Your Typical "Goodbye 2012; Hello 2013" Blog Post

Shall I be stereotypical and write a "Welcome New Year" post?

I think yes.

Two thousand and twelve, for me, was no picnic, to be honest. It was full of crazy trials and hardships. No good whatsoever. There is little about 2012 that I can reflect on and say "YES, that was amazing!"(although a few things do come to mind! Things that will be public information in good time.). However, there is so much that I can look back on and say "Look at what I learned from that!" or "Look at what happened because of that!".

 The number one thing that I felt like God was really trying to teach me this year was a lesson of trust. As some of you may know, I really have a hard time trusting people. It takes me a long time to really, truly trust someone and, even then, I am still relatively reserved and almost shy about being real with somebody. Even if that somebody starts with a capital "S".

That is why the verse (now tattooed on my back in gorgeous calligraphy and also engraved on my purity ring!!) Jeremiah 29:11 is so wonderful to me. Jeremiah 29:11-13: "For I know the plans I have for you", declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future. Then you will call on me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart."

The idea that my future is 100% planned out for my good  is a thought so incredibly powerful and moving to me. I needn't fret about tomorrow for tomorrow is already planned out. And on top of being planned out, it is done so for my good. This incredibly tough and trying year? It was planned out for my good. Although I cannot necessarily see what that good is right now...


To be honest, sometimes (okay, most times...okay, FINE. always...) the Christian cliches drive me crazy. Let's be real, anybody who grew up in the church had "Trust in Jesus" drilled into them since they were a little tiny kid going to Sunday School (anybody taught that lesson using flannelgraph or puppets? I was!). For some reason though, this is just one lesson that I had and am having to relearn.


Along with trust, I suppose, goes the lesson of reliance. Trust and reliance go hand-in-hand, I think. Once one learns or is learning to trust, the lesson of learning to rely or depend comes soon after.

As a naturally independent I-Can-Do-It-Myself-And-I-Don't-Need-Your-Help type of person, this was and is rather difficult to learn. However, when you have so many hardships thrown your way within the span of a year, or even a day, depending, the lesson becomes incredibly necessary. I, first, need to trust God that he knows the plans for my life and has created them for good. Secondly, I need to rely on Him and His plan.

As grateful as I am that this year is finally over and a new year is nigh, I am very happy to have gone through what I have in order to have been able to work on learning these two very important lessons.

So, Happy New Year, my friends!!

Giant Update

Let me begin with saying I have much to say—some good and some not so good. Haha!!

First of all, it is with a crazy amount of happiness, anticipation, excitement, and joy that I tell you that I have been accepted to London Mayterm!! For those of you who don’t know, Mayterm is a program Westmont has during May (hence the name) in which you can do a month of school and take up to nine units. It’s seriously the smartest thing ever. London Mayterm is just that, but it’s in LONDON (shocker, right?)!!!

I’m super stoked about this. Going to London means several things for me. One, it would enable me to graduate a semester early—BAM. Two, it’s for theatre majors and English majors specifically. Basically, we’ll be seeing like 25 plays and writing about them. For school. Yeah.  It’s awesome. Three, it’s in freaking LONDON. Nothing could be more wonderful for me. Theatre productions every day for a month in London, Edinburgh, and Dublin. Perhaps the only way to make it more brilliant is to travel about via horseback, other than that, it’s basically a dream come true for me. Jealous? You know you are.

Secondly, I will not be going back to Westmont for the spring semester. This is crushing for me. I already missed a semester and instead had to attend a very sub-par junior college. I have been counting down the weeks until the spring semester at Westmont starts since August. I was more than excited and eager to go back.

Not being at Westmont is so hard. I don’t even know why it’s this hard for me. Perhaps Westmont is a sanctuary for me? Perhaps it’s because there are so many wonderful people that I love live or work there? I don’t know.

