Preach it, Sister!

The Paul Simon lyric of the day:

"They say losing love is like a window in your heart--
Everybody sees you're blown apart."

-- from "Graceland"

***
The following is my sermon [homily] for tomorrow. It is my first one for preaching class and only needed to be 4-6 minutes long. The text is Romans 8:22-27. Enjoy, and feel free to comment.

One of the first lessons we learn as children, in addition to basic reading and mathematical skills, is how to wait in line. Mastering the art of waiting in line, at least in an Elementary school setting, was important; our teachers desired for us to learn how to wait patiently, maturely, and (hopefully) quietly. The goal behind this pedagogy was to prepare us for was a lifetime filled with waiting- a lifetime of waiting in line, waiting in traffic, waiting for the arrival of special occasions, Waiting for Guffman….you get the picture.

I decided to investigate how long an average person spends waiting during their lifetime and statistics say that a typical 70 year old spends about 3-5 years out of their life waiting. That number goes higher up depending on if you live in Austin and have been subject to rush hour traffic on I-35 or MoPac. Human life could certainly be defined as simply waiting sandwiched between brief periods of productivity.

Christianity is a religion characterized by waiting. During the liturgical season of Advent, we anxiously await the birth of the Christ child. On Good Friday, we bear witness to the crucifixion and wait for the joy of Easter Morning. All the while, we await God’s new heaven and new Earth.

In this section of Paul’s letter to the Romans, Paul is addressing the Early Christians who are waiting—waiting for the return of Jesus Christ and the realization of the Kingdom of God. As modern readers, we must understand that the Early Christians were absolutely certain that the Kingdom of God was eminent, that Jesus was going to return in glory “any day now.” They thought that if they worked diligently to usher in the Kingdom of God, surely Christ’s return would be around the proverbial corner.

Waiting, however, soon becomes wearisome. Paul is addressing his reader’s frustration, for although they had been blessed with the “first fruits of the spirit,” they could not see these fruits become manifest throughout God’s creation. As time passed and there was no sign of the Kingdom of God, many were becoming discouraged. Perpetual waiting, after all, can fester and grow into feelings of frustration, of futility, of apathy.

Do we, too, not become discouraged, just as our ancestors once were? How can we continue to preach and live out a gospel of hope and grace where world is seemingly absent of such hope and grace? I am reminded of the denizens of Narnia, who, while under the curse of the White Witch, lamented that it was always winter in Narnia, and never Christmas. The Narnians, too, were growing weary of waiting without any sign of redemption.

Paul uses the analogy of labor pains because it is often only through pain that a new life is grown. Renewal, growth, change does not occur without pain, loss, and even despair. In the darkness of winter, it is often easy to forget that spring will soon return, despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary. When it is always winter and never Christmas, it can feel as if we have been abandoned by God.

But my friends, we must remember that even when all is desolate and the world is groaning with the burden of sin, new life lays dormant, incubating, waiting for the sunshine of burgeoning spring! It can be easy to lose hope when all appears lost. But as seminarians, we must be resolved to fight against hopelessness, both in our own lives as well as the lives of our sisters and brothers in Christ. Seminary can, at times, seem hopeless, especially when there are pages of Barth to decipher, passages of Hebrew to exegete, and sermons to write.

All of this work can seem futile if we do not experience immediate results. But we must have hope. We have hope in what is not seen. We have hope that spring will return, that under the surface of the cold, dead earth lies life waiting to surface.

God will not abandon us.

So we shall wait…and wait….and wait….all the while, continuing to nurture ourselves and others, continuing to nurture the new life that longs to be born. As children, we learned how to wait. Now as adults, we must re-learn these lessons of our youth. Waiting, coupled with faith brings Hope. May we always have the courage to wait, the courage to have faith. May we live in the hope of the Kingdom that is, and is to come. Amen.

Here I stand..I can do no other

The Paul Simon lyric of the day:

"So you see, I have come to doubt
All that I once held as true
I stand alone without beliefs;
the only truth I know is you."

