God Bless Us Every One!

Merry Christmas, everyone!

I was just reflecting on all those wonderful Christmas celebrations at Lydia's house.  Mafia with Evan as minstrel narrator, ping-pong, decorating cookies with green jackets, eating soup...

I hope all are well and having joyous times with their families and friends.

I am planning on driving to SoCal tomorrow and driving back up around New Year's Eve and/or New Year's Day.  I mean to contact each of you individually, but oy, I can be bad about this planning thing.  Anyway, I would love to see each of you next week.  I'll be in town, have a car, and be eager to use it.  So give me a call if I haven't called you first.

Sarita-chan and Megan, I miss you... we'll plan something another time.

-Melanie

Oregon, Los Angeles, Home, and Life

Hello, friends.  Melanie here.  At long last I'm going to tell you something about my life up here, but I'm going to wrap it in a host of rambling reflections.

I'm going home for Thanksgiving.  Los Angeles home, a.k.a. The House on Lakme Avenue.  And I am glad, so glad.  I can't wait to see as many of my old friends as I can pull off.  Family for Thanksgiving, church friends on Sunday morning, high school friends to celebrate the wedding of one of my best friends from high school on Sunday evening, and college friends, well, if your schedules allow.

I miss Los Angeles.  The only thing missing is snow actively falling out here and bridges spreading across a bay down there for the words of the Sixpence None the Richer song "A Million Parachutes" to be entirely appropriate:

I miss the warmth
I miss the sun
I miss the ocean
I miss everyone
I miss the bridges
That spread across the bay
Tonight
It seems like ages ago.

But you know what?  I'm happy up here.  Happy in an abiding sense, because I'm sure this is where I'm supposed to be.  Happy in a circumstantial sense, because I have a job I enjoy and am meeting people I'm loving getting to know.  And I can practically feel the growing pains as I become a heck of a lot more... grown-up... in this process.  Less afraid.  More sure of what it is that really matters.

And yes, happy because I love this crazy northern place.

I miss Los Angeles.  I love Oregon.  Los Angeles is and always will be home.  Oregon is becoming home too.  Just as the House on Lakme Ave. was home, and then Biola became home too.  Going home to Lakme was hard sometimes after that.  I had eyes to see things I'd never seen before.  I missed so many things about my Biola home when I was not there.  I was glad to see my family, but gladder to see, well, you, my Franciscans, and sorrier to leave you behind for a weekend than I was glad to see my family for a weekend.  It took time - I always wanted to be home for the weekend freshman year if I possibly could, as I recall.  But it happened.

I don't think we ever lose a home.  We pick up new ones.  Then the old ones suddenly fit a little strangely when we see them again.  But they're still home.

The first sort-of-extra-home I picked up was the Dominican Republic.  It was just two two-week trips, but it made a huge impact, because I fell in love and I learned a completely different way of life.  I still miss it.  I don't think it's likely I'll go back to that jewel of the Caribbean, but that doesn't change the fact that I went there and it became almost home.  Almost.  I was still a foreigner, una extranjera, una americana, even if I did sing along with them, Mi tierra dominicana sabor a Cristo te voy a dar, even if I did take siesta, even if I did eat pollo, arroz, y habichuelas, even if I did learn a lot about their culture, even if I did make friends, even if I did fall in love with their green land, green so bright it hurts the eyes, warm and rainy, warm and welcoming.  I didn't belong there, not really; I always knew that.  But when I went back to Los Angeles, suddenly I almost hated it.  It seemed so cold, so unwelcoming, so brown and ugly, so self-absorbed, so inhospitable.  They warned us about the reverse culture shock, but it hit me hard through all the warnings.  I felt a lack of belonging anywhere; I wanted to return to the green jewel of the Caribbean.  I entered my LA hatred stage.  During that time I think I would happily have left it for just about anywhere... if I were grown and could choose to do so and had put behind my fears and insecurities about striking out on my own... none of which were true.