Not being at Westmont this semester has shown me just how wonderful it really is. The professors genuinely care about their students. Just this week, I randomly popped my head into a professor’s office (it was Dr. Steve Julio, if you must know) and literally sat and talked with him about really nothing for an hour. I miss walking into my professors' offices for help on a paper or whatever and sitting and talking about anything but the paper (or whatever) before any one remembers what I was actually there for.

Westmont also has a great community. I love it so much. The vibe on campus is just relaxed and peaceful—even during midterm season. Also, I almost never hear swear words or vulgar talk.

I miss going to chapel three times a week. I loved sitting in chapel and listening to an amazing speaker (or not so amazing sometimes—out comes spider solitaire on the iPhone…not that I did that or anything…) and being led in worship by a fabulous worship leader who’s passionate about Jesus.

That leads me to discussing my amazing job(s) I had! Chapel set-up and tear-down are seriously the best jobs on campus. Even though set up means I have to get up at like 6:00 every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, as soon as I got down there, I enjoyed myself. The people I worked with are all super sweet and nice and my boss, Brad, is quite a guy. I also miss working for the sports teams! I loved broadcasting all the sports and knowing all the ins-and-outs about all the sports teams (especially basketball!!).

I hate hearing people complain about Westmont. I hate it. I would do almost anything to go back there. They don’t understand what they have. Westmont is a gem of a school. Amazing place. It is so incredibly hard and painful to me that I can’t be there for this season. I mean I'm up there like three/four/five times a week, but still. It's not even close to the same.

However, my next semester isn’t going to be so bad. I don’t like going to class at SBCC, so I’m going to take online classes. I want to go to London Mayterm, but junior colleges get out at the end of May (right in the middle of Mayterm—no good), so I’m doing the eight week online class program with Saddleback junior college (it’s pretty sweet—15 units in only eight weeks). After school gets out for me in mid-March, I’ll work full time to help pay for London Mayterm and going back to Westmont for the fall.

I don’t know what God is doing. Frankly, it sucks. I hate it. But something good must be coming out of this. Something.  Perhaps my working full time for like 6ish weeks is actually gunna let me go on London Mayterm and without those weeks, I wouldn’t be able to go. Maybe. But also maybe not. Maybe there something bigger in store.

The Doctor is In

I did a very bad thing. It wasn't my fault, I swear. Netfllix told me to do it.

I have fallen prey to the world of Doctor Who. The program that (re)started in 2005, not the one from 1963, although that one is brilliant too!

This is very bad. Very very. New TV obsessions are always bad (I already have way too many programs I already watch--Sherlock, Parenthood, Once Upon a Time, and How I Met Your Mother are the current ones) and it plays off my love for all things British. Also, it's super nerdy and wonderful.

Although, the first five or so episodes are lame, the show gets so FREAKING good, I can barely stand it. 

Basically, do yourself a favour and watch Doctor Who. It's on Netflix. Do it!! And then we can rant and rave about it.

(WARNING: for those who haven't watched it yet, go away...now. Spoilers ahead.)

These are my thoughts about the program and its characters.

Chris Eccleston's Doctor--LOVE his attitude. I was crushed when he had to regenerate.

Rose Tyler: Okay, this chick. I love this chick. She's smart and pretty and funny and British. I love her accent; I love her relationship with the Doctor(s); I love her passion; I love her wit. When she got left in the parallel universe the first time, I was so mad and so sad. I liked her so much! And then when she came back! Oh, when she came back! I almost cried! Rose! And the (human) Doctor! Despite my still wanting her to be on the show, I felt like they had her leave the show very well. She and the (human) Doctor. The way it should be.

David Tennant's Doctor: Initially, I really didn't like him. All I saw was Barty Crouch Jr. from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. I couldn't see an evil murderer being the Doctor that I had come to love. And then it all changed. Now I cannot watch Harry Potter without freaking out about my Doctor! I love this fellow so much it's pretty darn ridiculous. He can come ask me to travel with him any day. He's cute, he's funny, he's sarcastic, and he has an amazing and unique relationship with each of his companions. He is definitely my favourite Doctor. I really really like this guy. I am very glad that he lasted as long as he did although he definitely could have been on the show longer. 