-- from "Kathy's Song"


***

The events of the past week have led me to ask the the following question: How far is too far? How far are you willing to go, how far are you willing to push the proverbial envelope when it comes to love, your beliefs, your relationship with God?

I recently watched a documentary on Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a German theologian who was involved in an assasination attempt against Adolph Hitler and was subsequently executed by the Nazis. Bonhoeffer was willing to risk everything he had because he felt that the perversion of the German church by the Nazis was fundamentally wrong; he believed that Christians should not stand idle while their Jewish sisters and brothers were suffering at the hands of an oppressive regime. Bonhoeffer was a brilliant theologian, clearly destined for a prosperous future. He was engaged to be married and was only 39 years old when he was executed. Why, then, did he condemn himself by becoming involved in a resistance against a stronger power? I can only answer that he was a man of such strong conviction that to not risk himself for his faith would be incongruent with his understanding of what is means to be a member of the body of Christ.

I have witnessed friends take, in my humble opinion, foolish risks for the sake of romance. It is a common social paradigm that love often causes one to take a flying leap off the Cliff of Common Sense into the sea of Passion, wherein lies the currents of spontaneity and impetuous behavior. We often laugh at such foolish lovers, but perhaps our laughter is misguided. For the lovesick fool, there is no risk too great and anyone who has ever been such a lovesick fool can admit honesty that when love is involved, you can never go too far.

In the not-too-recent past, I have sacrificed and risked much for the sake of romance; for love, I know that I am capable of taking risks. However, my greatest fear is that I will not honor my convictions surrounding my faith. I fear that if/when my convictions are tested, I will bend with the status quo rather than staying true to myself. How far am I willing to go when it comes to proclaiming the good news of the Kingdom of God? How far am I willing to go to defend and support my sisters and brothers? Is it possible to go too far when it comes to the church? I fear that I will be like the Protestant church leaders who were silent during the Holocaust, I fear that I will be like the white church leaders in the South who were sympathetic to the Civil Rights cause but remained ever taciturn. I am a passionate supporter of GLBT rights and a fully inclusive church, yet am afraid that my own-self interest will silence my conviction.

These are questions which haunt my subconscious...I pray that in the face of adversity, I will not falter but rather stay strong. I pray that I will never forget that when love, hope, peace, and Grace are involved, you can never go too far. Sometimes much has to be risked, even lost, for much to be gained.

The Dude Abides...

I am so completely and utterly stoked that Lebowskifest, a festival celebrating one of my favorite movies The Big Lebowski, is coming to the great city of Austin. [and on my birthday, no less!]

In looking for links to material pertaining to this apex of cinematic achievement, I actually found a website wherein you can read the script to the movie. Oh what joy to follow along with the dialogue! Now the truly anal-retentative among us , or those with simply too much time on their hands, can memorize the entire movie (and subsequently annoy us by saying the dialogue while the movie is in play).

The Paul Simon lyric du jour:

"My life seems unreal,
My crime, an illusion,
a scene badly written in which I must play."

--from "Wednesday Morning, 3 A.M." This was during Paul's colloboration with Art Garfunkel and he tends to be a little overdramatic in his writing. Such is the angst of youth!

Sometimes you're up, Sometimes you're down

Some of you may remember the children's book, Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day from library storytimes or re-runs of the television program "Reading Rainbow." In the book, the title character, Alexander, describes a day filled with the great misfortunes of childhood. No longer desiring to contend with the woes of his "terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day," Alexander contemplates moving to Australia, where he is certain such misfortunes do not exist.


If I were to sum up my adventures of this week, I would title it, Meredith and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week. Now it is Friday, on the cusp of Saturday and I anxiously await the dawn of Sunday morning, which, besides being the day of the Christian Sabbath, is also a symbol of the renewal of the calendar week.

