Barbie World

So, in moving to a new town, I've been doing a lot of observing. This is a fantastic experience, and I would thoroughly encourage its practice! Clearly, we avoid observing in sketchy ways... hiding in the bushes with binoculars is not recommended. But it certainly is interesting to take an afternoon and just observe the dynamics of the people around you. In particular, I find campus and bus dynamics fascinating.

When you sit on a bus, you always sit Mon-Wed-Fri or Tues-Thurs. I have been told this is also the rule with urinals, but that's up for debate. What I mean is, unless you know the person, you always leave a seat between yourself and them. If you have to sit next to a stranger, you stare straight ahead, or off to the other side, looking anywhere but at them. Heaven forbid if you were to make eye-contact, because that would clearly mean that you had to say something.

Same way, when you are walking across campus. I spot you walking towards me from 40 feet away, do a casual observe to figure out if I know you, and then become actively fixated on the cement below my feet. Is that a twig?? Wow, my shoes are interesting! Again, eye contact very awkward. If by some chance we do talk, the conversation goes like this, "Hey-how-are-ya? I'm-good-how-about-you? Good." All this, while continuing to walk in our given direction. It's no small wonder that the guy on the bus was wearing a t-shirt which stated, "It's ok, I probably don't like you either."

In observing these trends on the public transportation and around campus, I was not surprised or shocked. In fact, I've grown rather numb to this particular experience. But today, as I was riding back on the D-line, I was struck by how much like Barbie and Ken we try to make our world. And not even the exciting Barbie and Ken, who ride in the pink sports car and clearly have the perfect lives. Unfortunately, often times, I think we model our lives against those of Barbie and Ken still in the plastic boxes on the shelves. Perfect lives. Solid walls to keep the image perfect. But let's delve a little bit deeper...

There's a great quote in the movie Shall We Dance, in which the jaded wife explains marriage, saying, "We need a witness to our lives. There's a billion people on the planet... I mean, what does any one life really mean? But in a marriage, you're promising to care about everything. The good things, the bad things, the terrible things, the mundane things... all of it, all of the time, every day. You're saying 'Your life will not go unnoticed because I will notice it. Your life will not go un-witnessed because I will be your witness'."

Along the same lines, there's a fantastic proverb which goes something like this, "Man's greatest desire is to know and be known." In the absence of being known, of being noticed, of being in real community, we live in this pseudo-world, in which the image is perfect, and the person is lost in the plastic. This should NOT be! Especially in Christian community. Community is about being known. As members of the body, we are joined together, and when one part suffers, all parts suffer. When one part rejoices, all parts celebrate.

Being known is inbuilt into our DNA because we were designed to be known by our Creator, and to know Him who made us. Adam and Eve were designed to know and be known by one another, and feel no shame. Yet sin distorted all of those designed relations. And in the absence of being really known and still accepted, we resort to plastic perfection and small boxes. In the Garden of Eden, they didn't have plastic, so they used fig leaves. Get my point? We hide as a result of our sin. But friends, despite the fact that Jesus conquered sin on the cross, we are still hiding behind our fig leaves. Empty. We still believe that we have to be perfect before we can be known. We hide. Is it safer that way? Probably. Is it easier? Most definitely. But is it better? Categorically, no! That's not how community was designed.

So friends, are we willing to break out of the plastic? To expose our nakedness and our shame? Our inability to earn our way to heaven? To claim the righteousness and strength of Christ in exchange for our sins and weaknesses? To know God, and be known by him? To know our brothers and sisters, and be known by them? And maybe, just maybe, to make eye contact with the person on the bus or on the quad, and maybe smile and say:

You are beautiful, friend, and with Jesus' righteousness, you do not need your fig leaves any more.

What is it with me and bugs?

Plotline: my roommate and I discovered that we had extra-hoppy very-hungry friends living in our carpet. This would not be a problem, except that our hoppy friends were leftover from the previous occupant's hairy four-legged critters. Not only are they delinquent and not paying rent, but they also haven't eaten in several weeks, so they were satiating their hunger by nibbling on us. If I am being too cryptic, the bottom line is, we found fleas in our floor and our flesh. So this morning, first thing (Even before making coffee!) when I woke up, I called the maintenance hotline. Hindsight: probably better to make the coffee first. Verbatim below:

::ring ring::

Hotline: Hello?

