I will not be shaken

We had family friends over for thanksgiving. The dad of this family is kind of like our church's philosopher in residence, and he has a wife and four kids. My mom and and his wife are in a prayer group with a few other women from the church. Her name is Mary Ellen.

Two of Mary Ellen's four kids weren't home for thanksgiving. One of the absentees lives in Oregon and works at his uncle's organic farm, and the other lives in a commune in New Mexico with her boyfriend. She comes home sporadically, but she never stays for long. She's a year younger than me.

Mary Ellen and I were getting things ready in the kitchen when she saw a verse that my mom wrote on a piece of scrap paper and taped on the fridge.

"I love that verse!" she said. "I think of it like this - I will not be shaay-ay-ay-ay-ken!" she sings while performing a toned-down version of a shimmy.

Later that day, as in, after I went to bed and was reading The Hunger Games, the power went out. I sat there in the dark, terrified. Someone had cut the power. Someone who wanted to kill me and my family, but mostly me. Soon, I would sense his presence in the corner of my room. He would be brandishing a machete, rusty and already stained with the blood of my mother or one of my brothers.

I started to pray. And then I stopped myself. I couldn't do that! It wasn't going to work - I hadn't done enough for it to work. I sat, curled and tense, on my bed. And then I called my mom.

She sounded almost asleep, but she told me she would come down to the basement with a flashlight. She would come downstairs to give a source of light to her twenty-year-old daughter. This daughter had told her that day that sleeping in the basement was never scary. Well, everybody lies, right?

The power came back on an hour later. I promptly turned off my lamp and went to sleep. This morning, I thought about my prayer. And how I think prayer works only if you put enough oomph into it - it gains significance in the sight of God if you back it up with daily devotions, or good deeds, or healthy relationships or good grades or a good track record or an existence that 1. makes sense and 2. has some sort of net positive impact on the world.

I don't trust God to stay unless I do all the right things.

And I decide what those things are.

And my standards for myself are impossibly high.

And something inside me enjoys berating myself for my failures.

And so I think that God does, too.

Because, in the end, I want God to operate the way I think He operates. Because, in the very very end, I want to be Him.

Quoting a friend without permission...

"Im learning Trust means that you dont know what the hell is gonna happen next, but you know He loves you and has something great waiting ahead."

Walls

I usually don't blog about the Bible, because it makes me feel like a poser, but right now I'm avoiding homework, so, there you have it.

This comes off as pretty sacreligious, but I'm not exactly a big fan of Paul... He tends to bring the hammer down pretty hard, and I have the feeling that he would not be impressed with me if we were to ever meet.

This is kind of funny in light of what he writes in Galatians 6: "Those who want to make a good impression outwardly are trying to compel you to be circumcised. The only reason they do this is to avoid being persecuted for the cross of Christ. Not even those who are circumcised obey the law, yet they want you to be circumcised that they may boast about your flesh."

ATTENTION ALL SUPER CHRISTIAN WANNABES: YOU ARE JUST HIDING.

You know that you aren't all that great, you are terrified by the idea of giving everything to Jesus, you still want everyone to think that it's all under control, and you want recognition to boot.

You are hiding. You say lots of nice things about how vividly you see your sin in your own life, how selfish you are, how controlling you are, how God is gracious enough and merciful enough to teach you these things over. and over again, you even let on about your secret agenda of impressing everyone, but the only reason you confess is that so other people will see you confessing. You say you know yourself. You say you know your sin. But you just dress it up to make it look looming and dramatic and horrible when the truth is that you can't save yourself from something mealy and pathetic and wrinkled and shivering on a table. Nothing about you is impressive. Not even these great sins from which you are so heroically saving yourself.

What makes you think you are so fucking important?

You don't have the power to save yourself. You aren't a monster. You are just sad.

So it is OK to accept handouts. To accept others. To accept you. To be indebted. To make a mistake. Or twenty. Thousand. To fall apart. To help. To find it, to lose it, to forget it. To laugh at yourself. To stay quiet or to let it all spill over...

Because fixing yourself and accepting yourself both end in OK. The only difference is that one is possible and the other isn't. 

Bringing it back to the whole Bible thing, accepting yourself is accepting that you will always need grace. And accepting that you will always, always have it. No need to chop off your foreskin. Or be an RA, or have a perfect relationship with your roommate, or find your husband, or get the best grade on one of D-Strat's essays, or teach English in Guatemala, or time manage perfectly. None of it. None of it works, anyway. Not if you're using it to protect yourself from the gracious fury that is Christ, not if you're using it to prove to everyone that you are your own gracious fury, thank you very much. 

"Neither circumcision nor uncircumcision means anything; what counts is a new creation."

From Lucille

I received an iPad from an overly wonderful aunt, so I decided to try blogging from it. The iPad's name is Lucille... At least, I think that's how you spell her name.

It's a little slow and laborious, but I'll sacrifice for the cause.

There are a ridiculous amount of good things happening in my life right now, but I guess I'm choosing not to shake the general feelings of angst... I've taken to describing my life as awkward... Oh, I'm awkward, that's awkward, my whole friggin life is one mess of awkward. A better word is insecure.

On our lovely drive to Branson yesterday (I'm vacationing at my roommate's house with another one of my best friends... So many good things happening, seriously!) I gave some thought to what my life would be like if I wasn't so committed to feeling awkward (insecure) about every situation ever... If I let go, started breathing more evenly, accepted things about myself and others and life and...