At this point, my readers may inquire, "What in the hell was so awful about this week? What is causing me [Meredith] to dwell in a quagmire of self-pity?" To be honest with my sisters and brothers, I cannot tell you specific events that were particulary loathsome. And, admittedly, there was nothing about my week that was completely dispicable, as I still have a roof over my head, access to food, and am blessed with a an exceedingly caring, if sometimes overbearing, community of friends. However, as bad days and weeks typically evolve, numerous small annoyances and "set-backs" eventually culminated into what I have deemed a "terrible, horrible, no good, very bad week."

In the spirit of the main character from one of my favorite television shows, "My Name is Earl," I have even searched for situations in recent memory where I posssibly committed ethical faux-pas. Earl, the title charcter of the above mentioned sitcom, is convinced that Karma punishes him for his misdeeds; as a result of his revelation, Earl spends each episode attempting to reconcile previous sins. The show, therefore, is a thinly veiled metaphor for sin and redemption and the use of "Karma," in my opinion, is merely a way for the shows producers to discuss theology while maintaining a modicum of political correctness.

I, along with Earl, have also wondered if sometimes life bites you in the ass as a way of saying, "straighten up and fly right, or else!" So, as a result of this week's overall prevalent shittiness, I have been introspective, contemplative, and perhaps even a bit moody (sorry everybody!). Therefore, I acknowledge that sometimes life is crappy. Sometimes, it seems as if nothing is going your way and that your only option is to abort your current situation and simply move to another continent, be it Australia (like Alexander) or someplace else, such as Tahiti (like me).

Of course...bad days happen in Australia and Tahiti and everywhere else in the world. Bad weeks happen. Bad years happen--read the Old Testament and you will understanding what I mean. What's important is to "keep on keepin' on," to never give up and remember that (to steal an idea from Tony Compolo) even in a good Friday world, Sunday is always coming.

The Paul Simon lyric du jour:

"God only knows, God makes his plan;
the information's unavailable to the mortal man.
We're working our jobs, collect our pay
believe we're gliding down the highway,
but in fact, we're slip sliding away."

-- from "Slip Slidin' Away," which is the song I like to listen to when I'm feeling a little melancholy (like today)

The Paul Simon Lyric du jour:

"When I think back to all the crap I learned in high school,
It's a wonder I can think at all..."

from "Kodachrome"

Announcing...

Announcing a new service of this blog: the Paul Simon lyric of the day! Now you, too, can meditate and ponder the lyrics of my favorite singer/songwriter. [I realize, of course, that if you are not already a Paul Simon afficionado, the meaning behind these lyrics may seem lost, to which, I respond: Get over it! Go out, now....no, NOW and purchase a Paul Simon CD. Your life will be all the better for it!. Ok, sermon ends here]

The Paul Simon lyric du jour:

Some people never say the words, "I love you:"
It's not their style to be so bold.
Some people never say the words, "I love you,"
but like a child, they're longing to be told.

--from "Something So Right"

A little adiaphora

Le quote du jour:

"If you ask me anything I don't know, I'm not going to answer."
-Yogi Berra

Rescue Me!

Holy Sonnet XIV

Batter my heart three personed God; for you
As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;
That I may rise and stand, o’erthrow me and bend
Your force to break, blow, burn and make me new.
I, like an usurped town, to another due,
Labour to admit to, but Oh, to no end;
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captived and proves weak or untrue.

Yet dearly I love you and would be loved fain,
But am betrothed unto your enemy:
Divorce me, untie or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

-- John Donne (1573-1631)


[This post is a response to a recent post by a dear friend...]

I was first introduced to John Donne, one of the great English poets, during a poetry unit in my high school senior English class. In fact, I wrote a major paper that was a analysis of the literary forms used in this very sonnet; specifically, how Donne utilizes alliteration and metaphor to communicate the desperation of a man who longs to be closer to God. I remember my paper still, for I was quite proud of it. Of course, back then I was but a mere 17 year-old, still quite innocent and fresh to the aches of the world. If I were to write that paper again, I would pay more attention to the theological nuances, especially since I am now 23 years old and am in my second semester at theological seminary.

