My First Audiobook

I am proud to have studied under author Mel Odom for the last few years of my undergraduate studies. He is a talented writer, a superb teacher and a friend I greatly admire. 

If and when I get my first book published, I intend to dedicate it to him.

Recently, Mel and I have collaborated on a project - recording an audiobook to accompany the novella he published on Kindle. The story is called The Affair of the Wooden Boy and is a colorful and exciting read.

Mel discovered that I can conjure up a "radio voice" when needed, and he thought it sounded great. He recruited me to record the audiobook version of his story for him, and now we're going to sell it on Amazon and see how it goes. It's a publishing experiment. Writers, you'll understand. 

Check out the promo page that Mel set up, and listen to the first chapter of The Affair of the Wooden Boy!

Status and Stasis

Hello, world out there!

It's been many a day since I last blogged, and for that, I beg your forgiveness. Not that any of you were holding it against me, but oh well.

Life in the Krycho household is fine. God has restored a lot of happiness around here since I've been doing so much better. No big news to share - Chris continues to work faithfully, even when he has no work, and I continue to slave away in school against the slings and arrows of outrageous senioritis and the desire to do nothing else but work on my fantasy novel.

Lately, I've been taking care of my Nepalese friends's - Keshav and Deva's - two young children, ages two and six (as well as occasionally getting to hold their newborn!). It has been quite the learning experience for me. I've taken care of kids before, having worked in my former church's daycare for three years. Since I'm living in the same apartment complex as these kids, though, I can go over at random times, invite them outside to play, bake cookies with them...the possibilities are endless.

Because of that, I more fully realize how difficult it is to care for children, especially when they're disobeying! Parenthood carries a weight of responsibility that I cannot fathom until I experience it, I'm sure. That's why I can now say: I can rest in goodness of the fact that Chris and I do not have children yet.  God knows what he's doing. I will rejoice like crazy when I am finally a mother, but until then, I have a glimpse of a reason why God is postponing that stage of our lives (or perhaps we'll  never be parents, and if that is God's will, it is still good).

So there's that. I'm also blessed by my friendship with that family, particularly with Deva. It's different than anything I've known, especially when it comes to talking about God and Christ. Deva, like the rest of her family, is Hindu, which means (in addition to other things, of course) that "she respects all religions." Instead of butting up against staunch atheism or deism, I am now facing a tolerant polytheism that draws the Christian God in as just another deity in a line of divine beings.

This is forcing me to trust God in a new way -- to truly acknowledge that salvation is always miraculous, and the miracle that God works at other times in ways that are way more familiar to me is just as possible here with Deva and her family. Our God does not change from situation to situation, and that is profoundly comforting.

The Race for Our Humility

Dear friends,

Be encouraged today! Read this wonderful post by my freshman roommate, Emily Powell. She is a wise, godly woman and a dear friend. She writes from the perspective of a Christian philosophy major at the University of Oklahoma.

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This note is the product of the combination of my insomnia, stimulating conversations with my parents, and the current quandary of what in the world God wants me to do with my life.

There are several passages of the New Testament that give us images of running a race. We are exhorted, as Christians, to run the race with perseverance, run in such a way to get the prize, run, run, run. I don't know about you, but when I read these passages, I often get rather excited. I am called to the noble, glorious task of running the race, complete with a slow motion ending and Chariots of Fire theme song as I cross the finish line. Sadly, these images of glory are not easily reconciled with the reality of life. I'm not hearing the theme song whenever I'm having a bad day or someone cuts me off in traffic or especially when I'm told that I basically have no chance of achieving my philosophical aspirations because everyone just thinks I'm a stupid Christian. The nerve! Don't they know who I am? I'm a child of God. I've got a race to run here, people and you're making it really hard for me to look great while I do it. But I am beginning to grasp something that is very important. My frustration stems from a misconception. For we are not called to greatness. We are called to lowliness. The actual goal of the Christian life is to lose all our pride, all our glory for the sake of Christ.

However, from the time we are young, we receive a different message, a different goal. We are fed the wisdom of the world, and inevitably as well as unfortunately, some of it sinks in. One of the core "truths" the world teaches us is that we are our own gods and we should live to exalt ourselves. Now, of course, they don't come right out and say this, but it is the underlying message behind all the "believe in yourself" posters pasted across elementary school classrooms. Perhaps, the more adult version of this are "self-help" Christians like Joel Olsteen who assure us that we just have to actualize our own potential. We race for our own sakes and God is that nice teddy-bear-like guy in the sky who loves us so much He just can't wait to help us along in the pursuit of our own glorification. Beware. This is not only wrong, it is, as I am becoming increasingly aware, completely contrary to the message of the Bible.

