters Kb on somebody's socks as the base dissociation constant. Or thinking about the awesomeness of hydrogen bonding in water as I gulp it down.

Getting random unknowns and having something in the experiment that shouldn’t be there, but figuring out a hypothesis for what my contaminant is= amazing real science moment. As opposed to fake science moments.

Putting on gloves in Orgo lab makes me feel special, cool and professional--like a real chemist.

I carry a pocket periodic table. yup.

I got super frustrated with learning Spanish at 1am and then become focused and relaxed while working on an Analytical Chem Data sheet at 2am.

I'm convinced that Analytical Chemistry Lab is meant to breed OCD chemists. But I'm okay with being an OCD chemist.

I have purple speckles because I got silver nitrate on my hands. Not really good, but still kinda cool (?) in it's own weird way. I mean…I was dealing with stuff that can stain me!…whoa….

So why chemistry. I don't know? Because it's visual? Interesting? The complex basics of the universe The tiny bits that explain the whole? Because it's understandable? A giant puzzle? People give me the pieces and the plan and I get to slowly discover how it fits together. Chemistry explains everything! (except why I'm not asleep at 2:00am. That it doesn't explain. Oh wait…caffeine…never mind) .

I feel like a failure

2009-09-23T01:03:00.001-04:00

I feel like a failure. I'm barely keeping up with the required work in school, not to mention the extra, foundational studying. Some of this is true because I am taking nineteen wicked credits, some of it is because I do not manage my time wisely. I feel like a failure for this. A guilty failure.
I feel like a failure because I am not reading my bible. I am not pursuing God with all that is in me. He is not uppermost in my thoughts. I know that everybody says this, even those who seem to have it together. But I don't even seem to have it together. I truly am failing.
I feel like a failure for other things as well. Things I messed up with, where I misspent time or was unwise. Things I can not fix, only deal with the consequences as they come.
I sat here and finally nailed down everything welling within me into one little phrase: "I feel like a failure." And I turned to God and asked, "Lord where can my priorities be if these things are causing me to feel like a failure? I am looking to myself and my performance to fulfill me, instead of pursuing You and letting secondary life be merely a tool to give You glory." I think I need to get over feeling like a failure. Because feeling like a failure is just another way of pointing back to me. I need to turn instead to focus on the wonderful God who is the only thing right. Who has given me Success where it matters, who has given me Himself.
But sometimes, this is so hard.

Slough of Despond

2009-09-22T01:02:00.002-04:00

You know what I hate? Wallowing. Wallowing in my emotions. I hate it when I'm feeling down or angry or sad or depressed or frustrated or worried, and instead of picking myself up, setting myself on the grace of God and forcing on an uplifted countenance--I wallow. I take that emotion and I just go with it. I let it take me for a ride into whatever depths it leads. I almost enjoy it. I kinda want to just feel this….though I know that I could pull myself out if I wanted. I hate it when I don't. When I intentionally sink myself deeper. When I listen to myself instead of talking to myself. I 'm digging my own pit. I hate it. And I'm doing it right now...

Loving Arms

2009-09-13T00:49:00.001-04:00

I look back and all I see is waste. I've spent my time where it did not count. I've set my heart on other things. I've removed my God from His rightful place. I see it, and it grieves me. My heart aches to have that time back. I want to go back into the past and do it again. To fix it. To ease my guilt and make it right. I need a second chance. How else can I ease this shadow that is weighing on me? The weight of sin and time ill-spent. But I turn to my Father and grace rushes over me. With a clarity I do not understand, I know that He is waiting for me. That He has never left, that He does not count that time against me. I see Him with open arms--thrown wide, drawing me closer and closer. I run to them, and He clutches me to Him. I have always loved you. I have always wanted you. I have always been there. I have not turned my face away. I do not see you stained with dirt, but washed anew and precious in my sight. And now, you will know again the joy and fullness of loving Me best. For I am what you wanted all along.
I thank my God for the assurance bought by the blood of Christ. I thank my God for that assurance which never is negated. I thank my God that I have known so clearly the depth of His Love and Acceptance…
"Who shall separate us from the love of Christ?... For I am sure that neither death nor life nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the Love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord."
…nor even ourselves.

not how we were meant to live...