Martha Jones: Unfortunately for this character, she was introduced right after Rose had been sent to the parallel universe and I was still very upset and couldn't accept anyone as the new companion. She eventually grew on me. but I never really loved her.

Donna Noble: Again, we were still relatively post-Rose. I was still super sad. I have the tendency to get very attached to characters (Sherlock, for example. Love that guy). She too, eventually grew on me. I liked that they had someone as the Doctor's companion who wasn't necessarily the most gorgeous actress on the face of the planet. I liked her saucy attitude and her self confidence. It also tickled me that she would never listen to the Doctor.

(At this point, it should be said that I am only eight episodes into the fifth season, so I am barely familiar with the new characters, but will get there (very) quickly and do a subsequent post reflecting on the current characters)

River Song: I really like this chick from what I've seen. She's mysterious and a little bit on a know-it-all. I think she's funny and am excited to get to know her more. ALSO, let it be said now as this is a very appropriate place to put this, NO SPOILERS, people!! I'm not current yet!

Matt Smith's Doctor: No. Just no. Nonononononono. I think his hair is decent (although Tennant's was 1000% better) and his bow-tie is "cool" (I like bow-ties, thank you very much), but beyond that--no. I don't like his attitude very much at all. I don't like his attempts to be funny. He seems like a bumbling idiot wielding a sonic screwdriver and manning a TARDIS who's trying to be the Doctor. Sorry but no. Go away. Bring me back David Tennant.

Amy Pond: Not bad. She's kind of growing on me a tiny bit though. I love her accent. I don't like the sexual tension between her and the Doctor though. There is a big difference between Tennant's Doctor and Rose's romantic tension and the sexual tension between Pond and Smith.

So there. Those are my thoughts. I would love to hear your feedback and thoughts, but, as Professor Song would say, NO SPOILERS. I just watched the dream vs. reality episode. So there. No spoilers.

Beach Discovery

Today on the beach, my two sisters, Ray Ray and Evangeline, and my bestie, Nicki (told you I'd mention you!), discovered the coolest trash ever:

A stunt kite (or racing kite as I would rather call it)!

A stunt kite is a kite with two strings coming from it that you can control and make it do all sorts of rad things. It's pretty much the coolest thing ever. I love it!

Evangeline and  I discovered our gem in a knotted mess. It had appeared that the owner did not know that it was a stunt kite--the two tethers were intertwined and put together--and when it had gotten tangled, had thrown it out. So we scored a new kite!!

Our kite looks like an Air Force Blue Angel, no big deal.  Kinda like this:

So, if you see a rad kite like this one gracing the sky of Southern California's beaches, it's probably us.

Whoops!

My thinking three months ago: "This summer I will blog almost everyday!"

Reality: Haven't blogged since April.

The Reason: I honestly have no idea. I have been too busy doing nothing, apparently.

Sorry, people. I'm back now (supposedly). Now I will StumbleUpon awesome things, come up with great ideas, and pretend I'm smart and share the results with you.

For now, here is a recent discovery of mine (I'm a little late, I know): Pandora.  People, people, people. Let me TELL you. This site is GOLD. GOLD I tell you.

For completely free, you can sign up for your favorite artist (ie. John Mayer), genre (broadway showtunes is the BOMB), or composer (Sting) to be played to you for hours on end (no need to buy it on iTunes anymore) AND it will find songs within that genre that are rad and/or will find you artists/songs that are similar to the artist or composer that you searched for (this is where iTunes will keep getting business from me--I must buy the songs it finds for me that I love, you see) and play them too!

If you don't like the song/s that it finds for you, you can click the little thumb down dealio and you will never hear it on your profile again. However, if you love it, you can click the little thumbs up thingy and it will find others like that song too.