I'm not sure how exactly I came out of that stage.  All I know is that I began to look for the things to love about LA.  And I learned to catalog and observe the things I already loved so much it makes my heart ache, things I had been taking for granted.  Swinging under the jacaranda tree on a warm May day with the flowers falling all around me.  Breezes from the sea.  People everywhere going about their lives.  More opportunities for concerts and other forms of culture than anyone could possibly take advantage of.  Trees all over.  Warmth and sun and occasional pelting rain.  And yes, a great number of trusted, valued friends.  People at church and at school and at home who loved me and knew me.

It was more noticing consciously that I already loved LA unconsciously than anything else.  And then I noticed it very thoroughly.  There was no way I was going outside LA for school.  Even as I was graduating from USC, I had no intention of leaving LA.  A couple job possibilities would have required it, but, well, that was way too huge a minus for me to think it likely I would make such a choice.  Aren't friends and family more important, after all?  Then, Intel.  Perfectly what I was looking for, jobwise, and near my brother Robert.  Too many things lined up.  That's another post and a half.  Anyway, here I am.  My point is, even in the throes of a certain home-hatred it was my home; even across the years the Dominican Republic brings tears of love to my eyes; the restlessness stemmed from two homes, and longing for the other home meant that I was never quite at home.

Biola was home to me too.  I love it with all my heart to this day.  Sitting by the fountain or visiting the circuits lab feels like going home.  Talking to Franciscans is like talking to family.  No, Biola was better than home to me.  There I grew up so much.  There I learned so much.  There I made relationships and balanced my life.  Everything revolved around that campus for me.

And I went home, and I went to USC, and the homesickness for Biola almost destroyed me.  It didn't, but it almost did.  Meanwhile, sometimes at Biola homesickness for Lakme could come near to destroying me.  Not so much, but there was a time or two.  My two real homes, Biola and Lakme, were so different.

I've learned since then.  Comparisons can be poisonous, but they don't have to be.  It's not disloyalty to acknowledge things you love about a new place.  It's okay to be homesick, but don't let that make you overlook the home you have where you are.

I have a home up here in Hillsboro, and I love it.

The atmosphere is entirely different from Lakme or Biola.  No, not entirely.  But vastly different.  The friends are different, the church is different, living on my own is different.  Working is different than going to school.

But both are good.

I'm going home for Thanksgiving and for Christmas and I expect to love it.  I will be on guard against reverse culture shock and will do my best to enjoy myself without judgments on what I now know it is not, or at least without letting those judgments dominate my vision.  What will it be to breathe smog after getting used to this clear air?  It never mattered to me before, but now... it might.  There are so many things like that.

And now, I'm finally getting to the life update.

Work, errands, and special events take up a huge amount of my time, it turns out.  Much of the rest is taken up with communication.  I've been on Facebook a lot and I've called you guys or other friends and family a lot.  Sarita-chan far more than anyone, of course.  I've missed you.

Special events.  I really have joined a community up here.  Lots of weekend hiking trips, English country dance class, a concert with the Fellowship of the Ring music played live, one memorable four-day camping trip, a dinner party at a new friend's house, a movie night at another new friend's house, a ball yesterday, other miscellaneous adventures... they have been keeping life exciting.  All these people I got to know through my brother Robert and his new bride Laura and their community, but it quickly spread out from there.  They are my friends now, not merely my brother's, and I make it to many events he does not attend without feeling lonely or like I don't belong.  When I live alone it has the effect of making me always feel extraverted when I do see other people, so I have been quite vigorously participating in everything I can manage!

Work.  There was and is a steep learning curve, and sometimes I still feel lost, but it's fun.  It's something I'm well suited to, and it's well suited to me.  I could write little anecdotes for a good long time.  Perhaps work shall be another dedicated post.  Let's just say that sometimes I tire, and sometimes it gets tedious or boring, but, well, I really do get to solve logic puzzles all day for fun and profit, and that's marvelous.

Errands.  They take longer than I would have dreamed, given how much I was already doing during my last year at Lakme.  Mostly it's just that they have to be done at the end of a full day; you can't work them in to the middle of schoolwork for a nice break or any such thing; it's just an extension of the work day.  And there are more of them.  There are so many things I have to remind myself of.  Pay rent, check mail, pay other bills, insurance, groceries, and don't you forget the shampoo.  Add in things for the home, and the fact that everything's my responsibility, even on days when I feel exhausted or sick, and my spare energy and time flies away pretty fast.