It's a mess and I can learn to love it that way or feel forever awkward...

At the kids program at my church, we sing a song that goes like this:

"Jesus, Jesus loves the children, yes, He does, yes, He does,
Jesus, Jesus loves the children, yes, He does, yes He does,
Jesus, Jesus loves the children, yes He does, yes, He does,
And, He wants all of them to love Him, too, ooo ooo ooo...."

And after we sing it once, we substitute someone's name in for each of the "the children"s:
"Jesus, Jesus loves Ben, yes, He does, yes, He does,
Jesus, Jesus loves Norah, yes, He does, yes, He does..."

And something really funny happens whenever we sing one of the kid's names. The named kid giggles, or slides down off of their chair, or hides their face, or turns red, or gets all wide-eyed, like they've been exposed. As though having the people in your life suggest to you that Jesus loves you is something to get all squirmy about.

Which it is. Because, if Jesus loves the children (all of them), there shouldn't be much to feel awkward or insecure about... Unless, of course, you don't happen to buy into that whole "yes, He does, yes, He does" part of the song.

This is exclusively for Sarah. And everyone else.

ALL

GLORY

IS

EMPTY

UNLESS

IT

IS

GOD'S.

What am I forgetting?

I'm forgetting to do something. But that doesn't matter, because I just remembered what I was going to do when I got sidetracked for an HOUR on facebook... and youtube channels... while Josh Ritter angsts away on my Pandora station (also, I'm skipping out on a teaching observation assignment right now... what can I say? My weekends start early). Flipped through the entirety of someone's wedding album. That someone will go unnamed... of course, it wouldn't be too much trouble for Sarah to figure it out, probably, if she just glanced at facebook,

ANYWAY.

In the youtube world, everyone will be glad to know that Jane Bennet (vlogbennet, that is!) is going to pursue Bing Lee to the big wide world of Los Angeles! Yay for proactive 21st century women! GET IT, GRRRL!

So, what I was going to do was write this not-poem inspired by my friend Kara, who told me a fun word fact today:

Startling, it was, she was
Starting to resort to
Staring. I know the
String will become tight, and we'll both feel the
Sting. It won't be right to
Sing, not about
Sin, especially when it's
In all that
I am.

And I was going to do some homework, too.

ARTS:

Prayers of eight-year-olds

“Dear God,

Please help me to behave in school and not show off. Please help me to say sorry and to not be mean to my friends because it hurts.”

Amen.

Posting!

But I really don’t have much to say.

Sometimes I feel shallow. Sometimes I don’t…  Sometimes I approve, and sometimes I don’t. I have no battle plan for any of this. I was expecting something different, but isn’t that normal? Life is more like waiting than I thought it would be.

There isn’t as much voiceover.

I’m not fourteen.

It’s not like a blank word document. I get to decide less than I thought I would. There are things that I never saw as choices. Those things are the only things I get to decide.

I can contradict myself. I can be getting somewhere, and I can go backwards. The way is a wandering.

I’m not the conclusion. I’m not the remedy, or the answer, to anything. I get the wrong idea. Sometimes I feel important. Sometimes I don’t.

I have secrets, and I like them.

I hate them.

I’m going to be shallow tomorrow.

I have other things to do. I have too much to do. I have the vague feeling that none of it will matter. Like those things I decide without thinking... what doesn’t matter will soon.

I’m worried. I’m not.

I have less control than I think.

20. Going on 14.

It’s not that I don’t act my age.

It’s that I don’t act myself.

Because I am so wrapped up in trying to control everyone else’s opinion of me, I’m not sure what my own opinions are.

Well, I am of the opinion that everyone should like me.

But other than that… I can vary my opinions, actions, habits… so that everyone will like me. Or at least, so I’ll think that everyone likes me.

And the source of this need for validation?

The belief that I, simply as myself, am not very likeable.

 

Today, my unflappable mother told me to...

"tell Him who you are, He already knows!"

In the case that I become one of those "back in my day, we actually worked hard" kinds of parents...

Let it be remembered that I spent COUNTLESS hours looking at stupid internet memes.

Of course, this might be the greatest internet meme of all time...

Going to the Hunger Games? NOT IMPRESSED.

:)

Epiclogue*

I want to write something, which is how I know I won’t be able to.

I’m trying too hard. I do that a lot.

I want to write something really great about this summer and how brokenness is beauty and God’s love and children and people… but it all feels like straw.

I’ve decided not to run cross country, which means that this semester will be different… probably not as different as I think.

I’ll probably end up watching lots of Hulu and feeling guilty about it… or maybe not. But, seeing as the whole plan of being swept up into an epic adventure (involving magic and choreographed musical numbers) won’t happen, it’s a distinctive possibility.

I make so many mistakes. God loves me anyway. That’s my summer. Grace. SO much GRACE! GAH!

“And the God of all grace, who called you to his eternal glory in Christ, after you have suffered a little while, will himself restore you and make you strong, firm and steadfast.” 1 Peter 5:10."

*See what I did there? J

Clog #9 - End

I've never felt quite so rich.

And Another Thing

Some camper quotes: (I'll add more of I think of more)

"If you're singing just so other people can hear you, it doesn't count."

"I know you're a sinner, but I still like you."

Clog #8 - Every Title I Try Sounds Stupider Than Usual

Each day of my week gets two words.

Sunday: Smooth Start

Monday: With Campers

Tuesday: Program Poker

Wednesday: Decision Pending

Thursday: HOOOOOO-LY CRAP!

