Fill, not Fix

“There’s no pain the Lord can’t fill,” sings Yolanda Adams. Oh. I thought. Fill – not FIX.

This radically contests my old ways of thinking about God and the way He loves me. His methods of healing and renewal and victory are different from my own. It’s not that He loves when I do the right things or, aside from moral decision-making, am smart enough to elect the best sequence of strategies to accomplish my goal. I’m reminded of Gideon being sent by God with a tiny army so that it would be obvious that Gideon triumphed because of God’s assistance and presence with him in battle.

I won’t win the battle by outsmarting the circumstance and having the better methods. No. I win the battle when God enters the situation and starts re-ordering exactly those circumstances where I look and feel weakest of all. This way, I know God got the victory. It was not by anything I did, not by any feat of self-control or self-reliant powers of IQ or EQ.

This fact about who God is gives me hope in circumstances where I feel the odds are stacked against me, or seem nearly insurmountable, or, where I am finally beyond myself.

"Pleasantly Shocked"

One of my friends, A, who I have become much more close with this past semester even though I have known her for 5 years now, used this phrase to describe her reaction to learning things about me that she didn't expect. I love replaying the flashback in my head, and laughing about it with her still today: we were at a teachers' after-school unwinding session at a Mexican restaurant in Byram. (Ahh, those were the days!) That was back in the days that iPhones were still rare, we both had flip phones (I think), and it was also the day that we learned we had things in common. It was the inception of our friendship, though its growth sped up exponentially in hard times.

I have to say too that I am pleasantly shocked with the process of getting to know her. She is a perfect illustration of how deep God has built us to be as His creations, the capacity He has placed in each of us to have compassion, to give comfort, to spread joy, to provide rest in times of restlessness, laughter in times of merriment. Students look to her as a confidant; something about her aura signals to them (and apropriately so) that she is trustworthy and able to empathize. Someday I want to be like that. B and M, also friends of mine and coincidentally also former teachers, also have this trait, whereby students and peers know they can turn to them when they need comfort to know that their experiences don't make them unusual, but rather, that we can all relate to difficult situations in life.

A makes me feel like I fit in, like I can be freer in life -- but at the same time wise. She sets an example for me of what a mature woman is, who still has a youthful spirit but is at the same time competent at managing parental, spousal, and occupational roles. She's real!

Today I rejoice in those things, moments, and people that pleasantly shock us.

Final Push

I have 6 more days of school. Six more days in which to write two papers and do one set of readings. I can do this, I can do this. I know God will get me there. He's my Provider, material and psycho-social. (that's a very academic way to put it; maybe I should have just said tangible and intangible, or material and relational.) All the resources I need, he's got 'em. He gives freely.

I've been able to sleep more this weekend than I did during the week. And yet, as I attempt to sit down and write one of these papers, I just feel utterly exhausted. How to beat deep-seated exhaustion? The deep-down kind of tiredness that is set back behind appearances, behind that liveliness that comes when the work week is over. Deep, deep down, that tiredness that hasn't been resolved. Maybe a nap will help. But maybe that's just me avoiding writing!

I'm happy to report that last week I was able to crank out a pretty long paper from pretty much scratch. Well, like Mr. Bowman in high school taught us, if you have all your materials ready, you can crank out college term papers in a snap. So yeah, for this paper I did have that situation more or less. I was really satisfied upon completing it because I can confidently say it was the creation of a delectable mix of discipline and creativity. The only downer is, that was my favorite paper for the term; the two ahead of me are less pleasant and exciting to me. But if I'm to be optimistic, I'm in that situation with these two papers that lie ahead, too, that I already have a chunk of the work done, though not all materials gathered. Oh, and also except that last week I had 5 days to devote to the one paper, and this time I have the same amount of time, but two papers. Yikes. I also wonder what kind of grade I'll get in the business class...I can hope for the best, but honestly, I just don't know what I'll get! I've worked hard in that class, that I can say confidently. Don't think I could have worked any harder. So whatever grade I get is OK.

So this entry is a bit of whining to get me prepped for a writing spree. Let's hope it actually does work that way! And that I don't tire of the taste of coffee!

Cheers to the little reliefs God gives us each day, the immutable fact that each day will always end and a new one will come, that tiredness will be resolved in rest and He knows how much we need it to keep on (even when we're oblivious to or ignore our own needs), for the blessing of time passing when you're in the productivity-zone, for the energy to do work each day, to get the work done that needs to get done that day. For the thrill of work finished. For the will to bulldoze through massive amounts of readings, to fight the urge to do anything other than write. For the refreshment of friendships old and new to keep the heart and mind full and hopeful. Lord, I'm not missing all that You're doing. You see me and You provide. As you always have.

Songs and Memory

1.) "How You Like Me Now" (The Heavy) - Watching "The Fighter" on a lazy Saturday, what could have been better? I stayed awake too-- watching movies midday is the only cure for my movies-with-you narcolepsy. Remember? Then months later M sang this song verbatim in the back seat...

2) "OMG" (Usher) - driving down I-55 South to pick up your favorite loafers from JC Penney.

3) "Candy Everybody Wants" (10,000 Maniacs) - You said you'd never heard it and I couldn't believe it!

4) "California" (P.U.T.S.) I remember awaking half awake on a road trip to this song and thinking, "this is catchy, remember this and ask about it later," then going immediately back to sleep in my Pez position.

Nothing is Inevitable

This is a quote from my race & ethnicity professor. And I love it. It reflects my friend C's mother's belief, which is, "Where there's a will, there's a way." Wherever two (or more) people commit to each other, or to a cause that is linked to their very life purpose, no circumstances, shortcomings, flaws, mishaps, mistakes, pains, or otherwise can tear them apart. Nada. All outcomes come, to some degree, by way of our independent, or corporate, choices.

Letting Go, Part II

Thank you, Dewayne Woods, for writing "Let Go." Music brought all this to the forefront of my mind...

It's a recurring theme in my life, to be sure: learning to let go of the plans I've made for myself. I learned it in 2005, with a startling change of plans in my college education. I was infuriated with God for reducing -- or so it seemed at the time -- my grand plans down to His unexciting ones. I'm so glad God isn't swayed from the plans He has for me based on my unappreciative attitude at the time. 

[That's something I hadn't even thought about until writing this. Thank You, God, for not allowing my attitude to thwart your blessings. Help me stay positive in the in-between!]

And I don't think God makes this a recurring theme because I don't 'get it' the first time. I do think He is making it recur so that I understand His loving care to a new level each and every time He puts me through a hard time - that is, a storm or a valley.

A finer point to this lesson, though, is that God has shown me that letting go does not involve giving up on my dreams. It simply requires that I allow Him to compose the story His way. And this way ends up requiring far less worry on my part, because in His version, I am not the glue holding it all together. He is. This second part to the letting go lesson, with each and every iteration, and the progressive letting go of dear things and ones, is wildly encouraging. My friend S has told me once, and I've heard it from Pastor N too, that God is not a "cosmic killjoy." In my younger years, a part of me was convinced that He was, and I just accepted that as an unavoidable part of who He is. I'm starting to grasp that joy truly is His end goal for us. I admit, I hate the incredible pain that intervenes on the way to joy. I still haven't made peace with that "surprise" in life (to borrow from CS Lewis' "surprised by joy," I think it's safe to say that, in growing up/maturing, I'm "surprised by pain."). All God does and says is to increase our joy. As I type that, I ask myself, do I really believe that?

Maybe I am not quite there yet, but I can say that I know God to be a restorer of my joy, whether it be restoration from disappointment (especially the blind-siding kind) or from grief of loss. He, in the words of U2 often quoted by dear friend C., is in the business of grace: "making beauty out of ugly things."