But I feel so blessed.

Church.  Everyone is so welcoming.  I'm singing in a choir.  It's not a highly professional choir, nor is it a choir which sings my favorite types of music.  But it's a choir, and it's a huge blessing to me.  One of the people I met through my brother Robert and the miscellaneous activities I've been doing invited me to the church when I posted on Facebook that I was looking for a good one; he also invited me to a Bible study at his house.  At the Bible study, well, I've been reminded in so many different ways what a blessing the body of Christ is.  Great conversation.  Comfort and sympathy and practical goodness.  When they found out I was looking to take public transit to the airport very early Thanksgiving morning, two of the women insisted that no, they absolutely will get to my place at 4:45 to drive me over to the airport.  (Then they haggled over which one actually would do it, since I don't need two rides.)  Etc., etc.  I've stayed past midnight most times talking.  And I made a new good friend.  You would all like her very much.  She's got the same sort of insane most of us do - she's a nursing student who also has been taking Latin and Greek and reading lots of ancient stuff and singing in choir and playing in orchestra and the like.  She's also just been diagnosed with Crohn's disease and is juggling surgeries throughout her senior year, including one tomorrow, er, technically today... anyway, it's been great to get to know her.

And I'm growing, I'm growing so much.  Living on your own is great for that.  And I'm learning, I'm learning so much.

The color palette, the seasons, the traffic or lack thereof, the hustle and bustle or lack thereof, so many harder-to-define things make this not Los Angeles.  But it's becoming a home I love.

I am thrilled to be going home to Los Angeles.  But I will also be thrilled to come home to Hillsboro once again.

Excitement and Disappointment

I [Melanie] owe you guys a life update post, big time.  I hope it will be forthcoming soon.  But this is not that post.  I will simply tell you in passing that I’m having a great time up here, and leave it at that.  This is a reflections post.

First, the trigger for these reflections.

There’s a possibility of something happening which I think would be totally awesome.  If it happens, it will be a gift from God, and a rather amazing one.  A number of things had to come together to make this a possibility, and, oh, man, I think I would love it.

So I started to get very excited about it.  But you see, it’s not at all certain yet.  So I tried to rein in my excitement.  I don’t want to be too horribly disappointed if it doesn’t happen, you see.

Thinking about this, I posted on Facebook, “How excited dare one become over something which is only a doubtful possibility?” One of my friends jokingly posted, “Deliriously.”  Then one of my cousins posted, “Get as excited as you’re willing to be disappointed.”  A thoughtful post; I thought it was quite sensible.

Then I thought about it a little more.

It makes sense in theory, and it’s generally been true in my life, that the more excited I get about something, the more it hurts if it doesn’t come to pass.  The more we psych ourselves up, the farther we have to fall down.

But does it have to be that way?

We serve a good God.  A God who always gives amazing gifts.  A God who knows what is best for us far more than we do.  A God who loves to lavish upon us more than we could ask, think, or dream of.

When something amazing is a possibility – when something wonderful is floating tantalizingly on the horizon – we can know one thing for sure: If God does not give us that thing, He will give us something better still.

Oh, that doesn’t mean that at this moment, we think it looks better.  Remember, He knows much better than we do what is better.  For Corrie ten Boom, that better thing was a concentration camp.  For Boethius, it was torture and execution.  For Jesus Himself, it was death on a cross.  In this world we will have trouble.  We will face trials of various kinds. 

What it does mean is that if we continue to walk closely with Him, we will begin to understand that what we receive is better than what we imagined.  We will begin to find joy in everything.  We will begin to wholeheartedly be able to say, “Consider it pure joy, brothers, when you face trials of various kinds,” and to affirm with Boethius that all fortune is good.  What it does mean is that God will work all things together for a good which fulfills all our deepest longings.  And what it does mean is that no hurt is without a purpose.

And He doesn’t always give trials.  Sometimes He gives gifts even our fleshly selves delight to call good.  Most of the time, I would say.  Sun, moon, and stars.  Delicious meals.  Family.  We are surrounded by wonderful gifts from the Creator.  For He loves to give us good things.

