Sunday, August 9, 2020

My Past and Present

 It's been four years since I last wrote. How can that be?! 

2017, I got married! I did several job interviews, which put wind in my sails, but those were not meant to be at that time. Published my 2nd year paper. I ran the Chicago marathon while nursing a hamstring injury.

2018, I did a few more job interviews and landed a dream job as postdoc at the Vanderbilt U/Peabody COE. Defended my dissertation and graduated with my PhD. Published one dissertation paper in a specialty journal I love, and received an R&R at a great journal, which gave me so much professional confidence! Traveled to India to visit A's family there. Piriformis injury prevented any races, except a half-marathon in Snellville in February. Started to see running as sometimes a distraction from important things in my life-- this hopefully taught me that I need to be on the lookout for this hobby I love having aspects that don't help me. May I remember that every time I get an injury (which sadly seems much more frequent now in my 30s).

2019, I did three more job interviews that were a great experience, but again they were not meant to be at that time. Paper from my dissertation published in exciting journal; other paper rejected three times. Ran Nashville marathon; avoided injury by incorporating yoga into my training. Became pregnant with I. Enjoyed pregnancy a lot. Had scary bloodclot in third trimester that meant I couldn't run but I took up swimming instead. I savored those days in Nashville, especially the ones with A. 

2020, I. was born five days in! What a downright magical and miraculous experience. Life with him is joy-filled. Not always easy, but wonderful. He is a wonder. We made the decision to deliver at Vanderbilt; I am glad we did. I was able to keep my reading fiction quotient up even in motherhood, which was a shock to me. I struggled at first knowing how to maintain my identity from pre-motherhood, but thanks to a supportive partner, was able to "find" my old self again. Also a super-supportive cousin, A, and best friend, C. And other colleagues and friends and relatives. Having a child makes me feel more connected to them. And, I landed a dream job. I am preparing to teach again, subjects I am excited about and feeling mostly ready to reactivate my teaching "muscle memory."

I am not entirely sure how I will use this blog going forward, but my dream would be that it would put me back in touch with my writing self. The creative one that has dreams to publish a book of some kind; maybe that book has to be only an academic one, but that doesn't mean I should stop creative writing. I wonder if anyone out there has written about maintaining a varied writing practice when one is an academic. Writing does not bother me like I think it might others...then again, I am writing this on a day when all other things are going well. Maybe reality is usually that that is not the case: you're behind on one thing (or 5) or another; baby isn't napping, daycare is closed, spouse is busy or gone, family needs help, motivation isn't there, etc. But on sunny days like this, let me confirm my intention to write more, and get the time to do it by stopping doing other things that add nothing to my or others' lives.

One question I am wrestling with right now is how to serve others (especially those without) in the midst of COVID. 

Monday, October 10, 2016

9th anniversary of Dad's Death

This morning I am supposed to be writing my dissertation.

I want to write this first.

Dad, thank you for taking me for a small coffee every afternoon I had a lacrosse game, in cold Colorado spring weather. It was like a reward for completing the game and a welcome bridge into heading home, having dinner, and doing homework.

You filled my life with these structured routines that made me so incredibly happy. Every day.

I pray for the things in our family that need healing and improvement in the next generation, and that I can be a parent who provides the kind of attention and simple pleasures of everyday life to my future children.

Love,
your daughter,
Jemmer

Monday, June 20, 2016

Pictures from Sweden/Helsinki/Copenhagen trip

MALMO, SWEDEN

Eastern Cemetery (designed by architect Sigurd Leverence)



KLIPPAN, SWEDEN





Inside St. Peter's Church (also designed by Sigurd Leverence)


Me in front of St. Peter's Church in Klippan, Sweden.

In the surrounding gardens/park.



STOCKHOLM, SWEDEN

 
An impressive, modern addition to the National Library of Sweden, Kungliga Biblioteket 





 
Asplund Library, Stockholm. OK, confession, I stole this picture from Cathy 
as I did not visit this library with her but isn't it amazing?! 





The Vasa Ship -- NOT a Viking ship, rather a failed battle ship under King Gustavus Adolphus in 1928.

 Skansen Open-Air Museum, outside the bakery. I enjoyed a delicious, freshly-baked cardamom-like roll.


 Skansen, inside the lodger's home.

  Skansen, inside the furniture maker's shop.



Skasen, outside a farmstead, parts of which were built in 1470.

 Skansen, inside the farmstead.


Nordisk Museum. This advertisement is enough to motivate me in!

Absolutely gorgeous textile in the Nordisk Museum. It was a wedding gift to its owner, I think.



