An Irish Blessing For An Irish Girl On Her Birthday (sort of)

"May the road rise up to meet you,

May the wind be ever at your back

May the sun shine warm upon your face

And the rain fall softly on your fields

And until we meet again, May God hold

you in the hollow of his hand."

It's gotten pretty late, for another night in a row, and I can't upload my pictures from tonight's shindig because, in contrast to last night, the roommate is sacked out.

But I couldn't let the night slip by without mention of this beautiful friend, whom we celebrated tonight. She's the first of our freshman gang to turn 21 and her example all along has been how to really grow up in college. Among many other things she has taught me not to preach at people, the importance of inclusion, the necessity of variety amongst friends, endurance and patience. She has probably even taught me whether or not "has taught" is bad grammar. She works hard and plays hard. Her laughter is authentic, her respect is earned and her love is giving-- just look at my wardrobe.

She goes by many names and has created a few for me, but for now and for always I'll know her as Big D. Well, and Deirge.

Arooroorooroo.

Survey

I was writing my next Vancouver countdown post, but didn't finish it (don't be scared).

I have this free time because Katie Jones is calculating the results of the Fall Collegiate Retreat surveys for me. Because I was simply taking a whack at the averages. That math major in her would not allow that to happen.

And now I have to go get my laundry.*

What was the most humbling part of my day, you ask?

Probably the part when I took a 20 minute long nap on the floor of the DuPont bathroom when I was supposed to be in my History of Virginia class. Instead I walked the fine line between trying not to throw up and believing whole heartedly that if I just could, I'd feel better. So I sat. For 40 minutes. And texted my mom.

Thank God for those.

Best part of the day?

Getting a bible study book with Noelle and Jill (even though given that this happened about an hour after the bathroom saga, I'm sure I didn't come across very excited). It is entitled "Facing Your Giants" by Max Lucado and I faced a few as I did the first chapter in my car tonight because Selah's "I Surrender All" had me in tears for no apparent, except for every apparent, reason.

The time, you ask?

Exactly midnight. And as I have begun making it a tradition to get 8 hours of sleep every night given that my new schedule allows for it, (I seriously think I am suffering from too much sleep) that means it is time to hit the sack.

I hope you have enjoyed this small survey about my life as much as I have enjoyed going through 206 surveys about our collegiate fall retreat (read: not that much. read again: really Katie Jones is doing the work).

*who am I kidding, I won't end up doing that until morning.

A Tough Act To Follow

I keep putting this off because I figure no one wants to listen to (or read) me go on about Gordeeva and Grinkov for another long post. And I figure, really, I don't have time to make a long post.

But, friends, February 12, 2010 is upon us. And we're just barely halfway through the olympic recap/preview. So let's make a deal: I'll keep it concise if you charge ahead with me.

Deal. Here's what we've got so far:

1980 and Savchenko/Szolkowy (Germany)

1984 and Zhang/Zhang (China)

1988 and Dube/Davison (Canada)

1992 and McLaughlin/Brubaker (America)

1988 is where we left off with Sergei and Ekaterina. And it's where they thought they were done with the olympics. After the 1990 competitive season, they retired from amateur competition (yeah, right, I'll show them amateur).

Part of why they decided to retire from competition was because, in January of 1989, they became a couple couple. After he kissed her, Katia says, "I was braver with him, more giving, more secure. From this point on, I never paid attention to any other man, not ever again." Turning professional gave them time to work on their technique, heal Sergei's bad shoulder, and get married.

With all their free time after their April 1991 wedding, the two hopped on the road with Stars on Ice and quickly became besties with all the big names you might know in skating (you know, Scott Hamilton, Kurt Browning, Kristi Yamaguchi, Steven Cousins, Brian Boitano, Brian Orser, Katerina Witt, and the like).

Then, on tour in January of 1992, Katia found out she was pregnant:

"That night I still said nothing about the pregnancy to Sergei. He was out late with some of his friends, which upset me, of course, and the next morning I was still angry with him. I felt sick, and somehow we got into a silly argument. I don't remember what it was about, but my hormones must have been making me crazy, because I suddenly blurted out, 'I'm pregnant. I'm feeling bad, and you don't even care. You could have a baby, but I'm going to have an abortion now.' Sergei was shocked. 'Is it true? What are you talking about?' He forgot that I was mad at him, forgot the argument, forgot even the talk of an abortion. 'Why didn't you tell me before?' He was so excited, and kept holding me and kissing me. 'Why didn't you tell me, Katoosh?'"

(Katoosh is a more common name for Katia that Sergei used with her)

In 1993, after Daria was born, skating authorities (like haterade man) made the unprecedented decision to let professionals reinstate into amateur competition. Brian Boitano led the pack to reinstatement, as Victor Petrenko, Katerina Witt, and Sergei and Katia followed.

With the help of their choreographer Marina Zueva, Sergei and Katia began training for the 1994 Lillehammer games:

"Marina told us that since Daria's brith, we had become more beautiful as pairs skaters, more professional, with a deeper understanding of each other. She said we fit together better, that our lines were cleaner. Performing every night in the shows had taught us how to express our feelings to the audience, to skate the program as a whole rather than simply going from element to element. 'You're doing everything I told you so perfect. It's almost like you were preparing your whole career for this program,' she said one day."

And this is that program, The Moonlight Sonata:

"This gold medal in 1994 satisfied me in a way no other medal I'd won ever had, even though we had made this one mistake (Sergei bobbles the double flip). I knew how hard we'd worked and how well we'd skated the whole year. I knew how much we'd sacrificed personally, spending that time away from Daria. And I was satisfied it had been worth it. The first gold medal we had won for the Soviet Union. This one we won for each other."