Given this, when I am excited about something good, why should I be disappointed if it does not come to pass?  For that means that God is giving me something better still.

God give me the faith to get deliriously excited over slim possibilities and never to be disappointed.  And God give me the wisdom to recognize what is truly Good, the better to rejoice in what I am given.



Every blessing You pour out I'll
Turn back to praise
When the darkness closes in, Lord,
Still I will say,

Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be Your name
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be Your glorious name 

Oktoberpost

Sam reporting in for a quick(ish) update:
School is school.  I'm taking Heat Transfer, Heat Transfer lab (cool), Aerodynamics 1 (Fluid Mechanics),  History, and "Death, Dying, and Religion."  Aerodynamics is going fairly swimmingly, and I'm going to be on a team competing in the "Design Build Fly" competition this year.  Note: fun youtube and Google search.

I'm also club president of "Saltworks" a small Christian club on campus.  It's been really exciting to be part of  a ministry this year.  Please pray for the club that we're effective at sharing the gospel and stirring up spiritual interest on campus.  And that we grow close, supportive friendships between the members.

Finally, I've decided to dress up as "Chuck" for Saltworks' costume party on Nov 4th.  It's going to be awesome.

I Meant it to Be an Update, Not a Rant.... Oops

Post Brought to You by Rachael

I feel like I've been incommunicado for a while. And that's because I have. Just today I finally caught up on all of the Franciscan blog posts of the past year. I can hardly believe it was this past December that Sarah, Meru, and I took our icy road trip up to Megan's place in Idaho.

There's something I'd like to confess. I was deceiving you all and I was deceiving myself too. This past year, whenever asked, I was enthusiastic about my Master's program even though it was hard. Well in reality, it was HELL. I didn't realise how miserable I was, until, just a week ago, I dropped out.

My first semester I was warned it would be hard as heck. That I wouldn't understand a thing that was going on, and that I would barely scrape through. I was told, "just try to keep on top of the grades for that class, don't really worry about content, just keep your grades up. This first semester is going to kill you. It's designed to kill you and quash (I do believe this is the right word) your dreams. It's designed to eliminate those who aren't serious about graduate studies." So I stuck through, but I got a B-. As a result I was placed on academic probation.

The next semester was supposed to be the easiest according to the Prof. he said, and I quote, "This is the semester to counterbalance whatever grade you got last semester". Well sh*t (pardon the language, we'll get to that later in this post)! I got another B-. At this point I had two summer sessions and a fall semester to bring my grade up. But the really, super frustrating part about it: I had already had a Numerical Analysis class as an undergrad, whereas most of my classmates had not. Also, I UNDERSTOOD the lectures and the material. In no place was I ever lost. So how the hell did I get a B-? Too much time socializing maybe? Hell no! I worked my @$$ off! I poured every waking moment into passing that class. I got a homework partner and study buddy and we spent all of our spare time at coffee shops pouring over equations and trying to understand things. So how did I get my grade? Stupid-curve-ball-non-relatable tests!

So then my first summer session hits. I figure if I get all B+'s from here on out I can get off of academic probation. The first session was the first part of a mathematical modelling class. Let me tell you, I had fun, I loved the math! Really. It had been the first time in 10 months that I was excited to go to class and learn from the lecture. We even had this super cool project where we designed satellite orbits. I even made a GUI using MATLAB because we went all out and made FOUR different orbits with dozens of satellites in each orbit (we were only supposed to make 1). So what do I get in this class? B. This means it's A-'s and A's from here on out or I am SCREWED.

Second session, second part of mathematical modelling. I was really beginning to enjoy this applied math stuff, especially when we got to traffic equations, they made wave equations fun, and the heat equation was a blast. And quasi-linear equations, that is where I shone brighter than a Christmas tree. Stupid. F-ing. Tests! I don't get how tests can be made up of things that are not anything the professor has lectured on. I guess that's how the math dept at CSUF rolls. So, for the first time since 6th grade I got myself a nice. Shiny. C frinking +!!!!!

