learning curve

Well, now that I have the bitterness off my chest :P I think I can try to look at this semester slightly more positively. Hopefully. :P How to describe everything that has happened...it was crazy, stressful, and depressing, but I think I did come away with some positive experiences. It started out pretty good, with Alex coming home from Alaska, but that only lasted about a month before things got really bad and I broke up with him. Work also started out really good, with a solid 20 hours a week, but that was also short lived, as my scheduled work hours dwindled down to 3. I was able to make up for it by taking other people's shifts however, and that was obviously a gift from God, because I was able to get more hours by picking them up than I had originally been scheduled (at least when I had 8 1/2 hrs). The stress caused by an unpredictable work schedule was hard, but I did learn that I could survive on 4 hours of sleep and tons of coffee. :p

I also learned of the compassion of some of my professors (or so I think, I don't actually have my grades yet). I had bronchitis for a month, so I missed several classes, but one professor allowed me to do extra credit, as well as to re-do an assignment. Hopefully this will put me at a passing level. In addition to that, I learned that the world does not come to an end when you break up with someone. Yes it was hard, but I realized afterward that I had been relying on him far too much anyway. I was not looking to God, and I was not even making an attempt to connect with people in Orange County (not that that is necessarily a bad thing, but I was essentially shooting myself in the foot, since that's where I'm living until I'm done with school). I learned that I was really not ready to be in a relationship, as much as I wanted it.

One of the hardest things to learn, of course, has been in the last week when I got my Torrey grade. In general I base a lot of my self esteem on my grades, my Torrey grades in particular, since that is the whole reason that I am at Biola. To me, getting a B, and being told that it was because I worked way below my potential (which to me translates to "you're just being lazy. Stop goofing off and you'll do better) is a blow that is really hard to get over. I went from sobbing, to mad, and now I'm just confused. I really don't know what to do because I feel like I am doing the best I can under the circumstances, but they are saying that that is just not enough. They want 100% of 100%, but so do all my other classes, and so does work. I only have 100% to give, so where does that leave me? If all I have to give is 100% of 30%, then that's all I have to give.

At this point I feel like God is trying to tell me to let go. To learn to lean on Him. After all, that's the only reason I can come up with for why I first lost my friends,, then my dog, then my boyfriend, then my good grades. It feels like everything is slipping through my fingers. And maybe that's the point. I really have no control over anything anyways, so I should just stop trying to control and let God run things. That's really hard to do, because I like having a plan and knowing what's going to come next. I like running the show because then there are no surprises and my life is comfortable. Maybe that is the big lesson behind all of this (and I have to find one because otherwise I think I will remain bitter about the hell I went through); maybe all I need to do is stop worrying about tomorrow, and focus on today instead. God will handle everything, and I'll be happier when I let Him. It's a tough lesson to learn, but it seems to be an important one because God is not letting me go without learning it.

With that in mind then, I think my only plan needs to be to focus on God. I don't need to worry about finances, or grades. I need to be responsible about it, but He will provide, and the future will take care of itself. God help me to make you the center of my life this semester. I don't want to go through another semester like the last one.

because I'll never really say it in person.

Dr. Vincent,
I don't even know where to begin. I feel like this last semester was so difficult and trying to talk to you about it was like trying to talk to a brick wall. Each time I tried to explain the amount of stress I was under, in the hopes that you would have some advice on how to organize things, or a way to work with me, I was told that personally you commiserated with me, but academically I needed to suck it up and deal with it, and if I couldn't I was going to get a B. You told me at the beginning of the semester, when I specifically made office hours to work on my notes, that unnecessary, there was no point, but then told me that they weren't good enough. It wasn't until after I pushed the issue (and cried about my confusion) that you finally gave me some clearer instruction (but not until after I only had 2 sets of notes left, so at that point it didn't do me a whole lot of good anyway). At Don Rags you told me that I did a really good job on the make-up assignment for Coleridge, then asked me why I never did that well on anything else (and then refused to believe me when I told you that it was because of the nature of the assignment, that all I did was copy the example that was given to me with the correct information, so it really wasn't anything more than filling in the blanks). On top of that you told me that because I did so well, I showed you that I was capable of far more than I was doing, and therefore you could not give me a good grade on the rest of my work. Thank you for punishing me for doing well on an assignment.

You also told me that because I got the ideas of Kant and Schleiermacher (the two hardest books we've read so far by the way) wrong that I obviously didn't learn anything this semester, and because of all of this put together, I did indeed deserve a B. I don't know what else you want from me. You have made it quite clear that doing the work and making the effort is not enough, that I have to have a passion for everything that we read, and apparently expect me to spend as much time on my four unit semesters as I did on my twelve unit semesters. (You told me as much when you said that now that I don't have twelve units anymore, I should have plenty of time to really focus hard on the quality of my work.) Apparently you don't understand the concept of other classes or working 20 hours in a week. So, thank you for making me feel like a lazy brat who is simply trying to sail her way through by doing as little as possible, and thank you for the panic attacks that your expectations resulted in.

