The Midnight (Plane) to Georgia

Well, I'm in Atlanta at the Oral History Association's annual national conference. I don't have my cord here to upload pictures, nor do I really have many that really capture what this experience has been. Mostly because you can't go all shutterbug-gy on your professor and the one other student you're traveling with.

That just wouldn't look right in pictures. That, and it would just be awkward. So mostly I just have pictures of this swank hotel room (no offense to the fall break hotel) and the outfit I wore today because I ironed and that made me feel old. Or at least a legitimate conference-er.

But then I texted mom and dad a picture of myself all dressed up just to make sure they were a part of this "first" in my life as if it were my first day of kindergarten. That kind of detracted from the scholarly mood I had going.

Why am I here, you ask? I'll steer clear of the very long philosophical path I could take on that one, for your sake and for mine. For my sake because I have a 4-5 page paper to write and for yours because you don't want a 4-5 page paper on my thoughts on the purpose of life. Win/win. I guess I just figured it was high time for an update, and for some reason I never feel as compelled to bring my random thoughts/happenings here as I used to, for better or for worse. I think it might be that I know I have a bit of a readership now and I don't want y'all to think that I actually expect you to care about the really inconsequential things going down.

I also would like to have on record that I spent 3 hours stuck at Reagan, then 3 1/2 hours on the plane (in addition to the 1 h. 45 m. flight time) with Dr. Rigelhaupt and Christiane and they were some of the most enjoyable hours of my undergraduate career (I threw that phrase in there to bring the professional ora back). We were so delirious last night when we got to the hotel around 11:45.

Finally, I wanted to feel like I was doing some sort of something productive while I watch Game 2 of the series (shame on them rangers for Game 1... but HEY! THE RANGERS ARE IN THE SERIES!!!) and also the office.

*Then* I will start my paper.

Oh, my. Forget the midnight train, yours truly will be burnin' the midnight oil. But this has been SO worth it. Shout out to the fine people at the Dean's office of UMW for limiting the cost of this weekend to my own procrastination. :)

On Unexpected Delights and Reminders

Most people who know me see me as a pretty off-the-cuff kind of person. It's how my humor, schedule, and brain work (not always successfully). Flexibility is my ebb and flow. So to begin feeling significantly thrown off by a relatively harmless happening means that something is a little too tightly wound up there in my head. Or, worse yet, my heart.

So as I kicked and screamed, God decided to carve out for me a brilliant retreat. An introvert's paradise, sponsored by Delta. An hour and a half sitting on the plane at the gate in Richmond threatened (and then ruined) my chances of catching my connection in Atlanta. Ironic, I thought, since we were on a "Delta Connections" plane. No later flights out of Atlanta meant staying the night there.

It was much more frustrating in my head than it sounds, believe you me.

I was just ready to be home and woe is me and all of that. It was easier to accept once there was no question that I'd miss the ATL flight and when the 3 year old girl in front of me started being hilarious.

"Momma, it's getting dar-yark-- we should probably get going..."

"Think we should tell 'em, Mom?"

"You know what's good about Georgia? If you like it you can love it, if you don't like it, you don't have to go there. It's easy."

"Momma, where I'm from?"

Just can't help but smile at these things. Then we got to Atlanta and there were patrons with their panties all in a wad enough for all of us, so I figured I should just let it go already and get happy because, well, it really wasn't anyone's fault. Don't try telling that to Joe Throwafit at the counter, though.

I got my vouchers and my boarding pass for 8:30 a.m. on Friday and went to set up shop at the food court. As I sat, munching on my amazing hot dog and fries (really the best of both that I've ever had), the place cleared out and I realized it was mostly just me and the airport. Well, and the people at different restaurants around the court joking around with each other with brooms and mops and "you missed a spots" and "that is not my jurisdictions." Airports are loud and bustling. But somehow it's an oasis for me and I'm okay to just have my piece of still amongst it all.

God knows that tendency of mine. Probably knew I needed it, too. And there it was. Like a wave thats repeatedly crashed against this pier even as I've desperately tried to fortify the exterior against its rush-- there is a purpose for this. It's not a nuisance or even an easy-going attitude to accommodate the glitch in plans. It's not anything of my doing either way-- not any more than a weakening pier can withstand the growing force of hurricane winds, there to make a point.

It finally crossed my mind that maybe God had a point to make. And maybe I should be taking notes. Or, better yet, communicating with Him. So I did, with surroundings that I've always loved. Knowing it was in His hands made the rest of the adventure not only bearable, but desirable. A theme our entire family is beginning to pick up on as we pack ourselves and 21 years up and move it all to Fayetteville.

I arrived at the Days Inn around 11:30 p.m. and was so ready to crash but just couldn't. I was too hyped up remembering everything I love about hotel rooms (after already falling back in love with airports). Even those crazy hotel rooms that you're staying alone in on creepy Phoenix avenue. I had to stay awake for this stepping stone into adulthood-- a milestone solo-mission-style sleepover. I really couldn't even contain myself, let alone choose which of my two double beds to sleep on (I went with the one on the right, not that you care).

Ghetto hairdryer coming off the wall.

Ice bucket! I didn't even have a drink that needed ice, but the trip to the ice machine is such an integral part of any hotel stay.

Terrible coffee that you just have to make because it's there and so convenient and so perfect for bathtime with unlimited, immediate hot water.

Sunflower and grapefruit soap: who knew?!

1993 wallpaper border straight out of my parents bedroom (really, the same one).

Calling the front desk for a wakeup call.

Lights that you have to turn on lamp by lamp (highly scary the first time you enter the room and can't see a dang thing).