The worst part, from my POV, was that each semester I devoted more time to my classes. I mean, my first semester, all of my free time was spent studying and doing homework. My second semester ALL of my free time was spent studying and doing homework. First summer session, ALL OF MY FREE TIME AND SOME THAT WASN'T FREE was spent studying and doing homework. Second summer session, I. LIVED. MATH. AND ATE MATH AND SLEPT MATH, you get the point. Every class I invested more and more of myself to math. And my grades kept getting worse and worse. I don't get it. What I really don't get is how I kept having "more" of myself to invest. Every semester I was giving it my all, and each semester demanded more of me and I kept giving it. And when I'd get my grades I'd 1. be frustrated and feel like I wasn't giving it enough and 2. rededicate my future semesters to giving more of myself. And still, my grades kept getting worse.

So did my language - as you may have noticed from above. Let me assure you, every expletive above was entirely 100% intentional for added effect. But in my daily life I began to notice myself slipping, using uncouth words because I was frustrated and because the crowd I hung out with, the really smart ones at CSUF, used such words with reckless abandon.The problem cleared mildly when, in the midst of all of my cramming, I started going back to church. Now as some of you may know, church hasn't really happened for me in a very very long time. Not for any "real" reason, though there were reasons, valid ones at that, that kept me away. Anyways, apart from Biola I began to feel a lack of Godly influence in my life. I needed feeding and fellowship. Since fellowship was out of the question with my study schedule, I settled for just feeding. It felt really, really good to be fed. Plus I rationalized it as "Well, my grades can't get any worse, so I can totally "spare" some time for God". I cringed when I said those words then just as you are probably cringing as I write those words now. Still, it wasn't really "sparing" God any time. It was an actual conscious decision to carve out some time for just God in my life.

So, at Meru's and NicoNico's graduation I ran into Dr. Stangl. I mentioned I was looking for some work to help pay the bills (God bless my father for not pressuring me to work in any way other than on my studies) and pad out my resume. Dr. Stangl mentioned he had been thinking of me to teach the Nature of Computing class this semester. 

Now I have been best buds with the previous prof. of that class, so I have heard ALL of the stories associated with that class. After much prayer and consulting with my father, I decided to go for the job. May the Lord shower Dr. Stangl and his immediate family with blessings for his patience. I took WAY too long on the application, partly because of my studies, partly because I am a class A procrastinator, and partly because it was a really, Really, REALLY hard and intricate application. Several weeks after I turned in the application I went into my interview and was hired. I signed all of my papers and then... then it hit me... "What times am I teaching this semester?"

One of the days in which I teach conflicted fully with one of my days of class this semester at CSUF. Woops. Guess I shoulda checked that one before I signed those hire forms. 

Surprisingly, this wasn't going to be a problem with my CSUF prof. They just happen to be recording the whole class this semester as a tester for an off site master's program for statistics. So, my prof. would send me the video of the lectures that I missed and I would still be able to attend classes on the days I didn't teach.

All was planned well, but you know what they say about "the best laid plans".

I found out the weekend right after CSUF classes started that my grandmother, the one I'd started writing to, had passed away. So I went to school Monday night, and then went to the funeral Tuesday morning. Now the first homework assignment was due not the Wed following my grandmother's funeral, but the Wed following that. Well, I devoted ALL my waking moments to studying. But I found myself 1 day behind when it came to the homework. I asked my prof. for an extension, but, as it was the first assignment of the year, he said "no". I don't blame him at all, I probably would have said "no", though one's grandmother dying would probably have more of an affect on me.

Anyways, I got to thinking as I was working on my homework, knowing that I'd be turning it in a day late, about taking a year off. I approached my father about it and he was in full support. That was... unusual. He'd been pressing pretty hard this past year for me to stand my ground and grit my teeth and come out of this with a master's degree from CSUF, not because he cares about the school or anything, but simply for the fact that I KNOW God put me at CSUF for a reason, and dad thought that reason was to get my master's there. So for dad to just fully accept and support my reasons for pulling out of my stats class and taking a year off right off the bat... I was floored. I hoped it was a sign from God that it was time to move on. I asked my dad to pray over me that when I saw my prof. that night God would cement in my mind what I was supposed to do.

