Isn't Life Swell?

Today has been fairly uneventful, as days go. Were I to write an autobiography, I’m fairly sure April 5th, 2013 wouldn’t feature in the catalog of my life’s significant events. However, it’s been a very pleasant day, and that’s worth noting in its own right. 

I’m currently sitting on the Harding lawn, basking in the breezy warmth of an April day that (finally!) feels like spring. I can smell the blooming sweetness of the new-flowering trees, and the sky’s cool blue is tempting me to hope for the rain’s permanent departure. 

We’ve been looking at a Jim Carrey movie called The Truman Show as an example of film as literature in my English studies class, and this morning we watched the ending. I’m decidedly not a Jim Carrey fan, but he’s done a surprisingly great job as Truman, the unwitting star of a television show centered around his life. For the last twenty-nine years cameras have captured literally his every move, unbeknownst to him-- until now. (Spoiler alert... I can’t resist!)  After fighting with uncharacteristic determination through a storm at sea (orchestrated by the show’s director, of course), he sails straight into a wall-- the painted backdrop of the show’s enormous set. 

Truman abruptly breaks down. He reaches out and touches the sky of his world, the sky that was never actually the sky, and, back turned to the camera, begins beating hopelessly against the wall, trying to knock through it. That image just struck me-- in this despairing realization, we as an audience don’t get to see Truman’s face. He finally gets a moment of true emotion to himself, privately, without the whole world ogling him. I’m not sure why it touched me so strongly, but it did. I teared up a little right there in class.

On my way back to the dorm, I saw the fattest squirrel I’ve ever seen. 

If you’ve ever visited Harding, odds are you know about the squirrels. There may be more squirrels here than students, and most of them are pretty chunky. After all, they’re consistently fed by 8,000 college students, so for this squirrel to be deemed the absolute fattest one ever to cross my line of vision is a serious testament to his mad food-finding skills. I had to chuckle at his chubbiness.

We’ve sung the song “Daniel, Daniel” about a hundred times in Concert Choir before (or at least that’s how it seems), but today Dr. Neill asked us to think about the words as if we’d never heard them before. It’s about Daniel in the lions’ den, which most of us relegate to kindergarten Bible classes (...guilty). This morning, though, I actually bothered to stop and think about what a crazy, unbelievable story that is, and how much I personally tend to gloss over the amazingness. I mean, most of the time, we go, “Yeah, yeah. Daniel and the Lion’s Den. I know that one.” 

As if to say, “Yeah, the one where the guy doesn’t get eaten by ferocious, ravenously hungry lions even though he spends an entire night in an inescapable pit with them. Old news.” 

What?!? I am thankful for days that bring reality and perspective to God’s Word.

Because even Brit Lit professors can’t escape the beckoning call of today’s glorious weather, I spent that class on Midnight Oil’s porch, discussing Wilfred Owens and T. S. Eliot. I have an ashamed English Major confession to make-- “The Waste Land” makes no sense to me, and consequently I found myself taking in the atmosphere more than obscure literary allusions. A little orange tabby cat slunk its way across the lawn next to the porch, catching my eye. I know a stray cat at home, a friendly companion for walks around the neighborhood, so the sight made me smile. 

I haven’t bored you with random details of my day in quite some time, as I usually don’t consider them blogworthy. Today, though, I am struck by the fact that humans are incredibly impressionable things. Beauty and humor, music and art, touch us in ways we can’t quite comprehend, though the impact is definite. I'm so fascinated by the way aesthetic experience, for whatever reason, deeply affects our emotional worlds. Even more, though, I see intense care and attention God gives to my life. Like a master artist, He paints a breathtaking picture of salvation, grace, and mercy... but doesn’t neglect the little details like squirrels and tabby cats. 

Underneath all the stuff that actually matters, life is still beautiful in its little insignificances. 

Isn't life swell?

She Gave Me Cooties

Wow. Three solid months with no bloggering whatsoever. I've reached a new level of slacking. I honestly do have a lot of blogworthy thoughts, and have every intention to blog, but taking seventeen hours is eating my time for lunch. One of these days I shall blog them all out.

In honor of April Fools Day, though, have a poem I had to write for my Brit Lit class. It's a parody of Lord Byron's "She Walks in Beauty," from the perspective of a six-year-old boy.

She Gave Me Cooties

She gave me cooties, like the bites
Of rabid dogs and poison snakes;
Her deadly kiss inspires a fright
Not all the world combined could take:
My will and testament I write
For fear that I may ne'er awake.

One foot the more, one trip the less,
And I would have my great escape, 
But as it were, I met distress.
She snagged my super-hero cape, 
And foul mission found success
Upon the gravel playground scape.

And on my cheek, at that high noon,
Met with this dread, diseased event, 
I knew I'd sing my final tune;
I knew my brief six years were spent.
Goodbye, cruel world, I leave too soon, 
A heart too young and innocent! 

Up and Up and Up

"To live will be an awfully big adventure."

With the words of Peter Pan as my battle cry, I charged fearlessly into 2012. I'm proud to say I've learned a bit about adventuring.