2009-08-04T00:20:00.004-04:00

As my family has been reading through "Worldiness" by C.J. Mahaney, the subject of violence in the media came up. The discussion ran along two main lines: We were more comfortable with watching violence than sensual sins (though in reality God abhors violence, He makes that clear). Secondly, there is also a difference between gratuitous violence and violence used to make a point. A point about humanity, depravity, sin, life…a good point. With this in mind, we decided to watch Schindler's List. It seemed like it might be one such movie, one that uses violence to a purpose.

I approached this warily. I wanted to watch it, but at the same time, had an idea that I was getting into a whole ton of depressing, dark and sad material. But we sat down to watch it.

It is full of violence. Horrible, mindless, sadistic violence. It is also packed with debauchery, and sensuality, nudity and adultery. By the time I was one third of the way through my stomach was knotted, my face stone and all I wanted was to be done with it; to get out of that poisonous atmosphere. It was a sinful atmosphere, and I was soaking my soul in it. Its scum was writhing over my skin, polluting me.

I have heard it argued that such things need to be seen, need to be known and digested so that we can better understand the world around us. While I would not argue for complete ignorance, I cannot help but look around me and a see a world, a culture, of calloused people. People who can watch so much without abhorrence. But then, I have been little exposed.
I felt filthy. Filthy. And God forbid that I should ever watch so much or know so much that I do not writhe with loathing at things such as these. God forbid that I should ever grow comfortable with it.

The last half and hour was attempted redemption. I do not know yet whether it made up for all that came before, the scales have not registered in balance. But it took the edge of the black taste in my mouth. It was as though it sought to say: "This darkness has not conquered yet. This is not the end."
However, even now, my stomach is still revolted.

Such is the state of my mind. I can but turn and thank my God that one day I will live in a place completely free from this contamination. There I will be free to wash my redeemed soul in the light of His holy presence.

Uninspired

2009-07-19T15:05:00.003-04:00

Normally at some point during the week I have a thought. An idea comes to me for a blog post. This week, that didn't happen. I just didn't have an idea, and all the ideas that I've been saying "I need to write a post about that" either aren't coming back to me or I already wrote about them. Therefore this post is a off the cuff, random train of consciousness, don't really have a plan blog post. And I just ran out of stuff to say. *thinking*
I was talking to someone about writing when uninspired. If just sitting down and writing anyway is good. Whether that will help me become a better writer and get a jumpstart. It's not working right now. I'm writing anyway, and I’m blabbering. My apologies. This is normally the type of stuff I do in my journal, but unfortunately a blog post is needed.
Fine, I give up. I can't force this meaningless monologue on my few, but loyal, readers. Sorry, this one shall stay in the depths of un-blogged ramblings for a while.
Never mind, you just have to put up with it. What I write is what you get.

Streetcar Romeo

2009-07-10T15:04:00.003-04:00

When my grandfather was a young man in high school, he lived in northwest Baltimore and took the streetcar to school every day. My grandmother grew up in the same area. Every now and then my grandfather would notice a certain girl get on the same streetcar. But he was afraid of girls. So he hid in the back pretending not to notice, his nose stuck in a book, fully aware she was there and watching her the whole time.
Finally, they met. With a friend for support, he ventured into the house he had passed so many times. The four young people: my grandfather, his friend, my grandmother and her sister, played records and danced and had a good time. And that night a smoldering something sparked into life. My grandfather began to woo my grandmother. With shy affection he made his way into her route and her life. My grandfather switched lines, waited for her at the transfer and sometimes rode with her to school, probably carrying her books, before walking back to his school. Their conversation and laughter echo through to today. Because of these sweet, romantic escapades my grandfather was dubbed "Streetcar Romeo" by his school newspaper. His face beams with pride and pleasure when he tells the story.

Now, over sixty years later, he goes to a rehab center everyday instead. He still sits next to her, but the fruitful conversations have turned into endless loops as she struggles to remember. Eventually, talk is abandoned and they just sit. He holds her hand, the only anchor for her wandering mind. They are at sea, and he is watching her drift farther and farther away. But he holds on with determination, mustering what humor he can in the face of engulfing sadness. And he comes back every day. He comes just to be with her. For she is still his Juliet, and he will always be her Romeo.

