Midterms Midterms Midterrrrrrrrrms

(The title was like a song in my head)

Today was study mania.  I studied from 10-12:30, slept from 1:00-2:45, and studied on and off from 3:00 until 8:00, when I suddenly remembered that I have a job and spent an hour emailing professional important-sounding emails and checking on website updates and stuff.  Then I continued studying from 9:00-10:15 (like, 20 minutes ago)

In total, that's almost 9 hours.  That's really good for me studying one subject in one day.  Truth be told, I don't have the best study skills when it comes to memorizing massive quantities of information...but, I think I have a fairly good handle on the material for my church history midterm tomorrow.  If you're wondering, it covers the Protestant Reformation, and basically every country, every person, every doctrine, every writing, and every war that happened during that time.  AKA: a lot of stuff.

Stuff like the heyschasts and the Huguenots and the Hapsburgs and Thomas Cramner and Thomas More and Henry VIIII and Henry II and Henry IV and Catherine de Medici and St. Bartholomew's Day Massacre, and Elizabeth I and Mary Tudor and Edward VI and John Calvin and Martin Luther and Ulrich Zwingli and the Anabaptists and Oliver Cromwell and the Independents and the Council of Trent and the Edict of Nantes and the Edict of Fontainebleau and Louis XIV and Cardinal Richelieu and original sin and predestination and double predestination and William Tyndale and King James I and Ferdinand and Isabella and Francisco Jimenez de Cisneros and Philip II and the pope and Charles V and Germany and the Low Countries and Frederick the Wise and Menno Simons and Scandinavia and Gustavus Vassa and stuff.

I had this vague idea that this post would be some awesome collection of witty and entertaining reflections on the Protestant Reformation, but I'm feeling a tad under the weather (stubborn sore throat) and it seems to be impairing my wit.  Odd.  But true.

I'm hitting the bed early as a self-preservation/study tactic.  The only thing that stands between me and Spring Break is this midterm and one other class!  Woohoo!

Hitting the sack early and hoping that I'll feel a bit better in the morning.

Interview Day!

My day started bright and early this morning.  Okay, actually, I woke up around 8:00, which might not be the very crack of dawn, but my general wake-up time is approximately 10:30am (recall my evening-heavy schedule), so it FELT super early.  I'll actually have to wake up even earlier for class tomorrow morning, so I really shouldn't complain too much.

The Power Outfit.

Anyway, back to the point at hand: the reason for my early rise was that I had another interview for my required internship next year.  The third one, in fact: the first one fell through for staffing reasons, and the second just wasn't the best fit (the school internship office sets these appointments up, and then it has to be a mutual decision by both me and the church).  But anyway, third time is the charm, right?  Naturally, I wore my power outfit (as I told my friend Amy once, "I put this outfit on, and then I just can't be stopped in business").  The interview actually went quite well (although I tend to lose my interview mojo about halfway through longer interviews, and this one was an hour long).  Anyway, the pastor was impressed with me enough to invite me to lunch with himself and the associate pastor.  We went to a Chinese buffet - if you know me at all, you know that this is an excellent way to win me over.  In all seriousness, though, the interview went quite well, and I think it'll be a really interesting opportunity.  The church is very culturally diverse, with a majority of Filipinos making up the congregation (and a lunch of Filipino/Asian food following service every Sunday.  Bonus points).  Also, the bulk of their ministries happen on Sunday, which will work quite well with my schedule since I'll be taking classes simultaneously.  All in all, I think it's a good fit :)

And yes, I did set a self-timer on my camera and balance it on my dresser to take that picture.  The things I do for you blog-readers...

Anyway, the rest of the day was filled with class after class after class.  The Protestant Reformation followed by the Deutero-Pauline Epistles followed by the Multiple Intelligence Theory and its application to Groome's 5-Step Praxis.  Yeah.  That is my life in grad school.

A Difficult Post to Write

Three years ago today, I didn't die.

That was my first thought today, when I woke up and wandered to the hallway and turned my dial calendar to say "March 7."  Today was the 3-year anniversary of my near-death car wreck, which by an utter miracle my friend and I escaped from relatively unscathed.

This post isn't meant to be overly dramatic or depressing.  But nothing really stood out today otherwise, and this seemed worth noting.

You'd think after three years, I'd stop being haunted by it...but somehow, it still creeps up on me.  When it's raining/snowing and I have to drive, when I'm laying in bed and can't sleep, whenever car insurance commercials think that a sudden crash scene is a good sales technique.  I can't seem to escape it somehow...not really.