I long for God to “batter my heart,” for the walls of my heart are rigid with depravity. My thoughts wander immediately to a phrase from another favorite poet, Paul Simon, who once admitted painfully, “I’ve built walls, a fortress deep and mighty, that none may penetrate.” Just as castle and fortress walls are composed of layers of brick and mortar, in an effort to both contain those who dwell within and deflect those who might assail, sin, too, forms walls that contain depravity and deflect love.

Donne admits, and rightfully so, that only God has the power and capacity to break down the walls of sin and instead build walls of love. A careful examination of the above poem reveals that Donne is not communicating that God will merely knock down walls of a sinful heart and leave the heart to fend for itself; on the contrary, Donne entreats God to not only “batter his heart,” but also to transform his heart by “break[ing], blow[ing], and burn[ing] his heart to “make [it] new.” God is not only a powerful force who rescues those who cry for deliverance; God also becomes a blacksmith who, through heat and force and immense patience, can hammer out our iniquity and form us anew.

Donne admits that reason alone is not enough for him to be faithful—pretty amazing concept for a guy who is Pre-Post-Modern (that is, pre-Enlightenment, pre-Kant, Pre-Schliermacher). Although Reason plays an important role in our discernment between good and evil, it is not enough to fend off the temptation of sin. Eventually, only faith in God has the capacity to transform us. Just as the power of God caused the walls of Jericho to “come a tumblin’ down,” so shall the walls of sin “come a tumblin’ down” when we beg God for mercy.

What comprises our own personal fortresses, our personal prisons of iniquity? What themes of depravity and its subsequent derivitives are responsible for the impenetrable layers of sin around our hearts? I know what mine are and lately, I feel like John Donne, that nothing short of falling to my knees and begging God to divorce me from a marriage to sin will save me from my enslavement to it. We are powerless to rescue ourselves, but through the grace of God, the love of Christ, and power of the Holy Spirit, we will never have to rely on our own merit for our own salvation. Alleluia! Praise be to God!

It's Valentine's Day!

Happy Valentine’s Day!

I don’t care how fashionable it may be for people to loathe this candy-filled, Hallmark-sponsored, commerically-hijacked holiday—the fact is that I absolutely and fundamentally love Valentine’s Day.

My love for Valentine’s Day is not contingent on whether or not I have a date or if I am in a committed relationship. I honestly could care less about receiving the standard fare of chocolates, flowers, or spangly jewels. I do not require fancy dinners or lavish displays of affection (so at this point, I am probably every man’s dream woman!). Valentine’s Day, in its pure, unadulterated form, is not about the crass commercialism of love but is rather a day set aside to remember God’s gift of interpersonal relationships, romantic and otherwise.

Perhaps my affinity towards this day is deeply rooted in childhood. I remember in elementary school, Valentine’s was easily the best day of the year. For starters, we made our own Valentine’s “mail boxes,” either out of a literal box (generally of the shoebox variety), or a metaphorical “box” constructed cheaply out of public school sanctioned brown paper lunch sacks and construction paper. The best part was playing postman/postwoman and delivering Valentines into each student’s personal mailboxes. I used to spend a large portion of Valentine’s Day Eve painstainkingly filling out names on my Garfield Valentines, making sure that my friends/crushes received the “cool” Valentines. At a young age, I already displayed universalist tendencies, as I made sure every child in my class received a valentine from me and not just the children who ran in my social circle. In the afternoon, we would dump our Valentines on our desks, and sort through the cards and candy, occassionally delighting in special Valentine from a dear friend or unrequited love.

I used to (and still do!) dress accordingly for Valentine’s Day, wearing the appropriate colors for the day (red and pink) and, when I was still in the single digits, the white tights with little hearts patterned on them. Let it never be said that I lacked enthusiasm or style! In 1st grade, I took it even further, when I begged my mother to purchase a pair of red patent leather shoes, for the express purpose of wearing them on Valentine’s Day. She obliged and I cannot recall feeling that steeped in couture until my high school prom.