 
The finishing line at the marathon on June 4th: inside the 1912 Olympic Stadium!


 Me post-marathon in the subway station. Look at all that salt that dried on my sleeves! It was on my face, too.



Outside the street we stayed on for 7 days in Gamla stan, Stockholm. To navigate back home each day I could simply type in "Royal Palace" because it was across a plaza from it!

UPPSALA, SWEDEN

   Cathy and Me walking around Uppsala, Sweden.



A view from the train coming back from Uppsala to Stockholm.

 
 Our staple for last-minute snacks in Stockholm, the convenience store Presbyran, or as we called it, Presbyterian.

HELSINKI, FINLAND
 
The Viking Line ship we took to Helsinki from Stockholm.
Me and Cathy en route to Helsinki. 

  
A view of the archipelago, leaving Stockholm


 

Lutheran Cathedral in Helsinki




COPENHAGEN

Roskilde Cathedral


 
Cathedral in Copenhagen which Kierkegaard frequented. Look how simple! I think it's because it burned down four or more time in its history.




 
A train station in Copenhagen

Christiana

 
Me enjoying a slide post-Danish breakfast in the Superkilen skate park in Copenhagen

 
Coming down the Round Tower, the Rundetaarn

 
Pontificating with Kierkegaard in the National Library Gardens, where he sits.




Friday, June 10, 2016

Denmark-Sweden-Finland trip diary, May 25-June 7, 2016

An [incomplete] record of places seen, adventures enjoyed, and
memorable encounters with Scandinavian people

Note: This is by no means a complete account. Many details could be added!
Photos are coming soon.

THURSDAY MAY 26
We had a coffee at the airport train station. We then settled into Downtown Hostel in Copenhagen, I took a shower, and Cathy and I went on the afternoon walking tour, which featured a walk by Christiana – the “colorful counterculture squatter’s colony” as Rick Steve’s tourbook calls it. Christiana is a historic town of non-tax payers who are hippies and where doing gateway drugs (and perhaps harder drugs too) isn’t penalized. You can only live there by being born into it or marrying into it or having a special, needed skill. You’re not allowed to run or take pictures there, according to our tour guide. Then we had the complimentary dinner of lentil soup at the hostel and met a girl from Montreal who had just quit her 10-year job and was on a vacation before starting a new one – which she didn’t have yet! Two older, kind Asian women shared our bunk room with us.

FRIDAY MAY 27
Cathy and I took a refreshing, early-morning, 8-mile run (in preparation for my race on the following Saturday). The one downside was she tripped and her knee bled! She got a “plaster” – what they call bandages here – and it healed over the course of our trip. We then showered and enjoyed the hostel’s lovely breakfast spread of delicious fresh rye bread, deli meats and cheeses, scrambled eggs, little sausages, and coffee and milk. For the rest of the day, I mostly just worked at the hostel while Cathy explored.
We took the train to Malmo in the evening. On the long, long walk to our place, we took a break and stopped at a small grocery store, where Cathy bought delectable salted licorice ice cream and some beer. We drank the beer once we got home, but ate the ice cream outside while sitting on the only bench in sight: a bus stop bench. Three young Indian guys in a stationwagon jovially said they were hungry and wanted some, as they sat at a traffic light. We did not share, of course. When we got to our place, we watched the first half of the movie Frozen.
The most memorable thing that happened today was that at 12:30 a.m. (technically middle of the night Saturday), our Airbnb host realized he gave us directions to the wrong place. He has two Airbnb’s, and at 12:30 a.m. he came in the kids’ room in which we were sleeping and he turned the lights on and said, “Who are you?” “Jennifer!” I exclaimed. He drove us to the right apartment, and gave our two nights to us free of charge.

SATURDAY MAY 28
Today midday (after a lovely breakfast inside) Cathy and I went to the Malmo Eastern cemetery and flowershop, both designed by the architect Cathy loves and has studied, Sigurd Lewerentz. I worked inside for some of the day while she explored. We had Mediterranean food in an open outdoor shopping mall area for dinner.