Friday: Finished Poorly

Saturday: Thirteen Miles

AND DONE.

Clog #7- Amazing Grace

My whole summer has been about grace.

During Middle School 2, my whole week was about Grace.

I don’t think Grace understands grace.

I don’t really understand Grace, either… I thought I did. I thought I was truly giving of myself to someone love-starved. But I haven’t communicated with her in a week, so maybe I just tried to show Grace what grace was so other people would see me and think, “Wow, look at Meredith and Grace, Meredith really understands the idea of grace, her whole life is so full of grace…”

 6 6y5rytrerrt5t5r*

The point is about Grace and grace and I don’t love people as individuals and I wish I did but I don’t but I also learned that there is a way to actually show Jesus’ holiness and grace (not MY “holiness and grace”) to other people and I’m pretty sure that the whole process has something to do with grace…

But maybe it has more to do with Grace.

Because Christ cared more about people than about concepts, more about individual needs than ANYTHING ELSE…

And in my own power, I have NO ability to care about anyone’s individual needs other than my own pathological circus tricks for attention.

Which is where grace (and Grace) come in.

And if you’re still reading this (all five of you out there) – please pray for me and for Grace and that we would know grace.

*Some head-to-keyboard action in response to my own wild hypocrisy.

Clog #6 - Hiking in Lightning

Sometimes, you just need to be one of the four idiots going in the wrong direction. *

One of the four because community is good, going because actually doing stuff is good, the wrong direction because more memorable is good.

Last Saturday, I was privileged enough to drive to Glenwood Springs and back with Ivy, Ashton, and Morgan. Originally, about 10 people had planned on going, but we spent the night at camp, and watched a scary movie until like 2 a.m., and then no one was awake until like 10 a.m., and time was a-wasting… and then the four of us were like, why are we NOT going to Glenwood? So we went… YOLO, I guess. If you call a ridiculous waste of gas YOLO… but it was a good experience, because experiences are good – and onward –

 It was three hours from camp to the to the Hanging Lake trailhead. When we got there, it was thundering, and raining, and, best of all, lightning-ing…

I hate lightning.

So, I was all, “Hey, guys, I think this is a bad idea… I mean, look at the weather.”

Which received the unanimous response: “We did NOT drive all the way to Glenwood Springs to not hike Hanging Lake. And, YOLO.”

So, up we went. Someone told us halfway up that the lake was closed for lightning.

I practically started skipping back down the mountain… only to realize that the someone was just kidding… because jokes are good…

So, we kept hiking. As EVERYONE ELSE on the trail was coming down…

Which turned out to be a huge blessing because we got Hanging Lake all to ourselves. And pictures couldn’t do it justice, but I’ll try to get one on here at some point…

When we did get down, all of Glenwood was soaking wet. So the original plan of camping and driving back to Elim the next day was not going to pan out…

So we drove back to Woodland Park. YOLO.

Around 11 p.m., we pulled the car over to the side of Highway 67 and lay on top of Morgan’s Jeep and looked at the stars.

I was terrified that some car was going to pull over and strange men in black hoodies were going to jump out and kidnap us.

When did I get so cautious? Have I always been this way? If so, why???????

*This applies particularly to a weekend trip, but it also works for the general experience of programming a week at camp… four people, who think they’re super important, trying to organize some fun and games for children… we create SO MUCH DRAMA and we FORGET ABOUT THE KIDS. GAH.

Clog # 5 - Spunk

Instead of composing some sort of readable blog post, I decided to photo stalk wedding pictures of myself.

I’m not sure how deep this whole “wildly self-centered” thing goes, but I’m scared to find out.

The past week was full of whimsy... probably best illustrated in the numerous kitchen renditions of Josh Turner’s “Would You Go with Me?” I had wedding on the brain, and that was my cousin’s first dance with her husband…

“If I gave you my hand, would you take it and make me the happiest man in the world/ if I told you my heart couldn’t beat one more minute without you, girl/Would you accompany me to the edge of the sea, help me tie up the ends of a dream? I gotta know/ Would you go with me?”

And I don’t even like country music, so apparently CAN’T CHANGE THAT doesn’t apply here.

Since I typed out the entire chorus of “Would You Go with Me?” I should probably pause in the blog to mention Ivy Moriah Good. Ivy is from Tennessee, and she is the reason why I know those lyrics. The things I love about Ivy include: 1. She treats people at fast food establishments like real people. 2. She likes to sing country music with her lovely singing voice 3. She’s about as blunt as it gets... reminds me of some other amazing friends I’ve been blessed with in the past year.

She’s incredible. She just shipped herself out here after finding the Camp Elim website, not knowing anyone… that’s thing 4. She’s psycho courageous. She did take off to go see Mt. Rushmore with some other staff people last weekend without me, but I was in Idaho at a wedding, so I guess I can’t complain.

And we just had a fantastic DMC (deep meaningful conversation) on my couch when we should have been getting rest for the campers we will meet TODAY… eh. Can’t change that.

Anyway. Ivy’s got some spunk.

Camp is not a place, but a collection of people.

A Scrap in an Old Journal

4/12/2011

Today is a day for doubts of every kind. Why did I ever believe that things would become easier? That I would reach some glorious summit of success or understanding?

I have realized that my life will be peppered with difficult tasks, that I will often be tired, that I will have cellulite and wrinkles… that I will yell at my children in supermarkets and stay up on April 13^th to finish my taxes. I will burn chicken, watch copious amounts of television, and let the majority of my dreams fade into the dust.