Sincerely,

The Power of His Name

Have you ever stopped to think about why you have a bad attitude about something? Maybe you're having a bad day, or maybe you just woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Whatever it is, sometimes bad moods seem to come along for absolutely no reason. I thought about this lately, and realized that they are in fact forms of satanic attack. I'm serious. While I was in England, there were some days when I couldn't stop questioning; why this? well what about that? which inevitably resulted in me not being able to really enjoy those days. Then one day, I thought, why am I asking what if? What if will not change things when I get back home. The situation is what it is, so I can learn to deal, or I can be miserable. Of course, as soon as I had decided that whatever outcome I was questioning I would be satisfied with, I started questioning it again. That's when I decided to try something. I said "Satan, in the name of Jesus, leave me alone!" (I was pretty angry at this point because this particular round of questioning was happening during a play we were watching and I wanted to enjoy it) you know what? the questions stopped, and a feeling of joy, like I've never felt before, filled me. I was happy. Not just content, but truly joyful. It was a wonderful feeling. Since then I've tried it on several other occasions, when I seem to get angry at something for no apparent reason, or when I'm just moody for no real reason. It works every time. It's not magical or mysterious, it is, plain and simple, the power of Jesus' name.

Square one...

One of the things I have the hardest time dealing with is losing friends, especially if it seems like it is because they've simply decided they don't wanna hang out with me anymore. The loss of friends was the reason why I transferred from a private christian school in high school to a public school. It is also the reason that I do not allow a lot of people to get close to me, because so far it has seemed inevitable that they will walk away sooner or later, no matter how hard I fight to keep them around. When I decided to transfer from CSUN to Biola, it was the hardest decision I've ever made. This is because for once I was walking away from those who were my friends. I didn't stop being their friend, but removing myself from their proximity made spending time with them rather difficult. :P I made the change because I believed that Biola was the better school, and that this was where God wanted me to be.

I still believe this, but it's getting harder and harder to remind myself of that fact. Last spring I sort of lost the two closest people I had out here(sort of because we are still "friends" I just don't hang out with them outside of class anymore...it's a complicated situation) When I came back this semester, I had mostly reconciled myself to this fact, and worked on making my schedule as packed as I possibly could without losing my sanity so that I wouldn't spend too much time alone in my apartment. Also, I was still friends with a girl in Huntington Beach. Not ideal, but close enough to be doable, so I could always hang out with her if I got too lonely. That changed tonight. We had a long conversation about it, but the result was we aren't friends anymore. Interestingly enough, while hurtful, it wasn't quite as devastating as I thought it would be. I cried some yea, but I'm feeling okay about it now. I think this is because God wants me to move on with my life.

In the past, rejection such as this would leave me angry and bitter at them for, sometimes, years after the fact. But I'm not angry, and I'm only a little bit hurt. I'm wondering if maybe, I'm starting to see my worth apart from what other people think of me. This is a good thing. :) (That and my schedule is still gonna be crazy busy, so I won't have a lot of time alone anyway) Slowly, over the last 6 months I have lost (even if only temporarily) a lot of those in my life that I primarily got my feelings of love and acceptance from. (I had the fight with friends at school, Alex left for Alaska, Patches died, and now this) There are really only two ways I have been able to look at this and make any sense out of it, and both are encouraging, to an extent anyway. Either it's satanic attack, trying to make me leave the position that God has placed me in by making me feel as alone as possible, or it's God trying to get my attention by removing that which I turned to instead of Him. If it's Satanic attack, then I must have him pretty scared :P; if it's God trying to get my attention, well then maybe I should listen. :P So we're back to square one, and this time, I think instead of worrying about not having friends and getting depressed, I'll spend my free time (what little of it there is) with God, and let Him bring into my life the people that He wants there.

On being an introvert

I have long thought of myself as an introvert, but in the last few years I've had so many people tell me otherwise that I wasn't sure. Then I recently had it explained that being an introvert has nothing to do with how well you like people (which is what I was told, if I don't like spending a good amount of time alone, then I must be an extrovert) but more with how much energy is gained by being around people. I am consistently exhausted by spending time with people, specifically if it is a large group. One or two I can usually handle ok, certainly far better for far longer than a larger group (large being anything more than 3 usually). Thus the conclusion that I am, indeed, an introvert.

Seeing myself this way also explains a few things about myself. I have also, for a long time, felt socially awkward, unable to do or say the right thing if I was in a larger group, thus resulting in my silence (and therefore my dislike of large gatherings). I even beat myself up for it a few times, wondering what was wrong with me? Why couldn't I just act like everybody else? When I talked with one other person I was fine. There were no issues about me saying the wrong thing, or anything like that. I figured maybe it was just a desire for attention, the need to say something so that others wouldn't forget about me, but that didn't really seem to fit either since I can quite happily sit in a corner with my nose in a book for hours on end with no desire to talk with anyone else at all.

