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