Me: Good morning! I'm the resident in apartment D 13, and I just have a quick question for you.

Hotline: Ok, what can I do to help?

Me: Well, I was wondering, did the previous occupant have a pet?

Hotline: I'm not sure, but I can check. Why?

Me: Well, I think when they moved out, they left some little friends behind, and they are biting us.

Hotline: Ummm...

Me: Meaning, there are fleas in our apartment, and they do not belong to us, nor do we wish to inherit them or adopt them.

Hotline: You have fleas?

Me: No, I do not have fleas. But my carpet does.

Hotline: Oh. Do you have a pet?

Me: Not unless the fleas count.

Hotline: Oh, ok. Hmm. Ok. So what can I do for you?

Me: Umm....Well, see, the point is, we have fleas. But we don't want them. They bite.

Hotline: Ohhh ok, so you want me to get rid of them.

Me: YES!

Hotline: Riiiiiiight, extermination (::said with delightful vengeance!::)!

Me: Sure?!

Hotline: Ok. Now who are you, again?

Great morning. Thankfully, extermination is on its way. Little friends, you are soon to be no more. And your great dance party, while it has been spectacular, will soon end. Boogie woogie woogie, zap! Lunch is over, fellas. May you rest in peace.

For I know the plans I have for you...

So, this summer, I've been reading the book of Jeremiah... at the beginning of the summer, it just seemed fitting for my station in life. Now, I keep reading it, because the story that it tells is of a sinful people who time and time again don't get it. God punishes them. And God promises redemption. They spend a lot of time in exile... and then have a few "ah-ha" moments. Sound familiar? Regardless, this morning, my trekking took me to Jeremiah 28 and 29.

Jeremiah 29:11 was one of the few verses in Jeremiah that I was familiar with prior to reading it again this summer. Often we read Jeremiah 29:11 when times are changing, we're moving, or we're worried about the future. I don't know how many great graduation cards I received with this particular verse inscribed. Great verse! But we often fail to realize the full beauty of it, because we don't read it in context of the rest of the chapter. This morning, I was hit with the full context of the passage, and was honestly a bit blow away by it...

Context: Jeremiah is writing a letter to the exiles in Babylon. (Babylon= hedonistic capital of the ancient world) Some of them may have already been there for as long as 11 years. He's just told the people that only false prophets will be telling them that they're getting out soon. He tells them pretty bluntly that everything, down to the wild animals, will be in obedience to King Nebuchadnezzar... iron yoke. The letter follows a prophesying battle of epic proportions between happy-ending-soon-false-prophet-Hananiah and wearing-the-iron-yoke-prophet-of-truth-Jeremiah in chapter 28. Jeremiah = not the life of the party at the moment.

Furthermore, the story that Jeremiah tells in his letter is basically "Settle in for the long haul; you're going to be in exile for quite a long time." He tells them

• to build houses (takes a few months at least),
• to settle down (also a few months),
• to plant gardens and eat the fruits of the gardens (you plant in the early spring, and harvest in the late summer)
• to marry and be married (long term commitments)
• to find spouses for your kids (this assumes that they will grow to the age of marriage, while in captivity)
• to increase in number (babies stay in the oven for 9 months)
• to pray for the city that they're in, so that they together will prosper (in other words, you're staying for quite a while...)

And the kicker is verse 10, in which the Lord says "When seventy years are completed for Babylon, I will come to you and fulfill my gracious promise to bring you back to this place." Seventy years. God says wait. The average American life expectancy is about 75 years. God says wait. And then... and only then... we get to verse 11:

"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."

Yes, God does have plans to prosper us. To give us hope and a future. But what if, first, he calls us to wait? Is God the Lord of exile as well as Lord of the land of milk and honey? What if I were called to wait for 70 years for the promises which God has for me. I would be 93 years old. Would I still trust that he had plans to prosper me, to give me hope and a future?