When I remember that day, I remember that the first emotion that my friend and I had upon emerging from the totaled car was absolute joy...we were laughing, joking, yelling "praise God" at the top of our lungs.  Our positivity probably confused the assortment of people who had shown up to help...it wasn't until later that both of us broke down.  It wasn't until we saw them towing the crushed car out of that ditch, up the snow-covered hill, that we really realized the magnitude of the situation...a realization that recurred for months as I continued to find bits of glass among my possessions, and continued for the next 2 years as I drove by that spot regularly on my trips from St. Louis to Lexington.

In a lot of very real ways, I want to be able to fully escape from that situation.  I remember those few moments more vividly than a lot of things.  But, at the same time, I wish that I could just distill it down to that moment when I got out of the car.  That moment when I was filled with a gratefulness to God for the gift of life, and for extending mine a bit longer...the certainty I had in that moment that God had a plan for my life that extended beyond March of 2008.  A confidence that God was going to do great things in me and through me.

How strange that I constantly let the normalcy of life stomp that feeling out of me.

There is a crucifix hanging from the rear view mirror of my current car.  My mom and I found it abandoned in the parking lot of the Hamburg Wal-Mart, and I picked it up and kept it, thinking it inappropriate for it to be lying forgotten on the ground.  I'm not sure what I did with it then...I'm fairly certain I just set it in a cup holder or tray of some sort.  Months later, when my parents were cleaning out the remains of my crushed and snow-filled car, my dad found it again, and asked my mom what it was - of course, she recognized it, and gave it back to me.  As small as it was, the reappearance of that cross at that moment was a strong reminder of God's protection, and how He continues to watch over my life in difficult times as in easy times.

When I got my new car the next fall, I took a red ribbon from some piece of AOII paraphernalia, looped it through the link at the top of the cross, and tied it from my mirror.  It still hangs there - a daily reminder of the power of God's love and the love of the sisters who helped get me through one of the roughest patches of my life, and who continue to do support and encourage me on a daily basis.

This is love.  This is life.

A Post About Nothing

Today is one of those days when a brilliant writing topic evades me, because I did absolutely nothing all day.

This isn't exactly true.  In fact, I did several things...but nothing truly blog-worthy.

I might tell you about how I woke up and felt sick and skipped church, but you might get depressed by hearing of my vague ailment or judgmental of the fact that I blew off Sunday morning worship as a seminarian.

I might tell you about how I spent most of the day watching Pride and Prejudice and Lost in Austen, but you might get all wistful thinking about Mr. Darcy and then listen to nothing else that I had to say.

I might tell you about how I spent all of the time watching those movies working on my church history study guide simultaneously, but you might still be swooning about Mr. Darcy and not pay me any attention, or you might get so bored by random historical facts that you'd click away from this page, or else you might be so intrigued that you want me to elaborate on points that I have only a limited knowledge about.

I might tell you how I ate a peppy provolone slice for lunch, but you might not know what that is.

I might tell you how I went for a walk to try to feel better and less sickly, but you might tell me that was a horrible idea and what I really should have done was lay in bed and eat soup.

I might tell you about how I skyped with my parents this afternoon, but you might get bored of me telling you all the technical difficulties that ensued, and I'd probably get all frustrated with technology by telling you about them.

I might tell you how I ate a bowl of oatmeal for dinner, but you might just think that's pathetic.

I might tell  you about how I went to my small group tonight, and how we talked about Chinese folk religions, but you might want me to tell you all about what we talked about, and I'm too tired to go into all that now.

I might tell you about how I made cinnamon toast like I ate as a kid for a nighttime snack, but you might get all nostalgic and go make some yourself.

So really, I don't have anything to talk about.  Sorry.

Demographic Discoveries

I just found this tab on here that lets you show how many times certain blog pages have been viewed, and what countries people are viewing you from.  Apparently people have viewed this blog from the USA, France, Denmark, the UK, China, Russia, Canada, the United Arab Emirates, Italy, and the Philippines.  I find that odd. Either my friends are lying on some profile or other, or else my life is fascinating enough to attract worldwide attention.  Clearly, option number two is the correct choice.  To clarify, all those countries except for the USA and France (where I actually have acquaintances) have viewed my blog 6 or less times total, so I'm not a massive international sensation.  Still, it intrigues me...

As far as posts go, apparently the favorite topics are my recent Julie and Julia encounter, and that post about how Texans buy chicken en masse at the mention of snow.

I'm sure that this demographic information will come in handy at some future date...how exactly, I'm not so sure.  But, while all this is interesting, it remains kind of irrelevant since I'm primarily doing this for myself.  Not that I don't appreciate you people who show up to read whatever ends up on the screen from day-to-day.  In fact, I admire your dedication.  You deserve a cookie.  Go ahead, go get a cookie.  I'd get you one myself, but they haven't perfected that whole WonkaVision food transporter thing just yet.