What part of this is not the coolest thing EVER?

I'm obsessed.

Happiness in Some Posters

I love posters, don't you?
I think I need to get some small ones to see everyday and therefore make my day better.

 If I were to get ones that embody my current obsessions, these would be they:

My favourite musical!
(For now--it changes.)
(P.S. Wicked is coming to my area in February and I am already STOKED.)

You may not know this, but Flynn Rider? I'm gunna marry him someday. 

 
This could very possibly be my favourite movie.

 

 Or this one....

(Sorry it's sideways)

  

Or this one....

 

Or Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows

(But I just don't like any of the posters as much as the others.)

Time! Got the Time Tick-Tick-Tickin' in my Head

I am confused.

(Isn't that a great opening to a blog? Or a book? I should write a book....yes, yes I should. Perhaps I will when I don't have 2395235 million things going on at the same time.)

Rewind to your senior year of high school (or frankly any school year at all). Do you remember how long the school year lasted? It seemed like summer would NEVER come and you would be stuck in {insert grade of your choice here} forEVER.

Now rewind (or fastforward!) to your freshman year of college. It seems like it lasts like (exactly) .34 seconds (okay, maybe not so exact, but you know what I mean). 

Didn't I just move in to room 231 in Page Hall like last week?! Didn't I just start my first class as a college student? Didn't I just discover just how fattening and icky the food in the DC is (for the most part--some of the salads are d.e.l.i.c.i.o.u.s.)?

Nope.

That was about eight months ago. (Say what?!) Yup, eight months.

I am not even close to being done (mentally) with my first year of college. In a blink of an eye, I will be walking down an aisle wearing a big gown and a strange hat that ruins my perfectly (or maybe not-so-perfectly) done hair to receive my degree and a "congratulations" from the President (of Westmont College). SCARY thought.

How does the time highschool (or any education under that) go by sooooooo slowly, but the time in college FLIES by without even so much as a warning!?

Perhaps it is that I am SO much more busy in college....
Perhaps it is that college is SO much more fun than any other grade....

I just don't get it.

A Letter to Cancer

Dear Cancer,

We have some things to talk about. Very serious things.

You have hurt me and my family for far too long. You have brutally attacked far to many members of my family and have struck fear into my family members who have been blessed with avoiding cancer (so far).

First, you attacked my great grandmother (Grandmother) with breast cancer. She is one of the strongest people I know and she toughed it out and lived.

You've also assaulted my other great grandmother (Grams) with cancer of the colon. Again, you failed. Both my great grandmothers are alive and well.

Not to long ago (three or four years ago?), you attacked my grandmother (Nana) with breast cancer. After long months of chemo and radiation, she too lived (and her hair is coming back in).

You also got to my childhood best friend, my rabbit Honey, with cancer of the uterus. She, however, didn't make it. You killed my best friend.

Two weeks ago today, we discovered you had also attacked my best friend, my bed-hog, my snuggle-bunny, my Scottie dog, Hamish. We had no idea you were hiding in his stomach until it was too late. You killed another best friend.

Do you know how hard it is to remember these things and type them out? It's brutal. I have cried so many tears both very recently and in the past over my best friends and my family. As a matter of fact, I'm crying now. The other day, I found a something-of-mine that smelled like him (generally, not a pleasant smell, but it was a good smell this time) and I cried.

You have nearly killed three of my heros and did actually kill two of my best friends. How many of my family members have you instilled with fear of you? I don't know. I know I'm afraid of you. I know I'm afraid of my other dog, my other best friend, Havie, catching you. Very afraid. I'm going to treasure every second with her.

You know what I'm also afraid of? Going home. I have only heard that my Hamish is gone. I haven't seen it. I haven't felt it. I am afraid of going home and realizing he actually is gone and losing it all over again.

