...Don't Wear It Out

Tonight in my insomnia brought on by a premature nighttime nap that was brought on by staying up until 4:30 to write my paper last night, I give you what I believe to be my best nickname.

On my first day of work, Coco Lopez* got stuck onto my name badge right under "Sadie" and it just sort of stuck. At the time it was just such a relief to realize that I was going to love working with those people and get to know each of them. They have not disappointed.

Well, except for Jordan Bone Thug, my boss, who apparently can't keep records for the life of him and continuously (read: twice) be texting me trying to axe for my address again.

Good thing Coco's got the patience of a caribbean traveler with a few pina coladas down in them.

*It is, so you know, the coconut ingredient we use for any smoothie with coconut involved (Tropicolada, anyone?!)

Got Jack?

(another post I wrote for the consumerism blog... bear with me, school is in full swing!)



In life there are real nationwide tragedies-- and then there are tiny miniscule personal tragedies of no true consequence.

Similarly, there is real life and then there is television.

In addition to this, there are television shows that depict life in real time. When I say "shows" plural, I really mean one show and it is called 24. One small personal tragedy of mine (of no real consequence) occurred in the fall of 2007 when the Writers Guild of America went on strike, and the Screen Actors Guild followed suit, making it impossible for the cast and crew of 24 to work their magic. What resulted was a 20 month absence of Jack Bauer from broadcast television. Perhaps you, also, remember this time.

Again, for the record, I understand that there is a distinct difference between real life and just television. But this particular series had by this time become a part of my life, and its temporary cancellation was deeply (or shallow-ly... you decide) mourned. Until my dad said "Sadie, lift up your head and behold, 24 on DVD" (it was something along those lines). So while there's nothing like a new hour of the exhilarating series, re-watching episodes from seasons 1-6 held me over, and those box sets might be one of my best made purchases.

The show has since resumed regular broadcasting and added a seventh season to its repetoire. If you want to see the story from beginning to present, you can obtain all seven seasons from Amazon.com for $179.99. I understand that this is just not very economical, so you could buy individual seasons at your own pace from $8.95 to $20.48 used or new from $14.99 to $39.99 (depending on which season you buy). Season 7 was the first to be released on Blu-ray at $42.99 new or used from $34.18. If you prefer to buy in person as opposed to online (if only because you do not want to wait for it to ship following its release date), any of these seasons are regularly available at WalMart and Target, occasionally going on sale for $19.99 a piece.

There is no official retailer's warning, but I will have you know that it is highly addictive, so you are going to want to reserve a weekend before you begin watching. Even though I have this show to thank for many wasted hours in front of a television, I have chosen to recommend this item because, jokes of personal tragedy aside, this really is one of the best shows on television, unique in its concept and execution of plot. The real star of the show is not Kiefer Sutherland, who skillfully portrays Federal Agent Jack Bauer, but the real time format. Each hour long episode represents one hour of Bauer's hectic life ridding the world of evil. With 24 episodes, one season represents one full day of Bauer's adventures. If you are thinking it sounds boring, well, you don't know Jack.

Terrorist plots, the threat of nuclear weapons, kidnapping drama, assassination attempts, the struggle to maintain meaningful personal relationships, and more loom over not only Jack Bauer, but also his coworkers, family, and friends. The characters work together to protect civilians, keep the country safe and bring the day to an end by just about any means necessary. While it is not necessarily realistic in that Jack Bauer almost always gets stellar phone reception and can drive across Los Angeles in 10 minutes, the show does engage real issues such as the ethics involved in torture and the politics involved in waging war or maintaining defense.

Ultimately, if it's worth Jack's time, it's worth your time! Forget real life for a while and go get you some Jack...

Watercolor Friend

It's crazy, before her big surprise 22nd birthday bash on Saturday, if you'd asked me to describe Sarah Holljes (I know I forgot the two dots, but how do you even go about getting them there, Sarah?), my number one adjective would have been "colorful."