While Swimming

A new thing I've taken up is swimming two nights a week. It's an amazing escape from my running thoughts (recognize that phrase?). I'm sure my form isn't perfect, and that lifeguards and swim coaches pacing the sides think my arm stroke isn't always in line with my body, and that the way I cock my head when I come up for air is too far up. I'm sure of these things, and I work on my form whenever I am conscious enough to, or care enough to. Otherwise, I take simple bodily pleasure in the breathing rhythms, the challenge of stamina it requires, the water all around me, the solitude of it, the power of forward motion that actually is supposed to come from your hips and not your arms. It's like when I swim, I am aware of my whole body in ways ambulating in the air makes me take my body and its functioning for granted.

I've started to wonder what other ways I can become active that will make me more conscious. Not active in the physical sense, per se, but active in the "doing God's work" sense. One of my friends, A, has encouraged me tremendously lately, and filled me with a sense of power that I didn't really realize was in me. [I couldn't believe how much simply talking to her gave me peace of mind!] Looking at her approach to life, even through (prolonged) times of uncertainty, her choice to cultivate herself and to experiment with living an abundant life that digs into building God's Kingdom here on earth: all I can say is, sign me up for that! I want to be active in life. There are commitments I have now that I am not fulfilling enough, and that's where I'll start. I also need to get myself around kids/teens more. Maybe that's my next step. But first commitments first. Being a student is my #1 right now...working on submitting for publication by Christmas, and my IRB submission by Thanksgiving. These are the foremost things for now. But I pray for a more active spirit to fill me, one that fills these requirements of being a focused student, but also seeks out life-giving opportunities to serve, to know a community and be part of it. Lord, push me to live more fully!

Lasting Fruit

God, what's it gonna take for me to produce lasting fruit, the kind where I can only produce it if I remain in you?

How do I know that the love I show is grounded in your love, the direction and advocacy of your Spirit? How can I know it won't run out or leave me hurting, because bearing fruit can't always just be a happy-go-lucky endeavor...can it?

I can know because bearing fruit is your will for me. And You won't abandon me as an orphan; You will come to me. (John 14:18)

And when I don't know how, your Spirit will remind me of everything You taught me. This Spirit is Your gift to me, it is peace of mind and heart (v. 27). So don't be troubled or afraid, even when the odds of bearing fruit or sticking with it to the end, or the scale of the task at hand seems utterly impossible, or like all signs point to no.

Tough Skin

A tougher skin. Is this an asset of the maturing process, or what emerges from its casualties? Is a lack of tough skin a liability, or a rare thing to be protected and preserved?

Someone who lacks toughness, as in, such as a teacher or parent who won't be firm in disciplining children, ought to make one gag. That kind of un-toughness is not an indication of character or the matured disposition of the heart.

Someone who is too sensitive to life's blows, who is blown off course by the winds of disappointment or change, ought to use that time as a lesson in resilience. One who has gone through tragedy, however, and comes out without a jaded, hardened heart: this is a good thing.

Having a porous skin is something to aim for. A skin that selectively permits some level of chaos and hardship without melting down and losing one's own reserve of strength, like a cell phone too quickly drained of battery, but also a skin that remains sensitive to wrong and hurt in a way that exhibits the capacity for compassion, the ability to feel and empathize with others' pain. How can one remain compassionate if the skin is tough to the point that it excuses injustice or a lesser-version of how God intended it to be, in a kind of resigned acceptance?

No, a porous skin that remains sensitive to injustice, and refuses to give up that first dream for an inpenetrable faith, hope, and love, a skin that can exhibit both mercy and passion because it knows its own resilient reserves of love and strength: that is the aim.

Countdowns

75 days until my first marathon

53 days till end of semester (maybe it woulda been better not to have counted...)

35 days till Sufjan, live

29 days till Minnesota

17 days till C. visits

4 days till Homecoming

Films That Made Me Think

I've seen two good movies of late:

Margaret. This movie examines the complex ways we as humans deal with guilt. The inner need for atonement -- for wrongs to be made right, for justice to prevail -- is dealt with in a not-so-simple way by this teenage girl who is partly responsible for someone being killed by a bus. While I don't think her approach to making things right makes her seem any more innocent to me, I can understand the difficulty she has in doing anything to correct for such an extreme accident. This is where grace comes in: when our errors are too large for us to find any way to remedy them. A very thought-provoking movie without resolution.



Moonrise Kingdom: Explores the dilemmas of adolescence: the realization of parents' imperfections, and the rough feeling of their discipline and partial non-acceptance of their teens; as well as advanced themes of orphanhood, exclusion from peer groups, the urge to become an adult,  and teens' inadequate ability to deal with conflict in ways that don't worsen the problem.Unlike Margaret, which is no doubt plot- and script-centered, this movie, typical of Wes Anderson, relies on the visual (cinomatographic elements) to deliver the message. Reminds me a bit of Jumangi's magical realism.

Good Things, Part II

This past week held some great moments.

Wednesday morning, I was pulling my bike from the crammed bike rack at the business school, something like pulling a comb through really tangled hair. People just pile their bikes on top of each other like a girl who likes jewelry but doesn't care enough to sort her necklaces into anything but a box. Anyway, so I got my bike free. As the front tire hit the pavement as I prepared to mount it, the tire made a weird thunk sound. I thought, That's weird, it doesn't usually sound this way, does it? The rubber sounded like it was filled with sand. Oh, well, I thought, and got on it to ride away. A business student, complete in his suit, walked up to me and pointed out that the metal lever piece in the center of the tire had been loosened and needed to be pressed back in. He said, "You would have died." And I said, "Thank you--there's your good deed for the year!" PHEW.

Wednesday night, I was taking a break from my list of 6 to-do's for school the next day by getting a bubble tea (of course). At the intersection of N Decatur and Clairmont, all the electricity went off for about 4 seconds. It was quite a sight to see, a pitch black nothingness in place of the commercial excess. All the store signs, traffic lights, street lights, everything but the cars' headlights and tailights, were wiped out. It was like watching stars disappear from the sky. Up ahead on N Decatur, some Catepillar trucks were doing some kind of construction, so I am sure that's why the outage happened (they hit a power line). But when it all came back up, it was like watching a vending machine light up and display its appealing contents. The color and signage all rushed back in. The return of the graphics!

Thursday afternoon, I had lunch with one of my faculty advisors. I can't believe that actually happened. She asked me about my background, my life, my dreams. It's nice to have someone care about those things that are rarely verbalized. I was honest in my answers, but definitely felt like I had to muscle it up so it sounded like a bigger deal. But really, my desires in life are pretty simple. Knowing where I want to be after this degree helps me to do it. A clear vision for myself makes each week doable...really. God willing, this will be my last year of coursework!!!!

Visualizing

For this post, I am going to turn to another mode of expression that I have hardly used since 8th grade: drawing. Writing is my strong suit, but it cannot accomplish what came into my imagination as I ran on Monday morning. This requires a picture.

It's a visual representation of Isaiah 64:8: And yet, O LORD, You are our Father. We are the clay, and you are the potter. We are all formed by Your hand. Our decisions are His hands cutting off the sin and weights; His hands, the grace to smooth us out after the operation, and of course, whilst operating on us, He fills us with fruit and His own Spirit.

Good things

Yesterday and today were full of good things, besides tears!

1.) While doing fieldwork at a local school, a teacher (I did not know) turned to me and simply said, "You're going to impact communities. You are going to touch children's lives. Don't let anything hinder you or stop you." She made me feel pretty special, and I didn't have to prove myself or anything...

2.) Bubble tea. Enough said. Motivator of the month... I have filled up 9 of 10 spaces on my get-on-free punchcard.

3.) The sympathetic and awesome professor I RA for.

4.) The sympathetic and awesome bosses I have at both PT jobs at Emory, B & D.

5.) Really, really awesome advisor I have, who has taught me the method that made my second year paper shine and bedazzle.

6.) Satisfaction derived from my job editing fellowship apps...It reminds me how writing is my thang!

7.) A community of supporting, loving friends who commented on my post of my picture of Dad and me on Facebook today, from all parts of life: elementary school friends, County softball team friends (who were familiar with my dad's face!), high school teachers, college friends who were there when the whole grieving process took place for me, recent friends who knew me post-passing. Amazing, God. You are amazing.

