The First Day

...of the rest of my life.

I went back to school today. It cost me $960 in tution and will probably cost me another $400 in books. Does anyone notice anything wrong with that? It's simply not right. A math book that I will never refer to again should not cost $120, and if it does, it should be on all of the used book sites because all the poor students should be trying to get some of that precious cash back into their poor bank accounts. Yet I have searched all the sites to no avail. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. It's actually more expensive online. So tomorrow I will walk the death march down the corridors of the downtown campus and fork over the dough. Why do they pick on the college students?

I did find my $95 music book for $16 online. The cover has been ripped off and it's highlighted. As if I care.

I got engaged, too. The wedding will be in a year and a half, and right now, I'm so poor I almost wish it was longer. But I am happy, and so not all will ever be lost.

In history (American History to 1865) we made groups and had to figure out what we all had in common. We were all white, we were all sophomores, we all liked chocolate, we were all tired, and though no one said it, we were all christians. Not just any christians. We were youth ministry and missions majors. Except me. I was so bummed I kept my mouth shut. Maybe they'll witness to me. Somehow I doubt that. I seriously dislike this town.

In Literature my teacher lovingly told me and the girl behind me that we were "a couple of smart a****" because the last books we've read were Jane Eyre and a Tale of Two Cities. Maybe I can be friends with him. I think he likes me already.

In my music class we were told that though we might not sing beautifully, there is something beautiful about each and every one of us, whether anyone knows it or not, and that our job as teachers will be to find the beauty in each and every child that walks through our classroom, and then to help that beauty grow. He loves Jesus. His eyes are real. (he also plays in church every Sunday)

To sum it up, I'm not very impressed with school. But I'm growing in a different way right now; I'm learning self-discipline and the value of being prepared. Thomas H. Huxley says it the best:

"Perhaps the most valuable result of all education is the ability to make yourself do the thing you have to do, when it ought to be done, whether you like it or not; it is the first lesson that ought to be learned; and however early a man's training begins, it is probably the last lesson that he learns thoroughly."

So off I go, to finish applying for financial aid and redeem my money. Then I shall read the 100 odd pages of homework I have to do. If I cannot redeem my time, I will have at least learned something of the value of hard work.

O, Christmas Tree

"Trees that remain green in the winter have been symbolic of life in the midst of death, and of rebirth, in many cultures. The Christian folk-religious custom of erecting and adorning evergreen trees in the middle of winter was borrowed directly from existing practice, regardless of whether the custom had pagan roots. Some of the existing meaning has been carried over into Christian culture, together with these practices.

"Trees appear with symbolic meaning throughout the Bible: and the Christmas tree alludes to and builds upon this biblical symbolism. From the symbolic tree of knowledge of good and evil, concerning which the Fall of man and the curse of death came, to the tree of life from access to which mankind has been cut off, to the Oak of Mamre which "witnessed" the covenant made with Abraham and the renewal of that covenant with Joshua, to promises concerning the root of Jesse, the Branch, the Messiah, who was hung on a tree to bear the curse, and has been raised up again as a tree of life for the healing of the nations: the Christian story can be told from beginning to end in the symbolic terms of trees.

"To focus on one stream of the development of this late Christian symbol, the Christmas tree symbolizes, in part, the promised "Branch", the Messiah, who must be the "Root of Jesse", the descendant prefigured by Jesse's royal son, David. The tree symbolizes the human geneaology of Jesus and especially his tie to David's royal line through Solomon, which had been perplexingly cut off by God from ever inheriting the throne, after Jeconiah. This connection to the cut-off line is symbolized by the cut-down tree, and is indirectly a symbol of the Son of God. According to Christian tradition, although a descendant of Nathan on his mother's side, Jesus is an heir of Solomon on his supposed father's side. In other words, if Joseph were in fact Jesus's father, then Jesus cannot be the Messiah, because Joseph is descended from Jeconiah, the cut-off line.