"To Hate, V. :To hold in very strong dislike; to detest; to bear malice to. The opposite of to love. (OED)." I hate you, Cancer. I hate you with all of my being.

I've had enough with you.
No love at all,
Margie


Hamish is the sleeping one.                                 Grandmother and Nana







If we're friends on FaceBook or you follow me on Instagram, you're seen this one before. Hamish is the one on my tummy on the upper left. Such a love. I will miss him so much. I barely remember life without him (I was only about 6 when my parents brought him home--SURPRISE!!!--that was a good day) and it's gunna be hard to be without him.














(Sorry to Grams--and Honey--I couldn't find any pictures on FaceBook of you--and Honey--and, sadly, unless I took the photo myself or it's on FaceBook, I don't have it with me at school.)

Red and Yellow, Black and White Part 2

I have discovered, over 17 years of living, that the thing that makes me the MOST infuriated is when people speak "ill" (this being a kind word) of my interracial family.

Like the lady at Starbucks who called my family "disgusting" RIGHT in front of my mother!? (Had I been there……)

Or what about the lady on the beach who told her kid that she could only play with the "white one" (referring to my blood-related sister, Evangeline) and not the "black one"--except she used the N word?! (My mother had to pin me down so I didn’t slap her with all my might—not kidding.)

How about the countless people who asked us while we were in the process of adopting Ray Ray, “Why would you adopt a black one?” (To this I spat back, “Because there were no PURPLE ones!!”)

Can you believe the RUDENESS and the AUDACITY of these people?!

Seriously! WHY is a white family with a black baby (or husband, or wife, or brother, or sister, or ANY relation) such a big deal?! Answer: It’s not. It really isn’t.

People generally associate racism against African-American people with the pre and post-Civil War eras, but it still prevails today! I just don’t understand. Why does the color of one’s skin change how people think of them?! That’s NUTS!!

People don’t compare the size of each other’s feet or length of hair, or height, or tone of voice to decide who’s worth anything! If someone tried, everyone around them would laugh or call them crazy. Why does the color of the skin matter?!

I know I’ve had a post about this before, but it is worth reposting.

For the record, I fully plan to adopt many children from other countries and the majority of them won’t be white.  (My husband has really no say in the matter—sorry whoever-you-are! Hope you love adoption!)

I am not as patient as my mother is. I do not have her kind of self-control under circumstances such as these. I have no qualms with slapping people or shouting at them regardless of where I am or whom I’m with.

Please, think about your words before you say them! My sister has cried before because she has different colored skin than the rest of my family does and she didn’t even hear these mean words; she just came to that on her own! Think of how hearing these things could crush her—or anybody—before you say them. 

Happy Birthday to Ray Ray!

Happy 5th birthday to my Ray Ray!!

I love this little Ethiopian princess so much! She is one of the best things that has ever happened to me.

I love when she wants to snuggle with me (although not in the morning, she informed me, because "[I] am really nice, but not in the morning. [I'm] grouchy in the morning."); I love it when she wants to hold my hand; I love it when she wants to run errands with me, not because I might buy her an ICEE (which is very possible--weak spot), but because she wants to hang out with me; I love it when she really wants to help me wash the car; I love it when she REALLY wants to help me cook or bake; I love her.

Yup, she drives me CRAZY sometimes, but isn't that the job of a little sister?

Happy birthday to my Ray Ray, my Roo, my Rooby, my Ethiopian Princess, my Eli Roo, and all of her other little nicknames we've all dubbed her. I LOVE YOU!!!

Here are some of my favourite pictures of my birthday baby:

My Dream Last Night

Last night my dream was too fantastically strange not to share with you.

In my dream, there was this guy (isn't there always a guy?) and he was wonderful.

He was handsome, he was smart, he owned a bright red convertible something, and he stole my heart throughout the dream.

I was taking a drive with him somewhere (did it really matter where? Answer: No) and he and I were talking. I was wearing shorter shorts and was trying to pull them lower to cover the "scars" on my legs that I was embarrassed about so he wouldn't see them, but he told me he thought they were beautiful and he thought I was beautiful.