Funny, then, that we guests spent the majority of our time at the party engrossed in watching Dances With Wolves making slightly ridiculous but mostly heartfelt tribute paintings to our friend using all sorts of color.

Because that's just what she is. Colorful.

No, not just in terms of her selection of words to express surprise (and hopefully delight?) at the presence of a dozen of her friends being shoved into her room, she is also colorful in her choices of clothing, her decorative style, her taste in art, but mostly (and bestly), in her personality.

It's like being around her you never know what you're going to get, except for you always know you're going to get honesty and spirit and probably be able to leave having found something to share some laughter over with her. Or at least that's my experience. She's just got this passion. That pops.

Like color.

Like watercolors.

Watercolors that do not do her justice

but do try and capture something of what she means to each of us.

Peterso pretty much covered all of the bases (uh hmm. then covered them in green)

"The King is enthralled by your beauty, honor Him for He is your God." -Psalm 45:11

Pondering

¹ Praise the LORD.

I will extol the LORD with all my heart

in the council of the upright and in the assembly.

² Great are the works of the LORD;

they are pondered by all who delight in them.

³ Glorious and majestic are his deeds,

and his righteousness endures forever.

⁴ He has caused his wonders to be remembered;

the LORD is gracious and compassionate.

⁵ He provides food for those who fear him;

he remembers his covenant forever.

⁶ He has shown his people the power of his works,

giving them the lands of other nations.

⁷ The works of his hands are faithful and just;

all his precepts are trustworthy.

⁸ They are steadfast for ever and ever,

done in faithfulness and uprightness.

⁹ He provided redemption for his people;

he ordained his covenant forever—

holy and awesome is his name.

¹⁰ The fear of the LORD is the beginning of wisdom;

all who follow his precepts have good understanding.

To him belongs eternal praise.

If Money Were No Object

I wrote my very first submitted essay assignment of spring semester today. Since it is technically a blog post, each student gets a little creative license-- with the ability to include pictures and add anecdotes and what not. Basically what I do here except for over there it's graded. Tonight you get a little "in" to my academic side.

I thought maybe sharing family stuff would be a little too personal at first, but then remembered that this girl basically sprawled her emotional anger issue problems that involved her dad giving up a high profile job in D.C. as an anesthesiologist to go to South Dakota and work as a general practitioner on one of the indian reserves for a major salary cut and to take a "hick" wife and how she has mixed feelings about it because she's trying to keep up the image of a socialites daughter living in the city with her mom from whom he was divorced. Up against that I felt obligated to bring an honesty to my story as well.

When I first heard her drama, my response was "wow, that's messed up." But she was willing to admit it. And in order to express the redemption in our family that I believe comes from knowing God and asking his help and forgiveness, I have to be up to exposing the flaws that need tending to in the first place.

More to come on the topic of flaws and money. In a God-sized amount.

Money, Objectified

by Sadie Smith

I distinctly remember Christmas 2008 at the Smith household. My mother instigated what was a good-natured little conversation piece at dinner. The “game” was called, “if money was no object.” The objective was to go around the table—my parents, two siblings, and sister-in-law—and explain what we would gift each other with and why if money was no object. According to Juliet Schor, however, there was more at play than an innocent game. Whether or not we realize it, families around the proverbial American dinner table find themselves in a world of desire that both contributes to and is the product of a new consumerism.

Schor asserts on page 71 of her book The Overspent American: Why We Want What We Don’t Need, that “while fantasy and imagination are important, we should not lose sight of the fact that much of this wishing is really wanting—wanting that turns into buying.” My family borders on the bracket Schor describes—the half of the world’s richest country who say they can’t afford all they need. It’s not an income issue and our standard of living is hardly poor—indeed it is quite the opposite—but the pinch at the end of the month stems from poor money management. The problem, Schor points out, is that the GDP has increasingly become our nations plumb line for true quality of life (21). We buy more, we spend more, we produce more, sure. Still, does a perpetual want for more actually lead millions of Americans to the established social position they, according to Thorstein Veblen’s Theory of the Leisure Class, aspire to as they continue spending the money they do not have? (6) Judging by survey results that show many think “materialism is ruining the country, perverting our values, and damaging our children,” competitive consumption for the sake of status is hardly making life better for the Smiths—no matter how it may look to the Joneses or whoever the increasingly unattainable “reference group” happens to be this year (24).