A Life of Discovery

2009-07-09T23:59:00.000-04:00

People complain a lot. I complain a lot Whenever anything little is going wrong, people will know. I'll exhibit my scraped up shin, explain my mountains of homework and detail exactly why that professor is so annoying.
Person: "Hi Allison! How are you doing?"
Allison: "Oh, I’m doing okay. Been really busy, I've been in classes all day and now I'm heading back to do loads of homework. I'm hoping I can get it done before Intervarsity so that I can go. But I also have an exam tomorrow and I think I feel a head ache coming on…."
Person: "Oh, I hope you get all your homework done."Allison: "thanks, I'd better get to it"

I'm not saying that there isn't a time when we can just let others know if we're having a hard time or that we have to deny the fact that we're busy. But I think there are times when I define life by everything I have to do and everything that's not going right. This is especially true when I'm in school. But now, this summer I haven't had that perspective. Summer was created as a season for the senses. I've been enjoy it to the fullest, the sunshine, the green leaves, the breezes and all the peaceful moments they have to offer. I realized today however ,that it has been such an awesome summer in part because I am looking for it to be awesome. I walk around ready to be astounded by beauty, ready to enjoy a peaceful moment. Each day is an search to let my senses discover a world of wonder. And it's been amazing.
At school I live in a whirl. A good whirl, but sometimes a material, gray and factual one. I wonder what would change if I continually lived a life looking for new and wonderful things. That is my new goal, and my challenge to you. Don't just live, live in awareness. Live a life of discovery.

Things I Love About Harford County

2009-07-03T00:14:00.002-04:00

The Bel Air Library. One of the few places where I really feel like I belong, where I really feel at home. It's there I met all my childhood fictional friends and there that I learned to love words. Dear old friend.

Kleins (it shall never ever be called Shoprite. That is sacrilege, you cannot rename nostalgic pillars of your childhood) one of my main social circles growing up. We ended up knowing the cashiers :)

The fact that the speed limit on Rt. 24 going through Rocks State Park is 25 mph. I can go slow and enjoy the drive and no one is allowed to get mad at me for doing so because I'm going the speed limit!

Driving on windy, shady roads with the windows down and my summer music surrounding me and cresting the hills when the sun is setting.

Main Street Bel Air, which feels like a little town from the movies set in the 1940's. Despite the fact that I never spent the summer roaming it's streets on my bike like they did in all those movies.

The fact that I've finally learned my way around :)

All the trees.

That I can feel like I'm in the middle of nowhere and then drive five minutes to get to a movie theatre and a Rita's.

That it's home.

Judas

2009-06-21T23:58:00.004-04:00

The soft glow from the lamps is yellow, adding a warm tinge to the edges of the dark it pushes out. Looking around the room, there is love in Jesus' eyes. These are the men with whom He has lived the last three years of His life. He knows their habits, their inconsistencies, the idiosyncrasies of their characters. And He loves them. He is going to die for them; He knows what they will go through. As they must wonder if they've been wrong for three years, as they lose their guiding light, as they are blindsided by the event that He has been predicting for such a long time. He looks at them, loves them, and stands. Moving away from the table He pulls off His outer tunic and wraps a towel around His waist….

Jesus washed Judas' feet. Moments before He looked around the room in love, and moments after He pointed out His betrayer and sent him on his way. What must that moment have looked like. When Jesus knelt down and took Judas' foot. The betrayed serving betrayer. Judas must have known that Jesus knew. Jesus knew. Knew that this man who had spent three years in His inner circle was about to hand Him over to those who wanted to kill Him. Judas knew. Knew that this man whom he had followed for three years, who had commanded his allegiance, who when you looked into His eyes, it seemed He knew your thoughts…this man knew about the 30 pieces of silver that had bought His life.
Judas must have been quaking inside, awkward, sweating, chilled and disturbed. Yet do you think Jesus washed Judas' feet any differently than He did the other disciples? Or was it with the same service, the same love and an overwhelming sorrow.