8.) An "A" on my Race & Ethnicity paper that I slaaaaved over! A vast improvement from that first paper, phew.

Octobers

That October, I laid down a lot. I listened to the same 18-track playlist A. made me, over and over and over and over again. I wrote a lot. I felt free to just sit and be quiet and stare down or out, without producing a lot of speech or thoughts. No one would hassle me or ask what's wrong, because they sure knew. I took refuge in the den-like basement guest bedroom at Aunt D's house. I took comfort in her familiarity with my father, both of us having grown up with him (her a generation ago with him as a child, of course, and I, just then, with Dad as an adult).

What was so obviously wrong? My Dad. He died 5 years ago this coming Wednesday.

That October I was stunned into silence and tears, wrenched by the tragic circumstances of my Dad's sudden death, and the sudden turn for my life circumstances that it would mean. That first October, I thought a lot, since I wasn't reading or talking or doing any of the normal college student things. I left school the day after I found out about his death-- in fact, he must have died on a Wednesday, because it was on the night of IV small group in C's suite in EC, and I called her last minute to tell her I couldn't make it. She asked could they all come to me, and I said no. I only called A. and wanted her to come to me right away. Sometimes only one friend will do to rise to the tall task at hand. I remember C., I., and G. coming to comfort me too. But I am so thankful A. took me to her suite, and got me out of mine, where I got that dreadful news. Where only 5 days before, Dad and I had a long heart-to-heart on the phone about (among other things) why Northwestern wouldn't be so bad for me for grad school (even then I knew I wanted a PhD in Sociology...and in that conversation, Dad pretty much accepted that with grace, and let go of his pre-med plans and hopes for me) -- even though Dad always believed U. Chicago was a better school. I did not talk to him again after that. He didn't pick up any of my calls. He was in the process of a very stressful event and didn't want me to know about it.

I remember Andrew calling me and telling me Dad had died. I was just stupified. I repeated over and over, "How? How do you know?" I remember trying to get online for some stupid reason. Probably to g-chat C. or A. and tell them. I couldn't get the Internet to work so I ran down to the first story of the Wallach Dorm, crazed and blurry eyed with tears, dizzy too, to the computers by the entrance. I guess by then I got my wits about me and called C. and A. I waited for A. to come get me in my room. It was horrible. What followed was a night of crying, awake, as friend after friend came to A.'s dorm room to visit and pray with me.

That October, I laid in the dark a lot. I replayed last moments with Dad, imagined him in his last moments, remembered distant, fond memories of us, wrote him letters, wrote him a eulogy, helped move out of our house (now that was a family endeavor to get that done in three days), was alongside my Aunt D. through the funeral arrangements, and then, after two weeks, decided wholeheartedly that returning to Columbia would be best. So I resumed classes. But I was able to lie low and I didn't care about grades anymore. Nothing but just meeting basic requirements for classes and mourning were my full time occupations. And I started reading the Bible too, an it started to mean a lot more to me.

That first October, a year after he died, I was in the thick of my first year teaching in Jackson. I was stressed, overwhelmed, and still getting nightmares about issuing student detentions, probably. I booked an airline ticket to Denver to visit Dad's gravestone that first anniversary of his death. I went to Arvada with A. We were listening to Spice Girls' "Mama, I love you, mama I care" upon driving into the cemetery. Strange, I know. I told A. to think of "Papa" being in place of "mama" for the song. I may have even voiced over to facilitate that. I can be very weird sometimes.

About the cemetery: I think I've only been back one other time, which was Christmas of either that or the following year. The gravestone looked good. I am glad we got the same inscription on it as Grandpa's has: "In God's Loving Care." Also, I am not sure if I did this, but I think I ate a sausage McMuffin for breakfast that morning to commemorate the ritual Dad and I had started, whenever I came home on breaks from college, we'd go have a McMuffin. Gah-lee, Lord, could dad have been any more perfect and loving? Not to get too Put-him-on-a-Pedestal or Rose-Colored glasses in my recollections, but it's true. There's not much that makes me feel more loved and comfortable and happy to this day than a man making me or taking me to breakfast. And not any man, either-- only one who I know loves me like Dad loved me.

By that first October, differences between me and my brother were mostly resolved. We were pretty close again. Which was a relief. We were at different points in the grieving process, though, I think. He did publish a really moving blog about Dad that year, which made me thankful as ever to have a sibling. I no longer cried daily about Dad, which is a good thing. I think he'd like what I was doing if he were alive to see me -- except the fact that I wasn't in Denver, of course!

That second October, I was a second year teacher. I was really into the sport of tennis by then, and coaching softball part time. I was in the second year of my Master's program at OM, and was kind of getting into it. I really felt at ease at work by now, because the spring semester of my first year teaching had gone well. Social stressors that I'd had, God had helped me work through by that October. I would say I was pretty darn free and growing like a weed, not physically, but spiritually. Maybe that is a really horrible metaphor to depict positive spiritual growth, haha. But really, I think that was kind of a hey-day for me: suffering and trials were lower, and I was enjoying the fruits of life! God was easing up on me and I enjoyed it. And I knew by then without question how good He is, and that He really did love me. I knew that with the help of a few very crucial Christian girlfriends. I had started going to C's bible study, and that group became my primary group, after my other close friends, S, J, and E, all moved out of Jackson. I'm in touch with them to this day--wow, God, you are SO GOOD! I didn't go to CO to visit, but I think I did the McMuffin ritual.

That third October, I was a third-year teacher (by now that was not a stressor for me hardly at all- amazing!) and had started dating T. We were exclusive by then. I told him the significance of the day and we "observed" it, kind of. He asked questions about Dad and we talked about memories and the day of him dying and how my life had changed since that day.  I felt like Dad was with me, smiling on my life (well, most of it, haha...I'm sure he'd be worried about the dating development. But I'd probably keep sharing details with him to a minimum at this point in the game). That October, 2010, I felt at ease. I felt God taking supremely good care of me. I felt the love of a man again, solid, sturdy love, a love that combined friendship, a desire to know me and all my history and details deeply, and spiritual compatibility. Then and now, I still regard this relationship as a gift of epic proportions.

That fourth October, I was a first-year PhD student in a new city. I was eager to see T. on fall break. But the day marking Dad's death itself I hardly remember. I do remember feeling as I looked at the two pictures of Dad and me near by bed, that Dad would be pleased with where I am in life. And that keeps me going.

This fifth October, I plan to remember him again. Don't know if I'll have enough time to get a McMuffin, but perhaps I should make a point of it. I scanned in a stellar photo of him and me after a varsity softball game at DCHS in 2005 when I was a senior. The fact that God gave me Dad is confirmation that God has already done enough in my life to fuel me until I die. My dad gave me everything: a love for reading, a love for education, knowledge of how to write and how to interact with superiors and peers alike, the ability to cope with stress, the ability to celebrate on Fridays and relax as a way to push hard when times are more demanding. He took care of me when I was sick, encouraged me when I doubted, wanted to hear my voice and help at any opportunity, and he disciplined me in the way I should go. Thank you, Dad.

Interruptors

I discovered today (again? had I forgotten?) that I am an interruptor. I caught myself doing it over lunch with two friends, and 'fessed up to it, and one of the friends verified that it was true, I do sometimes interrupt. So it's noticeable. (crap!)

It's nice to have engaging conversations that bring this about, anyway. It's a good indication of an interesting relationship or information flow.

But...here's a challenge to myself to listen more, and not plan on what I'll say next before the person even finishes her thought!  And to all you audience members out there who I've interrupted: know I love you dearly and care about your thoughts. And if you tell me to stop interrupting I won't be offended. Promise.

Add this to your flowery metaphor box

The administrative assistant in my department is kind and with-it.

When I went into her office to inquire about my locker number and TA office number changing, we ended up talking about how when you move, you have to grow yourself where you're planted. It was advice her mother gave her 20 years ago, after she'd gotten married, moved to ATL for the first time, had a daughter, and kept running home to another state 3-4 hours away every weekend. Eventually, her Mom (or was it Grandmother?) said to her: "You need to grow where you're planted." Which means not running back to your old life because it is comfortable there, and you know you're loved there.