God always answers prayers. Sometimes his answer is "yes"; sometimes it is "no"; and sometime it is "wait." He promises to bless us; to give us good gifts; and to prosper us. But sometimes, we get so caught up in the Burger-King mentality of "have it your way right now" that we miss God's blessings when they don't come immediately.

Yes, God is Lord of exile as well as Lord of promise. Even when the answer is wait, he is still answering. Even if it takes days, weeks, years. Do we believe that? Or do we read one verse, say one prayer, and sing one song, and then get angry at God for not providing our super-deluxe burger with fries order on the double?! God is not a drive-through burger-joint made-to-order cook. His promises are always perfectly timed. But they cannot be measured on our clocks.

Hidden treasures

Read these lyrics, friends. And really read them. They speak much more beautifully then I could dare hope to utter in words. Let the words touch your soul, and speak truth into your life. I found them again yesterday, after many months away...

o love that wilt not let me go
i rest my weary soul in thee
i give thee back the life i owe
that in thine oceans depths its flow
may richer, fuller be.

o light that followest all my way,
i yield my flickering torch to thee;
my heart restores its borrowed ray,
that in thy sunshine's blaze its day
may brighter, fairer be.

o joy that seekest me through pain;
i cannot close my heart to thee;
i trace the rainbow through the rain.,
and feel the promise is not vain,
that morn shall tearless be.

o cross that liftest up my head,
i dare not ask to fly from thee
i lay in dust life's glory dead,
and from the ground there blossoms red
life that shall endless be.

Antsy

So for weeks and weeks, I have been striving, longing, and working for arrival on campus. Some might even say that I was antsy for the day in which I would leave my small town, rural America, and journey to the big city in Chapel Hill, to begin work as a staff intern. Finally, this past weekend, I made the move, took the leap, stepped out in faith... wow, I should stop using commas and metaphors. But, you get the picture.

So today (I'm so proud of myself!) I navigated the necessary public transportation to get myself from my little apartment onto the big campus, less than 3 miles away, but oh so daunting.

Arriving on campus, I had no real purpose yet, save to find a comfortable spot, observe my new habitation, and dive into a book called "How People Grow." I thought that a giant tree on north campus would provide the perfect location to do said activities. So I settled myself comfortably in this giant nook that was exactly Kristen-sized, and snuggled down for a good long read-observe period. Unbeknownst to me, I had also picked the psychodelic-disco ball party-place-to-be location of the Chapel Hill population of black ants. Within about five minutes, they were dancing on my legs, arms, shirt, and oh so devestatingly, down my pants. Quite literally, I was ant-sy, with ants in my pants... and everywhere else!

Ah, the irony. For so long antsy in one way... now ant-sy in quite a different way.

Welcome to campus, Kristen! Anyone know how to remove or locate MIA black ants?

1-2-3... etc

The other day, I was hanging out with some friends, and they asked me, "What's your support?" Meaning, where are you with raising support for InterVarsity. Mingling my bad hearing and their southern drawl, I heard instead, "What's your sport?" to which I answered boldly, "Soccer! I played for 9 years." The confusion which reigned was quite amusing...

You know, when kids are about a year old, we start to teach them how to count. For a young year-old, this merely involves the parent or interested adult bending down, and saying in a sweet voice, "Wow! You're a big kid! How old are you?" and holding up the appropriate number of fingers... "You're this many!? Wow!"

As we age, we learn more intricate methods of counting, involving the inevitable succession of numbers, "Yes, twelve does come after eleven." Particularly in the young teens, we learn the phrase "almost" with regard to counting. "Yes, I am twelve, but I'm almost thirteen." ("Almost" being an interesting word, which can mean anything from 2 days to 11 months away).

When we hit sixth or seventh grade, we start to learn about these things called fractions and percentages, tricky little rascals that they are. "If Johnny's sister is 6 and Johnny is 12, what is the ratio of their two ages?" "If we have 12 apples together, and I take 3 of those, what percentage of the apples is left?" Etc.