Nothing much to report from today...spent the whole day working on a midterm study guide while watching assorted musicals and cartoons.  I'm afraid I may be getting sick...my throat is all scratchy and unpleasant.  I would love to NOT be sick over Spring Break next week; being home and sick is much less of a vacation than being home and not sick.

Anyway, I could regale you with fascinating stories about the Protestant Reformation and assorted musical numbers from Hairspray and The Producers, but I don't feel a strong need to recreate my day for you in that much detail.  I'm calling it an early night.  Bonne soiree, tout le monde.

Spring Cleaning

Pledge Cleaner is my new best friend.

Since the post-flood maintenance is finally definitively completed - walls patched up, shower replaced, carpet padding replaced, walls retextured and painted, drains replaced - I've finally been able to make steps toward getting my living space back in order.  Chatting with my friend on speaker phone for entertainment, I spent two hours today running a Swiffer duster over literally every surface of my apartment (minus the bedroom, which remained unaffected throughout this whole thing).  It was a dusting fiesta - not just tabletops, but books, dvds, even individual sheets of paper.  Grimy white dust from the sanding of the walls had covered the entire room.  If the US government had walked into my apartment a few years back, it would have been condemned as an anthrax scare and HazMat guys would have taken over the scene while I was questioned under a spotlight about my evil intentions.  It was that bad.

Still, even the dusting wasn't sufficient, and I continued the cleaning process by wiping down every bit of furniture with pledge cleaner (minus the sofa), polishing everything up with a dishcloth as I went.  Let me tell you...my furniture is GORGEOUS.  Seriously.  I'm not sure it's ever been this clean.  It certainly hasn't been this clean since the moment it was first delivered.  That stuff is magical.  I felt like I was channeling Monica Gellar in my cleanliness obsession, cleaning more thoroughly than I've ever cleaned before - I was even polishing my glass coasters.  It was epic.  It was fantastic.  I feel as though, until today, I have never really cleaned.  That's how amazing it was.

Now it must be remembered that I was starting with a particularly dirty apartment, so my excitement at the effects of the Pledge cleaner is probably much more exaggerated than the usual response elicited by its shiny results.  Whatever.  It was an exciting moment.

The cleaning will continue tomorrow; an impromptu pizza/movie night with friends caused the process to be put on hold, and there's still a good amount of clutter going on.  The kitchen and bathroom also need attention, and my bedroom is laying in anxious anticipation of the day when it can stop being a storage area for random decor objects and assorted kitchen appliances.  A good vacuum run is also called for.  Much remains on my quest...but I will make this apartment the cleanest that it has ever been.

I will be victorious.  Always be victorius.  All rising.

Climbing

I had something of an odd moment today because I saw a plane.

I was sitting in the usual mid-day traffic at a stoplight on Mockingbird Lane, just a block from SMU's campus (my destination, of course), when I glanced up and saw a plane flying up from the horizon toward the infinite blueness of the sky.  Love Field (the smaller of the two Dallas airports) is only ten minutes further down the road, so seeing planes near campus isn't really unusual.  By its blue body and orange wings, I could easily identify the plane as one belonging to Southwest Airlines.  You always picture airplanes being white because that's how they look in picture books as a kid, and it was weird to think that when I fly on Southwest, I'm inside this giant blue and orange thing.  Then for some reason, I started thinking about when I traveled in Europe on Ryanair, a super cheap Irish airline boasting bright yellow interior accents with dark blue seats upholstered in bad fake leather and stewardesses in bright blue floor-length suits with hair pulled into a bun that is more suited to the 1960s than the 21st century.  It's not the epitome of class, but it gets you where you're going for cheap.

And then, something strange happened...sitting in my still-dented car on a Texas street, I watched this plane fly into the sky and felt as though I was watching the plane that once carried me from Paris to Ireland.  It was almost like I could sense a tiny version of myself inside that distant plane, flying off to places unknown without a care in the world and only excited anticipation of the imminent adventure of discovering a new place.

Maybe you think I'm weird.  You should.  It was a weird moment.  I can't really describe it well...in a way, it was like an out-of-body experience.