Yet, we can easily fall prey to this, at least to some extent. It is actually quite alarming how many people ascribe to this kind of soft, fuzzy Christianity complete with a simplistic, "Jesus Loves You" Gospel. The danger of this is that we completely misinterpret and misuse the truth that God loves us. Jesus is then put on the sidelines of the race, cheering us on and saying, "just believe in yourselves!" His love becomes nothing but a bonus prize that confirms that we're really something special. We know it and we're glad God does too. This is basically nothing but worldly wisdom dressed up in its Sunday best. Don't misunderstand me. God does love us and He loves us in a powerful, unfathomable, and lavish way. However, it is not a love that elevates us. Rather, it is a love that first, brings us low and then, draws us near. If we truly grasp who God is and who we are, the knowledge that He loves us should not inspire pride, but rather, the deepest humility.
One of the main themes of the Gospel is restoration. Jesus, through His sacrifice, has restored what was lost in the garden of Eden. But what was lost? It says in Genesis 2:25 that "the man and his wife were both naked, and they felt no shame." Think about that, and not just literally, but symbolically as well. Think about being totally and utterly exposed and yet, knowing no shame. This was possible for Adam and Eve before the Fall because they knew exactly who they were. They were in an incredibly humble state, but they were His. They needed no covering for this was enough.

However, after they ate the fruit, "they realized they were naked; so they sewed fig leaves together and made coverings for themselves." Genesis 3:7 They lost their identity in God that allowed them to exist just as they were, just as they were created to be. Now, they had to find ways to cover themselves and the shame of their exposure. I think of this symbolically. We use all manner of things to "cover" ourselves. Whether it be wealth, relationships, position, intelligence or even legalistic self-righteousness, we find ways to make sure we're not exposed and to convince the world and ourselves that we are okay. This is what is at the heart of the wisdom of the world, to dress ourselves up so we look better than we really are. We attempt to recreate, by our own efforts, the absolute peace and assurance of worth and identity that Adam and Eve had in the garden. But we cannot do this on our own! In fact, the message of the Gospel is to cast off our "coverings", our own feeble attempts at righteousness, and to merely be found in Christ.

I think that this idea of casting off our coverings is inextricably linked to the metaphor of running the race. One of my favorite pictures of the race that the Bible gives is the familiar passage of Philippians 3 where Paul exhorts us to "press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called [us] heavenward in Christ Jesus." Can't you just hear the Chariots of Fire music now? But let's back up a little bit to verse 7. Here Pauls tells us that "whatever was to [his] profit he now considers loss for the sake of Christ. What is more, he considers everything a loss compared to the surpassing greatness of knowing Christ Jesus his Lord." Beautiful, eloquent, inspiring words indeed. But what is Paul really talking about here? What is he losing for the sake of Christ? In the preceding verses, he tell us. "If anyone else thinks he has reasons to put confidence in the flesh, I have more: circumcised on the eighth day, of the people of Israel, of the tribe of Benjamin, a Hebrew of Hebrews; in regard to the law, a Pharisee; as for zeal, persecuting the church; as for legalistic righteousness, faultless." Philippians 3:4-6 Basically, the point is that, legalistically, Paul had it all. In terms of self-made "coverings," his were made of silk. And yet, he considered "them rubbish, that he may gain Christ and be found in him, not having a righteousness of his own that comes from the law, but that which is through faith in Christ." Philippians 3:8-9 Paul, contrary to the wisdom of this world, was trading his high rank and reputation in order to know Christ and "the fellowship of sharing in his sufferings, becoming like him in his death." Philippians 3:10

All this talk about suffering and death doesn't quite fit in with the self-glorification message of the world and my dreams of following in Eric Liddell's footsteps. And yet, this is the call of the Christian life, not to pomp and glory, but to imitate the incredible humility of the death of Christ. Think about it. We are commanded to be like Christ, but what was Christ like? As he walked to Calvary, did He grasp at coverings, at dignity, at pride? No. Rather, for our sake, He was humbled and completely and utterly exposed. Should we not, in turn, be willing to do the same for His sake? Yes, we should! So, "let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us." Hebrews 12:1 Yet, we should remember, with sobriety, that in throwing off everything that hinders, we may very well be left totally exposed, totally humiliated. We may not achieve anything particularly remarkable according to worldly standards or gain any kind of recognition. We may not gain much of anything on this side of the finish line. In fact, it is much more likely that we will gain the censure and the mockery of the world, suffering and humiliation. We might lose it all. We might have to stand exposed for the sake of Christ. If that is the price of His glory in our lives, we must be willing to pay it.