The reason this consumerist culture persists, argues Schor, is not because of a natural, personal or individual tendency to find worth in consumption. Instead, it has much to do about habitus—socially produced tastes that indicate whether or not an individual “fits in” (29). Somewhere along the way, producers and their representatives received the power to determine which items would carry what status. It is a code system so engrained that even if money was no object, a person would reach for the polo shirt over the knock off Wal-Mart style because it is “better” (39). The same code system leads people to spend more money on a living room verses a bedroom or on lipstick verses moisturizer. We invest in visible symbols to simply be seen (45-51). If we are not spending to keep up, we are buying to look different. As we discussed in class, people first went green to be different, though it is now a fad. The video we watched pointed out that trends begin with the individual thinkers, the free spirits, the cool. Keeping up with cool, and spending to do so, has become our national pastime as marketing agencies fight to stay ahead of cool and sell their product to the Smith family of 30,000 dollars as they do to the Jones family of 300,000 dollars. The message is if you have the money, perfect. If you do not have the money, then it will be worth the splurge. What results when the Smiths simply cannot afford to splurge is a world of debt (73). They are told not to be jealous, but encouraged every day in many ways to compete by upscaling. The concern about debt gets taken out back with the old cabinets, now remodeled, as, like teenagers, consumers like the Smiths just try to keep up and stay “in.”

There is a point in time for many families, as there has been for mine, when we cannot simply pile the recycling on top of our debt and call it a day, having done our part to change the world with our earth-consciousness. For these families, money has long not been an object—it has been a swipe of a plastic rectangle. There comes a sobering realization that money is, indeed, an object, and there can be a lack of it. This epiphany might mean cutting back on what you buy for the parents you admire and the siblings you adore. Though I would like to offer them so much more at the time of year that inspires me to love my family the way I believe God loved the world when he sent his son on Christmas, it is also very freeing to come to the knowledge that money is just an object and that, subjectively, social status is not really all the Jones’ crack it up to be. What one does with this information has everything to do with how, and if, we begin to see a change in this consumer culture of ours—a topic of conversation we have already begun to touch on in our discussion of the American downshifter.

Only One

So they (and in this case we're talking the people who name the episodes of Alias and/or ABC) say that there is only one Sydney Bristow.

But.

I'm thinking

Kathlean Davis

might be

one of Sydney's

aliases.

(just a theory)

Also I am obligated to take this time and share with you a text I received yesterday morning from Deirdre:

"Victor(y)

THEREFRE I AM NOT A WIMP AND LOOKED AT IT SO GIVE ME SOME CREDIT ON THE BLOG! Besides, I was sleeping when it went off and didn't want to get out of bed."

And in other news, we had a pretty awesome birthday party for Sarah tonight-- stay tuned (it's not really her birthday. yet.)

Unsuccessful

So far I have only failed at two days of NaBloPoMo.

The first day I missed because I was ordering 19 books off of various websites... 3 different times.

Last night I didn't post because I was busy setting mouse traps... in 3 different places.

As it turns out, the little white house (aka: la petite maison blanche) has its first rodent visitor (resident?). I've named him Victor because that is the brand of trap that we used and also because I have this ridiculous need to name everything. I ended up spending the night at the girls house because, well, you should have heard the screaming. Actually, only Dina screamed and only when she found the huge hole Victor had eaten through her closet. Deirdre had this shaky/panic look going on and I really couldn't help but intensely desire to be there when one or both of them heard the "snap!" (we know exactly how this snap would sound, you see, because Noelle trapped her finger at least 3 times while attempting to arm the devices. I laughed-- but you could've guess that)

There is nothing like 3 girls at Walmart trying to find a.) where the mouse traps even are and b.) which mouse trap to buy. In true college fashion, we bought the cheapest. But not before calling Deirdre's boyfriend for advice. Afterwards, Dina called her dad and spoke half farsi/half english. One sentence began in really fast, really dramatic farsi and ended with "no I'm not going to touch it!!"