SUNDAY MAY 29
Cathy and I made an early morning cemetery visit before our train left—good thing the sun rises so early in these parts in midsummer! She had more buildings to see and I had a long run (10 miles) to do, in preparation for the marathon. The Malmo Eastern Cemetery is beautiful, not eerie.
Arriving by train to Klippan at 10 a.m., we first asked a young mom walking with her child on a town sidewalk where the church was, and she said, “Sorry, I don’t know English.” This is when we met our “friend” – whose name we never learned but who we would see recurringly throughout the day. He was a slow-pedaling elderly Swedish man on his bike who directed us two times (and who we saw a total of four times) to St. Peter’s Church. Good thing for him—the google map wasn’t leading us in the right direction, and the sidewalks were pretty quiet at 10 a.m. At first he thought we wanted to go to a restaurant, and made a hand-eating motion, but then he realized we meant church (we had said kyrkan in our attempt at broken Swedish). “Oooh! Chuuurch!” he exclaimed when he knew where we meant. He gave us some directions, including a circular motion to indicate a roundabout on our route. Somehow I deciphered gas station from something he said or gestured. He knew some English, and said “right side” with perfect pronunciation. The second time we say him was 5 minutes later as he was checking-up on us. “Hello?” he said as he biked up alongside us, reminding us with a circular hand gesture the route we were to take.  The third time, we just saw him around town after the church service; he didn’t stop for us this time but nodded and we said “Thank you, we found it.” The forth time was at the train station as Cathy and I awaited our evening train to Stockholm.
After church service, an outstanding tour by the priest of the church, Ann-Marie Nelson, and an impromptu, makeshift photoshoot around the outside of the church and surrounding gardens/park, we had a delicious pizza lunch at a family-owned pizza restaurant in Klippan. Then we hopped on an earlier train on a different carrier than our own, because we wanted to get to Stockholm before 11 p.m. We were not aware that there were different brands of train carriers. Well, we got kicked off the first train and nearly kicked off another. But, we did end up making it to Stockholm at 9 pm. and not 11 p.m.  The first conductor who checked our tickets was a young guy with shoulder-length blonde hair who told us it would cost 799 kronor to stay on board this incorrect train. So we got off and waited for an SJ train at a remote station.
While waiting on that train platform, a youngish mom with shoulder-length, dirty red hair and a baby-carrier on her chest approached us and asked us if we needed help. I explained to her how we boarded the wrong train-- a small wooden train -- and she said, “that doesn’t sound good!” She was friendly. Cathy and I then took our chances on the next incoming train, and the older conductor (this one older and much more serious looking and sounding—he looked like the quintessential train conductor), told us upon inspecting our tickets, “You are on a later train. This is not alright. That train is a lower fare. Come with us to [town name].” At first Cathy and I thought he meant we were in trouble, for us to come with him to the car on the train where deviant passengers got their reprimand. But he meant, stay on the train until we reach a station where your correct train will pick you up. We got off once, prematurely, and Cathy asked him is this the place? He said no, the next one, so we re-boarded. Then, as we were about to get off at that next stop, the same conductor in a completely unexpected show of generosity and mercy, took us aside and quietly said, “Stockholm is your last stop, correct? If you move around your seating you can stay aboard on this train.” We were so thankful.
We found our next airbnb place, a small studio with a ½ bath (and shower next door that we used), easily. We did our laundry (with Freja’s, the hostess’s, generous help, as the machine in our studio was broken) that night, finished watching Frozen. Cathy’s hands and feet started showing signs of an allergic reaction—maybe hives? They stayed with her throughout the whole trip, getting worse and then getting better, but never fully going away. But she hunkered on without any complaints at all—amazing. I don’t know if I could have handled it as well as she did.

MONDAY MAY 30
Ventured to Uppsala! I discovered on my email at 10:30 a.m., after taking a refreshing 6-mi run in the morning (the riverside route of which Cathy figured out for me the night before), that an American academic who I knew was fortuitously having an overlapping guest lecture at the university today at noon. Cathy was game for hopping on a train right away. We got there in 2 hours, slightly late. We found the lecture room, but foolishly I was too timid to walk into the lecture 25 minutes late. If I could have a do-over, I’d walk in that room! The secretary who helped us find where it was was unsure we could barge in mid-flow. After saying hi to Heather afterwards, it was clear that we could have just gone in there. It was on her recent book on the magazine industry. Cathy and I walked Uppsala and had a great lunch at a pub before heading back to Stockholm.

TUESDAY MAY 31
Looked inside Royal Palace and I got reprimanded by a worker there for taking a picture up on a balcony and making it look I was sitting there (I wasn’t, it was an optinal illusion—Cathy did it before me and didn’t get caught). Then we spent 4 fun hours at the Modern Art museum and ate a delectable traditional Swedish lunch in the large café there; we opted for this rather than the reocmmended fika just because we were hungry! We left for our Helsinki cruise on the Viking Line at 5:30. Cathy and I had some great conversation with the two of us, and then later we met two very vivacious (one funny and one intellectual) Swedes -- they worked in sales for IKEA and this was a 2-day break for them -- who we had conversations with on political and cultural topics while enjoying beers and refreshments on the top deck of the boat.