In this lovely mixed-up world there are two sorts of adventures, and I am fortunate enough to have experienced both. The first kind found me in the first half of the year. I danced myself across the stage as Laurey Williams (...okay, so the dancing was a little shaky), and I glided across another stage in my "confident woman shoes" as a graduate. I took Disneyland by storm yet again with my favorite people in the world, my family. I celebrated my last year as a Kamper with one of the best weeks yet. These are the mountaintop adventures, the crowning moments that make you feel larger than life. 

Coming off this high, I entered college. As a certain Alice once learned, some adventures make you feel big. Others make you feel very, very small. 

It's terrible and beautiful, being out on your own. Stepping onto campus, I felt like the Darlings arriving in Neverland: awestruck, confused, excited, and incredibly young. With experienced and comfortable Peters flying around all over the place, I found myself flapping my arms frantically, trying to think happy thoughts.

After senior year, I assumed I had it all together, that I knew everything, that I was the best. I was supposed to be Peter. As Mr. Barrie himself put it, I was learning "the difference between an island of make-believe and the same island come true." It's quite a lovely island, though, with so many adventures crammed into one place. Arriving full of dreams, expectations, and myself, I was promptly emptied of all my pretenses and pride. Suddenly I realized the millions upon millions of facts I didn't know, books I hadn't read, plays I hadn't seen, people I hadn't met, experiences I'd never found. I felt smaller than I've ever felt in my life-- but oh, the room to grow! 

I've been late to classes, or slept through them completely. I've blown auditions. I got a B in a class  when I should have gotten an A. But I've also stood triumphant over a well-written English paper, an audition gone well, a line clearly delivered. Above all, I've met and befriended marvelous people, many of whom have become extraordinarily precious to me. These are my happy thoughts. 

I lied to you at the beginning of this post. There's not two types of adventures. The hundreds of thousands of adventures in the world remain as unique as their adventurers, but they all have two things in common: they begin, and they end. In this year of our Lord 2012, with the appropriate pomp, circumstance, and triumph, I completed the adventure known to most as high school, beaming all the way. With the appropriate timidity, perspective, and excitement, I began the one called college. 

What's coming in 2013? No earthly clue. 

But just watch me fly.

Alvin. Alvin? ALVIN!

     Like this post,  this originated as a journal entry for my Communications class. We were asked to choose and defend our absolute favorite Christmas song. This is what I came up with.

It was about two in the morning when I wrote this. Don't judge.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     Music has been throughout the ages an outpouring of joy, a wellspring of happiness, a way to express the inexpressible. It comes as no surprise, then, that the most joyful holiday of all has garnered an entire genre of music for itself, leaving the paltry offerings of Halloween and even Thanksgiving behind. Given this incredible range of carols, I am now faced with a Herculean feat: choosing the best Christmas song of all time. Should we rate based on music or lyrics? Poignancy, or entertainment factor? However impossible the task may seem, I aim to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that “Christmas Song,” made famous by Alvin and the Chipmunks, richly deserves this coveted title.

 First, “Christmas Song,” otherwise known as “Christmas Don’t Be Late,” has proved to be wildly popular. Debuting in 1958, the single won no less than three Grammies. Merely garnering such prestigious awards deserves respect; the feat becomes even more impressive when you consider that every other artist gunning for these awards was beaten out by a boy band of anthropomorphic chipmunks. (Talk about a bummer). Furthermore, the song has maintained absurd popularity in the last half-century as a seasonal favorite on radio stations across the country. 

 Furthermore, the Chipmunks in this single perfectly convey the childlike innocence typified by the Christmas season. The song naively personifies Christmas; the mellifluent rodents beg, “Please, Christmas, don’t be late,” as though time could somehow actually stop a few days before the holiday. Unlike most Christmas songs, it is also honest in its portrayal of the shallowness of children. All three Chipmunks affirm, “We’ve been good, but we can’t last,” confirming the fact that they are only being good in expectations of presents. And who could forget Theodore’s undying longing for that hula hoop? Somehow, Alvin and his bushy-tailed brethren manage to sweetly charm their audience with the childlike innocence and make them overlook their deviousness, an impressive accomplishment. 

 I am an artist at heart, and I can appreciate Bing Crosby’s dulcet tones or the jingling of bells just as much as the next girl. However, when I think Christmas, I always return to Dave Seville’s firm admonishments of Alvin and the squeaky wistfulness of Simon’s wish for a toy airplane. Whether you value the affirmation of the masses or the wide-eyed, greedy child within yourself, you cannot deny the Chipmunks their collective throne as the kings of Christmas music.

You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown

If you've talked to me for any length of time, you've probably been exposed to my obsession with Peanuts. There's something just plain enchanting about finding wisdom where it's not expected, and the sweet old comic strip is such a great example. With its witty social commentary and pint-sized philosophers, it has captured the hearts of millions over the last sixty-two years-- especially mine. And especially Charlie Brown.

Watching A Charlie Brown Christmas tonight, I got to thinking. And in this thinking, I realized that Charlie Brown is pretty much my hero. And in light of this realization, I decided to blog.