It reminds me of these verses, close to mind and heart lately:

Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past.
See I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up! Do you not perceive it?
I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.
-- Isaiah 43: 18-19

A Laugh on My Morning Commute

Zooming down a road within Emory's campus at 8:45 this morning, I saw a sight that made me smile and even chuckle. It involved a tiny Emory go-cart looking vehicle that approached me as I approached it.  It's boxy with a roof but no doors, and it literally looks like a white shoebox on wheels. It's narrow just like those economical mini-cars you see on the road sometimes, where technically there is room for a driver and a passenger...but barely. Well, there were two brawny men packed into this car. They were black, tall, with some serious arm and shoulder muscles. They were, as T says, "swoll." Unabashedly swoll. It was a funny sight to see two buff, tough men cozied up side by side, shoulders touching, barely fitting, not due to wide bodies in general, just due to their wide shoulders! And their straight faces, too.

Beans of a Bean Bag

I recently wrote a theory paper for my race and ethnicity class. It's been a 3-day project, which is rare for me (for it to take so long). But, it's done! God told me to put it in His hands this morning, and He'd take care of it. That He did, so faithfully. I was at my wit's end during parts of that process!

Well, in my last stage of writing, I decided to change up the "scenery" a bit. It was 8 p.m. when I started writing. I'd just come home from the Manic Monday dinner out with the soc. grad students (fun, so glad I went). I decided I wanted to be cozy in bed. I grabbed a lap desk I acquired in 2008 upon moving to Mississippi (garage sale? previous tenant leftovers? I can't remember now.) A lap desk is something you can put in your lap to work that functions as a portable desk; it's a bean bag on the bottom, to lie comfortably on your thighs, and a hard plastic surface on the other side.

Well, this lap desk is defective. The beans -- little white Styrofoam spheres -- spill out everywhere. They're in my yellow bed sheets now like sand on a bathroom floor.

Like thoughts of the one you love.

You don't know where they're spilling from, or when you'll stop finding them in the next wrinkle of fabric. Ever-present...tiny...pervasive.

Appreciating ATL

Here are pics from me and C's day on the town. I took pics of artistic or otherwise notably unique/functional/innovative/creative approaches to public architecture or public art.

I am starting to like this city. It's clean, modern, big, pretty, and has cultural stuff to do. not unlike Jackson or NOLA, but definitely bigger and more modern, like NYC.

Midtown

Midtown

Partitioned wind-blocker walls on the elevated Marta station rail stop

Thai shadow puppetry = blast from the past! My IB HL Theatre Internal Assessment! Me in running man pose per request of the photographer!

Thai shadow puppetry 2

C. joked that these signs directing us to the Center for Puppetry Arts had an almost intentional old feel--
"They were colored over in marker, it looks like!" she said.

Testing, Testing, One, Two

Today I learned a creative writing exercise from my boss (horray for non-pecuniary job bonuses!). I decided I am gonna try it out. She said that when she taught writing and composition to undergrads, she'd have them do an exercise where they start with only an exclamation -- i.e., Woah! Oh no! Damn! etc. -- and generate about ten lines of text to go with it. Then, at the end, a strong paragraph emerges by removing the exclamation part. Here goes....

Oh no! I think about yesterday and all the mistakes I made in it. I wonder if I am still the same person today that I was before yesterday anymore. Do my actions define me and condemn me to a worse-off character than I used to have? Is life the progressive succession of mistakes, and is my identity one that is destined for erosion? What is my saving grace, if I seem to be on a trajectory of mistakes? I doubt I could "be better" even if I tried. It's not like the mistakes I make are things that I had no clue were a bad idea. It's more like, in the moment, I choose a course of action that is most pleasing for me then and there, or requires less work on the spot. Make no mistake about it, character is work. I don't feel daunted by life's many weeks and years ahead, though, because I am held by God's grace. I sense Him by my side through both my triumphs and my mistakes. He has a much stronger interest in me having a good character than I do for myself. My own desire to be good traces only back into myself and how I feel about myself and how I hope others perceive me. But God's desire for me to be good has to do with me reflecting Him. That is, suddenly the project of me building character becomes something of an art project, with the end goal of being as beautiful as possible, and more beautiful than imaginable.

...Now imagine that paragraph without the "oh no." The exclamation isn't even necessary, is it? Yet, without the "oh no" prompt, I would not have called up this memory of recent days to write about. It had been a thought on my mind, but the "oh no" directed me to that particular thought, because it is a part of my internal life that I had been struggling with, an issue that I myself have not yet fully resolved.  But as usual, writing brings grace back into the equation. Grace resolves an array of unresolveables. And that I can bank on from now to age 96.

Not only is the "oh no" ultimately not needed, it is also ultimately untraceable. It's as if I used a template for my creative work that the viewer would never detect or know about. And, sweeter still, I am not constrained by that template because its purpose and role is only introductory.

Having done it, I approve of this creative exercise. I think you should try it on your lunch break. Give yourself the gift of being creative.

The Beauty of the Last Minute, and a Glimpse of God's Time Mechanics

Yesterday, I woke up extraordinarily early to complete readings for my race and ethnicity seminar. I had worked out an hourly schedule that would also allow me to get a run in too before my first class of the day at 11:30. Fortunately, I did not sleep in, even though Monday morning and this morning I did because I am definitely getting a cold. I have been pining for sleep lately because I haven't been so restful. I think a fun weekend takes one toll, which is the semi-casualty of routine -- which is also why fun weekends are such a necessity for time- and task-oriented people!  Anyway, I got up really early. I plowed through most of the readings and was able even to take a nap from 10-11:00, which trust me, I sorely needed, the sunshine streaming into my bedroom aside.

At 11:00, my cell phone rings. It's a local number. I decide to let it go. I listen to the voicemail, and it's the professor I work for asking me to cover class, more or less, while she goes to get her daughter who's sick at school. I don't panic; I don't even squirm. I call her right back and say, "Sure, I am comfortable with that" (can you say competency cloak? This moment reminds me of a reading we did in R's class last spring on the life, behaviors, and survival of grad students!). I get my sleepy self together, throwing on a white-and gold-striped loose short-sleeved sweater my mom gave me, and black pants that were hand-me-downs from P. I look teacher-y enough. I feel cooler-looking than my Jack-town teaching days, that's for sure!

I ride my bike onto campus, stop by the professor's office, get the materials, request the paper copy of any article she has. At first she was going to come at the end of class, but since I said I was comfortable, looks like I'll be running the whole duration of the class. She gives me a bullet list of what to do during class. I can do this, I convince myself, as I play it cool and take the materials from her. I was just thinking this morning as I showered how fortunate I was to be assigned to her for my TA/RA assignment this semester-- her focus areas are mine, plus I really admire her as a mentor for the way she balances her life (married with a child, and also very accomplished in the field). Again, I am not stressed, really. That's unusual for me. This is an opportunity to show her my appreciation and be helpful to her.

Class starts at 11:30. It's about 11:20 now as I head over, crossing the bridge outside and making my way to the bottom floor of the library where the classroom is. Have I mentioned, I have not read the three articles to be discussed today?

I get to class. And this vestige of the past comes out! I'm talking loud and clear, asking lots of questions, circulating the room. Students are engaging, responding to me and each other. I send a girl to the board to write our outlines for each article out on the board. The first time I check the time, it's already been 20 minutes into class! It doesn't feel awkward. I don't feel like I am their peer. I don't feel like they are disinterested. These are two things I was concerned I would never adapt to after teaching high schoolers and loving it.

What's my fuel that's making time pass and words come out of my mouth? I rely on my general knowledge of the authors' work and am able to speak about it and point out the most important terms in each. I also have the professor's annotated copies of one of the articles, which includes markings for major points. And, it is no coincidence either that one of these students emailed me Sunday night asking me if we could get together to discuss her essay, which covered the three readings for today. In the course of that meeting, she basically taught me the readings, insisting that we go through point by point in her handwritten notes to make sure she covered each article thoroughly. That's God working right there.