The same person who explained to me that being an introvert does not mean you would prefer to be a hermit also explained that the issues I seem to have socially in large group settings are simply because I'm an introvert. It's natural for introverts to not relate well to lots of people because they aren't MADE to relate well to lots of people. Do you know how happy that made me feel? It means there isn't anything "wrong" with me. There is nothing for me to "fix," it's ok that I sometimes say something that seems to come from left field because introverts trying to become extroverts just creates a big mess anyway. It's also ok that I like to read, prefer reading to spending time socializing in a large group. It's just me, and there's nothing wrong with that :D

Love your enemies

Growing up in a christian home, I was taught all the basic beliefs of Christianity. Most of them made sense, but one I had a really hard time agreeing with was "love your enemies." I began to think about it the other day, and I realized the reason I had a hard time with it is because I was looking at "love" the wrong way. I had always taken it to mean, in this case anyway, that to love your enemies meant you had to like them. You had to *shudder* be friends with them even. Well, I didn't want to be friends with those who had hurt me. I wanted nothing to do with them. So I wasn't going to love them. Then I realized, to love does not mean to like. I can love my siblings, but I'm not always going to like them, or get along with them. In fact, to like someone seems, to me anyway, to be the weakest form of love. To like someone is to appreciate them for their good qualities. To love someone is different. It is to take the good with the bad, and remain faithful anyways. In loving your enemies, you don't have to like them, you don't have to be friends with them. What is required, however, is a willingness to look at this person as a human being, to do for them what you would do for any human, to give them shelter when they are cold, food when they are hungry. It is to treat them with respect, and ultimately, to forgive them for their actions against you. A good example would be something I heard from the movie "The Interpreter." In an African village, if a man committed murder, he would be taken to the river, tied up, and thrown in. The family of the deceased then had the option of either allowing him to drown, or saving him. If he drowned, they had their justice, but if they saved him, they had the healing that comes with forgiveness. I think those who chose to save the drowning man were truly "loving their enemies." It's not an easy thing, but it is worthwhile.

RIP Patches

I would have posted this sooner, but I wanted to wait till I thought maybe I could get through it without crying...nope...

Patches died on June 5th 2010. I wasn't there when my parents and Phillip and took him in because I was in England at the time, but they said it was very easy on him. He just went to sleep.

We had him for 12 years. He was crazy a lot of the time and only about half trained, but he was my best friend. He was always there for me when I needed him, and even when I didn't. He followed me around everywhere...I couldn't get up to go to the bathroom without him following me down the hall. He was my first dog that I really remember anything about. We had another dog when I was younger, but Patches was mine.

When was nine, almost ten years old, my mom finally told me that if I could do all my chores for a month without being asked, I could get a dog. When that month was up, I joyfully started looking through the greensheets and the classified ads in the newspaper, looking for the puppy that I wanted. Some friends of ours helped me out by showing me how to use the greensheets, and even doing some research on what kind of dog I wanted. After several weeks of looking, these same friends, who occasionally checked out the local animal shelters to see what kinds of animals they had, called my parents one night and told them that they had seen what looked to be a 6 month old puppy. He seemed to be very well behaved(the calmest in the kennel) and said we might want to take a look at him. The next day we went down there and there he was, as cute as could be. He didn't bark, or jump or anything. He SEEMED like a perfect angel. He went up for adoption that Saturday, and my dad went to go pick him up. Thus began our time with Patches.

The calmness didn't last more than week, and we soon had our hands full. He was lovable and calm as long as nothing new or exciting was happening, but anytime someone came home, or someone new came in the door, up he got that was that. One time he ran circles around the chair my dad was sitting in because he had so much energy he couldn't sit down. The high school students who met him when we had Bible quiz practice at our house nicknamed him "the psycho dog of death" :P

Another of his nicknames was Houdini. We found out shortly after we got him that if there was a hole somewhere, he would get out. He always came back, though. The day after we got him, we left him outside while we went to church and found the neighbor kids playing with him when we got back. He had gotten out through our fence to the school behind out house and found his way around to our street again. He was nothing if not smart. :) He even managed to figure out a way IN to our house when he was left outside while we were gone. That was the last time we left him outside.

He was my constant companion. It didn't matter where I went, he wanted to follow. When I was in Jr. High, my friend Lauren and I would take a day and spend it hiking in the foothills by my house. He got himself caught in some barbed wire once so I left him at home for a few weeks while his leg healed. Rather than laying under the coffee table in our front room(his usual hiding spot when we left) he sat at the window and watched me leave, howling all the while. He hated being left behind, so if it was possible for me to take him along, I did. I'm pretty sure the foothills were his favorite place to go. So much exploring to be done! Aside from the hikes, and the bike rides(oh the bike rides! he loved running next to me as I rode on my bike.) he also slept with me every night, right next to my bed. He wasn't allowed on the furniture, so he waited until everyone was asleep, then crawled up and laid down, sometimes at my feet, sometimes next to me. I remember one time he almost pushed me off the bed because HE didn't have enough room.

Throughout all the years, he never left me, never abandoned me, never rejected me. If I was crying, he was willing to let me use his shoulder, even though he didn't like it very much. He was my reading buddy and listening ear. He didn't care about anything as long as I was there, and he was GREAT at using his facial expressions to guilt trip me every time I left without him. He truly was my best friend. RIP buddy. I miss you.