So here you go: a few short reasons why everybody should be like that lovable round-headed kid.

He's an optimist. So Charlie Brown's a little gloom and doom sometimes. The bleakness of life gets to us all sometimes. But despite this pessimism act, the man tries to kick that stupid football of Lucy's every single year. How many times has he fallen flat on his back? All of them. All of the times. Does that stop him? NO! Fully aware of Lucy's devious tendencies, he always, always gives her the benefit of the doubt and always, always hopes for the best. 

He's persistent. In the same vein, Charlie Brown fails at pretty much everything, not just kicking that elusive football. He can't fly a kite, he can't win a baseball game, and he can't even spell the word "beagle." (And Snoopy is one, folks.) Such insurmountable failure would be enough to send even the best packing, but not our leading man. Even as he bemoans his own lack of skill, he goes right on trucking. Under that facade of self-deprecation there's enough confidence to keep him going for the last sixty-two years. 

He's true to himself. Despite his lack of Valentines, Christmas cards, and Halloween party invites, our hero never goes out of his way to try to fit in. He's one hundred percent himself all the time. When Lucy demands a shiny aluminum tree, he proudly comes back with his pathetically lovable little evergreen-- not for the sake of defying the norm, but because he thinks it's the right thing to do. That little tree needs him, and doggone it, he's going to take care of it! While he wants people to like him, he's only willing to gain everyone's approval for his real and honest self. If he's unpopular, it's only because he refuses to compromise. And that rocks.

What a man, what a man, what a mighty good man. Keep at it, Chuck. I'll be your Little Red-Haired Girl anytime.

Super Cute

"By the way, you're super cute." 

When he walked by, we were sitting in the Burger King at the Little Rock airport, waiting (rather impatiently) for our chicken nuggets. He looked Rachel straight in the eye and complimented her. Making no further attempt at conversation, he simply picked up his bag and walked away, leaving my "super cute" best friend and I laughing in awkward bewilderment. 

Now there's usually nothing blogworthy about a compliment, I know, particularly not one from a random stranger. The more I sit and think about it, though, the more I appreciate this seemingly awkward guy's kindness. He wasn't hitting on us or gunning for a phone number-- if he had been, he would have stuck around for it. Nope. He just saw a cute girl and thought, "Hey. She is cute. I wonder if she knows. I think I'll tell her." End of story. 

Is there anything so rare as a pure, selfless, honest compliment? I mean, really. This man risked embarrassment purely to raise someone else's self esteem, with absolutely no payoff for himself.

Thank you, Awkward Compliment Man, for making our day. The world needs more people like you. 

Dr. Seuss and Politics

This is it: the day the fate of our country will forever be determined. Today we either enter Utopian bliss or seal our own destruction. Today is our only shot at rescuing America from its sinful ways; if we choose wrong today, our once-great nation will pass under God's judgment and most likely fail.

All right, hold the phone. Are American standards of morality rapidly deteriorating? As a Christian, I believe so, yes. Is the right to elect our President a blessing, and one I think we should take advantage of? You bet. I voted for the first time this election season and I'm proud to have done so. Does God have the power to judge sinfulness at any time? Of course He does. Look at Sodom and Gomorrah.

I don't agree with President Obama's politics, but I don't believe the fact that babies are being brutally murdered is his fault. Have his policies made it easier to get an abortion? Sure. Did I vote for him? No. But it isn't his fault. It's not his fault that lots of people consider homosexuality an inherent quality rather than a sinful lifestyle choice. Do his policies facilitate it? Yes. Is it his fault? No.

It's my fault.

It's my fault because I don't say anything. I don't always defend God's Word when its principles are questioned. I don't like trying to tell someone who identifies as gay how God feels about that. Even when I stand up for these issues that have jumped the border between morality and politics, I am more than content to sit back in apathy when someone uses the Lord's name in vain, telling myself that's "not as big a deal." I don't ask other Christians why they watch television shows filled with profanity and sex jokes. I shy away from directly telling an immodest girl that she's causing brothers in Christ to stumble.

Even at a Christian college, I pass people every day who don't know Jesus, and I don't even bother to mention Him. I'm not welling over with the indescribable joy that comes with salvation. For the most part, I don't care enough about others to try to get them to Heaven.

Why is America going downhill? I can blame it on politics all I want, but the bottom-line is I'm doing nothing to stop it. But at least I voted!

Growing up I loved Dr. Seuss' book The Lorax. As Dr. Seuss so often is, it's deeper than it seems at first glance, and I've always liked this quote: "Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It's not." I can vote a certain way, talk a certain way, blog a certain way, but if I'm not actually out there trying to affect change, what on earth is the point?

Lucky for us, hearts, unlike the government, always have the capacity to change. There won't be another presidential election for four years, and whatever happens tonight, we're stuck with it for a time. However, you can go out tomorrow and change someone's life. And that will have a longer lasting impact anyway.

Bottom line, this country isn't going to start changing until I start changing. So I'm gonna start changing. What about you?