Free wifi (by which to write the post that I did that night) and satellite tv (that I fell asleep to).

Complementary breakfast (that I was up too early for, rude!)

I even almost put my clothes in the drawers just because there were so many of them and, you know, because I could. There was so much freedom, and that is no joke.

I don't go about my days feeling stifled. I have a family very supportive of my independent venture north and friends who want nothing but happiness for me. More than that, I worship and seek to serve a God whose very purpose in sending a Savior was to bring freedom to a world then-stifled by Old Testament law. I wonder how many of us still feel burdened by a law eradicated 2000 years ago that finds new avenues to make itself applicable today. How many held back by Satan not dangling bad things in front of us (though he does plenty of that and I, personally, hate him for it) but convincing us that good will do. How many, like me, are frustrated by finding that good is never enough like he promises. See, if anything, my shackles are those that I clench around my own fist-- this idea that if I could just make everyone happy, the world would be a peace. I enslave myself to keeping the peace, to looking blameless, to pleasing people.

But here I was, in either a horror movie or a dream come true, fed, bathed, caffeinated, comfy and warm free to be. Free to admit my faults and recognize hurt. Free to clear my mind and let it be enough-- a springboard, at least-- that I was, indeed, fed and (relatively, hopefully... but in all honestly, truly) safe. Free to be glad about that and not guilty for it. Not guilty for feeling positive and rested, peaceful and optimistic. Guilty only for judging myself by a law, a standard, that I'm freed from to begin with. Guilty only for distancing myself from the real standard-- the one of grace set forth by the living God who wants to come into my every day, my every action. The righteous God who gave all He had to put out the self-righteous flame underneath me in favor of imparting it to me through refinement and forgiveness. The God who promises His presence in the process. He was there and we were free to meet and I don't know that I was appropriately awed at that at the time (I was sidetracked by the tricks listed above).

I am so thankful for it now. As the rest of this break has flown by and been such fun in the company of my blood folk, as I look forward to a lot of work-- academically and emotionally, and as I think of the future in terms of careers (per the airport time, I am re-pumped for the flight attending option) I am not only grateful for the oasis time, but also for that freedom to meet with Him during any of that which anxiously knocks at the door. Thankful for the delight, but mostly for the reminder that accompanied it.

The Eye of the Beholder

They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

(no I will not cite my source, I did entirely too much of that here)

On Wednesday night (when I masqueraded around like a member of the "Yates" family and as 180 middle school leader), Maddie (whom I convinced I was cool because I spelt her name the french way on her name tag: Made with an accent on the "e") kept giving me a hard time for proclaiming everything "beautiful."

Everything from someone's name to their hoodie (who doesn't love hoodie weather?!) to their court moves-- I had no problem expressing my affection.

She also said, "I wish I had a penny for every time you 'liked' something." And, having seen The Social Network for two nights in a row, I told her that Mark Zuckerberg did have a penny for every time somebody 'liked' something and then she looked at me like I'm crazy and now I'm hooked on Middle School 180.

Those kids are beautiful and their hearts are hungry. Most just want to be "cool" but no so much yet that they're afraid of acting CRAZY, which is one characteristic you just have to embrace about them. What's sad to me is that they're trying trying trying to be cool and few have any clue that they already are. What's ironic is that the kids who think they've attained the coveted moniker are actually the least fun of them all. I sit in a room discussing temptation with these girls and can't help but think "if you only knew." As Maddie makes fun of how quick I am with the word "beautiful", I wish I used it a little more carefully so that when I tell them they are beautiful girls, they'd hear the depth of my conviction and not just some slang.

They don't see themselves the way I see them. How could they? But if they could just listen, just get to know about me, trust me when I warn them of their instinct to chase chase chase "cool, rich, sexy, funny, hot, best, etc."

The thing about kids and the not-kids-for-much-longers is that the more time you spend with them, the more you'll see yourself in them. No matter your age. And, for me at least, the more you'll understand about God.

We don't see ourselves the way He sees us. How could we? But if we could just listen, get to know Him, trust Him when he wards us of our instinct to chase chase chase "cool," wealth, status, attention, popularity, addiction, pleasure.

Where I am, right now (oh yeah, that's coming), He thinks I am beautiful. That doesn't mean He loves my choices or my actions or my thoughts-- just like I know there must be some things going on in the lives of the ladies I sat in front of and discussed temptation with that I wouldn't so much approve of. But that wasn't what mattered as I looked them in their eyes and saw them for the potential they hold and the things they'll go through that don't have to be carried alone. Choices, actions, thoughts and all--God looks me in the eyes and says "pay attention, because you just don't know what is next."

The fact that He would do so--look past all the stuff He sent Jesus in the world to redeem to get right to my heart-- puts a conviction in me to confront what needs to change. Oh He sees it. Like when our RA came the other day and saw Solomon the illegal cat livin' up in our apartment. He waited for us to admit it. "Oh yeah, that's our cat..." That's when it's on the table for His forgiveness. How much better is "forgiven" than "looked past?"

"Looked past" lets things fester. Just like the desire for "cool" in the 7th grade becomes the desire for "cool" all wrapped up in sex and alcohol in the 11th, so pride right now becomes pride all wrapped up in hurt relationships and a haughty spirit down the road. I could see it for the girls, God can see it in me. To avoid it down the road means to address it and prepare a defense now.

Today. And then tomorrow. And then the next day. Each one with a beauty all its own. The beauty He saw in me the first day, and the beauty in watching me grow. I don't always see it. But it's in the eye of the beholder. And the beholder?

It's Him.