I met with my prof. before class and before I had finished talking he laid out my options for me:

1. Take a year off

2. Switch to math-teaching emphasis instead of applied math

3. Struggle with the class this semester and try to stick through it

As we talked I got the feeling that my prof. was leaning towards option number 3. I felt like I was getting mixed signals from God. Then I mentioned transferring to a different program. One that works with pure math like graph theory and combinatorics. My teacher leapt at the idea even more so than I did. He said it was a perfect idea, especially since he knew I had major pure math leanings. That pretty much confirmed it. But the clincher, it was beautiful. I got to class to find that my prof. was 1 chapter AHEAD of where he was supposed to be. How could I catch up with that?

So I decided to withdraw for a year. Well, it turns out that if you are on academic probation you can't take a year off. Judging by the mountain of work that I would never have gotten out from under I just decided to withdraw from classes and focus on finding another school with a program I like that I can start next fall.

That's been my life so far. Teaching at Biola has been great. I am just so thankful that God has directed my life and made it a bit easier. Hope it gets better though. I really do want to get a higher degree in math. I don't want to stop here. I don't want my life to fizzle out and become something stale.

Keep me in your prayers. And for those of you in my area, give me a call and we'll hang out.

Moving

I [Melanie] will be starting at Intel three weeks from today, and moving in less than two, if all goes according to plan.  It's a little overwhelming.

Moving is not easy, especially not when you've got several years of intense pack-rat-hood behind you.  Our house is big enough that I could get away with it before.  But now I want to move, and I want to really move, taking everything with me.  And, well, keeping everything was actually really counterproductive - when you have too much stuff, you never see any of the awesome stuff.  I have been uncovering a number of things I wish I had remembered I had as I dig through boxes, buried in reams of stuff I'm just as glad to forget.

You Franciscans know I'm not really a fan of the organizational stuff.  Moving creates rather an overload of it.  Digging through stuff.  Deciding what to do with it all.  Finding a place to live.  Filling out applications for those places - with no rental or credit history.  Trying to figure out a reasonable budget.  Trying to really think through all the furniture and miscellanies I will need to buy and figure out what will be the most urgent.  Trying to get a good timeline together.  Trying to arrange to see my friends in SoCal before I leave.  Trying to figure out moving day itself.  Etc., etc.

So that's what I've been up to.  The whole time, part of me is really distressed to have made this decision, to know that this is the end of an era, and part of me is really excited.  What will I learn in the next few months?  Who will I meet?  What new adventures will I be able to strike out on?

I think I'm ready, overall.  But of course I will learn a lot about the ways in which I'm not ready.  For I am sure there will be a few.

Remembering John Welty

Early this morning, a great man left this earth and went to meet Jesus face-to-face.

None of the rest of you my fellow Franciscans know him.  A couple of you who read this blog might, but mostly not.  But all I [Melanie] can say is that that is a shame and a loss.

One of my first strong memories of John Welty is when he volunteered in our high school youth group.  But I knew who he was before then.  It's almost impossible not to if you go to my church.  And it's not because he's exceptionally extroverted or because he's always on stage.  It's because he never stopped serving in almost every conceivable way.

John Welty was a handyman.  Now, handyman to me implies a pretty broad range of talents.  Maybe it does to you too.  He was more talented than that.  If something went wrong around the house he could fix it, whatever it was.  He's the one who replaced our not-so-great built-in tub in our upstairs bathroom with a new shower and all the fixings.   He had to get the old thing out with a jackhammer and carry the heavy pieces down our horrible rickety stairs which I think still didn't have a bannister.  He essentially rebuilt the whole shower wall and retiled the bathroom.  He put in a fan which runs on a timer which we use whenever we shower.  The bathroom looked a lot better when he was done with it, that's for sure.

John Welty used those skills to help pretty much anyone in the church who needed it.  That's just the kind of man he was.

When people were arriving at church, John Welty was always the first one out there to greet them.  Every week he asked how I was doing, if he wasn't already too busy talking to someone else.  I've said it's not that he was incredibly extroverted.  He wasn't.  But he was incredibly caring, and he volunteered to greet people because it was an important thing that needed doing.  He was good at spotting those.

