nicatime

3.20.2006

Got to class today and realized that my extra credit poem was due... I thought to myself, wondering how it is that no matter how hard I try to do things on time or be organized some how I end up "failing" (i use that word loosely). I like to say I am just organized in a different way and am on a different time schedule. I mean, really though, I had all break to write a poem for crying out loud. Not that I was stressed about it--I did write one off the cuff, but it's the whole principle of the matter.

I suppose I am organized in a sense that I do get things done and I do consider myself responsible--but usually things come together at the last minute--in God's timing to be honest or so I like to believe. I manage my time so that people come first. I could have written that poem last night but instead ended up spending the entire night with people (when I say night I mean 'til 3:30am)--and worthy conversations I might add. Above people comes my time with God. So in all honesty, school comes third or fourth on my list of priorities.

I wrestle with this because God does call us to be faithful stewards of our work and the things He's entrusted to us. God's not only entrusted school to me but also people. That I do know. And I do know that God calls us to tithe our time for Him. He honors that and will bless us for it. That is how I can explain school: It is all in God's strength and multiplied time.

We had to write about insects. Naturally, I wrote of music and love:

// O Starry Night of Song //

Chirping in the night

His song lures me in

How swift he sings

A fascination

Rubbing his wings together,

He calls to love

With stars above, brilliant moon

Moseys along through the field

Trees enclose—a canopy of shadows

A steady rhythm, he keeps beat

My heart slows to his pace

Crisp night air refreshes

A manner of crawl and hop,

He travels lightly

Making way for morning to come

O cricket

A song to my ears

A melody in nature

A rhythm of love

With white, almost neon, flashes of light. The labryinth of bolts filled my eyes. It's not often that CS receives "thunder" storms. Quite a treat indeed. Sometimes I long for the storms I used to experience in H-town. I love when the thunder rolls in and the night sky radiates with wild fire. Back in the day, I mustn't have been a day past six, I believed lightening existed from the gigantic flash on God's camera. You see, I always had a childlike faith in a creator and a farfetched imagination, so this conclusion came easily. I used to pose for Him--ha, I can't write this without a little embarrassment and definitely without chuckling--but it's true. I was a ham for the camera; well, not for everyone. There was a time when I was going to be in a Chucky Cheese commercial but I wouldn't talk, so the job fell through. Anyway, thunderstorms alwasy fascinated me. My sister on the other hand--she feared the storms, running into my room late at night. The big sister that I am and the jerk that I was, I only let her stay if she'd listen to me sing my choir songs and if she'd tell me a story. O dear. Funny to think about. Even looking back to those days, I see such filth in my heart--oh how I thank God for transformation of the heart! And a continued transformation at that!

Spring's most certainly here. Flowers in bloom, love in the air, insects flourishing, lil' rain showers, the whole shabang. Lovely, quite lovely.

Just to wet the pallet...Reading from Nature by Ralph Waldo Emerson

First, the simple perception of natural forms is a delight. The influence of the forms and actions in nature, is so needful to man, that, in its lowest functions, it seems to lie on the confines of commodity and beauty. To the body and mind which have been cramped by noxious work or company, nature is medicinal and restores their tone. The tradesman, the attorney comes out of the din and craft of the street, and sees the sky and the woods, and is a man again. In their eternal calm, he finds himself. The health of the eye seems to demand a horizon. We are never tired, so long as we can see far enough.

But in other hours, Nature satisfies by its loveliness, and without any mixture of corporeal benefit. I see the spectacle of morning from the hill-top over against my house, from day-break to sun-rise, with emotions which an angel might share. The long slender bars of cloud float like fishes in the sea of crimson light. From the earth, as a shore, I look out into that silent sea. I seem to partake its rapid transformations: the active enchantment reaches my dust, and I dilate and conspire with the morning wind. How does Nature deify us with a few and cheap elements! Give me health and a day, and I will make the pomp of emperors ridiculous. The dawn is my Assyria; the sun-set and moon-rise my Paphos, and unimaginable realms of faerie; broad noon shall be my England of the senses and the understanding; the night shall be my Germany of mystic philosophy and dreams.

...All men are in some degree impressed by the face of the world; some men even to delight. This love of beauty is Taste. Others have the same love in such excess, that, not content with admiring, they seek to embody it in new forms. The creation of beauty is Art.

...Some good stuff...

Today in my speech class I realized that one reason I'm drawn to writing is because people cannot interrupt me. Granted, this is, by far, not the sole reason for my love of writing but most definitely a reason (though not always acknowledged). You see, I'm not the greatest story teller or entertainer. I fare better in small groups and I am often soft spoken. Many times my thoughts are more abstract and the important things to me may be of no importance to others. I'd rather not talk with someone if they divide their attention and find no interest in what I'm saying (I've been told that I'm a focused person when talking with others so I suppose I like the same in return...I'd like to believe most people want focused attention when they have something to say). My thoughts often become muddled and can only then stream out clearly through paper and pen. Big groups sometimes muffle my thoughts and speech. Writing captivates the audience and if they're not interested then they don't have to read and I don't have to know about it (is that cowardly? perhaps). Writing allows me to express everything I desire to and to hold back everything I wish to hold back. Disclaimer: Writing serves as a self-expression, a release, a way to communicate, and a form of therapy. However, it never will suffice for a good conversation. It can never subsitiute for a person. The dynamics are completely different although overlapping can exist. ...now I'm just rambling...pretending to talk of something I really know nothing of.

Goals. Hmm...now that's a topic which encompasses a vast array of entities. My next speech for my comm. class deals with the very issue of goals: what are my goals and where can I see myself in the next 5, 10, 15 years. *Puzzled look* Oh if I only knew, then this wouldn't be so hard. The funny thing, God's been teaching me to be content with not knowing what the future holds and to just trust. Now, for class I must ponder these issues. I suppose I'll throw out the usual answers I can so easily conjure up: I reckon I'll teach for a time--possibly in another country at one point or another. Write a book--maybe a few. Ministry will be a part of whatever I end up doing, if not full-time ministry. Have a family, God willing. Continue in music (not sure of how exactly). [none of these in any particular order] My future seems nebulous right now--I'm in a state of waiting and forging onward in the work God's given me right now. I cannot really see past graduation, well heck, past the summer really--housing for next year remains a toss up and student teaching's a mystery location wise. Minor details. God'll work them out. No worries.