Another favorite moment was when Dina walked in on us preparing the traps. I immediately clarified, "no, we do not think there are mice in your house." It didn't work, she panicked. And then went on about how she thought it was just some annoying bird outside of her window making all the scratching noises upstairs.

Anyway, I spent the night for no real reason (except for, of course, the excellent company of the ladies) because there was no Victor come morning. Or at least no Victor in the victor traps. Deirdre thinks they caught him tonight but doesn't have the guts to look.

Wimp.

All I know is that I tried to help. And I was unsuccessful.

Unlike this night, which has been completely successful on all accounts. Except for the homework account. But I learned about a really cool filibusterer (not like congress filibustering but like a wannabe pirate/revolutionary/self-proclaimed president in 19th Century Latin America from Tennessee), had some fun studying the bible, had great fun with Katie Durham at Castiglias chillin' with our waiter named Timmy (though nicknamed Skippy when we couldn't remember his actual name) who went next door to buy us gilatto when I acted upset that they didn't have any ice cream for dessert and he "forgot" to put my diet pepsi on the ticket and then got back in my car, which was parked in front of a mustang with "pnygrl" tags, and headed home to watch some hilarious office and random episodes of 24 from its worst but most comical season (6). Nina and Hollji made guest appearances and we watched as Mika made the point that big girls really are beautiful with his inspired music video.

And so, with that, I'm turning in for the night.

3400

A number so big it makes me cringe.

A number many children don't even know exists. Not just because they may not ever see it in dollars but because many don't have the education to count that far.

A number so seemingly unattainable.

A number more attainable for me than for many, many millions of people.

A number too big to even ask.

A number too big to chip away at, it seems.

A number I'm going to pray about for a good long time.

A number that feels selfish to spend going to see people who could probably put it to much better use.

A number that came out of the blue tonight. Or maybe not so much. You never know in the age of surfing the net.

A number that could mean huge things for my life.

A number that could be just that. A number.

A number that seems silly to spend on just 12 days when I'm fairly certain I would go to stay. And that would seem like a much better use of that number.

I have yet to say "dollar" because I know that's just not how God thinks. (which is really not to say I know how God thinks) I would guess that to him 3400 is just a number. Not just a number to him? The 2 million known orphans in Uganda. Each one is as precious to him as I am. I kind of long for them to know that.

But right now, 3400 and 2 million both seem like big freaking numbers. Unreachable, even.

What's that you say about Facing My Giants, Max Lucado?

...

Nightmare

There are some who say that if Martin Luther King, Jr. could see the world we live in today, he'd be rolling over in his grave.

And though I don't entirely understand that phrase, really, I'd likely go on to tell them that "hello, our president is black, all of our racial issues are solved."

What? You mean they're not? Well let's give him a peace prize anyway.

The thing is that I don't think racial issues in this country are solved and I don't think we're all horrible people because they aren't. It's just a deep and rooted issue of hate and ways of life or at least thinking that doesn't go away overnight or in a generation and it's no one's fault except for everyone's fault because no one is perfect, meaning all people have sinned so even *if* it was a sin to have a different skin color or have less money or be born of a slave heritage let he who is without sin cast that first stone.

Well, James Earl Ray did, theoretically, throw a stone-- but literally a bullet-- and it really got us nowhere. So now that we've tested that plan of action, can we stop with the stereotyping and the fear and the entitlement and the bitterness and the anger and the "colorblindness," please? If it was only that simple, right?