We held hands...

It was romantic.

And I was in love.

When we got back to Westmont, I raced to find my friends to tell them of this man (unnamed of course, but does that matter in a dream? Answer: No) who lived in Emerson Hall and how much I loved him and how I wanted to marry him.

He and I went out for another drive to go get some food the next day. We talked about getting married and he told me just how much he loved me.

I thought I was going to die.

Or explode.

Or some combination of the two.

As we were returning back to campus, a police officer pulled us over. He demanded that my man get out of the car and as he got out, the policeman handcuffed him, marched him to his car, and drove off.

I followed them in his car to a weird building with my two friends along side me for support (who weren't with us initially, but were now. Does it make sense? Did it matter in my dream? Answer: No) and ran inside.

The harsh lady at the front desk had me watch a documentary/video thingy about the man I loved that would explain why they arrested him.

He was a serial rapist.

(I fell in love with a serial rapist!? You'd THINK I would have sensed something!)

I sobbed my way though the video and asked if there was anyway he could get out of jail.

They told me that if I was an attorney I could represent him in court and he would be set free, but because I was in college and hadn't gone to law school yet I couldn't represent him and he had to go to jail forever.

And I couldn't marry him.

I woke up then.

Okay, WHAT that HECK?! I woke up all weepy and emotional too....who has dreams like that?!

The Thankful Tree

Today I was at Balboa Island exchanging my TOMS and discovered this tree:


Upon further investigation, the tree had a little baggie and a sharpie tied to it with a note: "Please leave a not with something you are thankful for."

There were probably at least 100 notes hanging on various places on the tree full of things people are thankful for. What a cool idea!


This one was mine:

There were even a few in different languages, but this one was my favourite:


I will be doing this at my house in the future. Love it!

Insert a Clever Title about "A Girl Every Guy Should Date" Here:

Okay, I may be a girl, but I still loved reading this!! I "Stumbled Upon" it this afternoon and had to share it! Enjoy!

Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes. She has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.

Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag. She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she finds the book she wants. You see the weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a second hand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow.

She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.

Buy her another cup of coffee.
Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.

It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas and for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry, in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.

She has to give it a shot somehow.
Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.

Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who understand that all things will come to end. That you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.

Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilight series.

If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.

You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype.

You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.

Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.

Or better yet, date a girl who writes.

– Rosemarie Urquico –

A Confession

Sometimes, when God tells me to do something, all I want to do is scream "NO!" or "I don't WANT to!" and stomp my foot like a little bratty three-year old.

Sometimes, I do what God wants me to do, but I have a bad attitude. And I may take a break from doing what He wants me to do just to kick and scream and thrash my body about.

Sometimes, when the way I have planned out my life does not go my way because God says "No. Here's something else for you", I cry. But not a pretty cry. More like a red-faced, snot-dripping, blubbery-mess kind of cry.

Looks kinda like this:

St. Thomas Didymus

Yesterday I posted on FaceBook about my English class. My amazing professor, Dr. Cheri Larsen Hoeckley was reading the poem by Denise Levertov entitled "St. Thomas Didymus".

As she was eloquently reading this moving poem, she became emotional (as would most people who read this poem); her voice quivered briefly, but she continued on, beautifully reading this poem; and two tears slid down her face. Not many people noticed until later when she was discussing Thomas putting his hand in Jesus' side and got emotional once more.

All of us were moved.

(Well, maybe not the jocks who are too cool for reading poetry, but I can safely say all the women were moved.)

I thought I'd share this poem with you:

St. Thomas Didymus

In the hot street at noon I saw him
a small man
gray but vivid, standing forth
beyond the crowd's buzzing
holding in desperate grip his shaking
teeth gnashing son,

and thought him my brother.