WEDNESDAY JUNE 1
Helsinki, Finland! We awoke at 8:15, just in time for the ship breakfast buffet we paid for. Turns out that roacking boats and a room with no windows can make you sleep for a long time! We got off the boat at 9:30 or so and had the day in Helsinki. We toured around on foot (using Rick Steve’s book as a guide). It’s a very fishermany-porty looking city. The highlight was seeing the main square that reminded me so much of Columbia’s  Low Plaza, nicknamed the “urban beach” (the central walkway and stairs leading up to Low Library, where students often sit, chat, and even lay out in the sun.) In Helsinki, in this plaza has the same brickwork pattern on the ground, but the buildings around are different (of course). The cathedral is strategically placed between the government building and the university building (the latter two being mirror images of each other), the three buildings forming a 3-sided perimeter around the plaza area.
Cathy held my bag for me for 40 minutes while I ran a beautiful 4-mile route along the river. I delighted in spending about 4 hours in a city library working on diss stuff and drinking really, really good coffee while Cathy explored. She was so good to push me to explore with her at least for half the day.

THURSDAY JUNE 2
Returned from Helsinki; Cathy and I visited the Vasa ship museum and had a wonderfully tasty lunch at a restaurant we passed by, called Broms. We also visited the Stockholm City library (not sure of its name) with a modern addition by an architect that Cathy LOVED. It was really, really fun. At the restaurant, she had cod and I had an excellent salad with fresh asparagus, avocado, spinach, tomato, hard boiled eggs, bread, and a veggie I didn’t recognize that looked like tubular celery. We then split up and explored separately; she went to an H and M to get long sleeve shirts and I walked to Skansen but they closed at 4. When I returned, I took a run along the water. I brought some money with me so that afterwards I could immediately look in stores and maybe buy myself a refreshment before heading back to the apartment. So I walked around Gamla Stan looking vaguely for some souvenirs for loved ones. I saw a sign propped outside a coffee stop (called The Coffee Stop) advertizing in-house roasted coffee blends and decided to peak in. My conversation with the front-cashier person turned into her offering me a percolator-made sample of the coffee before making my choice. Honestly, I didn't expect to buy it on the spot until she did this. Then, as I was about to leave, she offered me to sample some of the lunch menu that the owner and her co-cook were getting ready to unveil tomorrow. It was cold shrimp salad on italian bread, open-sandwich style. They served me a full serving! And wanted my honest feedback. Honestly, I found it very hard to say anything negative about it. It was about 1,000x better than the similar cheap cafeteria-prepared, in-a-plastic-box dinner I had bought on the Helsinki boat 2 nights ago. Then the front cashier person (a friendly blonde woman probably about 35 years old, from Gothenburg) told me about princess cake, a very traditional Swedish dessert with almond creme in it and green icing on the outside (they also had a pink option in their glass case). "You must try some somewhere before your trip is over," she told me, and I told her I had never heard of it but that I would. On a culinary impulse, I decided that in the precious 7 minutes before they closed, I would run back to the apartment, get Cathy, and go buy a slice of that cake. Cathy immediately said yes, and off we went. Well, guess what! The cashier let us in seconds after locking the door and turning off the lights. While the lights remained off, we got a slice to go and then the store owner said again, "I want you to try another lunch selection." (coveyed to me through the cashier-- I assume she's the one in the store with fluent English as she kept translating back and forth between me and the two ladies in the kitchen in the back) So Cathy and I enjoyed a cold-curry chicken salad on bread too! Like, I'm talking, two full portions basically! This was to be our dinner. When I tell you this whole thing was marvelous, I can't convey how truly awesome this was. Tasty, I felt loved, I felt God just being so fun, generous. and playful in this moment by showering us with this totally lavish expression of hospitality and friendliness on the store owners' part. The cashier asked for a review on Trip Advisor which I promptly did that evening. SO AMAZING!
In the evening we attempted to go to a clinic to get Cathy a steroid shot but all the places we went were closed or did not have an ER.