The brokenness I know now I will know always… Oh, God, how beautiful they all are! They are just as broken as me! And despite the crying, despite the pain, despite the tedium and the torment of days –

                                                                                                                He is whistling. And so can I.

Not a Clog - Barbie and Ken Wedding!

My cousin got married on Saturday.

The whole thing was straight out of Pintrest – alternating bridesmaid dresses, a sunflower in the bouquet, cowboy boots for the reception, lights strung across a barn.

I could break it down into pieces, I suppose. Walking down an aisle in orange heels. Seeing Holly cry. Meeting my 1 ½ year old cousin, Ruth, and receiving little baby kisses. Learning the “God blessed Texas” line dance in the dark. Watching the bride and groom dance in the rain.

But the pieces don’t capture it… The whole experience served as an excellent reminder. The Edwards clan (my mother, her siblings, and all of the families) is far from perfect, but it’s what I’ve got. And I am blessed beyond blessed.

I hope those two end up happy. I hope they grow old together and create something like my family has now.

Clog #4 - My world's on fire, how 'bout yours?

Camp was postponed for 24 hours due to the Waldo Canyon Fire, and camp ended today at 2:30 because of the same fire. Camp is not in any immediate danger, and as far as I've heard, no one has died.

We evacuated in an orderly fashion, forming some sort of convoy from Woodland Park to Colorado Springs (two other convoys went to Littleton and Denver). The four eleven-year-old girls in my car held up really well - we entertained eachother with jokes, songs, and the camp version of a "Bangladesh" accent.

Life goes on.

Can't change that.

My parents and I are staying at some friends' house, far away from the danger. It feels entirely unreal. The drama queen in me is enjoying this adventure, the realist keeps muttering something about what if my house actually burns down...

I don't know. Life would continue on. There would be grace, and trouble, and I'd be more aware of the grace in the times of trouble.

Speaking of grace and trouble, our program team worked together well. Miraculously well. We probably like being around eachother too much. On Tuesday night, when we were supposed to be planning for a game, we shared about the last time we cried (mind you, this is a group that contains a 20-year-old man, two 19-year-old girls who had a major conflict the last time they saw eachother, and an 18-year-old from Texas named Brady). 

We were definitely lacking in the organization and forethought departments, but we made it somewhat smoothly to the evacuation (codename: "birthday").

More to come on the fire when there's more to tell.

Clog #3 - For Ecuador

Here’s the week in numbers:

At the 2012 Varsity Elimpics, Ecuador’s medal count totaled 4: two bronzes (one for long jump, one for cabin clean-up) and two golds (one for synchronized swimming and one for tug-of-war).

Perhaps our numbers weren’t that impressive. But it deserves mention that we are the only cabin in the history of Elim that has done “The Wobble” together in the pool.

My cbf Morgan and I counseled together, which was a good experience… we have different styles, but each had plenty of opportunities with 14 campers.

I read about 30 pages of The Brothers Karamazov. A word from Father Zossima: “If you have been talking to me so sincerely simply to gain approbation for your frankness, as you did from me just now, then of course you will not attain to anything in the achievement of real love; it will all get no further than dreams, and your whole life will slip away like a phantom.”

MY WHOLE LIFE IS A SHAM.

CAN’T CHANGE THAT.

The speaker’s longest closing prayer lasted for about 9 minutes, during which he did 2 altar calls… I wish I had had the courage to get up and walk out.

But then someone might not approve of me anymore, and I don’t think I could handle that.

I’m not sure if anything I did was for Ecuador or for me.

I want to want to be a selfless, humble person who doesn’t fight for attention.

More Words

"Man is a mystery. It needs to be unravelled, and if you spend your whole life unravelling it, don't say that you've wasted time. I am studying that mystery because I want to be a human being."

                                                                                            ~Fyodor Dostoevsky


Hypocrite update! I just considered bringing The Brothers Karamazov with me to camp next week so people would see me reading it...


YHGYUTYRTY*


It's not like I'd have time to read it anyway.

Right?

*face smash against keyboard

Clog #2 - General Silliness

What a weird week.

The new camp catchphrase (which is overtaking “That’s because I’M KATNISS!” by about a mile) is: “CAN’T CHANGE THAT!” The tone is sarcastic (and typically loud). It can be used in any circumstance, but it’s the most effective in situations that actually involve something that cannot be changed.

Sometimes we follow it up with a fist-bump that transitions into a shrug and a look of despondence.

We think we’re FREAKING HILARIOUS.

We’re also freaking injured – incidences from this week include: 2^nd degree burns from hot water, various shoulder/hip/knee maladies and rug burns from a variety of dodgeball called “Protect the President”, blisters (I’m glad that we live in a country and century that allows women to dig postholes), sunburns, broken fingernails, scrapes, and sore feet.

And we’re also all in camp love… which is to say that working with staff members of the opposite sex can be a major distraction… which is to say that no, I don’t actually think I’d date any of them (well, not at the immediate moment…), but I consider working at Christian camp a “window shopping for qualities in a boyfriend” kind of opportunity… and then I remember that a relationship is a sacrifice and not a shopping spree.

I don’t understand that yet. I am not mature enough to even sort of consider whether or not I’d be willing to consider someone else’s life more valuable than mine.

So, I focused more on boys than on grace. Well… I have this weird thing inside of me that sort of rebels against finding security in something that 1. I can’t even pretend to have earned and 2. Doesn’t get me some sort of attention.