Sometimes thinking about my past blows my mind.  It's weird to me to think, in my present life, that this is just one of the many different contexts that my life has taken on throughout the last 22 years.  The feet that carry me wearily across Bishop Boulevard for class are the same feet that took me down the Rue Faubourg-Saint-Honore in Paris, that treaded the length of the Santa Cruz wharf, that carefully teetered across the rocky coast of the Irish Sea, that climbed the steps of the Colosseum.  On the climbing theme, my feet have managed to propel my body to the top of Notre Dame Cathedral, the Arc de Triomphe, and the Sacre Coeur Basilica in Paris, the Brugge Belfrey in Belgium, the Jockey's Ridge sand dune in North Carolina, the Oratoire Saint-Joseph in Montreal, the top of a waterfall in Yosemite Valley, the tip of Mont Saint-Michel, and the top of Blarney Castle, among other things.

Somehow, the view from all these places was better than the views that I got from taking elevators.  Seriously.  The view of Paris from the tip of the Eiffel Tower is a let-down because you can't SEE Paris's most characteristic landmark when you've taken an elevator to stand on top of it.  And though the view of Dublin from the Sky Bar in the Guinness Storehouse is nothing to sneeze at, it's not the most remarkable of the views I've seen.

No, there's something about relying on the strength of your own two feet.  It's a special moment when, right when you think that you're going to keel over in the middle of a 14th century spiral stone staircase and die a slow death being trampled by tourists and religious pilgrims, the repetitive turning of the steps suddenly gives way onto open air and reveals the intricacy of a city skyline spreading out below you.  It takes your breath away...or, at least, whatever breath remains in your lungs post-climb.  The difficulty of the journey is released and forgotten in the reward, anguish lost in awe of the beauty that lays before you.  The Notre Dame Cathedral is particularly good at yielding this effect.  The stone gargoyles that looked so small from the ground now join you in a height not far off from your own, scowling down at Paris while you look out at the city in admiration.  It's almost like those gargoyles have spent too much time up there...maybe if they left for awhile, they would remember the beauty of the view when they returned.

My feet have accomplished marvelous things, overcome countless obstacles for the anticipated reward of yet to be disclosed wonders.  But somehow, this year, the walk across Bishop Boulevard, an entirely flat journey from the parking garage to the lecture halls of the theology school, has seemed horribly difficult.

And that is what I started thinking about when I saw that plane flying unafraid and uninhibited overhead.

During my time in Europe, I thought that hopping on a plane to another country was nothing.  There was no fear, only excited anticipation of exploring the unknown that awaited me as soon as my plane touched down.  I hopped off to Ireland and Italy at the drop of a hat, decided on a Monday to go to Belgium on the following Friday.  I trusted myself to be able to figure things out as I went along, and to be okay with that.  On all my trips, the only things planned in advance were the plane/train tickets, airport shuttle/bus tickets, and hostel reservations. Every other aspect of the trip was open for suggestion.

In all rationality, my European escapades were much more daunting than my present situation in graduate school.  Really, grad school simply requires me to show up, pay attention, take notes, do homework, and pass tests.  I've been doing that successfully for the last 17 years of my life.  The Celia that arrived at a downtown Roman train station a few minutes before midnight and successfully made it to her hostel alone and unscathed to meet up with her friends, the Celia that accidentally got on a bus to Iverkeithing when she meant to go to Edinburgh (about a 40 minute difference), the Celia that got off the bus in Flemish-speaking Brugge and discovered that she didn't have the hostel address, and managed to survive these and other travel fiascos can certainly manage to survive two and a half years in seminary.

There's a Bible verse that says "wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction...but small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life."  I've been in some narrow staircases that yielded much more worthwhile views than those attained by way of a spacious elevator.  I think life is like that.  Just because it's easy to get somewhere in life doesn't mean that you'll love the view of the world that you'll wind up with.  There's no guarantee that the difficult moments will lead to something beautiful...but the difficulty of the journey will certainly make you appreciate the end result more.  Right now, graduate school is my 14th-century spiral staircase, turning and turning and making me dizzy with the unique confusion that comes from repetition and the vague frustration of thinking the end is near only to keep turning around and around.  But the sunlight that peeks over those last stairs is so much more valuable to me than the vast wealth of sunshine that spreads freely across the ground.

Out of struggle comes beauty.

I'll leave you with these words from "Enchantment Passing Through," one of my favorite songs from the musical Aida.  I feel as though, indirectly, they relate...they convey the attraction of the unknown that comes with traveling, and yet manages to evade our everyday existence.

To sail away to half-discovered places,
To see the secrets so few eyes have seen,
To see moments of enchantment on our faces,
The moments when we smile, and those between.


If I could leave this place, then I'd go sailing
To corners of my land where there would be
Sweet southern winds of liberty prevailing,
A beauty so majestic and so free.


There'd be no ties of time and space to bind me,
And no horizons I would not pursue.
I'd leave the world's misfortunes far behind me.
I'd put my faith and trust in something new.