FRIDAY JUNE 3
This was perhaps my favorite day. I got up early and visited Skansen, the Nordisk Museum, and ended the day by attending the Zest Pasta party (as part of the marathon festivities) and picked up my marathon bib at the 1912 Olympic Stadium (“Stadion” in Swedish). I left the apartment at 8 a.m. and was back at 8 p.m. Today was the first day I used the subway (called the “T-bana”) and tram system. I met two young men from Germany traveling together who lifted by spirits by telling me of their travel woes (ironic, I know), how their things were stolen out of their car and the Swedish police weren’t much help after the fact.
            At Skansen, I focused on the old town portion and decided the zoo portion wasn’t a priority for me. So I visited about 12 old-time, real reconstructed buildings that served as the bakery, printer’s house, ironworks workshop, furniture factory, a lodge for day workers, a spice store, an old farmstead from Smaland (built in 1470!), among others. Talking to the museum workers, who acted in character for each of their jobs in their respective eras, wearing period clothing, was the COOLEST thing. Made me feel very connected to my Swedish heritage and probably some of the experiences my own distant relatives had. I had lunch there and it was superb: baked chicken, roasted potatoes, strawberries, green salad with corn and delicious mustard dressing, and cooked snow peas.
            Then I spent from 2-5 at the Nordic Museum. This basically seemed to fill in the rest of Swedish history, and had artifacts from daily life in Sweden from about 1700-present. I took the tour there as well.

SATURDAY JUNE 4
Marathon day! Cathy was an amazingly supportive friend. Cathy found me at the stadium when I finished (around 3:40 p.m.) and I enjoyed a non-alcoholic ginger beer there—Ed- something brand. Afterwards I showered and we treated ourselves to a very nice Swedish dinner at Sturehof. Cathy totally spoiled me and called it my princess day. I think one thing I learned on this trip was the power of friendship to help us accomplish great things! My time was way better than I anticipated it would be: 3:35:32! Honestly it’s because of her.
            I also received good news today via email about the status of the IRB report I filled out at Emory—I am free and clear! Upon taking my 2nd shower of the day, I felt overwhelmingly thankful and I thought that this was my favorite day of the whole trip.

SUNDAY JUNE 5
Traveled to Copenhagen on a 5-hour train ride; got there at 1:30. I did not take any further adventures; today was a rest day for me. We planned out our Monday—Cathy was an expert with her map and travel guides. She is like the ultimate Puzzle Assembler! I have benefited immensely from her problem-solving and planning skills on this trip. She says I have an ease with asking strangers for help that has made a huge difference for us, too. I’ll choose to believe her.

MONDAY JUNE 6
We started our day with fantastic lattes at The Coffee Collective (a small shop).  Then we visited Superkillen park, basically an outdoor skateboard park which Cathy thought would be cooler than it was. From there we ventured to many places that Kierkegaard frequented, as directed by a NYT article, in which the travel journalist gives a much more lively alternative to paying homage to the theologian-philosopher than just looking at his plaque and furniture collection at the City Museum (his former home was converted into a bank). We visited on foot, with the help of buses in between:
1.     Assistens Cemetery, where he’s buried (and many, many bikes were passing through, commuting to work!),
2.     On the bus, passed by the Peblinge So lake where he took many walks and I think the opening scene of one of his novels is set. It is a nearly-identical lake nearby the one where Cathy and I took our first run – and she, her first fall on the cobblestones, scraping her knee – on our first morning in Europe (May 27th).
3.     [At this point, we took a break to visit Roskilde Cathedral and have an excellent smorgabrod lunch at Aamaan’s, as recommended by an information desk person at Superkillen Park.]
4.     Then we went up the Kobmagergade Rundetaarn (round tower), in the shadow of which Kierkegaard lived. In close walking distance were both the church and the cathedral he frequented. The cathedral was very simple and it had burned down 4 or more times in its history!
5.     Lastly, we saw Kierkagaard’s statue in the Royal Library Gardens, another place he frequented (I think). This was on the same grounds as the Black Diamond library – a modern extension to the Royal Library.
6.     At 7 pm, we went to the Aquarium and especially enjoyed (among all the fish) the otters (who we named Vernon and Fluffy) and the dragon seahorses. The architecture was supposed to be impressive, but which I think looked like a Big Mac box.

TUESDAY JUNE 7
Coffee Collective again today for us! We went by metro to a bigger location this time and had a scintillating early morning convo (sooo refreshed from yesterday), complimented by the BEST Danish pastries (which we discovered on our way) – a raspberry one, a cinnamon roll one, and a “birthday cake” (my name for them) ones, with yellow frosting and sprinkles – and while watching people out the window. (Best part: we discovered the pastries by accident when walking the wrong way!) One pedestrian was bringing her tiny toddler daughter, clad in a pink coat and purple leggings and a hat, to the park across the street; another put her bike on its kickstand and walked inside in a carefree manner, not locking it.
The remainder of today was a study day for me. I sat at the Urban Hostel and moved (for change of scenery) to the Copenhagen Central Train Station nearby while Cathy explored. Then we ventured to the airport at 4:30 pm.



Wednesday, February 3, 2016

Never Give Up!