Shoez

2009-06-15T23:38:00.001-04:00

Okay, I've wonder this for a long time: Why are there random shoes in the middle of the road? Why?!?! I'm not talking a pair of shoes. I keep seeing one lonely shoe sitting either in the middle or on the shoulder of the roads around here. I've seen these for a while now, probably about one every year or so, and never understood it. How do you drop a shoe in the middle of the road?
Was it: "My foot was hot, so I stuck it out of the window and apparently my laces didn't hold up so well. It just went flying off!" If you're gonna stick a foot out the window, take the shoe off. That way you can actually feel something.
Or: "My friend pulled my shoe off and threw it out the window while we were driving at 50mph." You need more mature friends, or tighter shoes. Your choice.
I'm sorry, but this just seems so stupid. Can someone explain this please? Why shoes?

In My Head

2009-06-11T14:18:00.002-04:00

Can I just say, right off the bat, that I'm writing this with an extreme headache that may or may not be a migraine. Do you know what that feels like? Basically, it hurts. But I can't figure out why it bothers me so much. I mean sure it's pain, a lot of throbbing pain in fact, but why does that pain completely wipe out any other activity I may be attempting to do? My whole side of my head hurts, centered at my left temple. It feels like there's "something", I don’t know what, just "something" under my skin sitting between it and my skull. Pressure and pain and "something". Then, after a while another "something" must make it's way to my stomach and lodges itself in my throat. It wants to work it's way up. It's taking little hops like it's about to jump out. But no. It stays in my throat and sinks down a little bit. For the moment anyway. The pain in my head comes in waves. Sometimes it lessens, and then it gets worse again. Sometimes it dulls so that I wonder if it might be going away and I feel like I can live with this sort of gentle pressure thing going one. Then it comes back and I wonder what I did to trigger it again. 30 seconds off, 2 minutes of pain. 30 seconds of slight hope, 3 minutes of thinking I might soon chop my head off.
I've had headaches for basically as long as I can remember. We can mark spots around Harford County by places I've thrown up with a migraine. And each vacation is marked by it's own headache moment. We started carrying T.U.B.S. with us everywhere: throw up bags. And I wonder why. I've wondered why before, but mostly in a selfish sort of way. As in: "Why me? I hate my head!" But now I just wonder what's the purpose? There must be a purpose, so what's God trying to say.

Spring 2009 Campaign

2009-06-01T21:18:00.005-04:00

The scores are in, the votes counted and the final tallies tallied. The results: 11 to 24. It's an epic tale my friends. One of ingenuity, audacity and fortitude. Alas, it is too long to relate in the short amount of time your attention span will allow me. So I will provide the abridged version.
First, background. There were rumblings at the end of the fall semester. But not until the onset of the spring semester that things really began. Battle of the Roomies (Part II), an epic contest of pranks and annoyances. Each prank, annoyance or worthy scare (jumping from behind objects with the intention of startling the combatant) was awarded one point. These were tracked in a public arena: the hallway. Through out the semester the imagination of both parties fired again and again in ingenious methods of racking up points. The following are some of my personal favorites (in no particular order)

1) Post-it notes adorned the entire surface of my chair. It looked pretty good, and I insisted on sitting on it, so I ended up walking around with post-it notes sticking to my posterior. Thankfully, I didn't actually make it out the door.
2) Soy Sauce in my drink. I love this one because it was so well done, it completely went over my head. I always thought Hawaiian Punch tasted funny anyways.
3) Hiding in the cupboard under the sink. If you had seen the cupboard in my dorm you would understand what a feat this was. Needless to say, I barely fit. I didn't really jump out, it was more of a pop the door open and grin at her from my cramped position.
4) Standing in the bathroom for 50 minutes in the dark waiting for her to open the door. Okay, this one the joke's on me. It was a very elaborate plan, I locked the door on our side and got in through our suitemates side. That way she wouldn't know I was in there, the door was locked on the outside. I stood right in the doorway so I would be right THERE when she opened the door. Smart right? No. She never came in. I stood there and listened to her eat chips and watch TV. I stood in a tiny bathroom in the dark for 50 minutes. Yeah, I didn't have enough homework.
5) Koolaid in the shower head. Unscrew the shower head, pour in powered koolaid mix, replace head. Wait. Ingenious, no? I wondered why the shower was red.
6) My personal favorite: IcyHot on the toilet seat. I warned the suitemates, applied a liberal coating and found someone to let me use their bathroom for the day. At Kayla's first words: "Did you do something to the toilet" I couldn't help it. I cracked up. "Why the heck is my butt freezing?" It was such a classic.