Yet, the beautiful and wondrous part of it is that, by casting off these "coverings", by forsaking the approval of man and the wisdom of this world, we are found in Christ. We belong to Him once more. We are, before God, as Adam and Eve were, exposed and yet, without shame. We are restored to that perfect state of humility, being just what we were created to be, nothing more, nothing less. Like them, we need no covering. For Christ's righteousness is our cloak, His grace our mantle. Now, freed from the need to cover ourselves, we no longer race in pursuit of our glory, but rather, we race in pursuit of our humility for the sake of His glory.

And now, I am going to bed. Or else I won't be racing anywhere for a really long time.

Altoids Etiquette

Some awkward moments shouldn't really be awkward, but they are anyway. College is replete with settings for these amusing moments to occur.

In my home-away-from-home, otherwise known as Gaylord College, I settled down on a couch on the third floor, tucked away in a corner of the already-marginalized Professional Writing Alcoves. I ate lunch there. I took a nap. I did homework there, all without anyone breaking my solitude. Ah, sweet peace.

Photo courtesy of ou.edu

After several hours, someone finally passed my way. It was a young man -- a fellow college student with dark, curly hair. He promptly planted himself in the couch next to me. I continued tapping away on Verk 4 (my laptop, for those of you who have forgotten), faithfully attacking a climactic scene in my novel and ignoring the visitor.

Suddenly, I heard garbled words that sounded something like, "All told?" I looked over to see the man's outstretched hand holding a small, red box, and realized that he had actually said,
"Altoid?"

I sure as heck wasn't going to turn down an Altoid! Gratefully, I took a little white candy and thanked the young man. Then, I turned back to my computer.

Then came the moment of uncertainty. I glanced up and opened my mouth as if to say something to my new Altoid-sharing friend, then closed it again and plastered my eyes to Verk 4's screen. To my dismay, I realized I had nothing more to type. Oh, dear. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to strike up a conversation after that nice gesture, or if I was simply meant to take the Altoid and move on, pretending that the exchange never happened. Was the Altoid a bribe? A symbol of beneficence? A deep, unspoken pact? I didn't know. I felt the sweat bead on my brow.

Photo courtesy of anonymous8.com

My fingers hovered over the computer, itching for something to type as an escape from potential, profoundly shame-inducing faux pas. Quickly, I made a plan. I began to type furiously. It didn't matter what I was typing, as long as I had a good excuse to do something besides talk. My little digital soliloquy ended up looking a lot like this:

"I don't know what to do right now because I feel awkward so I'm going to type randomly. I can either keep doing this or pull out my cell phone and text, because that's also a socially-acceptable thing to do in someone else's presence to show that you're busy. I'm still sitting here, laughing at myself because I'm doing this, but seriously, this Altoid is causing me a lot of trouble! . . ."

A mere three minutes later, I had to leave the college anyway. With the piercingly minty taste of an Altoid on my tongue and a mixture of various *headdesk* feelings in my brain, I walked away to face the rest of the world and its odd, socially acceptable behavior.

Book of Questions

What do we wait for?

What do we wait for while we sit here, the netherworld of the amorphous "future?"
What do we do as we float in that space before the "real world?" Do we live in a fake world now?
What do we wait for?

What do we work for?

What do we work for while we do work to earn work?
What do we work for as we work at what our hearts love, knowing our hearts alone won't keep us alive?
What do we work for?

Who are we?

Who are we while the world strives to define us by what we do? Are we students? Are we employees?
Who are we as grow into people that no people have ever seen us be before?
Who are we?

Christ has signed his name over my book of questions --
as I question, I will call on his name and remember
who I wait for,
who I work for,
who he is.

The 38,000 Breakdown

38,000 words into my fantasy novel, I found myself saying, "This sounds stupid. My characters are starting to annoy the heck out of me."

I then proceeded to laugh at myself.

Writing a novel has been an interesting process. In addition to learning more technical things, like writing quickly without editing and avoiding repeat verbs and adjectives, I've learned life lessons about putting one foot in front of the other, taking breaks rather than beating my head against a wall, and recognizing where I'm headed instead of plowing forward in blind enthusiasm. Oh, yeah -- and about taking constructive criticism.

I just started developing the romantic relationship between two unassuming lead characters. I was so excited to jump in and make the sparks fly after slogging through one hundred pages of near-fatal blunders and somewhat melancholy revelations. Once I started to create the romance, though, I found myself concentrating too much on the pair involved and losing sight of the grand narrative.

The narrative is a great and terrible adventure. That's what I want to concentrate on. The romance is, after all, a subplot, not the story itself. And as much as I adored my lead character Calum when I first started working with him, he doesn't do well on his own, without the momentum of the entire story to carry him.