Well, for me, it was that simple. For seven years the moral of the Martin Luther King, Jr. story was that we're all created with equal value, we all matter, we all have rights that once were not guaranteed for all Americans but should have been all along, so always fight for that right and believe that because MLK, Jr. could make a difference in this world, so can you. Rich or poor, black or white, male or female, you have the capacity to love your enemy and do what's right and create a society of compassion and understanding.

Then I left the walls of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Interdistrict Elementary Magnet School and found out that to the real world all of that was a bunch of idealistic crap (excuse my french).

Except for that I believe it is true and possible. And so do the little minds that shuffle those halls day in and day out singing a song about the "place where they can win" and "hearts can mend." That's the beauty of little kids, they don't really care what happened in the past because they have no real concept of it yet and then when they do they still don't really see the big deal and are much more ready to "move on" than the teachers reading all the books about the successful Civil Rights Movement truly are.

Will they always graduate from the 5th grade to a world that then tells them it's impossible, that the hate is too deeply rooted, that race-based economic inequality is too systemic? Or at some point will the kids who were first taught that democracy is a system that allows for change unlike any other government running ideology be the teachers and the students be hearing about the success of the Civil Rights Movement from people who truly believe it and are free from the bitter live color images of that violent time in America, which mostly live on in black and white. Yes, at some point, having gone from live color memories to old black and white images, remembrances will not be as sharp and cutting and wounds will not resurface, be they of the inflicted or the inflictor, with every mention of race.

Then maybe the mindset of decency and, dare I say it, acceptance will not just be the world of children aged pre-k to the fifth grade. Maybe it would also be the world that receives them come 6th grade and beyond. Maybe it could be our world.

He didn't call it a dream because he thought he'd live to see it. He surely didn't call it a dream because it would provide for some catchy phrases that we could quote to pat ourselves on the back and say "by, Barack, we've done it!" And we may not be the dream, what with Bush hating black people and all (sarcasm), but we aren't the nightmare King was living when he dared to dream.

The real nightmare would be if we honestly felt we'd already achieved the dream and stopped looking for ways to love each other better and serve each other more selflessly. Then King would be rolling over in his grave for sure-- and the thing is, I wouldn't care. After all, he's "free at last, free at last." The one I'd care about being mortified and ashamed would be Jesus Christ, who doesn't have a grave to roll around in because he beat it. He beat it because he loved us and so that we could love him back the way we were always meant to. Shame on us if that restored relationship doesn't manifest itself in love for the people we interact with.

Not because it's in violation of King's dream, but stands in direct contrast of God's plan.

Thanks for the federal holiday and all, but if there's something to celebrate it's that in all of this brokenness-- from fire hoses in montgomery to more recent earthquakes in Haiti--, God doesn't just have a dream, He has a plan.

And He's looking for active participants.

On Any Given Sunday

... you may wake up to a note like this laying on the table (it is now on our refrigerator for safe keeping).

Also, your balcony door might look a little like this.

And you may have no recollection of any sort of glass-breaking, alarming noise during the night (which is a little lot concerning to you, considering that you now know not just how easy it is for someone to get in, but also how well you can sleep through it).

In a moment of clarity you may remember your beloved "flatmate," Claire, waking you up lovingly to ask for a band aid.

And it makes sense.

Well, as much as getting stuck on the balcony at 7 in the morning and busting your way through the door to get back in can make sense.

Yes, Claire locked herself out and, in frantically beating the door to get our attention, put her arm through the window.

Classic.

So, on any given Sunday, you might get semester, nay, life long joke fodder that you never expected to have.

There is something to praise God for on this given Sunday.

I'm Good

I don't know you. I don't know what you're into. But if you happen to be into Virginia Baptist Mission Board Baptist Collegiate Ministries Council Meetings, I know exactly where you should definitely shouldn't go.

And that is to Panera at 11 a.m. on January 16, 2010 in Charlottesville.

Luckily for you, the time has passed so you don't have to worry about it and I went there today at that time to make sure none of you would make that mistake. I'm nice stupid like that.