There are many more (it was a busy semester). They involved toilet paper and glue, missing shoelaces, tape and shampoo, missing shoes, missing earbuds, chained stuffed animals, facebook hijackings, and more hiding places than you'd think you could find in a small university dorm room. But I can already see that you're glancing away from this list and mentally headed elsewhere.
So I must end with my final words: It was an awesome semester. Thank you Kayla for being such a worthy opponent.

Duplicity

2009-05-26T20:20:00.013-04:00

This weekend I attended a young adult conference put on by Sovereign Grace Ministries: NEXT (http://www.thisisnext.org/). I spent four days considering the person of Jesus Christ, the creator and active sustainer of the universe, our perfect, punished, justified Savior. It was awesome. The worship time--singing Christ-centered songs with 2000 other believers--was one of the highlights. As I sang at the top of my lungs into some unfortunate's ear, I prayed and meditated on what the spiritual truths I was boldly declaring meant for me. Those truths made me jump up and down, raise my hands, clench my fists and even brought tears to my eyes. It was a sweet moment of worship.
Yet somehow, on the other side of my mind I'm having completely different thoughts:
"Wow. I'm crying. This is cool. I'm really into this...I'm having a spiritual emotional reaction. This is awesome...look how spiritual I am."

or

"hmm....my voice sounds good. I wonder if the person standing in front of me is aware of and impressed by my voice. Does raising my arms like this look natural?"

What is this? What am I doing? What is going on in my head? How can I harbor two such attitudes?
I became aware of my own self-centeredness and couldn't help but be disgusted with myself. It was depressing.

Then, at the end, Josh Harris gave a sort of invitation for those who wanted prayer or were convicted by the message to go forward. I dread these types of invitations. The "let us minister to you" invitations. I think part of it is because I can put myself on a guilt trip wondering: "Am I convicted? Are these real emotions? I'm I just being guilted into this?" Because I can be guilted into pretty much anything if for some reason it seems to be something that is 'right' to do. I'm sitting there, trying to rationalize every possible reason that his invitation doesn't apply to me:
"Oh, he said people who were struggling with not knowing Christ, I know Christ." ... "I had personal devotions all last week, I'm on the right track" ... "He didn't specify young christian girls who grew up in the church family." I sent myself on an emotional, rationalizing monologue, because somehow humbly going up front was to be avoided at all costs.

I walked out of the session so emotionally confused, depressed by my incredible pride and self-centeredness. But God poured out grace. I shared this with my friends, and we had a good time of prayer, just venting and praying through everything we were experiencing. I shared some of this with my small group the next morning and they asked probing questions (thank you!) and prayed for me.
I am a double-sided, hypocritical sinner. The depth of this truth astounds me. But instead of dwelling unhealthly on the fact, I will turn to the God who loved me anyway, and who's grace has covered even the pride of my heart.

On Growing Up

2009-05-19T00:10:00.008-04:00

I was sitting there, watching the Seniors go up, not sheepishly--They weren't ashamed...rather it was just...hesitantly. An assumed hesitancy, as if this was something that they thought they weren't suppose to enjoy. Something they were suppose to resist, so they put on a show of being embarrassed by it. And as people talked about them, about their life during those four years of mayhem we call college, as I heard what they had meant to people, what they had accomplished...I wondered (being the self-centered person I am) what people would say about me in four years. What would my defining characteristics be? What would be the funny stories I would live? What would I mean to people, how would I be special?
Now I wonder what this year at school has already done to me. How have I changed for better or for ill? What memories will I hold dear to me from this freshman year.
Has living in this environment messed me up? Am I less sensitive to sin..have I been hardened to this world? Has my relationship with God deepened? Matured?
Have I grown? Am I different?
I don't know. I suspect that my mindset and attitude has subtly shifted over these last ten months. But I wonder....