At camp, I’m more of an actress and less of a servant.

Hypocrite.

And (since I view others the same way in the same way that I view myself) I go to prayer meetings with a bunch of hypocrites. All the passionate singing, the stiff praying – I’m spitting out sawdust.  

We sit around in circles… singing to Someone and talking to Someone… and it seems so very silly…

Because it is.

The notion that I’m allowed to speak (to ask for things) and to sing (off key) without being struck is quite silly, unless God can be seen as sort of silly (or at least impractical) Himself in his love for me.

Clog #1 - Real or Not Real?

(The next  several paragraphs are about the Hunger Games, if you just don’t want to deal with it, skip down to the part that says “DONE WITH THE HUNGER GAMES CHATTER.”)

It is my great delight to report that the Hunger Games jokes have continued and even intensified with this first week and a half at dear old Elim.

The theme this summer is “The Elimpics,” which has led the program team* to make these kinds of suggestions: “Well, the Hunger Games is the ultimate Olympics, so we could just do that instead – we wouldn’t have to plan anything, we could just throw all the campers in the sports field with some crap from the prop room and let them have at it.”

NOT THAT FUNNY… (but funny enough to dress up like Effie and to wish the odds in favor of the trainees and whisper “Nightlock, nightlock, nightlock” into the radio every once in a while…)

My bcf (best camp friend) Morgan actually likes the Hunger Games, which is strange, because she usually hates “teen novel sensation sweeping the nation” hubbub. She wants her radio handle to be “Katniss” and often retorts in conversation, “Well, that’s because I’M KATNISS!” This declaration is accompanied by the pantomime drawing of a bow and pretend arrows flying around the general vicinity.

My only issue with this is that Morgan is Team Gale. I mean, HOW COULD SHE?

Another programmer, Mark, dubbed himself “Peeta.” When we asked some trainees which Hunger Games character Mark would be, they said, “Cato,” and Mark promptly pitched a pretend fit and threw them out of the program office.

DONE WITH THE HUNGER GAMES CHATTER

The point of all of that is this – I am glad I’m at camp. I’m actually enjoying myself, which is unexpected… When I left for camp on the 30^th, I was crying. Today, I’m leaving at 2:15 to go back. I can’t wait (and not just because of the HG ridiculousness – if I included everything that happens at camp that makes me smile, this blog would be entirely unmanageable).

I am getting so much more than I deserve.

I am awash in grace.

The world is awash in grace.

The state of grace is the only real thing that there is – everything else is self-deception.

My angsty squirrel moments – my frequent fits about not being good enough to deserve grace – are only pride.

The camp show I’m putting on (and believe you me, I’m definitely putting it on), my show of concern, my pretense of intellect, my appearance of faith – even these are awash in grace.

I saw her this week. She came up for the returners’ session on Friday afternoon.

We hugged – she said, “I’m ok.” We smiled. There will probably be more talk about it – but there is GRACE. She is giving me grace. Maybe I'll be able to screw up the courage to accept it.

Jesus once said, “I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.” (Looked up the verse on Google – there’s even grace for THAT).

The following thoughts are borrowed entirely from Brennan Manning’s Ragamuffin Gospel: Jesus was not talking about the innocence or purity of children. First century Palestine did not think of children that way. First century Palestine thought of children as worthless, as useless, as insignificant, as incapable.

Unless I come to terms with the reality of my insignificance and inability to deserve grace, I will remain in the same double-minded Christianity circus sideshow that I have been hiding out in for the past 5 years.  I will remain in the not real.

And I can choose to retreat to the not real whenever I feel like it – yet another shard of grace. I don’t have to choose it.

But.

“What is Good and New about the Good News is the wild claim that Jesus did not simply tell us that God loves even in our wickedness and folly and wants each of us to love each other in the same way and to love him too, but that if we will let him, God will actually bring about this unprecedented transformation in our hearts himself.

What is both Good and New about the Good News is the mad insistence that Jesus lives on among us not just as another haunting memory but as the outlandish, holy, and invisible power of God working not just through the sacraments (q.v.) but in countless hidden ways to make even slobs like us loving and whole beyond anything we could conceivably pull off by ourselves.

Thus the Gospel is not only Good and New but, if you take it seriously, a Holy Terror. Jesus never claimed that the process of being changed from a slob into a human being was going to be a Sunday school picnic. On the contrary. Childbirth may occasionally be painless, but rebirth never. Part of what it means to be a slob is to hang on for dear life to our slobbery.” – Frederick Buechner, Wishful Thinking.

So, if you’ve made it to the end of this, I’m going to ask you to do something that I feel awkward about. Pray for me and for you and for your family and for all the people you know. Pray that we will get it. Pray that we will understand just how insignificant we are. Just how incapable we are. Just how fantastic the grace is. That we don’t have to pretend to believe we are sinners while hiding behind self-righteousness (Manning again) but that we can actually believe that we are sinners and TAKE THE GRACE. Take it and RUN WITH IT. DROWN IN IT. SPEND IT, CONSUME IT, GET DRUNK ON IT, AND GO BACK FOR MORE.

Because our sin is real, but the grace is real-er.

*The program team consists of 8 individuals and 2 teams. 4 people on each team. Each team is in charge of the program for the grade school or middle school camps, of which there are three each, creatively named GS1, MS1,GS2, MS2, GS3, and MS3. On the grade school team: Zoe, Mark (Peeta), Brady, and me. On the middle school team: Morgan (Katniss), Kaitie, Ben, and Justin.