When I was 11 or 12 years old, I interviewed a young adult science fiction/fantasy writer, TA Barron. He told me the story about how he got 32 rejection letters for his writing before succeeding with his published Merlin book series. Here's an except of an interview he did with someone else where he talks about the inevitable experience of rejection whenever you want to get your writing/ideas/research/whatever out to an audience.

"What advice would you give to a young writer?

Three things: Notice the world around you. Live your life, follow your dreams. And practice writing as often as you can.
And then a fourth: Don’t take rejection letters to heart. Everyone gets them, even established writers. They hurt, but they are just part of life. If you have something to say, and refuse to give up, you absolutely will find a way to say it and share it with others."

I recently had this happen to me-- not 32 letters, but 6. On the 7th time submitting one of my research projects, it received an R&R (i.e. Revise and Resubmit)! Oh, joy!!!!! On this 3-year road of trying and trying again, last year I printed out this page from a journal's web site that said, "the research project is not complete until you get it out the door." I think Howard Becker said something similar. Now is the hard work of revising. But oh that I would celebrate and remember this as a marker of this new year!!

TA Barron -- as well as an army of encouraging others in my life -- were right!! Refuse to give up!

Thursday, May 21, 2015

Haitus Breaker

After 1.5 years away, I think it is high time that I write again. (What on earth was so important that kept me away so long?!) Today was an exhausting day of an exhausting week and looking at what I'm doing tomorrow makes me exhausted already. To stave off fears of tomorrow, what better than to watch Pretty Little Liars? My, my, my penchant for adolescent TV dramas strikes again. Maybe it'd be good to bring some prayer and thanksgiving to the day. Nothing fills like these.

My prayer tonight is that I be filled with gratitude for things past, present, future. To be able to put everything in its right place (cue: Radiohead beats). To be happy about what God has provided, about what God has taken away. To love others better. To be grateful for the paths God has led me on. To be thankful in my heart for caring friends and generous helpers that God puts in every ordinary day. For meaningfulness in routine activities. For the rythm of sleep, awakening, searching, striving, resting, repeat.

And I ask God to increase my seeking, searching; to replace my stone heart with a flesh one; to align my memory and consciousness with the truth of his good purposes; to emphasize his blessings rightly when I reflect on my life; to focus on forgiving over fairness, and celebrate moments of courage and change that he's let me see and choose, for myself.

Wednesday, December 18, 2013

PPR: another reason I need to keep being a time manager

I was researching the "Content is King" reform movement as it has influenced changes in teacher education programs (that is a movement away from BAs in Education towards other disciplines), and ran into a website based on a book, "Chalkbored."  This is pretty interesting and I didn't want to forge the author's idea. He contends that students of this generation have trouble getting intellectually stimulated in school due to how teachers' PPR, or Preparation to Presentation Ratio (which basically means "production values") -- is far lower than movie producers', for example, so of course the scintillating quality of the information presented to them is going to pale in comparison. This gives me important food for thought as I contemplate the fact that I am teaching a NEW PREP next semester!


Monday, November 25, 2013

Picturesque Father-Daughter Picture, and another reason to be proud of Jackson

This is a picture of African-American novelist Richard Wright and his daughter, Julia. I finished Margaret Walker's Jubilee recently, and it's made me want to delve into the genre of African-American Lit and Historical Fiction with themes of US race relations. Perhaps Wright's Black Boy is soon in my queue. Did you know both Wright and Walker lived in Jackson, MS, at some point in their lives? Wright spent much of his boyhood there; Walker was a professor at JSU.

Friday, November 15, 2013

Friday Morning Haiku

Used to be I felt
Left out, but now I wouldn't
Trade for anything

Saturday, October 5, 2013

Respect and Compassion

Leave it to a TV show about teenaged coming-of-age angst to have some great lines. (Maybe I'm trying to redeem myself from liking something I might have previously thought I shouldn't- but which proved to be insightful and ...right up my alley?!) True to my ongoing thematic interest in COMPASSION as it is disected by Christian writers and celebrated by secular humanists alike, here's todays food for thought:


"Respect is not commanded through fear; it is earned through compassion." -Pacey Whitter, Dawson's Creek

Saturday, August 24, 2013

Aptitudes of Artistry, within Quadrants of Belief

My friend E and I were recently discussing the fact that some of the world's best artists, who speak most poignantly into the human condition, aren't Christian, or do not/ did not advertise it if they are/were. We were looking at a quote from ee cummings on her classroom wall, posted near her desk. She's St. John's Great Books-educated, and probably one of my best-read, most artistically-savvy friends.