To this day, I honor Valentines by continuing to pass out cheesy little Valentines—this year, I chose a Simpsons theme, hoping that the thinly veiled cynicism and irony would mollify even my most jaded and love-lorn of friends. I also consumed a fair quantity of chocolate, candy hearts, and imbibed many drinks containing that most potent of passion-inducing elixers, alcohol. Valentine's Day should not be a day for cynicism, but should be a day of celebration of the love we have and a day of hope for the love we may yet find. With this in mind, plus the providence of free candy, what is not to like?

Happy Happy, Joy Joy

What music I am listening to : American Beauty, Grateful Dead. My new favorite song is "Ripple."


I used to be a big fan of the cartoon “Ren & Stimpy.” If you were a child in the 1990’s, then you will most likely have caught this cartoon on Saturday night programming on the Nickelodeon network. My father, brother, and I used to crowd around the television set in order to enjoy the outlandish antics of the Ren, the Chihuahua, and Stimpy, his feline companion. (My mother, incidentally, used to believe this show to be extremely sophomoric and somewhat vulgar. As my taste palate has matured with my old age, I tend to concur with my mother’s judgement…)

My two favorite Ren & Stimpy moments revolve around two clever songs that became the crowning achievements during the show’s television tenure. One was the anthem for the Canadian Kilted Yaksman, the words of which, out of space consideration, I will not currently offer for your perusal. The other song, my personal favorite, was, of course, the “Happy Happy, Joy Joy” song. The chorus is simply the words, “Happy happy, joy joy," repeated continually throughout a normal chord progression. During the rousing refrain, the singer of the song, obviously a send-up of childhood songsters such as Raffi, asks, “I don’t think your happy enough! That’s right, I’ll teach you to be happy!” Naturally, the humor lies in the irony behind a gruff, semi-irate children’s “entertainer” encouraging youngsters to be happy.

We, as human beings, are programmed with an innate desire to be happy. But what is happiness, anyway? The constitution of the United States declares that all men [people] have a right to pursue happiness, whatever the hell that means. Lately, my companions in this journey through the rocky roads of seminary have been wrestling with this idea of happiness. For some, happiness lies in the finding of great romance; for others, happiness is self-acceptance. When we are but small children, happiness is certainly less elusive. But as we age, happiness becomes fickle, transient, and down-right frustratin.’ As our hearts become afflicted with the stings of hurt that life can sometimes assail on us, happiness is but an impracticality, the fodder of musicals and children’s programming.

I find it interesting that the constitution does not guarantee happiness, but rather gives us a “license to hunt,” metaphorically speaking (well, unless you are Dick Cheney). We are all driven to seek out that which will make us happy. We are instructed from the earliest of ages to make good “life choices” that will secure our life’s happiness; we are socialized by parents, churches, friends, the media, etc. to pursue options that will ultimately lead to happiness. For example, my parents instilled in me a yearning for higher education, because, according to their experience, higher education will ultimately lead to success which our society equates with happiness. Successful people are happy people—according to American societal constructs.

I had a close friend ask me yesterday, “When will I ever be happy?” You can’t fault a person for asking, “when will this ongoing pursuit for happiness come to an end?” and I can’t offer any sage advice without sounding maudlin or hackneyed.

So I won’t.

Instead, I am going to leave you with the lyrics from a portion of the musical You’re a Good Man, Charlie Brown. And yes, I realize the non-sequiter of referencing both Ren & Stimpy and Charlie Brown in the same blog post. And yes, these lyrics, might, at first, seem to be just the maudlin response I was trying to avoid. However, I find these words, echoed in the innocent voices of childhood, to be poignant and honest.


“Happiness” From “You’re a Good Man, Charlie Brown”

HAPPINESS IS FINDING A PENCIL.
PIZZA WITH SAUSAGE, TELLING THE TIME.
HAPPINESS IS LEARNING TO WHISTLE.
TYING YOUR SHOE FOR THE VERY FIRST TIME.
HAPPINESS IS PLAYING THE DRUM IN YOUR OWN SCHOOL BAND.
AND HAPPINESS IS WALKING HAND IN HAND.