Volunteering at the high school youth group was out of his comfort zone.  He was pretty open about that.  Sometimes he talked about how he had never really thought kids could relate to "an old guy like me."  But he came every week and he led us in our groups and he shared insights from a life well lived.

When I went on the Jamaica missions trip with my high school youth group, John Welty went too.  There I got to see still more of his servant's heart, and most of all, his boldness to share the gospel.

I heard that he led people to the Lord in the hospital.  I'm not surprised at all.

He had cancer; but the news was relatively recent, and I for one thought he had more time.  He had surgery near the beginning of June.  An infection put him back in the hospital and led to his death.  Throughout his last couple months of life, he never stopped serving.  He didn't stop greeting people outside the church, except for the Sundays when he was actually in the hospital, which wasn't most of them.  People asked how he was doing, of course, but if they didn't ask, you wouldn't have heard a word from him about being diagnosed with cancer, only a continuing interest in everyone else's lives.  I think my last conversation with him was about my job offer from Intel.  Had I not known, I would never have guessed he was anything less than in perfect health.

He always spoke deliberately, with just a trace of that slow drawl I would associate with the South, though I don't think he was from the South.  Come to think of it, I don't know.  It was just the way John Welty talked; he was himself; he was a pillar of our church.  He wasn't someone who spoke rapidly and blithely.  He wasn't someone who used a host of fine words and rhetorical technique.  But when words needed to be spoken, he spoke them.  He spoke the plain truth, and he had a way of getting to the heart of things.  He was in communion with the Spirit of God.

His daughter sang in the church choir next to me.  His grandson, who grew up in the same house as him, is my age and a friend of mine; we grew up in the church together.  I am sure they will be hurting and need prayer.  But unlike many men, it's not just his family who will be hurting.  John Welty was a servant of the church.  Our former children's pastor, who is moving to a new situation this coming week, says she considered him a father, and that's far from an unusual feeling.  Widows knew they could count on him.  Poor people knew they had a handyman who would help them.  Everyone knew they had someone who would be concerned about their lives, who could speak wisdom into their lives in plain, unvarnished words.  Everyone in our church knew John Welty, because John Welty served the church.

I know you didn't know him.  I write this tribute because I need to write it.  I write this tribute because I already miss him.  I write this tribute because my church needs prayer.  I write this tribute because he is worthy of honor - and because God is worthy of honor for what He did in John Welty's life, a life given over to Him.  And I write this tribute to remind us all how important it is to get out there and serve.

I'm the sort of person who thinks of a lot of cool things to do but lets them rest if they seem too difficult or embarrassing; I'm the sort of person who thinks of things but forgets promptly that I meant to do them.  John Welty did them.  He did everything his hand found to do.  He did what needed to be done whether he was on the face of it the man for the job or not.

John Welty was irreplaceable.

He was tireless; he never slowed; he never took time off from service of one sort or another.  Now he will enter the rest of God.  Let us, like God's servant John Welty, be diligent to enter that rest.

John Welty was irreplaceable; but let us aspire to be like him nonetheless.  To do what needs doing, and no matter whether we feel comfortable there or not.  To come before God in humility and listen to His voice.  To give our skills away to people who need them.  Never to complain, though often to admit weakness.  If we are hospitalized, to lead others to Christ in the hospital.

He will be missed.


--------------------------------------

Since I finished writing this post, I've been to church and listened to people talk about him.  I knew he had done a ton, but he had done more than I knew.  He did a lot of things quietly, behind the scenes.  Our pastor said that John Welty was a mentor to him when he was growing up.  (Our pastor grew up in our church.)  He also said that this past Mother's Day, it was John Welty who cut roses from his own garden and made sure that every mother got one.  John Welty also helped out in the woodshop class at our church's middle school.  So many stories.  Everyone has another one.  And this is before I've even been to the funeral.

One of the youth group leaders posted a group of pictures she has of him.  Here are a couple of my favorites, a couple which go with some of my best memories of him:

John Welty sharing his faith in Jamaica

Jamaica team photo.  That's John Welty's grandson Nate crouching in the front.