So, I continue to learn from the roller-coaster process of novel writing: sometimes, it takes stepping back from the details to remind oneself of the big picture, and to get a proper perspective on life. We are valuable, and our every moment here is valuable, but if we let our selves or our circumstances cause us to forget that God is in control and His grand plot cannot be thwarted, we will fumble through writing our own story.

And I'm just not as good a writer as God is.

Be My Muse

I need to write 9,000 words of fiction for independent study. Yes, that's all, for 3 hours of credit! As soon as I finish that, Mel and I will work on my novel, so you can bet your bottom dollar that I want to finish quickly, but well.

I can write one story or several--whatever I choose. Only one problem: I'm uninspired. I sat forlornly in front of Verk 4 (my MacBook, as you may recall) for a good while, trying to conjure a colorful plot and winning characters, before I decided I should let my subconscious work it's magic and try to plot again later. Because, trust me, my ideas were quite uninspired, and probably would've turned out not unlike the fiction "book" I wrote in 6th grade about myself, renamed Tallie Keioni, and my two guy friends saving our fellow middle schoolers from becoming enslaved to the soldiers from the "newly-formed continent of Markonia," where all the "hateful and evil people of the world" had come to live.

Instead of writing a short story, therefore, I added to my novel. Oh, trusty novel, you are a balm to my soul. Right now, anyway--Mel swears my classmates and I will begin to hate our novels mid-semester. As prolific a writer as he is, I tend to believe him.

Well, all that to say, I still don't have a short story idea. Now, I am conducting an experiment. Most people who read this post won't comment, or wouldn't, ordinarily. Comments and readers do not match up, because I know I have more than 0 readers...I think... ;-)

If you're reading this and have never commented before, please do so now. Throw out a story idea. The first thing that pops into your head. Something interesting. Whatever. Maybe it will inspire me. I'll let you know what I end up doing. Until then, over and out!

I'll Give it a Fourth Shot

The winds of change are blowing again. I'm about to start my senior year of college. Whoa. Where has the time gone?

I am acutely aware I'll never have a repeat opportunity to be in such close proximity with a large group of peers. Therefore, I don't want to waste the year. OU is both a fantastic social environment and rich mission field for me. I ask myself: what will I do with it?

Then, I remember. I don't "do anything with it."

 I don't regret my first three years of school, even the situations I felt I was failing in at the time. However, I spent those years trying to run my own life, to make sure I wasn't missing any steps. I wanted to "have a ministry," so I ran myself into the ground trying to make that happen. I wanted to be a good friend, so I poured myself out so much that I was not only emotionally dry, but bitter towards others, in the end. I tried to keep tabs on every area of my life out of fear that if I didn't, I would just fly off the handle, sinning right and left, letting my character, academics and social life go to pot.

This year, I will pursue God, and him alone.

Jesus wasn't kidding or mincing words when he said not to be anxious about tomorrow. Paul wasn't joking around or spouting drivel when he said not to be anxious about anything.  I conclude that I cannot fix my life by doing exactly what the Bible says not to.

All this time, I have pursued perfection. I have relinquished control in one area only to pick up another and insist that this one is the one I need to micromanage in order to "please God." Doing things right becomes an idol as soon as I start desiring it over God.

No more worrying about how I'm going to ensure that I don't squander my last year at the University of Oklahoma. The time I have on this earth is best spent getting to know the God who gives me the ability to do everything worth anything. As I do, he will move, I am sure of it. He always has, and he never, ever changes.

Tales from the CART

I ride the CART bus to and from school every day--it's a fun and educational experience. You never know what kind of characters you will meet or observe.

One thing I've noticed is that when passengers make small talk with each other or the driver, they always discuss the weather. I won't be pharisaical--I do it, too. It's easy to discuss the weather in Oklahoma because the weather's so erratic. A typical conversation goes like this:

"Hi, how're ya doin'?"
"Good! Jus' enjoying the weather. I thought it was gonna be so hot today, but the temper'ture dropped to seventy. I jus' wish it would make up its mind!"
*chuckles* "Yeeeah...I tell ya..."

I thought the age-old joke about filling conversation gaps with weather-talk was just that: an age old joke. Even if it wasn't I joke, I was sure it only applied to the British. It turns out that it's surprisingly true here today.

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On my ride home today, an old man slipped into the seat across the aisle from me. I tapped a text message into my env2 as the bus bumped down Lindsey Street (I was discussing Atticus Finch with Annie). Out of nowhere, the man leaned over with squinted eyes on my phone.

"Is that a...phone?"
"Uh-huh."
"Ah." *nods and turns away*

I conclude that he thought it was a miniature laptop.