I heard him cry out, weeping and speak
those words,
Lord, I believe, help thou
mine unbelief,

and knew him
my twin:

a man whose entire being
had knotted itself
into the one tightdrawn question,
Why,
why has this child lost his childhood in suffering,
why is this child who will soon be a man
tormented, torn, twisted?
Why is he cruelly punished
who has done nothing except be born?

The twin of my birth
was not so close
as that man I heard
say what my heart
sighed with each beat, my breath silently
cried in and out,
in and out.

After the healing,
he, with his wondering
newly peaceful boy, receded;
no one
dwells on the gratitude, the astonished joy,
the swift
acceptance and forgetting.
I did not follow
to see their changed lives.
What I retained
was the flash of kinship.
Despite
all that I witnessed,
his question remained
my question, throbbed like a stealthy cancer,
known
only to doctor and patient. To others
I seemed well enough.

So it was
that after Golgotha
my spirit in secret
lurched in the same convulsed writhings
that tore that child
before he was healed.
And after the empty tomb
when they told me that He lived, had spoken to Magdalen,
told me
that though He had passed through the door like a ghost
He had breathed on them
the breath of a living man --
even then
when hope tried with a flutter of wings
to lift me --
still, alone with myself,
my heavy cry was the same: Lord
I believe,
help thou mine unbelief.

I needed
blood to tell me the truth,
the touch
of blood. Even
my sight of the dark crust of it
round the nailholes
didn't thrust its meaning all the way through
to that manifold knot in me
that willed to possess all knowledge,
refusing to loosen
unless that insistence won
the battle I fought with life

But when my hand
led by His hand's firm clasp
entered the unhealed wound,
my fingers encountering
rib-bone and pulsing heat,
what I felt was not
scalding pain, shame for my
obstinate need,
but light, light streaming
into me, over me, filling the room
as I had lived till then
in a cold cave, and now
coming forth for the first time,
the knot that bound me unravelling,
I witnessed
all things quicken to color, to form,
my question
not answered but given
its part
in a vast unfolding design lit
by a risen sun.

~Denise Levertov

Let's Never Do This Again

11:00 pm.

What are you generally doing at 11:00 pm? Sleeping? Studying? Writing? Reading? Watching tv? Eating?

I am generally doing homework or studying. Last night, I was doing just that; writing a paper, enjoying the wind from the open window bringing in cool air, and listening to Christmas music with my roommate and our friend across the hall, Chloe.

My other roommate had just spilled water all over my desk and I was mopping it up. Suddenly, Chloe said she smelled something burning. The three of us, being concerned that some spilled water had gotten into my outlet or my power-strip, quickly turned off all the electrical things and pulled out flashlights to investigate what was happening.

After a little bit, the smokey smell went away, we turned back on the power, and continued about our business. Shortly after doing that, the smell came back! Chloe and I redid the unplugging and turning off and Meg went to find our RA.

Meg returned very quickly and said she smelled it everywhere. As we had just been coming to the conclusion that the wind was bringing in the burning smell, the fire alarms went off and chaos was unleashed: girls screaming, crying and grabbing their phones and computers; our RD shouting that this was not a drill and to get down to the gym as fast as possible; RAs counting their residents; people regretting things that they did not grab; everybody's ears ringing from the fire alarm; and plenty of panic to go around. Everybody (especially the seniors, I am sure, since they were here for it) was thinking about the Tea Fires that had destroyed the hills behind Westmont, burnt down some of one of the dorms, charred many trees, and was very scary.

Soon after getting to the gym, completing roll call, and praying, a voice spoke over the loudspeaker "A home is fully burning about Page Hall (my dorm, you know). Given the high winds, Montecito Fire Department has asked all the students to go to the gym until the situation is assessed and stabilized. Further announcements will be made there. Students will remain in the gym for a minimum of two hours." Apparently, some moron was playing with firecrackers (we could hear them earlier) and the house caught on fire.

As a giant "Ugh!" echoed across the gym, even more freshman girls burst into tears.