HAPPINESS IS TWO KINDS OF ICE CREAM.
KNOWING A SECRET, CLIMBING A TREE.
HAPPINESS IS FIVE DIFFERENT CRAYONS.
CATCHING A FIREFLY, SETTING HIM FREE.
HAPPINESS IS BEING ALONE EVERY NOW AND THEN.
AND HAPPINESS IS COMING HOME AGAIN.

HAPPINESS IS MORNING AND EVENING,
DAY TIME AND NIGHT TIME TOO.
FOR HAPPINESS IS ANYONE AND ANYTHING AT ALL
THAT'S LOVED BY YOU.

HAPPINESS IS HAVING A SISTER.
SHARING A SANDWICH, GETTING ALONG.
HAPPINESS IS SINGING TOGETHER WHEN DAY IS THROUGH,
AND HAPPINESS IS THOSE WHO SING WITH YOU.
HAPPINESS IS MORNING AND EVENING,
DAYTIME AND NIGHTTIME TOO.
FOR HAPPINESS IS ANYONE AND ANYTHING AT ALL
THAT'S LOVED BY YOU.

And so it goes....

A new semester is upon us!

The next few months will be filled with the translation of ancient biblical Hebrew, attempts at preaching, deciphering the New Testament, and further forays into the theological writings of Karl Barth, John Wesley, and others. All this, of course, will transpire simultaneously with my continued search for romance, self-acceptance, and the best meat-loaf in Austin, Texas.

***

I feel nostalgic this evening. My soul is restless, tumultuous and though the hour is late, I do not foresee going to bed any time soon. I admit that I have had a few (ha!) drinks this evening, in an attempt to soothe my aching psyche, but the alcohol, as always, has failed to produce any permanent solutions to the problems which weigh heavy on my heart.

***

Why is that certain songs have the capacity to recollect dozens of memories of people, places, emotions? I once read that our sense of smell has the strongest ties to memory and I believe that this makes sense. Everytime I casually catch a whiff of a cigar, I am immediatly reminded of my grandfather; everytime I smell Ralph Lauren Safari, I am reminded of my first boyfriend-the one who granted me my first kiss and my first heartache. However, I would say that our sense of hearing, specifically, our association with certain songs, has an even greater capacity to recall the memories of loved ones, of circumstances and events long buried within the passage of time.

A favorite artist or composer loved by a former boyfriend/girlfriend forever associates that boyfriend/girlfriend with that artist. I was once semi-romantically involved with a guy who was a big Duran Duran afficiando; now when I hear Duran Duran, I automatically think of this guy who I was once enamored with but who also spurned my affections. Thus, whenever I hear Duran Duran, I am always filled with a "mixed drink" of emotions--the joy of remembering our brief romantic interlude, the sorrow of my ultimate rejection.

The danger lies in this feeling of nostalgia. Sometimes, when I desire to feel particulary nostalgic, I will play certain CD's or songs that I know will produce a specific emotional frame of mind. Other times, I will listen to certain CD's/songs, knowing full well that the songs will open the door to a myriad of emotional "flashbacks," but I choose to listen to the CD simply because I love that particular artist(s) and it would be silly to avoid the music for the sake of avoiding confrontation with emotional baggage. Some days, a song will innocently blare through my clock radio, and, through no fault of the radio or the DJ, my psyche will be immediately transported to a distant past filled with unrequited love and thus, my morning will be spent in melancholy reflection.

Of course, certain songs recall times filled with ecstatic joy; music is not limited to the recollection of bittersweet memories, although I would venture to say that pain and suffering are often stronger emotions than joy. Nostalgia, after all, is inherently bittersweet, regardless of how joyous the memory. Events in the past can never be revisited; therefore, recalling even the most happy of occassions is bittersweet because one has to also acknowledge that the joyous occasion will never be repeated or revisited.