All of us are certifiably insane. I think we're kind of important (which is to say I think I'm kind of important), which God probably thinks is funny, because God keeps introducing me to people like Ashley Graummann, a trainee from last week who legitimately works for God and not for appearances.

M.U.M. (My Unflappable Mother) Quote

"God still likes us to pray, even if we feel like we're talking to the ceiling."

Words

"It'll turn out alright in the end. If it's not alright, it's not the end!"

Mood Swings

Nevermind all that, I now have something to say.

For the next nine or so weeks, this blog will be converted into my camp log. I will *hopefully* be able to record something about each week of camp on Saturdays.

 Clog. No? C-log. Cam-Plog. Plog. Hmmm.

Camp Log…

Ok, clog. (Kid falls and breaks tooth, I get to think to myself, ‘Oh, I’m totally going to clog about this on Saturday’… yep, sticking with clog).

Some thoughts:

1) [This thought brought to you by my drive home earlier this evening] – This summer has the makings of an interesting story… there’s me, the fault-ridden protagonist, attempting to do several things that each have a 50% chance (at the very least) of failure... and who knows how it’s going to end?

·         We interrupt this list to bring you the things that Meredith would define as “failure” for this summer.

o   Looking foolish/hopelessly inexperienced at the staff training or Varsity camps

o    Not achieving a maintainable level of peace with a certain other staff member

o   Remaining indifferent and inauthentic in respects to the whole “relationship with God” thing.

·         We now return to your regularly scheduled list o’ thoughts.

2) [This thought brought to you by my unflappable mother] – “Meredith, you’re not important enough to ruin anyone’s life.”

3) [This thought brought to you by the here and now] – Yeah, mom, except for maybe… MINE. Which is what this whole crazy ordeal has been about all along.

TO BE CLOGTINUED…

:)

AND DONE.

Livin' life on pause...

Getting rained on at State Track Meet  (I'm a hybrid - half has been, half proud mom)

Frequenting the local library (Gregor the Overlander series surprisingly good)

Avoiding exercise

Trying not to think about camp

To Do List

1. Put on groutfit

2. Eat Nutella with a spoon

3. Troll around OUAT fansites... if the writers pull some crappy "When Emma crashed the car in episode one she went into a coma and this whole thing has been a dream," there WILL be blood.

Got so excited about this that I had to tell no one.

Just re-found my favorite microblog (if that's what it's called) site!

News: it's called - iwastesomuchtime.com

I really should have known.

Really.

Man, I need to go to the library... read some books or sommat.

GETTING RID OF SHIT

has been my primary agenda item for the past four days.

Today, the XC shrine came down. During high school, I saved every little scrap of everything that had anything to do with XC - ribbons, pictures, notes, posters, stolen race flags, dried roses, receipts, hotel card keys, medals, napkins, a package of swedish fish - everything. And I tacked it up on the wall beside my bed. All of it. Yes, even the receipts. Once, we went to this place in Arizona called Tia Rosa and I got chicken enchildadas with red sauce and I paid $9.75 plus tax and a tip.

And today, I threw the majority of it in a large black trash bag.

Ahhhhhh.

And now I'm facebook stalking people from high school and thinking, "Why is my life not as good as yours?" and kind of hating myself for it.

Looks like I have lots more shit to get rid of.

Preposition ending FTW!!!

I need to get rid of more shit.

Me thinkest I needeth to getteth rid of moreth shit.

WHY I HAVE SO MUCH SHIT?

This shit is going DOOOOWNNNN!

I like our mess.

I came home.

My mom got new plates - fiesta ware - I've never been so excited about plates. They're all so COLORFUL and they don't match eachother but they match my family and our kitchen and general lifestyle...

We're getting attacked by woodpeckers. My parents attached this fake owl thing to the side of the house to scare them away. A few strong gusts of wind, and the little guy gets flipped upsidedown. No one has bothered to flip him back over...

My dad and I fixed the deck. Well, we ripped up a couple boards and replaced them - just temporary fixes, to keep the whole thing from sagging beneath us. Dad and daughter, repairing the deck, blaring the Mamma Mia! soundtrack all over the neighborhood.

I'm cleaning my room - trying to get rid of everything that I don't need... including some memories.

Two movies thus far - Anonymous and Midnight in Paris.

Church. I have missed that church.

Company coming tomorrow - more cleaning. Grocery shopping. Extra-easy lasagna recipe off the interwebs...

Now listening to Israel 'IZ' Kamakawiwo'ole in the living room with my parents. Stephen and Madison working on math homework in the kitchen.

It's good to be home.

Don't just do something, stand there!

I’m writing this blog in the wee hours of the morning on April 30^th (probably to the dismay of my roommate, who has to listen to my keys clicking in the dark before she can fall asleep again after I woke her up by opening the door to our room and letting all the brightness in because I had to go to the bathroom…) But I feel like I need to write it right now... because tomorrow I’m going to punish Kara by making her read some of my blog, and I wanted to be current.

So, feeling justified, I begin.

This blog was going to be about my experience in Washington County Jail last evening, but I’m not sure how to describe it… I thought I had all of these beautiful and profound things to say.

I should have written down everything they said right after I left, but it was almost too painful – I avoided it, I think. We went and got ice cream. Ice cream. I waltz out of there cracking jokes and get myself a freaking fudge sundae…

And, right now, she’s probably sitting there in block G, freezing, uncomfortable, unable to sleep. Thinking about her daughter - about the reality that her 22 year old child has been sentenced to 10+ years in federal prison, and all she can do is lay in her bunk and try not to break into lots of small pieces.