"But through his mother, the genealogy of Jesus satisfies the promise of the Messiah in terms of human descent, and this is symbolized by the erect tree. It is an evergreen, because of his eternal origin as God, according to Christian belief. And yet, the tree is also customarily cut down before it is decorated, symbolizing that Jesus is also an heir of the line of Solomon by adoption, through Joseph. So, Christians think that God's word was miraculously fulfilled through the virgin birth, because in that way, the Branch came from the cut-off line of Jesse by adoption, and also by the living line of Jesse. By the birth of Jesus, the promise concerning Jesse's line has been fulfilled, Christians believe, and in this restoration Adam and Eve's line, all mankind, redeemed from futility and death, is symbolized. And that is why the Christmas tree is cut down, but restored erect, evergreen and clothed in light, in symbolic commemoration of the virgin birth."*

*adapted from wikipedia.com

I miss my girls

I have my mom here, and she's great. I've got two sisters, and they're great. I've also got a Dad, two awesome brothers, and the best boyfriend imaginable. But my sisters are young and my mom is often busy. While I love my family and my boyfriend, I've got an empty spot. I miss talking about girl things. I miss laughing with girls and being at ease with girls and doing things with girls.

I miss talking about chick movies. I miss watching them. I want to see Pride and Prejudice with girls. Afterwards I'd like to talk about it the way only girls can talk about it. None of this breaking apart of the acting and cinematography and lamenting the scenes of lengthy dialogue, but rather digesting the relationships and the story in the way girls do together when not one male is present. Slowly and over a long time, with food to accompany and lots of laughter and intermittent sighs at how cute guys with accents are.

I miss sleepovers and talking L-A-T-E into the night about the nearest and dearest things in my heart and in their hearts. I miss being teased about my boyfriend and teasing other girls too, and then laughing and groaning because boys are so bizarre. The most bizarre things on earth that like to discuss things like politics and video games and movies and computer parts and fighting techniques and music. Instead, I want the conversation to drift over into things like clothes and boys and God and fun and shopping and giggles and hot tea...and heartaches. I miss having conversations that compare nothing at all, conversations that are not veiled debates, and conversations that are completely unimportant yet vital to every girls' heart. I miss my friends.

I love you. See you soon.
Can we have some girl time?

disclaimer to the boys: Don't worry. I love you. I love talking to you. I even love debating with you. But you know how we do...

Kong your Burger

Anonymous Youngest Child: Well, I think that King Kong is just a pathetic movie. I mean, so a gorilla falls in love with a blonde chick. Like that's supposed to be cool.

Post, Most, Ghost, Host...

We're studying poetry right now. Thought I'd give you a sample of Youngest Child's latest creation. Note: Youngest Child is usually very poetic and writes the most amazing haiku of any 8 year old I know. However, his couplets are a little wacko.

Shakespeare is unclear
because he drank root beer.


I saw a buccaneer,
But he was killed by a cavalier.
But he was killed by a musketeer!
Ahhh! No! He cried.
But he was killed by a mouseketeer,
and he died.

I wrote that one when I was trying to explain ending syllable rhyming. So maybe the wacko poetry is not without cause...

nothing worthwhile

I am uninspired tonight.

I am tired, I am sick, I am on medication for being sick that makes me tired.

I think I had a fever because I rejoiced that the mall I entered was air-conditioned in such a manner as I have never rejoiced prior.

They were playing Christmas music in the mall. Have you ever gone into a mall, rejoiced in air-conditioning, and heard the tinkling strains of "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" and not been demented? I have. At least, I think I'm not demented.

This post gets filed under the "I feel like I should make a post because I haven't in awhile but really don't feel like writing, can you tell?" category. Yet I make no apologies. None.

*sigh* just shoot me and tell me to go to bed before I hurt myself. Um, wait...

The Ultimate Jedi meet the Anonymous Sibs

Setting: Late afternoon, the living room. Anonymous Youngest Child and Anonymous Little Sister are in front of the computer comparing the two Jedi of Lucas' latest attempt at a movie.