I let class out about 10 minutes early. I feel competent, happy, and re-fueled, really. I don't even notice my getting-sick feeling. I don't feel drowsy. I don't feel stressed. I feel really happy and thankful for this last-minute opportunity, which I would not have chosen for myself if given the option, and which I would have worked up into a ball of anxiety had I known in advance of 30 minutes before class. I am reminded about the part of education I love most: teaching. That is why I am here at Emory. I got a glimpse into my future, and I really like it!

Birthday Cake Thoughts

Vanilla & Chocolate

Vanilla needs Chocolate
Otherwise she's bland
She cries out for another flavor
A complement she craves

Chocolate needs Vanilla
otherwise he's too strong
He is too rich to enjoy
Without a creamer to smooth him out.

Sunday Night

Sunday nights: the epitome of bittersweet. Like the end of summer, leaves me feeling very satisfied with rest, and very restless for the week of work ahead. As I look at the eight ungraded essays before me, which got bumped from the Saturday to do list to the last drops of the weekend, keeping-me-from-my-bed to-do list, I think of many other things.

One, I am so thankful for Bon Iver. Music like his helps me be calm, introspective, and focused, even when I'm awash with emotion. He has that artist's skill of validating the human experience of every emotion on the spectrum, from brimming joy, to insatiated longing, to tearful nostalgia, to pleading realization, to freeing declaration.

Two, birthdays. My own, plus L's. I need to think of a good gift for her.

Three, October 10th will be the 5th year anniversary of Dad's death: woah. I will commemorate with a sausage McMuffin breakfast, and an imagined trip to his gravesight. Wish I had done that while in CO. I don't like this feeling of separation from him I am starting to have. But I know he would be pleased with what I have done with my life, and that is a really good feeling. I owe him so much...I think I am the happy, joyful person I usually am because of him. Well, the enduring source of that joy is Him, capital "H." But it's all a circle anyway, as all good things come from His hand. People God sends me to nurture me, and for me to nurture, they are all indelible prints on my heart and I refuse to let our memories fade, ever.

Four, thank God that I did OK on my Race & Ethnicity paper & presentation this week. I could hardly believe it! What a relief. I'm glad I was able to breathe more this weekend, figuratively speaking, and enjoy the days: clean out my closet, fix my bike's brakes, play tennis, go out with two church friends, and be out of the house both nights....a BLESSING straight from God's loving hands. All I can do is lift them in praise.

Five, and I think I'll stop here, but God, if You gave me nothing else, You've already done enough. The taste of your grace and your power to hold me even in my uncertainty and fear -- God, there is nothing on earth like your love.

Where to Put Your Anxiety

When all you can do is cast your cares upon the Lord, he will care for you (1 Peter 5:7, my paraphrase).

Time

As the time slips away
An hour, a day,
I am happy to move forward
Knowing what I'm going toward

But sometimes as the time goes on
The memories weigh a ton
The good times weigh the most
I want them back, close

I hate the separation of years
From the times I hold most dear
From the moments of hope and pure belief
To the moments too of sweet relief

I cannot know what the hours ahead hold
I pray that my hopes be firm and bold
And that I step out on solid ground
There, always, my Eternal Lover is found.

The Bunny Circle

Jesus told us that in this world we will face many troubles.

Thankfully, He provided Himself as a refuge from the troubles that affect us the most. David in the psalms reiterates like a chorus how he has felt, known, experienced God as His one and only refuge.

What is a refuge? It is a safe place. The place where you can work again, where you can rest without guilt and be still when you need to. Where your fears and sorrows are heard with comforting reply. Where vulnerabilities and insecurities are addressed and healed without shame, melting them into something golden like a hair dryer does when taken to embossing powder. Where peace abides, where you are whispered to of how loved you are, and that that will not change.

I think God created two kinds of refuges for us: the one solely under the protection of His wings, in His lap where you can put your ear to His chest and hear His distinct, undeniable heartbeat. And also, the refuge provided by best friends, loved ones, significant others, who create what T. calls a "Bunny Circle," where threatening outsiders are not allowed in, where God's healing and comforting power are present and powerfully administered, one human being to another, a place to go to get continual renewal, refreshment, encouragement. A Bunny Circle cannot withstand compromises, or else its walls become as useless as low-grade chicken wire, twisted by a tiny fox and never repaired from then on. A bunny Circle requires continual care, upgrading, evaluation, and effort by both parties. It is a place of trust, rest, joy, reassurance, affirmation, and is one of God's sweetest gifts, when infused with the commitment and faith in one another that only a Kingdom-minded duo of people can accomplish. That's right, a Bunny Circle refuge is an accomplishment. The one that doesn't expire, that forgives and administers grace the most, most of all.

Don't Get Wrapped Up!

"If you get so wrapped up in your own pain that you can't see anyone else's, then you might just as well dig yourself a hole and pull the dirt in on top of you, because you're never going to be much use to yourself, or anyone else." -- Daddy, Man In The Moon

Moving Forward

I'm really behind right now, on a lot of things.

But the important things are going well. By that I mean, I've been thinking about who I am, and whether I like who I am, more honestly and more period than I have in quite some time. Introspection of oneself: uncomfortable, but also reassuring. It's a sign of self-awareness, openness to dependency on God. Openness to change, admitting shortcomings, accepting how God made me and the times He made me to live through. I marvel at the fun He has allowed me in my life. I know, doesn't the wording of that sound weird, and almost horrible? It insinuates that I am surprised that God has fun in store for me. Well, I think the better interpretation is not that, because I'd like to think I am beyond that stage of my "Christian development" (the ring of that phrase is odd as well). Rather, I am just simply surprised by God: surprised by the degree, depth, and type of joy that He has allowed me. I love how He loves me. It is really something to reflect upon. Why would I want to go any other way but His way?

Some areas I'd like to grow in:

*Being less stingy with my money when generosity is appropriate and the most just or loving thing to do in a circumstance;

*Becoming a better communicator, especially in making family members feel valued by me as is absolutely fitting;

*Finding my way back to the sense of fulfillment and purpose I had when I was a teacher in Jackson, and/or the openness to find contentment in a new sense of fulfillment and purpose in other education roles (I cringe even imagining not being in a classroom somehow, someway); or, in other words, appreciating and seeing with new eyes the new and wonderful things God is doing right in front of me, right now!;

* Keeping on with exploring what God is leading me to rest in or act upon, doing the former in peace and the latter in courage--or, wait, with peace and courage in both! (Wow! I'd never considered that. I just had a Mrs. Fleet moment--what my 11th grade English teacher taught us was the sign of successful writing: that you discover something you didn't know in the very course of writing it.)

*Insisting on more alone time every day. (Although all this social and "together" and talking time right now is just what I need, after a whole academic year of a lot of alone time.)

I leave this blog post with a brimming sense of possibility, but also a sense of incompleteness. This piece of writing and reflection is being cut short. Is writing on the run OK? To leave the page and my writer's appetite in the lurch? It'll have to be. Some is better than none, right?

Blessings

When I am feeling overwhelmed, whatever shape that may take, I found this morning that when I write down, in a numeric list, all the things I’m happy about and thankful for, my heart changes its murmurs of complaint into hums of joy. I chose the word “murmur” on purpose because it can be so imperceptible that its tone can carry on for days, weeks, without being addressed by the tender but steady voice of loving discipline within, the Holy Spirit. I chose the word “hum” on purpose too, because it is not an overpowering noise, a shout for joy (though perhaps it ought to be!), but it is a distinct change in tone from the downcast murmur. A hum is upbeat, lighter, less preoccupied with (or perhaps even consciously and freely oblivious to) one’s own disappointments, longings, lackings, disappointments. Those things just aren’t light!

In other words, being thankful, especially making record of it and revisiting it, can loosen the chains of complaint, concern, and just general cloudiness of accumulated worry. Thankfulness, the magic bullet to revive the sunshine contained in the heart’s desires.