They don’t get to choose what to wear, or when to go to bed, or when to shower, or what they’re going to listen to, or where they’re going to go, or what they’re going to do with their kids today, or any of that…

They don’t get to know what time it is.

When they ask, the guards reply, “There is no time in Washington County Jail.”

And there really isn’t. For me, the time in Washington County Jail is an hour – punctuated by a car ride to Fayetteville and a hot fudge sundae.

“I’m not going to sleep tonight… not like this. Now that I know what’s going to happen to her…”

“I go to bed… I don’t go to sleep. Shit, there’s no way to sleep in here – have you heard the doors slamming? So when you can’t sleep, you can just come over to my bunk and sit there. I promise, I won’t be asleep, either.”

“Ok.”

And I can flip around my Bible and say things like, “God doesn’t fix our problems right away, but He is present with us in our pain,” all night, but I can’t say anything like that… but I do get to listen.

Cardinal Sins

Cardinal Sin #313: Posting about the Hunger Games twice within a few days after not blogging for two months.

This is what it looks like to commit Cardinal Sin #313:

This semester, I took a class called "Human Growth and Development." I didn't exactly apply myself, but I caught bits here and there.

This semester, The Hunger Games movie came to theaters! I did plenty of research on that topic - books, movie, soundtrack, articles, YouTube interviews, movie companion, internet memes, frequent discussions, and, yes, a cookbook (there's a recipe for mashed turnips, which looks kind of scary, but, I mean, what else are you going to eat in District 13?)

Anyway - here's where the two collide in my mind:

The central idea of the series capitalizes on adolescent cognitive development. The whole process of puberty involves lots of new hormones and brain growth - one result of this is that the limbic system (I FEEL!) begins to have new and improved capacities before the prefrontal cortex (I PLAN!). This causes the adolescent brain to revert to a state of egocentrism (humans also display excessive egocentrism around age 2-6, during which they develop their first theory of mind - or begin to understand that other people also have feelings and thoughts, and their feelings and thoughts might be different the ones that are bouncing around in their own early childhood head).

Adolescents have an intensively developed theory of mind and egocentrism at the same time. This produces some pretty great thought patterns, which relate directly to the wildly successful Hunger Games series:

1. Personal Fable - the adolescent idea that the self is simply destined to become great/famous/successful/etc. Like, I don't know, a 16-year-old girl who just happens to spend her time hunting and hiding in the woods before she nobly sacrifices herself to an authoritarian government for the sake of her beloved sister and ends up surviving a gladiatorial style pageant (complete with extreme makeover!) only to become a nationwide symbol of revolt against said authoritarian government. Yes, at some level, all adolescents desire to protaganize (not a verb) some great adventure that everybody knows about.

2. Invincibility Fable - the adolescent idea that the self is not subject to the same "that's dangerous, don't try it" rules as other people. According to this thought pattern, it is conceivable that, despite all probabilities, one won’t be killed by a conglomeration of knife-throwing girls, burns, lashes, general disregard for instructions, psycho brainwashed boyfriends, and trippy booby traps that would kill anybody else.

3. The Imaginary Audience - the adolescent idea that the self is subject to the constant scrutiny of everyone else in the world. Just as if the self was on TV 24/7. Or, in the words of T-Swift – “Everybody's wai -ting for you to breakdown/
Everybody's wa - tching to see the fallout/Even when you're sleeping, sleeping/Keep your eye-eyes open”. Music From District 12 and Beyond, Track 14.

Of course, Katniss is not your typical adolescent. Sometimes she sounds like one (“PEEETA OR GAAAALE??” I don’t know, K-dog, lemme call the WAH-mbulance... JUST PICK ONE). But I don’t think that the character is prey to these adolescent thought patterns herself – she frequently resents her fame, she knows that her survival is improbable, and she doesn’t THINK that everyone is watching her, everyone IS watching her.

The readers of the Hunger Games, on the other hand, are easily susceptible to the thought patterns that the series (that word is singular and it ends in s... what's the plural of "series"? "Serieses"?) allows them to indulge. It's a tale told in first person present - it's easy to envision oneself as the protagonist - the fated-for-greateness, survive-against-all-odds, important-to-everyone adolescent protagonist. Losing oneself in this fantasy is only too easy, to the deep regret of the part of myself that would like to spend time thinking about more important things.

HUNGER G!!!

Once upon a Hunger Games,

I have not blogged in... a while.

But Sarah said things about me in her blog on February 21, and it made me so happy I decided to mention her in a blog... and me in a blog... figured it'd make both of us happy. Blog happy.

HEY SARAH HEY SARAH HEY SARAH!!!! I LOVE YOU!! Shout out to Hillary, too - you're awesome and I love eating things at your house! Wish I was that lucky more often! I'll stop by during the skype date tonight so we can talk about Winters Bone and that time that you were almost a stand-in for Jennifer Lawrence.

Which is a nice lead in to what have I been doing for the past... uh... two months and one week and a couple days. I have spent more time than necessary obsessing about the Hunger Games...

MEME:

Smirk.

And less time than necessary doing my homework, but we did learn something about Darwin... this picture is funny, though, because Herbert Spencer was the one who actually coined the term "survival of the fittest" - so, here we see Darwin out hipstering the Hunger Games while he is out hipstered by Herbert Spencer.