I think our observation is pretty true. The most intriguing thing to then consider is why God would choose to do it that way- speak truth where we may not expect to find it; have those 'get it' ("it" being life's perennial blows and how the inexplicability of pain, and the [seeming?] injustice of its disparate distribution, matters) who those on the in's might assume do not get it ("it" being, the true fact that God is interested in our redemption into His loving- yes, loving- hands).

Here's an illustration. Some Christian artists DO get it, both "it's," but the layering of meanings and capturing of paradox, contradiction, and felt frustration isn't quite as penetrating or intricate as another artist might have done it. It's still a good work, though. Below is an excerpt from The Chance, a book by Christian writer Karen Kingsbury. I wrote it down from my audiobook because it resonated with me. It's not exactly eloquent, but correctly/aptly captures that gut-wrenching fact of life -- irrevocable or incomprehensible losses, albeit without subtlety:

"How many letters had she written, and how had more than a decade gone by? The weight of it pressed against her heart. There was no way to calculate all she'd missed. High school and homework, prom and graduation. Thousands of goodnights and good mornings and everything in between. Her precious Ellie would be 26 years old now, all grown up, years removed from the girl she'd been growing up in Savannah."

It might be interesting to start a list of artists (authors, painters, graphic designers, lyricists...) that fall in different quadrants of faith: professing believers, unprofessing believers, professing unbelievers, unprofessing/ambiguous unbelievers.

Tuesday, August 20, 2013

Tricky Eucalyptus

I went on a few morning runs in San Diego. I don't want to forget this seedling of an idea: as I ran past some rather snarly looking bushes/trees, I was met with the WONDERFUL aroma of eucalyptus. It was probably the most pleasant thing I ever smelled, ever. Better than the best perfume in the world. The paradox of the plant's appearance (maybe pretty in an isolated camera shot, but when the leaves/petals are altogether, it looks disorderly and un-vibrant) and its extraordinary fragrance.

Can we apply this concept to other aspects of life, or to people? Where the pre-judgments based on appearance led us astray from ever knowing (or being able to guess at) the good things they contain and emit? This hints at the (sometimes obnoxious, sometimes delightful) paradoxes of beauty-- how the easy-on-the-eyes type fades, but lesser-seen forms of beauty remain intact through decades, lifetimes. The form that is at first unimpressive is the one that provides, that gives beauty to its environment in an unexpected way.




If you only knew your goodness

If you only knew
The way you made me new
Inside my heart
The repairs weren't few

If you only knew
My appreciation for you
Words of life spoken to me
My vision renewed

If you only knew
The hope I have again
The freedom, courage, health[ier] spirit
I have back in my reservoir again...

It's because of you. your goodness.


A Let-Me-Lavish-You Kind of Love

I've been thinking a lot lately about my parents, what complex people they are. How they are, in fact, people. Which means they have made errors and faced hardships just like I am encountering now in my twenties--each new year seems to bring with it a new discovery about life and its many opportunities to feel ill at ease. (As well as to feel good; I'm not trying to be a dour pessimist. But as Ann Brashares notes in My Name is Memory: like Southerners remembering the fallout of the Civil War, "You forget your victories, but you remember the losses.” I can't deny there is some weighty truth there.)

Anyway, I've been considering the painful fallout each of my parents has faced throughout their lives. I am immeasurably impressed and relieved at how they each have insulated their reasons for bitterness and absolute distrust of God's goodness or the goodness of those they've mostly dearly loved (that is, each other), from me, their daughter. they have each loved me in a let-me-lavish-you kind of way. The image to come immediately to mind is that of how my friend from undergrad, Steph Chan, describes God's love for us: "Imagine a dumptruck. Imagine you standing behind it. Imagine God releasing a dumptruck of love onto you, covering you completely in His love." Like that.

Of course, being the younger child, I have the benefit of greater naiveté. Things weren't as peachy as they appeared from a teenager's point of view, whose losses were greater than mine, as a 7-year-old. One of the most unpalatable facts of life is how horrible outcomes are never split evenly between parties. I've long felt that between my brother and me, I've gotten the easier half of everything. I think he would agree, and he is so right to.

My parents, though: after the divorce, my dad raised me full time. He doted upon me to a fault. He made me a literary, athletic, extroverted, school-oriented, curious-about-God girl. Yes, I did just write that: "he made me." I do credit him with much of how I developed into the "mix of colors" I am today (thank you, C.M., for that compliment...and thank you, C.C., C.Y., N.M., D.L., and C.M., for always defending his character). After his death, I've become close with my mom again. It's a pretty amazing story of redemption going on before our very eyes. How do we "redeem the time" lost in childhood (see Ephesians 5:15-17)? We've spent a lot of time together lately and it's pretty awesome what God can do to mend families, one day at a time. It's discovery for me to find out who my mother is, in terms of her personality and rooting out the source(s) of her perseverance. Our family's story is not a fairy tale, I assure you. We don't match with the more functional parts of our extended family. But it does feel right and good, the progress our little unit is making towards God's vision for how He created us to be.