Week 8

So here I am, at the end of my summer in New Orleans. I have five more workdays; I moved in for the last week with my other intern friend, C. I have two papers to complete, and still four interviews. Prayers for productivity, availability of the subjects, chutzpah for me where there needs to be chutzpah.

This past weekend was outstanding. C and I enjoyed dinner at Pepperoni's, where it was chess night on Friday. Then watching the Olympics opening ceremony with three kids at close range! Then breakfast at the greasy spoon on Magazine, Slim Goodies, with the people I have grown to love most this summer-- six of us cozied up in one small booth. Man, I love that man, T. I am proud of him when I bring him around my friends, and I admire everything about him.

With a full stomach, we three ventured out to a family reunion, which I enjoyed about an 11 on a 10-point scale. I couldn't stop smiling, seriously. A relative of T's said, "it's a good sign you're here." Which of course made me beam.

After some leisurely reading and an enjoyable night spent with C, my summer buddy, here I am at Monday, in the work routine. One more week. I better make it happen! I'm excited to be here, still, or perhaps especially, now. I can see the direction of my project aimed towards the finish line!

Colloquialisms

Phrases spoken to me by coworkers, that I want to remember and carry with me and use in my own language:

"Her parents are off the grid." (Her parents can't be contacted worth a darn.)

"I'm out straight." (I'm busy.)

Week 6: A Rainy Friday Morning

Outside the office,

Consistent rain
smooth as mocha
and a scintillating sky
iridescent as a prism
alternates light gray and navy black

time slides by
bringing night nearer,
faster

and we are all calmer
and more playful inside
we who should be working
because the morning storm makes
us happy to work
and we're a family in here,
cozy under the fluorescent lights and A/C,

Here,
Inside the office

Father-Daughter Bonds

Last night I went to a really charming little theater close to my house, Prytania Theatre, to see an independent film, Beasts of the Southern Wild. That movie made me think. It's told from the point-of-view of a very tough, fearless, observant, lean-with-words, black 6-year-old girl, who lives with only her father, who is a drunkard with a heart problem. They live in backwoods Louisiana in shacks. Their bond is both fiercely strong and extremely dysfunctional. The little girl is exposed to life's hardships too early and too raw-ly. But, she loves her father with her full heart and emotion. The two go through a storm together -- the suggestion is that it is Katrina -- and her father stands firm, resists evacuation, escapes the disaster relief place. This is how he teaches her to cope and respond to chaos and tragedy: not with cooperation, but with self-assertion. There were moments in the movie that made me think of my dad and me, just that abnormally strong father-daughter bond.

My office mate commented that gender plays an interesting role in this movie-- how the little girl is called "Man" by her dad, and the only females in the movie are androgynous. The fictitious town of Bathtub is mostly all male, and the one scene with womenly women is towards the end, and my officemate A. says it represents "maternal reconciliation," where all these forsaken Bathtub girls find their mother-figures, who strengthen them with maternal embraces and by exemplifying strong motherhood. Interesting also to consider the moment when this scene occurs: after most of the main girl character's trials and her dad's falling health. (I'd like to discuss this movie with my professor of gender, I.!!)

So much about this one movie that I haven't yet processed. I'd like to see it again. It's visually outstanding as well. And to top it off, I got to enjoy the movie alongside my roommates who I increasingly adore, L. and S. S. especially is very insightful into these things. Last night she pointed out to me how lots of New York Times articles (they get the print Sunday edition delivered) are sociologically focused, such as the article on class and marriage that was on the front page this past Sunday.

Summer in NOLA has been far more than I ever could have hoped for or asked for.

Best Friends

I like a conversation that makes me think. I also like honest conversations. S. and I were discussing today what makes for a real friend, and we concluded it had nothing to do with being in the same stage of life. She's married and has kids, though only four (?) years older than me; I, on the other hand, spend most of my time researching and writing, planning my next steps career-wise, and daydreaming about my future family. But this matters not. When we talk, she can easily relate anything I am going through to what she's going through. I love the good talking partner who remembers details and can draw careful parallels to what you're going through. How distinct this is from dishing out raw advice, or talking about yourself all the time, or simply not listening by talking over you and blatantly interrupting you. I've experienced those things lately too, and they help put in stark contrast the powerful blessing of a real friend who listens closely, gives you things to think about, and who you walk away from feeling enriched, and even built-up. Better off than when you went into conversation. As S. says, "we mutually benefit each other" -- I rather agree.

Now, to apply these "who is my real friend?" dynamics to a significant other. D, a father-figure in my life, says, along with my mother's advice too: "Marry your best friend." That's awfully convicting; and they're trustworthy sources, insofar as they both married twice, and married their best friend the second time around. I used to think that idea was so romantic, "the second time around" (I blame you, "Step by Step" opening credits song!). Now I think it is very complicated. I do regard my significant other as a friend, maybe even best friend. We are able to reflect together, be honest together, go deep together in analyzing ourselves, our lives. On the other hand, the communication isn't exactly the same as it is with a girl best friend. I'd say communication is often a struggle, even if it turns out to be productive and needed. I feel that mutual understanding sometimes has to be earned through the work of hearing the other out, seeing their perspective, and discerning what is good for the two of us. Saying what I mean, without offending; not minimizing and not over-reacting, either; getting to the honest answer in the most tactful but direct way, too. Building up and encouraging, but also saying what needs to be said. Perhaps this is a measure too of who you spend the most time with, care most about, and have the most at stake with (eww, dangling prepositions). Of course, communication is going to be more difficult when the emotional bond and dependence is stronger, and the time spent together means a lot bigger mutual repertoire to draw on. In other words, T. and I share a massive library together now, so communication now draws upon much wider shared understandings, shared memories, shared hopes and dreams.

The Kiss-or-Kill

I learned this theater terminology from a friend I had coffee with at PJ's yesterday afternoon. I wanted to write about it because it captures life's paradoxes terribly well (an oxymoron right there to fit right in!), in such a tidy little pithy phrase.

Basically, it means that a life situation has reached a point where a path must be taken that is not a middle ground. Of course, we all wish for the kisses!

Week 4

I am undebatably (indubitably?) a little behind on my blogging. Here are two pictures that capture some fun moments I've enjoyed of late:

Two weekends ago, my fellow intern C. and I explored the downtown New Orleans area. We took the streetcar, visited the carousel bar at Hotel Montelone (where the Southern Sociological Society conference was just this past March!) -- a fancy bar with live jazz that literally rotates at about 0.1 mph -- and checked a number of must-do's off our list that night. Here I am on Canal Street.

Last Friday, three of my coworkers and I went to a hoppin, chic Vietnamese restaurant called Magasin. (See photo below to see why I say "chic" -- how do you like the simplistic use of a red jar to make an artistic focus within a set of clear jars?) I had eggplant and rice, which had a sunny side up egg on top of the jasmin rice which was delectable when I punctured the yoke and mixed it in. Such savory food, and I felt healthy afterwards even! It was too hot for the soup, but that's what E. and T. both love best from Siagon in Jackson.

Dreams

I have had an overwhelming sense of purpose and belonging in New Orleans the past few days (Wednesday, Thursday, Friday). I've been busy at work all day; I've been coming into contact with lots of scintillating ideas and people (mostly in regards to education research, networks, projects); I've eaten three great meals in a row in wonderful company (savory burger at Cowbell, chicken panang curry at La Thai Uptown, and Com Rice with Eggplant at Magasin); my quiet times have been equally clarifying, energizing, renewing, and thought-provoking (maybe "quiet" times isn't the right name for them, but still, it seems to be the comfortable place where I make decisions, feel directed by God, etc. -- again, that probably seems like a paradox to be in a comfortable place while making decisions, ha! Leave it to God to pull a cool quick one like that). I feel really alive in New Orleans. I feel that this summer is an appointed time for me to be more intentional and thoughtful about my life choices, the way I treat others, taking care of myself, seeking God (and actually trying to understand Him better, rather than just operate out of my old preconceptions), and finally, relaxing and socializing more (I told C. last night that, aside from T., I spend the most time with her hands-down, and it's been a long time since I was so immersed in someone's company, time, and just enjoyed their presence without having to plan it out. It brings a different aura to the friendship, for sure. I hope I find someone like her in ATL...maybe S.? Or maybe it's just a summer-effect, where people [me especially] are more generous with their time, so friendships grow faster and better.).