           Photo courtesy ActionWireless.com

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I have a dear, elderly bus-driver friend named Tom. When I first met Tom, we exchanged the typical biographical information, and I told him I was from Texas.
He proceeded to say in his thick Oklahoma accent that he "wasn't just saying this because you're from Texas," but in his opinion, the prettiest squirrels come from Texas.
The prettiest what? I cracked up.
He didn't seem to think it a weird or funny statement at all, and began to explain further.
A bit later, I realized he said the prettiest girls, not squirrels.

The Publication of my Passion

Seeing something you love come to fruition is an amazing thing.

Today was a "minor momentousness" in my writing career (phrase courtesy Cheston Knapp - I don't want him to sue me for copyright infringement). Actually, this whole week was  momentous for me.

On Thursday, renowned science-fiction author Greg Bear spoke at OU, which of course made me little starstruck. He gave us zealous PW kids the opportunity to ask him questions. Because Mel (my writing professor/mentor, if you recall) recently told me that the market for dystopias--the story type I gravitate toward--is poor, I asked Mr. Bear his opinion of them.

He told me to find something that concerns me in society, make "a fantastic metaphor" out of it, then take it to the extreme. 

"Is that how you write your dystopias?"

Whoa, he totally just spoke to me! "Uh...I certainly try (or did I say, 'I sure hope so?')!"

He proceeded to ask me what I saw in society worth commenting on. Trust me, that spotlight was the last thing I was expecting, and to be honest, it was quite terrifying. I don't do well when questioned on the spot. It usually drags all the leftover stutters out of me.

I told Mr. Bear that I dislike how strongly individualistic this culture is. People often hone in on their own lives and try to make something of themselves at the cost of relationships.

"That's a good insight. That's something I've been seeing, too, in the last twenty or so years."

Wow, okay! I can deal with that! I blurted out my happiness. "That's encouraging!"

He went on to quote Ray Bradbury as a means of charging me to keep writing about the things I care about, regardless of the great and terrible "market": "If they give you lined paper write the other way" (Fahrenheit 451).

Furthermore, I finished my first full-length dystopia today! It grew from 4000 words to 10,000. You must understand, this is the first self-initiated writing project I've ever finished, which makes it a very big deal to me.

With this small thrill of victory still buzzing in my head, I received an email from the editor of A Daughter's Story.  She and I have been in touch because she chose one of my short stories for the anthology. 

She said that the book will be published by Mother's Day! We'll receive two copies, as well as a media packet so we can spread the word, by mail. This fabulous woman has plans to travel to all the "big markets"--New York, Cali, Chicago, etc.--to make A Daughter's Story as visible as possible, promos including pretty neat things like a commercial and a morning show stint.

I don't expect that this publication will launch my career into the stars. I am content with the personal fulfillment...and heady possibilities.

I sometimes wonder how God could grant me a gift that I love so much, as well as allow me to use it over and over. Is His call always this deeply joyful? 

Behold the beautiful details of His plan: I have seen life pour back into my heart this semester when I started writing stories again.

Comment on the Book and its Cover

It's so easy to hide pain behind one's eyes, isn't it?

Things are always brewing in my head as I stroll down the South Oval.

The day's frustrations descend on me like "laughing fates" (Timothy Zahn phrase), adding to the weight of the unnecessary what-ifs and I-wish-thats already there.
In my head, I'm going on a tirade, and it's not cathartic. I "say" things I wouldn't say out loud when I'm ranting inside my brain. That just exacerbates the hurt.

I don't know why some things hurt me the way they do--I'm so aware that people are imperfect, and nothing distinguishes me morally from them except the grace of God.

I'm just thinking out loud, I suppose, letting my voice out of the confines of my brain. The point of this post was going to be that you can never know what people are feeling by looking at them. Even the most cool and collected person on campus has some wound that only God can heal. This is important--not easy!--to be aware of at all times, because we will inevitably face someone who hurts, annoys or even hates us. And, if we are obedient, we'll still love them.

Love is difficult, sometimes!

P.S. I hate enrollment.

Humbled. Dangit.

Funny quote of the day!

Katie: "How can the CDC website be down?!"
PJ: "It has a virus!"

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Hello, everyone.

I've been a bit lax at updating this thing lately.

These last few weeks have been strange: they've been a test of humility and patience and trust for me.

First of all, it's that time of the semester when all my professors assign papers and midterms simultaneously. Though my junior year has been relatively easy (compared to physics majors, for example), there's a lot to do.

As much as I joy in writing stories, they take awhile, and the word count is starting to rise--which is, though nerdily exhilarating, a bit overwhelming in light of the other things that need to be completed. I took my first stab at a crime story this week, which I not only turned in 3 days late, but was told that I didn't write correctly.