The Resurrection

2009-04-14T01:33:00.004-04:00

The Resurrection... It was the climax of a story that had been unfolding since time began. There had been glimpses, foreshadowing of things to come but the mystery remained. Before the creation of the world the Father and Son had planned it. For thousands of years there had been signs and hints, promises that they were at work, orchestrating the history of the universe to the tell the greatest story. Thirty-three years before that Sunday the first tremor rumbled through the world. The Son was born. Events were set in motion that would lead to the climax all of creation had been waiting for. Jesus began His ministry, and tension filled the small land of Israel. Emotions were blown back and forth, rising and falling, pulling with them the actions of the people. Then, one Passover Friday, the perfect lamb was sacrificed. The Father poured out His wrath upon the Son. And the debt of nations, past and future, was satisfied. But the story was not finished; the climax had peaked but not resolved. Jesus lay in the tomb, until Easter Sunday. That morning shines as the brightest point in history. For Jesus rose victorious, defeating sin and death. This is where it was leading, this is where it starts. Jesus Christ: Redeemer, Savior: Risen! The story of universe flows to and from this point. Can you see the span of history stretched out, with the picture of the cross and the empty tomb standing boldly at it's focus? We must not lose it. For as Paul said, if there was no resurrection Christians are most to be pitied. But there was a resurrection! So rejoice and be amazed!

Writing...

2009-02-24T11:41:00.003-05:00

There is a thrill in a blank sheet of paper. Perhaps not so much in it's nothingness, as in the anticipation of the words to fill it. There is satisfaction in a page of newly penned script as well. The idea that one had enough cohesive and coherent thought to fill in those blank lines plays with one's vanity. Until one reads over again the rambling sentences and realizes, with a bitter smile and a mirthless laugh, that what seemed to be clever was merely babble. Well-framed babble perhaps, flowing easily from pointless thought to pointless thought, but babble none the less. This nonsense might have a point, a clear subject or demonstration of something, but inevitably the point is inconsequential. A point that nobody cares about anyway. And yet, for the time it lasts, the thrill of wandering across a blank page is fulfilling. If not for the results than for the process. The fulfillment of using words to say what one means, despite the meaninglessness of one's meaning. The sound of one's sentences as they are scratched out by one's pen and bounce through one's skull. Surely this is the first thing that calls a writer; not the importance of getting the message out, but the framing of the message and the joy of creation.

Nightowl

2009-02-20T21:16:00.004-05:00

Night is a beautiful thing. It is interesting that so many take pleasure and are refreshed by the morning, while others are stimulated by the late hours of the day. The latter type make, perhaps, the least sense, for at night all you may do is look back and note what you should have accomplished during the day. You wonder where the time has gone and why you spent the morning hours so listlessly wandering from aimless pursuit to aimless pursuit. And yet there are those who are more active, and more pleased with themselves, at these late hours. Perhaps they finally feel awake after the time spent recooperating from yesterday's late night. Perhaps they are less influenced by sleepiness falling into sleep then dragging themselves out of it. For whatever reason, there are those of us who gloriously claim the title: "Night Owl." Who hate the morning as it pushes them from their beds and welcome the stimulating rays of darkness. Who spend those hours planning the many grand and noble schemes to be completed the next day (where there lies the time) and cannot bring themselves to begin them when morning comes. We are the dreamers. Early birds are the doers. Their's is perhaps, the wisest way, to plan at the beginning of the day rather than at the end. But I cannot forsake the peaceful power of the night for the starkness of the morning. And thus, nothing gets done save these meandering thoughts, penned in the dark from the wanderings of the brain of a self-professed night owl.

In the Shadows

2009-02-04T22:27:00.001-05:00

Standing in the dark, cold cutting through the thin jacket or sweatshirt or whatever I threw on. Behind me cars whiz past on the bypass. I glance anxiously into the shadow of the trees, unable to see the imagined dangers they conceal. The wind blows them back and forth in its chaotic strength, and they bow to its wishes. Though my mind firmly tells itself to get a grip, my emotions hijack all rational thought as my imagination nurtures subdued terror. I look up from under the oak tree; the filaments of its naked branches weave a delicate lace across the sky. Through this I see the stars, though few are visible in the glare of man made lights. And, in spite of everything, I recognize the beauty in that cold night: the power of the dark and its harmony with silver light. I gaze for a moment, a moment of wonder, and then rush back to warmth and safety.