Sergei and Katia reunited with Daria and skated with Stars on Ice during 1994-1995...

...and won their 3rd World Professional Championship (the olympics of professional skaters).

Struck Down But Not Destroyed

... pressed but not crushed...

... persecuted, not abandoned...

(Cue nostalgic remembrances of this decades earliest contemporary Christian melodies.)

Well, okay, Link was, technically, abandoned. But, luckily, he is blessed beyond the curse. And the promise still endures. (This is me taking the lyric's application to this situation too far).

Turns out it doesn't even matter that I didn't get the e-mail (thanks to Sarah's brilliant investigative work I now know it was from Lori Klopp, who sends approximately 1,000 more e-mails per day than Rosemary Barra) and it is of no consequence to me if Bike Jail does or does not exist. Because, you see, as I walked to history yesterday and Noelle and I were chatting about the class that I am not going to end up taking with her, she exclaimed, "is that Link?!"

Indeed it is.

A syllabus day miracle! ... resulting from my abandonment of Link last December. I guess I just hallucinated the part when I got him from outside of the history building and brought him back to the stair rail outside. I place full blame on finals week. It worked out for the two of us, though.

Yes, yes, Lord, Amen.

This whole thing made me want to go look up the scripture that this song is based on. So I did. And here it is:

But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body. For we who are alive are always being given over to death for Jesus' sake, so that his life may be revealed in our mortal body. So then, death is at work in us, but life is at work in you.

(2 Corinthians 4:7-12)

And I got to thinking, I feel like I'm carrying around death in this mortal body much more so than I feel life-giving most of the time. This is not only a problem because physically speaking I'm supposedly at my prime, I just also feel like probably I should be able to gather my energy and get happy with my work because God has given me every reason to be joyful when He made a way for my salvation through Jesus.

But the truth is, feeling not at my prime is not a problem altogether. I shouldn't shake it off and muster up my strength and keep on keepin' on. Because feeling not all together is half way to knowing the One who puts stuff together. There is no escaping that death is at work in my mortal body, even at this ripe old age of 21. Oh, but life is at work in me, too. And Jesus is working precisely because I have the need for him to. It's no excuse to go around continuing to feel lazy or uninspired, but it is hands down an opportunity for God to work.

I just have to ask for Him to. Feeling mortal just isn't the end of the story, or Jesus's would've ended at Christmas. So as we work our way towards Easter, I'll be praying that God would reveal life in this mortal body.

You know, put a little pep in this step.

Put a little squeal in Link's wheel.

(not only a below average phrase that will never catch on, but also I assure you that having lived outside through the Virginia Blizzard of '09, Link has plenty of squeal. That last picture is of him around the time I left him. Ha!)

Bike Jail

There is a place at UMW called Bike Jail.

It actually may or may not exist.

But we're hoping that it does, because it's sort of Link's last hope.

As per, apparently, I received an e-mail circa December 2, 2009 (read: that may or may not be the date as per I never actually received said e-mail) which read something along these lines:

"Dear Students:

Even though you lock your bikes to anything firmly positioned in the ground during the school semester, this is simply unacceptable behavior over our one month vacation. So move any bikes locked to the front stair rail before break or we will apprehend your campus vehicle. And take it to bike jail.

Love, Rosemary Barra"

I already didn't like this lady, because she sends approximately 50 bagillion e-mails campus wide every hour. So, I'm sure that said e-mail, which I didn't receive, came from her. Because they all do. All of the time.

Anyway. (by the way, she teaches Peterso some sort of immune somethin' at 8 a.m. so that should tell you something about her. I'm not sure what.)

Had I received this e-mail, I clearly would've taken action.

Actually, I wouldn't have taken action since Link was parked (legally, I might add) outside of Mercer for like 3 weeks before yours truly, in her infinite diligence, escorted the bike back to the apartment. Had I known I would have saved myself the trouble. But instead I locked him to the stair rail outside.

Which is apparently against some sort of honor code. But what is really against honor code is a school police department that will straight up take your bike and make you think it is stolen (as it still may very well be). But really take it to bike jail.

Where I intend to bail it out tomorrow.

Do they impound bicycles? Because Link might be dead.

But! I found my camera battery charger. So if Link is alive and the police department decides to show some mercy to the communication deficient (me), his photo will grace tomorrow's post.

Here's hopin'.

Crossing That Bridge

When, at the end of last semester, we believed our suitemates had to be completely out of their room before Katie Jones and I could move into their more sizable, meant for two room, and given that I had to leave the general vicinity of Virginia before those ladies planned on packing up, I said "no big deal. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

Meaning, of course, after Christmas break.

Meaning-- you guessed it-- now.

I did get that mound of clothes into the suitcase last night and am only marginally offended that a suitcase that absolutely will not close has no choice but to do so once I sit on it due to the sheer force of my badonkadonk.

It's like the bag breathed a sigh of relief as I unzipped it this evening.

Me? Mine is the sigh of a girl fresh off of break who now faces a bridge that needs crossing.

But, as long as I'm walking, I might as well skip.

Burns more calories.

My suitcase would thank me.

All Packed Up

... with places to go.

So either somebody is going to wave their wand and that extra pile is going to fit in that suitcase, or I have some more work to do.

Good thing I also have clothes in the dryer.

Oh, boy.