The week before, I received a paper at the beginning of Book of Western Civilization II class with a grade that made me grumpy. At the end of that same class, I received back a paper...with another grade that made me grumpy. You must understand, as a writer and an anal type-A must-get-an-A student, this was way discouraging for me.

I also skipped class one Monday (shocking for me, I know) because I was getting sick, and just happened to miss the one class of Honors Understanding Drama (1000 level) where a handout explaining a future assignment was distributed. So I did the assignment wrong!

Needless to say, I was frustrated at myself and confused about what God was doing.

I am no longer frustrated at myself, though I'm still confused about what God is doing. I guess I don't need to know, as much as I'd like to. If nothing else, I'm learning--what else can I do?--that my worth does not come from accomplishment.

It's amazing what side lessons you can learn at school.

Writer's High and Other Things

I'm currently working on a short story for intro to professional writing, and oh, do I love it! It's supposed to be 2,000 words, but I'm about to spill over that already.

There is something very exciting and refreshing about writing someone else's world. I find myself lost in the world as I write. Though I will forever insist I'm not trying to exist through the people I create, I can't help but do that, sometimes. I grow so immersed in the colors and voices and places.

The project? A sort-of commentary on reaching womanhood and right vs. wrong. Stay tuned.

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How was your Thanksgiving? Excellent, I hope. My mom spoiled me to pieces while I was visiting my family in Fort Worth. She bought me a box of Godiva dark chocolates, as she did last year, which I plan to eat one at a time every morning until Christmas. It's like an Advent calendar...minus recognition of Advent. And the calendar.

Chris and I purchased our first Christmas tree, which is terribly exciting to my ever-present inner child. Though it is only 4 1/2 feet tall, I am happy because that guarantees my ability to put ornaments at the top.

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Today, my professor told us, "You're twenty! You've been alive politically for, like, five seconds."

Lol, professor. Lol.

That's all I got. More steak and less popcorn at a later date, but maybe not until after finals are over...

The Short Spotlight-Stealer

Disclaimer: This post may not resonate with my male readers at all, although I'm curious if there's an equivalent struggle in your experience.
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Chris and I went to see OU's performance of "The Three Musketeers" yesterday evening. We found the theater a perfect place for one of our favorite activities: people watching.

As a former drama nerd, I particularly enjoyed micro-analyzing the actors and actresses, from stars to swings.

One minor actress caught my attention. She's a very distinctive character that I see on campus quite often. She's probably as short, if not shorter, than me (I'm 4'11'), which I must admit is nice to see. She is equally petite. She also has a veritable head of blond, tightly-wound curls (think Little Orphan Annie).

What struck me about her, though, was how she commanded the stage without speaking a line. At her height, she could easily become lost in the crowd, but her was step decidedly bold and her smile broad and vibrant any time she participated in a scene. She clearly loved being on stage!

During intermission, I saw some elderly couples--they composed 80% of the audience--crowding around the wall where cast members' pictures hung. Two couples gathered before the curly-haired actress's photo and said, "Look at her. She is just beautiful."

I think she knew it, too; not in vanity, but in confidence. In this day and age, what powerful knowledge to have!

As a short woman, I complain about being short. I hear curly-haired women complain about their unmanageable curls. But this girl was so comfortable in her skin that she owned all the qualities culture likes to decry. It was inspiring, simply watching her.

I pray to God I will learn to be comfortable and confident in my skin. I see increasing redemption in this area of my life each day, yet I have a long way to go. Last night was an encouraging reminder to keep pursuing that freedom!

Contemplations in Brief

Hi, guys. It seems I've been a bit out of commission of late. I'm sure I have more to write about than I feel like I do, but I'll just give you the skinny and let you enjoy not having to read too chunky of paragraphs.

Marriage.

Marriage just so happens to rock. I don't know how much strength I'd have left right now--spiritually, emotionally, even physically--without a strong arm to hold onto while walking, a tender hand to give me a surprise bouquet of pink roses. My husband is a source of strength; while I know I cannot depend on him like I can the perfect power of Christ, I also know that he is an earthly picture of Christ's amazing love.

Here's to you, husband.

College.

Well, I haven't wanted to pull my hair out at all, this semester. I'd say that's a good sign this is my best one yet. I love my classes--except for when I don't--and find my classmates to be the most intriguing bunch I've ever shared excessively shallow or painfully erudite conversation with.

Holidays.

Blast. Chris just asked me for Christmas ideas, and I think my eye is now twitching a bit. I'm afraid of accumulating too much stuff, but then there are things I want. Should I be less materialistic and do without the desires, asking for more practical gifts (socks and underwear are now out of the question, Mom and Dad!)? How should Chris and I buy for two families? Who expects what? Should I even be deliberating about this?