So I titled this entry "Dreams." My NOLA summer fits into my dreams snugly. I feel incubated here, and at the end of this June already, I can reflect and confidently say, or shout with joy, that I am really happy with how that month was spent. I couldn't have spent my time in any better way! I feel incubated in God's love and care. It's a good feeling. And I pray that I am growing up in other ways too, spiritual ways and emotional ways.

My high school friend N. directed me to her pastor's blog, which had this great thought about the nature of dreams:

Joseph didn’t ask for these dreams.  They just came to him.  They were a divine interruption into his stable life, and they made life harder – not easier.  Many, many years would pass before these dreams would make sense to Joseph or his family.


What I've written about isn't the hard part, like Joseph faced with his big dreams. Rather, I've written about a nice "incubator" period in which my dreams don't seem so intimidating or amorphous. But it is wise in times like these to prepare for the harder times again, for they will surely come. This literal and figurative summer a time to store away memory of God's goodness for winter-times that lie ahead. And also, it's a time to remember that God is the giver of dreams, and no matter how big they are, or frustrating at times, He is making them happen, gradually, under His timing. I never could have foreseen or aimed for a summer internship like this, in a brand new city to me like this, with an almost built-in group of brand-new friends like this. God simply dropped it into my life, and it is igniting the dreams He gave me all the more.

At the Corner of Cadiz and Dryades

This is where I had a prosciutto panini for lunch and discussed God matters with a pastor. (The location sounds fit for a novel title, doesn't it?) I left the little Italian eatery with a satisfied tummy, and a satisfied spirit, on just a regular old Tuesday lunch. Thank You, LORD. 

A Night Out: Uptown

Below, you will spy four odd sights-- perhaps of the "only in New Orleans" genre. One: A Mercedes with eyelashes. Two: Paintings on the ceiling of the famed creole restaurant, Jacques Imos, that served us Shrimp and Alligator Sausage Cheesecake, on the house (surprisingly palatable). Three: A skyline of the city (OK, not so odd). Four: Artwork done by a NOLA student, a literal "toast."

 

Rooster Siting

Thursday morning, as I prepared for my pre-work reading ritual (which I do out on patio furniture about 25 steps down from my workplace suite, with coffee to accompany), a co-worker said, "There's a rooster in Uptown Square!" That's the name for the suite complex where I work, I guess, which is an ex-shopping mall.

So I went on a search after my reading. Sure enough, I found him behind some hedges-- his clucking gave him away! I wonder if he escaped from a domestic pen? A zoo is about 5 blocks away, but certainly zoos don't entertain such homely, pedestrian critters as roosters? Anyway, what a humorous way to start a workday.

Fish Dinner!!

Last night for dinner, I prepared this fresh flounder from a farmer's market! It smelled so good, even raw! I simply baked it (with some olive oil and oregano, salt, pepper). My roommates prepare dinner around 5:30 too, so it's a very lively, bright kitchen. I love where I live. I feel so blessed! My roommates are great companions. Anyway, back to the dinner. So all I had was fish. All they had was a scrumptious bean salad-- two cans garbanzo beans, two cans black beans, a cut up fresh tomato, one can of kernel corn, plus lemon juice, garlic, basalmic vinegar, and some olive oil and salt -- so we merged our food for a great, healthy dinner! Oh, plus I enjoyed a mini-cantalope too as an appetizer. I ate it straight from the rind as my bowl, just like the good old days on 5335 (growing up).

Week 2

what I've learned about education...

- Year 7 is when teachers peak in their performance. Interesting! (Tom Carroll, Nat'l Commission on Teaching and America's Future)
- Teacher turnover itself, aside from quality of the teacher, has been shown to have a negative effect on student achievement (Loeb et al., "How Teacher Turnover Hurts Student Achievement")

what I've explored and experienced...

- attended a BESE Board meeting yesterday in Baton Rouge
- went to the farmer's market in the parking lot of my workplace today, and bought a pound of flounder and some fruit and veggies, including a tiny cantalope!
- great and affordable frozen yogurt last night with the roomies, accompanied by great eduaction talk and enjoying YouTube videos of Cholas doing their make-up

Week 1 Reflection: What I've learned

Besides hard work and simple, good ole elbow grease, being a successful intern is all about keeping one's ear to the ground. What does that idiom mean, you ask? Well, I just learned it today. It means, to devote attention to watching or listening for clues as to what is going to happen.  This week has been all about getting in tune to what is going to be expected of me this summer, and preparing to learn about education in this particular place over the course of this summer.

So I thought I'd enumerate the products of my devoted attention this week.  In my previous post I talked about seed ideas, and the importance of not losing them. So here goes...a bullet list of interesting things I've learned about education, the South, or both in the last two weeks:

1.) At the "Reinventing Schools" Forum at Tulane's Hillel, 6-13-12

• The new 3R's are Relevance, Rigor, and Relationships [so interesting...deviating from the academic]
• An anecdote to illustrate how we "help" in schools: One dentist wanted to help a school. The principal said, we don't need a dentist, what my kids need are shoes. So the dentist said, "alright, I'll get some of my dentist friends together and we'll get shoes for everybody. Have your teachers give me a list of their students' shoes sizes." So the teachers did; they looked at all their students' shoes and wrote down their sizes. Upon delivery day of all these new shoes, the dentist and teachers discovered, they were all the wrong sizes--because kids had merely worn whatever shoe was available to them that day, be they outgrown, or oversized. Moral of the story: diagnosing what critical needs students need often requires more probing than just a surface-level antidote. 
• The extended school day innovation: just more time isn't it. (Reminds me of our SEF readings- how mere enrollment in preK isn't the solution; quality is.
• Horizons National is doing work like Graduation Generation's, except in 10 states, and with younger students: enrolling them in summer enrichment camps on college campuses.
• "Limousine Liberals" are those who has certain progressive sensibilities, but are afraid to talk about poverty, incarceration, and inequality.
• Learning-Centered Architecture is an innovation in place that involves providers coming into household, and assisting parents with building their families, creating homework nooks for their kids, etc. Parents get credits for participating in the program.
• Scholarships based on residency-- what a powerful, practical solution! ("There's so many practical solutions [to our education problems, inequalities], it's not even funny." - Keynote speaker Dr. Andre Perry)

2.) From a pamphlet on Cowen's "Disconnected Youth" study: Did you know that nationally, Louisiana ranks 49th in indicators of child well-being? (according to the 2001 Kids Count report by the Annie E Casey Foundation) I wonder who is 50th...Mississippi??