Yeah, a couple of months ago, I figured I was going to take a siesta from internet activity in order to become more wholly myself... and better disciplined... then I let THIS get in the way:

Not that these are bad things... I've just spent a whole semester playing with trifles... hiding from bigger issues... or at least it feels like it.

I want more from myself. I want more for myself.



Since a good *best* friend has taught me to laugh at myself - I will. Before I go all angsty squirrel on everybody (OMG, Sarah, I googled "angsty squirrel" and found this great image, but it's copyrighted [TIE IN TO ED. FOUNDATIONS!]... first world PROBLEMS...(see link - http://www.flickr.com/photos/28208480@N05/5625732170/in/photostream/)).

So, since I can't produce the angsty squirrel - here's DanRad - Level OP Angst -

"AHHHHHHGNNGHGHHGHG *growly noise* ANNGGHGUGUGH."

Assumptions

Apparently, Watson and Crick didn’t get along. Weird. I saw the photographs in science textbooks – two lanky, nerdy men smiling at a DNA model. The photograph told me that Watson and Crick were buddies. BFFs. I mean, the dudes discovered DNA…

That makes you best friends, doesn’t it?

This is the danger of two dimensions. Two dimensional objects, two dimensional relationships – you just don’t get the whole story. But I base so much off of two dimensions.

And lo, Watson and Crick go down in my personal history book as the best laboratory bromance of all time.

Just how much do I have wrong?

I'M A MESS.

Jordan

This whole thing feels like a test.

Multiple Choice:

1) This summer, I will go

A) To Camp Elim

B) To Jordan

C) Home

D) Nowhere

E) None of the above

2) I am highly concerned about

A) My reputation

B) My identity

C) My lack of international experience

D) All of the above

E) All of the above but mostly A.

3) I am scared to talk to (circle all that apply)

A) Dr. Vila

B) Josh Polly

C) Zoe

D) Morgan

E) My parents

True/False:

1) JBU might not offer the Jordan Studies trip again in the next four years. ___

2) I know how I would pay for a trip to Jordan. ___

3) I have not made any commitments (verbal or written) to Camp Elim. ___

Fill in the Blank:

1) My ________________ for serving at Camp Elim are not pure.

2) I know _______________ other people who are going on the Jordan Studies trip.

Short Essay:

Examine the relationship between Multiple Choice Question 2 and Fill in the Blank Question 1.

Answer Key:

Multiple Choice: 1B; 2E; 3, B, C, and D.

True/False: 1T; 2F; 3F

Fill in the Blank: 1, motives; 2, zero.

Short Essay: Answer should include short description of the February 8 counseling session. During this experience, I discovered that a significant part of my motivation for working at Camp Elim is to preserve my reputation with that organization and prove that my heart towards Zoe has changed. Some references to other insincere camp experiences should also be included, with special emphasis on cry nights. Essence of the conclusion should be as follows: My motives have been questionable in the past, and they are now. This muddles the decision that I need to make.

Cinderella Syndrome

Here’s the thing about Cinderella:

She’s up to her elbows in soap suds every day of her adult life. She has no feasible way out of the demeaning tasks imposed upon her by her imposter of a step-mother and impish step-sisters. Cinderella knows that people are mean, that work is endless, that life is unfair. She goes to bed numb and tired and with every right to be bitter.

But she isn’t, or so the story goes, because she is a dreamer. She dreams of a castle and a tall prince and a white wedding, and she is ok. She can get up to scrub the floor and do the laundry because some irrational part of her is convinced that it’s not going to be like this forever. The circle breaks somewhere.

And then it does.

Does she know that it was going to happen all along? Is that why she dreams?

Or is she simply one of thousands of mistreated scullery maids, special only because she gets what she wants? For every Cinderella, are there countless people who never catch a break?

Destiny or chance?

Maybe choice?

I hope she likes the frickin castle. Not everybody gets one.

Journal Entry (From Sometime During Finals Week)

             "This choice is in your hands.
                              Half a heart never knew anything.
                I want something to break, I want the swell to break. I want
                it all to spill right over.

I want freedom from everything in my life."

He is faithful. He gives us what we ask for. Mostly more.

Stars

I am hanging my laundry (freshly brought it up to my room after it sat for 24 hours in dryer D) And almost unmistakably – “Go to her room. Now.”

I sigh. I’m never sure if that almost unmistakable voice is something Divine or something I cleverly disguise as such.

But. But… I’m folding and hanging, I tell the voice. Yeah, I don’t have time. I’m folding. And then I am in the hallway, walking to her room. Maybe she needs me. She needs encouragement. Yeah, it’s a mission from God. I’m like the Blues Brothers.

I knock on the door.

“Come in!”

I do. She’s not even there. It’s her roommate and another girl that I don’t know very well. It’s a little awkward. We hate on homework a bit.

And then, a frenzy of words from them: “Oh, we have to show her!” “Oh, yeah, I’ll get the lights!”

I am confused. Am I getting kidnapped? Suddenly, the room is dark. Except for the glow and the dark stars sticky-tacked to the wall. It’s glorious. We go crazy.

YAY STARS LOOK AT THEM THEY’RE SO TINY OH I LOVE THEM IT’S LIKE A BUNCH OF BABY CONSTELLATIONS IN YOUR ROOM YOU SHOULD GET MORE OF THEM YAY.

And then the lights are back on. The magic is over. We chat a little more, and I take my leave.

And almost unmistakably, “I wanted to give you a gift.”

Oh.

I guess it was God that time.

I am Ungit.