I shake my fist at you, complicated holiday culture! Christmas has already crept up on us though Thanksgiving's not yet arrived!

That's that. More profound thoughts later, when I'm in commission again. I hope that's soon.

Me: A Paradox, or Just a Person?

Sometimes being yourself feels a whole lot like making a fool of yourself, you know?

I just came from my Intro to Professional Writing class, where, after awhile, you just can't help but let your true personality come through. That class is strange to me, because I enjoy it so much; however, I constantly get the feeling that I come off a little weird to my peers.

Okay, I am a little weird, but I stumble over myself much more in this class than, say, the class where we're reading and discussing Plato, Machiavelli, Erasmus. Although it's an hour of sheer discussion, I'm not unsure of myself at all. I've never been more (openly) opinionated than I am there. I always go home afterward feeling energized, feeling that I've connected with my classmates on more than a surface level, even after we've intellectually duked it out. And I don't even like duking it out; at least, I didn't use to!

It seems to me that the abstract realm is my "turf." I feel a bit boring at times, because of that, especially when I hear my professional writing classmates delineating their hobbies: Attending concerts, traveling, or--though it is not a lifestyle I would ask for--partying. My hobbies, at the moment? Writing, reading, Church activities, baking. Passive? I guess. The true me? I don't know. I can't say yes, because deep inside, I'm not passive, and I don't want to be.

I don't think any of these particular, mellow interests preclude the inherent desire that we, as humans, have for adventure. I dream of not staying put, not fulfilling the typical American Dream, seeing God change lives through me, momentously and for His glory, wherever He puts Chris and me.

The tension between my quiet side and my free spirit confuses me.
I already know I'm confusing (I'm a woman :p), but am I a complete paradox?

Trying to be Funny FAIL

I want to announce with confidence, as a way of encouragement for you, that God was 100% faithful to encourage me when I cried out to Him this week. He is ready to respond even when our responses are fraught with frustration, blue-ness (2 Cor. 7:6), or discouragement to the point of hopelessness. I wish none of us would ever have to get there before coming upon our hope in Him; the good news is that we do have hope in Him!

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I'm sure you're dying to hear an update on my food allergy adventures, right?
Week 1: The Week of Lactoselessness. Dun dun dun.
It's as scary as it sounds, since I can't have any ice cream.

The lessons I've learned from this food foray so far have been that the Homeland on Lindsey Street does not carry soy milk (lame).

That, however, is not the point of today's post. This is:
Being a "nice person" is not the same as being a loving person.

I was sitting in the history of journalism class with my friend, Yolanda*, on Wednesday. She complained about "stupid sorority girls" popping their gum, and I launched off into a recycled speech about how I could never last in the sorority environment. My joking, I thought, was harmless, as I bantered about how I would be incited to criminal activity by my short temper plus the overabundance of estrogen.
*Name change...lol.

Suddenly, the Spirit dropped conviction on me like a baby grand piano. I literally felt as if every person within a ten-foot radius of me was listening and weighing each word I was saying. I could imagine the impressions they might be receiving from my words: "Does she think that she's better than sorority girls, somehow?" "Her speech, her jokes, are the same as everyone else's. Everyone's the same."

I felt ashamed, almost startled. This is not how I want to portray the character of Christ! I realized. As Christians, you and I are called to a standard of holiness in our speech that may seem ridiculous to the world. Guarding our words--representing Christ as His ambassadors--means more than simply avoiding cuss words and not making dirty jokes. Our speech should show love, the same as our other actions. I didn't speak love that day; I'm glad that piano fell on me.

That's my story! Let's commit ourselves to becoming more and more like Christ while we're on this earth, in the "little" ways as much as the obvious ones! He is faithful to teach us, guide us and give us chance after chance to live what we're learning from Him.

A bit more good news before I sign off. La Bamba is not totaled! Hooray! The poor thing deserves some sort of badge of honor for surviving so many kerfuffles. Haha. Kerfuffle. Use that in a sentence today.

Ever yours, dear reader (not dropping the appellation. You know who you are)...

Hopeful, Not Hoodwinked

It's fall, and the whole world breathes in a little more deeply.

U2 is at OU, and the whole campus breathes in a little more coolness. Not least because there's a funky green stage in our stadium.

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Philippians 4:8-9, which Bruce preached on today (and which my very cool husband blogged about), was a balm for the wounds of my raw cynicism that I told you about in the last post:

Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. What you have learned and received and heard and seen in me—practice these things, and the God of peace will be with you.

This doesn't mean making Olsteen proud with your-best-life-now optimism; "practicing these things" won't make problems just go away. However, a right (and I do mean right, since it's Biblical) perspective is, at the least, effective counter-cynicism.