Turns out that if you're into the VBMB meeting thing, you should wait a week and then drive to Charlottesville. When there is a meeting. Definitely don't drive there today (by now a certainly impossible feat), it could be a waste of your time.

I, myself, am into the council thing and got a tad bit ahead of myself today, driving to Charlottesville for nothing. But in true turn-lemons-into-lemonade-and-crawl-under-Katie-Jones'-skin-fashion, it turned out that nothing was something, after all. Because a Bodo's BLT bagel, a beautiful park, and a whole lot of free time all work pretty nicely together. (you know, after a little shopping in Panera's shopping center).

After arriving to the meeting to find, well, no meeting, I couldn't very well just turn right back around and head home. So I spent some time just talking to God, instead. And what I got out of that was basically the same message-- Sadie, you can't very well just turn right back around and head home. Except for "home" in the latter is Little Rock home, where I often feel I do a whole lot less of saying the wrong thing and acting the wrong way and writing papers. At the very least that home has a mom whose arms I can lay in when I'm sick as opposed to the cold bathroom floor of a musty college building.

But I'm here now and God has made himself too abundantly clear that this is where I'm supposed to be for me to doubt it because I don't feel good or because some words rubbed me the wrong way or because I have 19 books to read.

I got a little dose of that today in my car, in a park, in the presence of a God whose character and grace I long to know and have some of.

And though we had a little heart to heart today at a time and place I truly felt God brought me to, I honestly feel a little out of sorts, still. Because this isn't home. But then, really, neither is home home. And there's this uneasiness in me, even a physical discomfort, that makes me desperate for something to cling to.

I praise God tonight because I know I have that something. It's always hard to realize all over again that it's not any one person or any one place that will not let you down. I am literally on my knees humbly bowed before God because while I know I have "that something," knowing him is something different entirely. I feel like I'm both at the point where I know God is my only hope for feeling secure and satisfied and patient but at the same time realizing that I don't know him like I know how to anticipate Katie throwing things at me or how to respond to Emily's lyrical text messages or how Dad will sneeze incessantly after any big meal or how Luke will greet me with an "ey, girl" or just how much sitting down at starbucks over a fresh cup of coffee means to Noelle or how Ashley will continue to bring me vegetable oil well beyond when she should've started getting sick and tired of it because she looks for ways to serve.

I just don't know God like that. I mean, on some level, I never will because he doesn't have food allergies or ingredients. But you know those things you get to know about a person when you spend an intimate amount of time with them? Getting to the point of realizing I don't have that time invested where it means the most is concerning.

And so, being brought here-- to this place both physically and spiritually--is enough confirmation to me that I can't very well turn right back around and go home. There is too much to learn here. Academically, spiritually, socially. You name it.

I'm good with that.

Because can you imagine getting good with merely God (ha! merely God. wow.)? Just think...

"Sadie, want to be in the comfort of your own bed?" No thanks, I'm good.

"Sadie, want to be rich and unconcerned with the bill at your favorite stores?" No thanks, I'm good.

"Sadie, want to get married and have kids?" I'm good.

"Sadie, want to be perfectly healthy?" I'm alright.

"Sadie, want to have your way with your life?" No thanks, I'll be alright.

What I believe now is that I will be alright, that God does have things taken care of. What I want is to still believe in the sufficiency of God in the absence of the things mentioned above (which would all be pretty nice). I want to know him like that. And that desire is what has me in tears when Selah's "I Surrender All" comes on in my car.

All to Jesus I surrender

All to him I freely give

I will ever love and trust him

In his presence daily live.

I surrender all

I surrender all

All to thee, my blessed savior

I surrender all.

All to Jesus I surrender

Humbly at His feet I bow.

Worldly pleasures all forsaken,

Take me Jesus, take me now.

I surrender all.

What would it cost to really believe these words? What scares me is that I want to know. What scares me more is to live my entire life and not know.