Well, the last few months, I have been employing all of these tactics of counting:

At the beginning of the summer, I could count the dollars of my fundraising attempts on one hand.

Then slowly, we merged into consecutive numbers... "Yes, $10 does come after $5."

And dollar by dollar, we went into a percentage count, always ticking towards the magic percentage that I needed to move to campus. Sprinkled liberally with the "almost" percentages. Each week, my friends and family would ask me, "What percentage are you at now?"

One-third became one-half which became three-quarters, which became almost there....

... the suspense is killing, right?

OK, out with it! I will be moving to campus this weekend! While I still have to raise a considerable sum of money, and would continue to covet your support and prayers, I have finally reached the percentage needed to begin my year on campus at UNC-Chapel Hill!! Praise God! Assuming our apartment application goes through without problems, we'll sign the lease this week, and move on Sunday... !!! At long last, my days of counting are almost over... :-)

Praise God, it will not come down to my soccer skills. :-D

Home away from Home

You know, when I was in college, my home away from home was not my dorm room. It was not my apartment. It was my lab room in Gottwald Science Center. If you needed to find me, that is where you would need to look. Day or night, I lived in Gottwald D-pod. Alan, the security guard, and I were on a first name basis. I had my own key. The delivery guy knew where to look for me, if there were packages at the post-office for me. The only one who didn't get the memo was the parking ticket-meister, who consistently would give me parking tickets for parking outside my building. :-P

Now that I have graduated, my home away from home has changed slightly. It is not my parents' house. It is not my parents' barn (although the goat would be more than pleased to have company). No, dear friends, my home away from home is Panera.

Ah, Panera, that wonderful and delightful oasis of fresh and unlimited coffee. Bagels. Sandwiches. Soup. Bread. Free wi-fi. And music which is the same no matter the time of day or the location of the store.

No matter where I am, no matter whom I'm with, no matter what the city, I know that I can find a home in my friendly Panera:

There's the one in Clemson, South Carolina, where I spent many a pleasant hour before a friend's wedding.
There's the one by my church, with the cute orderly and the friendly businessfolk.
There's the one by Walmart that is about 40 degrees Fahrenheit even on the warmest days.
There's the one on Rt 60, where I stop for a quick coffee before hitting campus.
There's even the one in St. Louis that calls itself by a different name, but bears my familiar logo!

Now, I know what you're thinking... Panera? Really? For a coffee snob, that's not so classy, Kristen. But dearly loved, it's Panera. This is my home away from home.

If I want class, I go to a bistro.
If I want atmosphere, I go to an off-the-record coffee joint with overstuffed sofas, dim lighting, and poetry readings on the weekends.
If I want a coffee experience, I go to the place that has coffee bushes growing behind the shop.

But when I just need a few moments of sanity, a good place to do work, and a friendly cup of unlimited coffee... you will find me in Panera. No matter the freezing temperatures of overcooked air-conditioning. No matter the cleaning products which give me allergic reactions. No matter the repetitious saxaphone music playing on an eternal loop. Rain or shine, stormy or fair, you will find me in the neighborhood Panera.

In fact, you might just find me there right now....

under the hood

The other day, my sister called our mechanic to set up a routine oil change. The fellow who answered the phone had a fairly robust southern accent, easily changing some of his words into words with confused contextual meaning. Instead of hearing, "Hello, Such-and-Such Auto works, this is so-and-so speaking" she heard

"Hullo, Sach-and-Sach Ow-toe Warx, thes's God spakin'."

Ah, the possibilities of such an interchange...

Perhaps next week, I should call back to speak to God personally, no? I wonder what the responses would be if "God" wasn't available...

"I'm sorry, God is busy...

... you just can't keep that guy inside one building"
... he's cleaning up a greasy situation"
... he's working on the 'hood"
... he's changing the tires, re-treading, if you will"
... he's dealing with exhaust"
... he's changing some folks' gears"
... he's opening locked doors"
... he's fixing the brakes"
... he's doing inspections"
... he's driving someone home"
... man, he's a genius will all makes and models"
... that guy could fix anything!"

... and the list goes on and on... :-)