Right perspective or focus is of the essence. Of course there are things that I can balk and despair at daily; we live in a nasty, fallen world. I'm sure Paul knew that when he wrote Philippians (he certainly did in 2 Corinthians 1:8-9, where he says "we were so utterly burdened beyond our strength that we despaired of life itself"). However, we are instructed to think differently than how our natural tendencies would lead us.

There's a good reason for all that is written in the Word.

Thank you, Lord, that "your word is truth" (John 17:17), and your truth is encouragement beyond any pep-talks I could ever give myself!

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P.S. I think I may have a food allergy. I will assume the fetal position for several weeks if it ends us being either lactose or gluten. More on that, later!

Oh, the Drama

Before writing, the funny quote of the day:
Me: "She needs to be one of the people I call! ...Whenever I go crazy, you know?"
Chris, deadpan: "Yeah."


Today, as often, I am full of feelings. It's cathartic to post them here rather than let them stew brutally and silently in my brain. Plus, it's a great way to take a break from studying for the Midterm of Death!

I'm fond of saying, "I don't know how to do this life thing." Today, as often, I am certain I don't know how to do this marriage-social-life thing. Which begs the question: Is there one right way to do it?

A few points floating in my head that make the whole ordeal confusing:

- I am an introvert
- but I don't-and don't like to-hole up for long periods of time.
- I love people, and being around them
- but I am so terrified they will discard my friendship if I do wrong by them--in truth or no--that I freeze up and guard my true self from the majority.

I was just telling Chris I would like to invite over a group of college girlfriends that I haven't seen in awhile. Problem: I am terrified to plan and invite anyone to the darned thing. This is because:

- I'm afraid that I will be personally evaluated by its success.
- They won't want to come...at least, not because they want to see me.
- If for some reason it ends up not happening, I will be scorned by them FOREVER!

Haha. It's hilarious--okay, it's a little hilarious--to me to see these thoughts actually written out. It's just that I've always tried so hard to be a good friend, to a fault. And, mark me, while I'm definitely not trying to play the sympathy card, being married and in school means the social scene has shifted all around me. It's dizzying.

I love many things about the new situation. Also, lest you mistake me, I wouldn't trade my married life for anything.

However, I can't, and don't actually want to anymore (whoa! Is it okay to admit that?), just pick up the phone at 11 p.m. and say, "Hey, what are you doing right now? Nothing? Okay, come to my room and we can have random escapades until 3!" This change especially marginalizes my busy college friends.

I think I'm rambling, now. That's okay. If you have an answer to the aforementioned question, shoot me a comment, and I'll give you one of the homemade cinnamon rolls I made last night! :)

Contemplations of a Young Wife, Fourth Part

Before I begin, my favorite quote of the week from the professor happily featured in an earlier blog post: "I hope I don't puncture anyone's faith with this." Yeah right, professor. Yeah right.

So, even though being married and in school does--as many direly warned me--eliminate some of "the college experience," I certainly had my fair share of it living in the dorms for two years.

For example, I got to experience the glorious reign of baby bows! Yes, you heard me correctly. If you spent but one day on the campus of the University of Oklahoma last fall, you must have seen hundreds of primped and polished young women wearing great shoes, sharply-cut jeans, brightly-colored Greek shirts...and baby bows. So rampant were they that our floor activity one month was creating these little wonders with ribbon and hot glue.

Reader, I had no clue how to make a baby bow, but I truly wanted one. Instead of asking for an example or demonstration of how to construct said bow, I decided to take a stab at it alone. Basically, I took a piece of ribbon, tied it in a few random places, balled up the rest and attempted to glue the ball somewhere beneath the clip so no one would be able to tell it was not the work of a sorority craftsmistress. Needless to say, I never wore my baby bow.

And now, the segue.

So it is with learning how to be married--how to be a godly wife. How will we know how to practice godliness with our spouse--from hospitality to selflessness to patience--unless we have an example, a demonstration? Yes, we know what the end product looks like, but what's underneath? Surely it's not a balled mess of ribbon just waiting to come apart. There is a foundation, and a process.

I was confused about married life yesterday (nothing new) and spoke with our mentor couple. They elucidated so much, simply by asking the right questions, counseling me based on their past experiences and pointing me to Christ with their Christ-like example. I walked away inexpressibly grateful for the physical manifestation of the Lord in the Church body.

This principle extends beyond marriage. Whether you're single, dating,engaged, married, a hermit, examples are essential. We don't automatically know things, as nice as that would be, so God has given us resources in people to aid and encourage us. Let us take hold of that and let God use us in the same way with others.

Blessed be...the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God (2 Corinthians 1:3-4).