Anonymous Little Sister: Obi-Wan is better because he basically cuts off Anakins legs, one arm, basically his face, and he set him like, on fire.

Anonymous Youngest Child: Yeah, but Anakin is the one who like, killed Obi-Wan in the first place. (editors note: Youngest Child has only seen Episodes 1&2. But if you go by the release dates, Anakin did kill Obi Wan before Obi Wan maimed him, I guess.)

Anonymous Little Sister: Yeah but that's only because he was like mostly robot. I mean, it wasn't even really him he was so robot.

Anonymous Youngest Child: But he can do the choking thing and kill everyone.

Anonymous Little Sister: Well, I wouldn't like to be choked to death like that.

Peace for Despair

She sits at the window;
she hurts from the day.
she screams out to no one,
she cries to the same.
she falls from the sunshine,
she breaks her shattered heart.
she gasps at the splinters and
she tries to gather them up.
she drops the sharp pieces
she spills them on the floor
she yells out at everyone
she hates her broken heart.
she despairs...oh, she despairs.

It's not the greatest in the world, but it's a start. I think it might eventually be a song, believe it or not. The song isn't about me, either. I don't know who it's about.

---

Lately I've been going to bed and feeling useless. Then I wake up and feel useless. Through every waking moment I feel a hole in my middle, right above my bellybutton and about the size of my fist. It's a clean hole right through me, and at night I become aware that there is cold air blowing through me. I have a missing piece.

Am I valuable? Am I worth the oxygen I breathe? Am I doing my part? For so long, my life has been about bettering myself. Sure, I like to please people. But more so, I have an incredible drive to please myself. If I'm not up to my personal expectations, I quit. They call it perfectionism, apparently. I call it torture. Who regularly guilt-trips themselves? I do. There is nothing good about it. (Well, the 4.0 is a plus...) So every night I go to sleep feelinginadequatee. I'm almost 20 and I often feel that I have little to show for it. Half the time I go to sleep wondering if I've failed myself.

Then there is God. For the past year I've been trying to do better with God and instead my relationship with him has slipped into atrophy. My prayers are hollow, my bible reading is stagnant, and worshipping has become incredibly difficult. I've started hating having a quiet time because I can't meet any expectations (my own) with my regularity. Church is in Thai, for the most part. I can count the number of sermons I've understood in the last six months on one hand. (Not that I'm complaining. A sermon is the worst possible way of communicating information into my head. I'm a discuss and process person--but I haven't had that either.)

Don't worry. I'm not barfing onto my blog. It gets better. ; )

So I cried. I cried and cried and cried. I didn't feel better. But my heart was opened. I used to be a very introspective person and I stopped because it hurt too much to think about myself. I'd forgotten how to do that, and instead I was only aware that something was wrong. And the crying opened my heart. My heart hurt, I realized. That is howcallousedd I was. My soul hurt and I didn't even know it.

What do you do when God isn't giving you peace and you can't figure out how to "give your burdens to Jesus?" I've struggled with that for years. So many Christians say it, and I never could figure out how. When I asked how, they would say things like, "just lay it down at his feet" or "ask him to take it away." Sorry, folks. No dice. It wasn't working. I didn't get it.

My dad is amazing. There is no denying that. I have received better advice from him than anyone else in the world. I think because he's been either a pastor, worship leader, or missionary in the past 25 years and he's been my daddy for close to 20.

I explained to my mom everything I just explained here, and she said some good things. I need to not beat myself up so much for one. Check. I'll try. But she had no answer for the "burden" thing and how far away from Jesus I feel. That's when my Daddy yelled from the computer,

"You just have to be grateful, Annie."

That's it. I can do that. I can be thankful for my Jesus. I can be thankful for everything I can do and for everyone I can be with. I can be thankful for happy things, for sad things, for big things, for little things.

I talked to Jesus last night as I went to sleep and told him five things that I am very grateful for.

I didn't feel empty.

I was made to praise Jesus. Then the heavyness slips away and the holes are filled with love.