What strikes me when I think about both my parents is that they have both succeeded in making me, their child, feel so loved. Maya Angelou's quote captures it so perfectly: "I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” 

Now, I am a person who remembers the exact words that come out of the mouths of people most dear to me. I write them down, often, because I don't want to forget them. But sometimes, those words (if they're claims of love) don't prove true in the long run of how they do or don't love you. And people's actions? The difficulty of forgiveness proves that people's actions toward us (for us or against us) are mammothly important in how we relate to them. I've always thought, before today, that Angelou's quote was a little simplistic for this reason. But I cannot deny that how a person makes you feel is a unique indicator of their quality of love for you. I can compare significant others (with each other) and family members (with each other) along these axes, and I find startling differences. I feel much more loved by some than others, even though the fact of their spoken love is, on the surface, equal or the same.

The quality of love... Lord, let me be wise in response to the high-quality love I get to receive in this life. Thank you for directing that quality of human love that way, towards me. May I make your creations feel especially loved too-- remove the me from interfering and let it be all You streaming through to them.

Wednesday, August 14, 2013

Bordering Fuchsia

After I finished my preliminary exams, my boyfriend sent me purple flowers. It was one of the most loving gestures he could have done, not because I'm a flower fanatic or a die hard romantic, but mostly because he recognized and agreed with the enormity of the occasion, from my point of view. It marked a significant point of triumph, relief, accomplishment, and even giddiness -- that I had learned all this new material that is so darn interesting to me, and written gobs about it in a short period of time. The feeling of productivity was enough for a high.

But then, this delivery (which came mid-nap) ushered in a new kind of celebration: the realization that I'd reached that magical hour in which I had permission, at long last, to finally finally REST, and sense enough to take full advantage of it. (In the note accompanying the flowers, he actually did spell out instructions to go sleep.) I could (and did) sleep with no regard to time; do leisurely activities, watch TV, read non-sociological material. This past week I've found myself prioritizing time with girlfriends, packing in three-a-days thrice. I've started hacking away at to-dos long overdue. I've started, in other words, caring for the upkeep of my own life, beyond my career path.

And that time has flown. A week has already passed since the end of the exam.

This past week I've also found myself reveling time and again in those flowers. They are a profound marker for me: they are a symbol of one's love for me, in spite of my pretest self absorption, and posttest -- ok, self absorption. I really am a time manager (I'm fondly reminded of --- in the WB show "Felicity," who's always drilling herself on organic chemistry compounds with flashcards in one hand, and a stopwatch in the other...here's hoping I can be her!), sometimes to a fault. I've not always done a great job showing my love for family and dear friends when studying hangs in the balance. I love to give my time to reading, studying, writing, researching, as if that were my lover. Maybe because I am comfortable there. And feel competent there. And darn it, I just enjoy it and the process and the product it brings. BUT, when placed above people-- that's disorder. Not to mention painful.

But I digress. The flowers: they are really beautiful to me. The main color in the bouquet is an unusual delight: a luminescent purple, bordering fuchsia. I usually never have flowers to brighten my apartment. So they represent not only a symbol and reminder of someone's love, but they also bring beauty where only functionality reigned supreme before (that is, the dining room table).

I also love them because they make me think. Yesterday, day 6, I noticed something peculiar with the flowers as I stared them down whilst writing in my journal. Some miniature tulips nestled in the middle were beginning to droop down. Not dead yet, they were getting there. Rising above the bouquet, some yet-to-be buds were almost bursting. These were not yet in their adult glory. And other flowers were presently in their prime: glowing, healthy, their petals stretched like a young yoga instructor's arms and back, reaching for some great height.

Isn't life like that too? Aren't we always watching some things pass away, some things almost-bloom, some things shout their present glory? Maybe each flower is a blessing, or maybe they each represent facets of our own personally well-known facts of life. Maybe what's decreasing are my former obsessions, hopes, dreams. Watching them fade is sad. But God, who created these flowers, and me and my whole lifespan and each day in it, won't let the bouquet be only that. No! Look: there are gorgeous things going on right this second, and indeed, they occupy the bulk of this bouquet. I'm alive right now, I'm bearing fruit, and it's even pretty. And, I can only imagine what those buds within them hold. What glory will they bring?