Friends, friends...1,2,3...All my friends are here with me

2009-01-29T01:40:00.002-05:00

Well, I'm back at school. Which is to say, that after a month and a week of doing absolutely nothing I am plopped into an environment that I previously existed in for months and then somebody changed the details on me :) New classes on different days with new teachers and a lot more work. I will admit, I'm a geek. I really wanted to get back to classes and studying. I expected to have fun doing that, and though I'm not fully dunked into the full course load, I'm sure there's a whole lot of fun still ahead of me. One thing I didn't really expect though (horrible as it sounds) is to be so pumped about seeing all my friends again. After all, I've only known these people for what…three months or something like that? But I'm finding there are so many interesting conversations to be had, so many goofy moments to create , so many memories to share, and so many personalities to discover. I must admit, I'm enjoying a social life. Geeky and random as it is, I do consider it a social life. Most of my friends live on my resident floor, meaning they're stuck with me morning and night. There's Bethanie the easy going girl across the hall who thinks deeply and laughs quickly. Then there's Achsah, her roomie, who seems quiet at first, but hang around her long enough and you'll hear some smooth-talking humor. The two make quite a dynamic duo. Then of course, there's my suiteys next door. The two lovely ladies we share the bathroom with. Megan willingly eggs me on to go on midnight sprints down the hallway and back. And Jackie, who seems to be one of the more normal people on the floor :D And we can't forget Kayla. The infamous roomie. Who is altogether too smart for me and has thought out every facet of her life and has a reasonable explanation for it. She also has an evil sense of humor (evil in a completely good way).
Friends who always seem to be there, who put up with my goofy side when it makes an appearance and have deigned to allow me on their hallowed hallway. Friends who wanted to be mentioned on my blog and who I willing obliged. They are, after all, mixed- up in my meanderings through life. Be it in chem finals or inside jokes.
Go to sleep, Megan.

Rhapsody

2009-01-26T21:54:00.003-05:00

As I watch out the window, smudges of city lights move steadily past in the field of night. It is a soft darkness. Not the clear night of a country road, but a darkness mellowed by the glow of yellow light. My ears fill with the jazzy, soothing sound of Rhapsody in Blue. It fills me with warmth, not a fuzzy warmth, but a cool warmth, if that makes any sense at all, a warmth that suffuses you with a gently pulsing energy. Like a soundtrack to a movie, the music compliments the scene perfectly.
There is great beauty in this, the city lights backed by jazz. Why? Why was this moment soothing and peaceful and soul-filling? What is it about lights in the dark, whether clear twinkles or hazy blobs that strikes a chord in the human heart? What is in its nature that makes it beautiful?

Sanctification

2009-01-22T22:11:00.000-05:00

1 Corinthians 1:2 "To the church of God that is in Corinth, to those sanctified in Christ Jesus, called to be saints together with all those who in every place call upon the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, both their Lord and ours,"
To those who are sanctified... Sanctification is the ongoing work of God in believers to make them more like Christ. It mean to make holy, to set apart. Here's the questions: What if we did not have sanctification? What if God justified us--forgave us our sins, considering us righteous for Christ sake--but then didn't continue with sanctification?
I know that sanctification is the continuation of justification. Those who are justified are also sanctified. They are two integral parts to salvation: God's salvation encompasses forgiveness and renewal. But are we truly thankful for our sanctification?
Can you imagine going through life knowing we have forgiveness for sins yet unable to conquer them, unable to become more like Christ, unable to succeed against sin, doomed to continue in our own weakness knowing there would be no victory?
It seems ludicrous, because I know that sanctification is the second part of salvation…it just is….but imaging life without it makes it all the sweeter.
Because this is the cool part: our salvation is an ongoing salvation. God not only forgives us for every sin: past, present and future, He has freed us from sin. He has given us a new nature. He is at work in our lives. Salvation is not just about being saved from hell; it's about God's grace empowering us to live no longer under the dark cloud of sin but rather in the light of God. Because God is the only thing that is all-satisfying.
Half the time I think of it as a duty: "I am saved, therefore I must act like it." But is a gift of God's grace. Imagining life without it is an eye-opener.

Let's Start the Journey

2009-01-21T16:38:00.000-05:00

check, check, 1..2...3. Are we on? Okay.

Welcome one and all! You have stumbled upon the wondering world of Allison. A world full of thoughts and ideas which may or may not make sense, poured out in sentences which may or may not be grammatically correct. To be completely honest, I am not sure exactly how this blog thing will pan out. How often I'll post and what I will post about will be dependant on the twists and turns of my mind and life. But you're welcome to join me as I ponder this life I've been given. Let's see where it takes us....