Done.

Last night I finished up the last little detail work pertaining to the Fall 2007 semester. I am very happy, very relieved to have all that work behind me. The brunt of the work was writing. When I got back from Thanksgiving break, I added up the average page requirements for each assignment so that I would know how to pace myself. It came to 63 pages, which made for three solid weeks of not-one-minute-to-lose.

Now I am done. Done with all the meetings and the finals and the Social Justice Chapter events and the writing. Out of curiosity, I tallied up all that I had actually written:

82 pages (12 point font, double spaced, 1 inch margins, page breaks omitted).

Handel used the same time frame to write The Messiah, which fills 252 pages with just the vocal and piano parts, just to put it all in perspective.

how we party

Hoisting the heavy box higher in my grip, I backed through the door and turned around beneath the awning. The light of the building across the sidewalk caught my attention, and I heard the sound of conversation and laughter coming through the panes of its windows. "Looks like something fun is going on in the Fireside Room," I thought to myself. Then I laughed at myself. The Fireside Room is where I had just come from, but in the time it had taken to carry my stuff to the exit on this side of the sidewalk, that must have slipped my mind. It was definitely time for bed.

Last night was the Social Justice Chapter Christmas Extravaganza. Social justicians are really good party planners. We have to be, otherwise we'd get bogged down in the poverty, the hunger, the slavery, the war, the exploitation… Yes. A lot of bad things happen in this world, but we do not need to sit around pouting or escape into a world of superficial happiness. When the Social Justice Chapter has a party, we don't pour ashes over our heads and cry in sorrow (though there is a time for that) and we don't pour beer down our throats and laugh in denial (there's never a time for that).

This is what we do: We set out fair trade coffee for students to buy and fair trade gifts that give students an opportunity to tell their families about fair trade. We wait until the party is starting to light the fireplace, so as not to waste petroleum. We ponder ways that we could use less disposable products next time we serve food. We wear Christmas garb found at the thrift store. We sing Christmas carols of God's redemptive work and our desire for for the coming of Immanuel to ransom this world from captivity. We listen to the song a student wrote in response to watching the Invisible Children film. We rest our heads on comfy sofas, our ears on honest music, and our hearts in Christian friendship.

That is how the Social Justice Chapter parties.

Jump right in!

This is an ad I saw online.

I honestly thought it said "game trap" at first. It might as well, because that's what it is, if it's like all the other pointless escapes from reality that are part of reality today. A part of reality that is not reality must be a hole. A pit dug for a grave, a dent angrily punched in the wall, a quarry with dynamite still lying around.

Usually when people dig a trap, they cover it with sticks and leaves so that it doesn't look like a trap. Next time I'm trying to catch something, I'll dig a pit and put up a bright green sign that says "Escape into this trap! It'll be fun! It'll be violent! You'll be happy!" That strategy seems to be working.

What kind of traps do I jump into?

three more weeks

I once told a friend "Don't count the days. Make them count."

Tonight I got out the calculator and tallied up all the different reports, reflections, and essays that I have to write in the next three weeks. It came to sixty-three pages.

Now that I've counted, I must make these nineteen days count.

like I never do

I took one last glance out into the dark,
like I never do,
and I saw something beautiful.
Two foxes play fighting
on the volleyball court below my window.
Their shadows pounced
in the gleam of the lights of Tibstra hall.
They didn't care about the stress inside this dorm
just like I was probably the only one to see their struggle.
It was beautiful.
And the beauty of their freedom,
and their play,
and their energy,
called up to me,
telling me to let down my hair,
no longer carry my cares,
to let love climb up inside me
and make me whole.
I rest now,
reminded I am a little jewel
in the crown of God's beautiful creation.

Prickly Pear

Now we see the prickly is prickly free.
So what's the disparity in this pair of pears?
I don't care. They both taste good to me.

Hurdy Gurdy

Today:

I was trying to make it to a Chicago Humanities Festival Event that started at 10am, but a long train came across my path and then my debit card wouldn't work in the CTA's machine, so I had to use up all my cash, and then I was several stops down on the orange line when I realized that, once again, I had forgotten to shove the $2 into the little pay-for-parking slot. I got off the train and waited on the chilly platform for the next outbound train, which I took back to Midway. Since I didn't have any cash and I knew the ATM would charge me and not even give me the correct bills, I just went out to the parking lot in defeat. I was tired, in a very relaxed way, and it didn't bother me that I was just going to have to face the fact that I had not been paying attention to anything all morning and that I had to go back to Trinity, find some cash, and regroup.

So I'm driving down Cicero and suddenly I find myself turning into a strip mall's parking lot. I finally wake up and realize that this is good because I can get something I need and get cash back and get the correct bills all at the same time. So after that my day stopped being so lame.

Downtown again, I stopped by the Cultural Center to view the crocheted coral reef, then took my chance to wander around the Art Institute before the event there started. The event was a performance of Vivaldi's Four Seasons, done skillfully by four violins, a cello, a bass, and a harpsichord. It was so good that a joyful laughter was mixed with my applause. After exiting the auditorium when the concert came to its too-soon end, I realized that my very important name badge had fallen to the floor. I returned and found it in the hands of a volunteer who was cleaning up trash. While I was there, I noticed that several audience members had gone up on stage to talk to the musicians, and that there were two little girls oohing and awing over the beautiful harpsichord.


I saw my chance to make this not only the first day I've ever seen a harpsichord in action, but also the first day to see how a harpsichord works. I watched as he removed the board that covered the hammers and explained the acoustics of the instrument. The little girls moved on to looking at the painting on the underside of the harpsichord's lid, the harpsichordist asked me if I would like to try it out, and the harpsichordist moved on to talking to another audience member.

That is how I ended up seated at a harpsichord on the stage in the beautiful concert hall in the Art Institute of Chicago, playing "O Lord, You're Beautiful," not only because that is one of the only songs I have memorized, but because it just fit.

The next event I went to was a reenactment of a Mediaeval Bible play, Noye's Fludde. Part of the accompaniment to the song and dance was a hurdy gurdy, which I saw up close at the end of the performance.

I walked around Chicago for quite some time, enjoying just being alone, without a schedule, and yet still surrounded by activity. Then I went to an event called "Wars of Scarcity," in which they interviewed Valentino, a man who lived through war, estrangement from his family, refugee camps, and a transition to life in the United States. He is raising awareness of Sudan's plight while he finishes his education, which is preparing him to return to his country as a leader.

After some more wandering (Not all who wander are lost: during my wanderings, a passerby asked me "which way to Chestnut?" and I could tell her, thanks to my previous wanderings, in which I was kind of lost, I guess.), I found a secluded seat on the CTA and traveled back to Trinity.