I say these things not to ultimately condemn nostalgia, but rather to be honest with my sisters and brothers who happen to read this blog. Honesty, my friends, is the true and ultimate liberator!

With Apologies to Isaiah 7:1-3

And it came to pass in the days of Meredith, daughter of David, son of William, that she left her people in the land of Amarillo and went down to Austin, city of the Capital of the state of Texas. And Meredith enrolled in Austin Presbyterian Theological Seminary and enrolled in Beginning Hebrew Exegesis but she did not prevail.

And the LORD spoke to Meredith saying, "Meredith, daughter of David, son of William take heed and fear not. Go forth and meet thy friends in the Library of the Seminary of which thou attendest, for therein you shall find the answer to the passages of which you are attempting to exegete."

And Meredith did the will of the LORD and Lo! she found a book of Hebrew wherein lay the answers to that of which she was seeking. From that day forth she failed not to rely on the books of the reference section of the library of the Seminary, nor did she fail to remember the providence of her friends.

Typhoid Mary

Day two of the illness rages on...as I write this, I am a little doped up on some serious over-the-counter meds, so I am sorry if this post is semi-incoherent.

Feel a little better today, but not much. I was feeling a little stir-crazy this morning, so I happily visited the neighborhood CVS Pharmacy to 1) pick up medicine 2) engage in some contact with the outside world. I'm sure that the employees thought I was a nutcase because I kept wandering aimlessly around the store. In all honesty, it felt so good to be out in a public place, pharmacy or not, that I was delaying my return trip to my entropy-ridden apartment.

Pharmacies are truly wonderful places. Where else can one purchase lipstick, condoms, medications, crayons, and orange juice, all in one convenient location? Ok, ok, plenty of places...but you get my point. Hooray for pharmacies!

In my period of illness, I have grown more appreciative of many things, which include (but are not limited to)
* canned soup
* kleenexes
* Freaks and Geeks- props to my friend Paps for introducing me to this wonderful, albeit short-lived program
* my cat- always an endless source of company
* breathing- I long for the days of breathing unhindered by severe congestion
* pajama pants
* all my friends here at this school, without which I would be lacking in soups, cat, and Freaks and Geeks
* Phone conversations- my connection with the outside world prevented me from becoming Jack Torrence (and props to you if you caught this movie reference!)

Time for bed, as my Tylenol Cold & Flu PM is starting to kick in. I have a test tomorrow, believe it or not, and it will be a miracle if I don't cough through the damn thing...

Sick Day!

Today marks the beginning of February and time for one of Meredith's annual traditions. No, I'm not referring to "groundhog day," which is tomorrow and which I will observe by watching the Bill Murray movie of the same name.

Alas, I, Meredith Kemp, am sick!

I'm not the kind of person who gets sick frequently; generally speaking, I have an immune system that could kill a small horse. Nay, it's an annual event, usually in late January or early February and usually the denoument after a stressful activity (in this case, Hebrew). Precisely one year ago, I got sick during a run of "Sweeney Todd," so I am thankful that there is nothing substantial going on in my life at the moment. [Pause here for a coughing fit]. Uggh. I feel gross. I just want some soup, a little Sprite, and a man to spoon with. On the second thought, I'll settle for just the man...

***
So last night, I was suppossed to help usher at the evening worship service for Midwinter lectures which are taking place at the seminary this week. I say "suppossed to" because it turns out that we were not, in fact, needed to help usher, so I got all dressed up for no good reason. There were so many people in the chapel that I ended up standing up most of the time and I did not get a chance to sing any of the hymns since a hymnal was not available. Normally, I would be somewhat miffed, as singing is my favorite part of a church service. But I was glad to be forced to actually listen to the singing [pause for coughing] of the congregation. Our chapel, normally half to one-fourth full for daily chapel services, was packed to the gills and the singing was glorious, resonating throughout the stone walls and vaulted ceilings. I realized that occassionally, there is much value in taking a step back and absorbing all which is around you.

I also would like to add a shout-out to my fellas in their suits. Mmm....few things are sexier than men in suits. Que guapo!