My darling friend Elaine and I were chatting nervously about some kind of cat to stop thinking about the fire.

After about only forty five minutes, the loudspeaker voice spoke again: "The fire has been contained. Montecito Fire Department has suggested that all students return to their dorms but be ready to leave immediately if necessary." Instantly, cheers broke out throughout the gym as people rushed back to their dorms and other stood shakily up to slowly, cautiously creep back up the hill.

The alarms remained blaring extraordinarily loudly, so although we were allowed back into our dorms, most people remained huddled outside the dorm for about another hour until the alarm died down and was shut off. Every now and then, it would go off and people would freak out, but for the most part, many hearts began to slow and pills were popped to tend to the headaches from the noise.

At about 3:30, I finally was getting ready for my 8:00 class the next morning (or the same day, actually) and climbing into bed. My ears were still ringing from the alarm and I could hear alarms from the other non-dorm halls alerting everybody and yet nobody that there was a fire and to get out. They finally shut off at about 5:00 and I could sleep for about two hours before it was time to get up again.

So, that was my night/early morning. I am exhausted.

I experienced it. I remember it. I hated it.

Let's never do this again.

My "Thankful List"

This year I am thankful for:

~My family (with a shout out to my mama, my papa, Evangeline, Ray Ray, and Jackie)

~My puppies Hamish and Havie

~My bestie, Nicki

~My amazing school, Westmont

~My friends from school (both high school--yes, Aubree, this means you--and college)

~My RD, Shannon Balram

~My RA, Rhianna

~All my amazing classes (well, almost all my classes--my CS/Philosophy and my Bio classes are NOT fun)

~My fantastic professors

~Musicals

~My MacBook (love, love, love, love)

~My iPhone

~My house

~Mariners Church

~Literature (Jane Austen, Francine Rivers, William Shakespeare, the Bronte sisters)

~Riding horses

~Playing polo

And so many more. I'll update (edit) this post throughout today and tomorrow. :)

Mother Knows Best

Since I started school this year I have learned many, MANY things. A good deal of those learned things are things my mother attempted to teach me. Here is a list of what my mother tried to teach me only to have me have to relearn it.

~bedtime. Ugh. I used to read late into the night. She would always come in, take my book, and shut of the light. I'd wake up somewhat grouchy, but would be fine in an hour. Now I can read until 3:00 in the morning and have nobody to come in and force me to go to bed. I, now, am a living, breathing zombie who takes naps at every opportunity.

~study habits. This one is embarrassing. My mama would have me study each class for about an hour after I got all my homework done and I got pretty darn good grades. Now, as soon as I get my homework done, it's nap time. Immediately. And my grades aren't a a fan of this new schedule.

~laundry. Oops. Yep, this one too. It really shouldn't be so hard to pause my studies, walk down the hall, down the stairs, and into the laundry room with a basket of laundry, detergent, and my laundry card, but trust me--it IS.

~eating. Old schedule--cereal, eggs, granola bar, or toast for breakfast; sandwich for lunch; and something like a chicken breast, broccoli, garlic bread, and caesar salad for dinner. New schedule--no breakfast; sandwich for lunch; and whatever unhealthy food the DC has out tonight or an overdressed salad for dinner.

~spending. Actually, spending is not the problem. Earning is. I earn about one-third weekly of what I used to.

In the words of a brilliant song in a fantastic Disney movie "Mother knows best. Listen to your mother."

Snape. Snape. Severus Snape.

I love Snape. The end.

Must I explain why? I think not. If you've read Harry Potter, you'll understand.

For all you fellow Snape-lovers, I was introduced to a video done solely by individual drawings. Unfortunately, the artist disabled embedding, so you will just have to follow the link here to see it. It's pretty darn fabulous.

Everything Skit

My friend Kellie showed me this amazing video. Definitely worth six-ish minutes of your time.

So fantastic! God is good!