3.) From the Cowen Institute's Intern Crash-Course Info Binder:

• How lopsided the distribution of charter schools in NOLA is across primary and secondary: 49 of the former, and 5 of the latter! Reason being, schools have to transition to that point. To start, when installing an innovation, upper-aged kids aren't "saveable" in the popular notion of youth; converting to a new way of doing school is easier with younger students, so the "takeover" of traditional schools and converting them into charters has been a piecemeal progression, via "transformational schools" (i.e., starting with kindergartners only, and following that cohort through until the ultimate transformation of the entire school.)
• Some studies have contested the Coleman Report re: the importance of the built environment to student achievement.
• Uniquely, the Charter Movement was able to take off here because buildings were readily available. Old P.S.'s were simply converted to charters, whereas in other states, incubating, burgeoning charters have to face the daunting task of renting or building their own space.
• There are "types" of charter schools- i.e., type 5, which comprises the bulk of charters here, have no application standards, but there are covert ways around that, if the prerogative is to have a selective student body: make the application deadline early.
• Cowen runs a program called AdvanceNOLA, which supports AP (advanced Placement) programming in 6 charter schools. I'm not clear as to how Cowen chose the schools it chose, but one of the amazing things about it is that teachers are really receptive to it, and also there are cash incentives for both teachers and students for each qualifying score of a 3 on their AP exam- 300 bucks for both teacher and student!!
• Charter School students still have to take standardized state tests (here, the non-promotion years are 4th and 8th grades). Also, charters can qualify for Title 1 funds.
• No research to date has tracked achievement differences between singular charter schools versus network charter schools.  Networks are simply little families of charters that all fall under one charter management organization, or CMO. It's like a mini-district.
• RSD charter schools have a very segregated student population: 90%+ African-American; 93% reduced lunch.
• OPSB (Orleans Parish School Board) schools, by contrast, are more white and less reduced lunch (about 15-20%, and 63%, respectively). Also, more career teachers are in the OPSB (as opposed to new teachers). Reasons for all of this is that it is a wealthier, more traditionally-minded portion of the city's demographics, and its charters are partially selective admissions (i.e., not type 5 charters).
• NOLA, DC, Detroit, Kansas City, MO; Flint, MI; and Dayton, OH; and now Gary, IN, are all US districts with the largest percentage of public schools students attending charter schools. Why is this? Perhaps because many of these are what are termed "weak metros" economically, or perhaps they're hotbeds for reform ("purple states" are more open to reform) or have no strong teachers' unions to resist the formation of charters.
• PPE (per pupil expenditures) in NOLA went way up from 2005 to 2007-- from shy of $8K to 15K. They came back down more recently to about 13K on average. BUT, fascinatingly, the PPE is wildly different for charter versus non-charter public school students in this city: charter students in 2009-2010 got $10,718 each, whereas the non-charter students (those who went to the waning district or 'direct-run' schools) got $14,697 each.
• Be wary of bar charts that compare "years of teacher experience" across schools, districts, etc. These could exclude previous experience at private schools, in other states/districts, etc.

4.) From the SEF Orientation week, June 5-8

• to be completed and posted soon

Day 5: Spaghetti and Rough Drafts

Ahh, it feels good to be so into my work that I can't seem to get to lunch! I'll eat after posting this.

I just had an hour-long interview with a guy in our office, M, who works on (awards) TIF grants (Teacher Incentive Fund). So invigorating! One thing he said that rings SO TRUE of the education scene here in NOLA is, “It’s a complicated landscape”!! If there's one thing I've learned this week, it's that. I'll probably be expanding this concept into my SEF (Southern Education Foundation) homework editorial response, which is due next Friday. So this blog entry is my seed. If there's something about writing that I know for sure, it's: "Don't let your seeds get away from you! Baby them! Nurture them! Feed them! Track them!" (But I have a terrible history as a seed-neglector. That's why I haven't written a YA book yet, among other reasons.)

But back to M's astute, marvelously concise, wonderfully true comment. Indeed, if NOLA were just any other city, if it were a 'normal' city (ie, without its histories of natural disasters, its Southern particularities, its schools system's historically 'dire straights' status), I would only be becomeing acquainted with a regular ole' central office this week, as my first week on board at this internship. Instead, what we have in NOLA is a tangled mix of collaborations, ties between organizations: service providers and funders, granters and grantees, weak and strong schools, direct-run and charter schools. What results is a web of inter-organizational alliances that form a very complex eduational landscape here. Perhaps we can nick-name this city's innovative, unique, up-and-coming, transforming, transitioning school district "the Spaghetti School District." SSD. Spaghetti meant in no connotatively-charged way-- I can't say that a complicated landscape is messy, just because its structure is less bending than the traditional, centralized school district model is. Perhaps spaghetti is necessary for reform; solid structures won't permit it. SDS is a rough draft, rather than a bound book-- which again, is not meant connotatively either positively or negatively. Rough drafts we think of as gestational, incomplete, directionless -- but also consider, they are ripe with potentialities, and the hope for the future product/outcome is intense (fear too). A bound book can be thought of as stable, an accomplishment in publishing, but also consider: it gets outdated (by the two-year mark, tops, for an academic's book to be on people's radar before it is retired to the dusty shelves, I heard on prof [or was it my dad?] once say).

Spaghetti and Rough Drafts. It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood.

Day 4: Magazine Street

Magazine Street is a really well-known street in New Orleans, maybe like Denver's Colfax. Last night the other intern in New Orleans, C, and I explored and had a po-boy dinner at Mahoney's. We drove and walked around first, too.

So I didn't realize I live literally 2 blocks from the Mississippi River. Beyond my street is Annunciation and Tc (pronounced chap-a-tool-is) --great street names, right? There are mostly walls blocking off any sight of the water, so no wonder I didn't know. Wharfs line the shore (is that the right word for the side of a river? A bank?). Another word I love. I giggled all night whenever that word came up: "wharfs!" Above is a pretty bridge that broke the wall/wharfs monotony.

Beads. A staple here.

So this was a sight-- a giant Zeus sculpture! Also, I didn't know Mardi Gras was "made" anywhere.... Worth a field trip, I think.

I have a lot of things non-touristy related to report too. Like today I sat down and had a here's-what-I've-done so far, what-do-I-do-next meeting with my supervisor. I then told her about the three research projects I've done during my first year at Emory. She said I could present one over a lunch later this summer, my factor analysis, teacher interview project (my second year paper/MA thesis). She said during the academic year, ed researchers in this suite and office suites around us get together for a monthly "Ed Heads" gathering. Too bad they're not in session now!

Soon, I intend to write a blog post about the education system in New Orleans. I thought I knew my stuff about alternate routes, etc., but here, everything is so tangled and intertwined and it's like the information is deep and thick. I haven't arrived at a feeling of mastery or understanding of the teacher/principal ("human capital") scene here in this city yet. My task today is to research larger cities with charter schools and how they have tracked the recruitment and retention problems of staffing their schools.

I'm definitely learning.... It's a good feeling.

Day 3: Sights & Sounds

I continue to learn things about New Orleans.

Such as that the predominant religion here is Catholicism, even among African-Americans!

Such as effective rhetoric, when speaking to a crowd: if you're losing them, throw in a "God said" or "It ain't right," or if it's a really bad situation, say, "God said, 'It ain't right.'" (That I learned from my boss D, who attributed it to the concluding keynote speaker at the "Reforming Schools"panel yesterday, Dr. Andre Perry.)

Such as that the city streets, while they seem like an orderly concentric pattern on an aerial map, are actually a bit hard to navigate sometimes, because the streets run parallel to the river, in a Crescent shape. This last bit I learned from my coworker A, when I went to hang with two of her friends last night where we had red wine in antique glass teacups and cheese-- some that A made from scratch (there's a "Local food challenge" going on in NOLA right now), and some that another girl made from gouda cheese wrapped in Pillsbury crescent roll dough and baked-- YUM! BTW, how often in your life do you use the word 'crescent' twice in the same paragraph, in different capacities?

I made 13-bean chili yesterday. It was laborious, but with Tony's creole spice, it was easily redeemed. That reminds me of what EH said that her husband, a Louisianian, said to her about her cooking: "Anything can be good when you just add some Tony's to it."

I have so much more that I intend to write about, but here's a few more pics and now I have to go to do my job!

This is what street corners look like. Some intersections may lack signage, but at least there are tiles for pedestrians. Note also the steel support for the curb--cool.

Went exploring yesterday and found MEGP's elementary school! (Actually, it's K-8.) The funny thing about all these charter takeovers of formerly district schools is that they have banners of the new name, but over the front door remains the school's old name.

Wow-- what's the story behind this lineup of water holes in the sidewalk? Does it serve a lot of separate tenants within one small apartment building? It was in front of a beautiful mansion that appears to me to have been divided up into about 8 apartment units.

For you to visualize what a Shotgun style house floorplan looks like from the inside. My bedroom is in the way back of the first floor. There are two other bedrooms too, upstairs and downstairs. It's a great house, feels new.