Happy Summer

Dear Friends, There are so many exciting things going on in each of your lives that it seems impossible to keep track of you all. It is so difficult to believe that it has already been a year since we were all together at Biola and even more difficult that as of May there aren't any more of us left at Biola. Congratulations to our graduates and to all the rest I hope you are all well.

I am relieved to announce that I have survived my first year at UCR. They didn't kick me out and they didn't scare me away but they sure tried! I feel that I am finally finding my niche in Riverside and am no longer dreading the next four years of my program. This summer I will be starting my research in full force since by this time next year I will have to present my idea for original research in order to advance to candidacy for my Ph.D. I am indebted to my family, my closest friends and my Bible study group for keeping me sane throughout this past year.

You know me, I gotta include family news and boyfriend news. My parents are much the same, though my dad is feeling the empty nest syndrome much more strongly than my mom. My mom is planning to begin a Masters degree at Talbot (in all her spare time!). Tim is going into his senior year at Biola but this summer is working part time at Biola. Anna just graduated from high school this past Tuesday (Valedictorian!!) and will start at Biola and Torrey in the fall. Anna's boyfriend, Bob, will also be attending Biola in fall. Brett moves to Malibu in two months to start a three year double degree program at Pepperdine Law. He will be pursuing his J.D. and M.A. in Dispute Resolution.

I miss you all and pray that you find joy in your jobs, your classes and even during the times of transition that I know some of you are experiencing!


Lydia

Intel / Portland

Most of you have probably seen by now the things I [Melanie] have posted on my Facebook.  I had an interview with Intel in Portland last Thursday.  It was pretty brutal - four hours of hard technical questions with a two-hour lunch in the middle.  It was like Don Rags for electrical engineering, but eight times longer.  But it went well.  There has not been an official job offer yet, but they have told me they intend to offer me one. 

After the interview, my brother Robert met me and I hung out with him and his fiancee Laura until I flew home Monday morning, which was ridiculously fun.  We did several awesome things, including English country dance (Laura leads a dance class once a week) and two games of Dominion (an excellent card game) and adventures in one of the more epic parks I've ever seen and frisbee and one of the best discussions about Scripture I've had since graduating from Torrey and more.  Laura is involved with Homeschool Alumni and many of the others I met are in that group - so they were nearly all Christian ex-homeschoolers with, well, quite a lot in common with me, actually - and better at socializing than some of them stereotypes, yes... :)

My brother Jeff really wants me to keep working for him and is strongly considering matching and surpassing whatever Intel offers me... but I still find myself leaning toward Intel for a few reasons.  Mostly, it's the fact that Intel is, well, simply the best in my field of study.  I enjoy microprocessor design; it's what I studied the most in school, and I loved it.  Working for Jeff is not completely outside my field of expertise, but it's not half so central, either.  It's really just fun to know that you're really good at what you're doing.  And, well, Intel looks great on a resume and contributes splendidly to an overall career trajectory I can be happy with.

Meanwhile, if I take the job with Intel, I have to move to Portland, Oregon.  Well, I loved hanging out with Robert and Laura and their circle of friends up there, so outside of Los Angeles, this seems like one of the best locations I could wish for.  But then again, the outside of Los Angeles part is a big deal to me.  Los Angeles is my home, and it's where many of the rest of you are too.  I love having friends galore within an hour or two of me, not just a few.  I love my church.  I love being able to crash Torrey sessions.  I hate the process of starting over, building a new circle.  And although Robert and Laura are pretty close to Intel as such things go, they're still about an hour and a half away.  So I couldn't exactly interact with them and their circle on a daily basis, though I could on a weekly basis.  Besides, Portland is *cold.*  But I do love the rain... and it's really beautiful up there.  Trees everywhere, including a lot of brightly colored flowering trees.  Lots and lots of green.

Intel is almost bound to be less flexible than Jeff as far as time is concerned.  It will be harder to take time off, harder to choose hours that work well for me, harder to make sure I don't work killer hours as deadlines approach.  (And deadlines do approach.  I hear they are *very* results-oriented, which is both good and bad.)

Meanwhile, I'm told that at Intel, it would be possible to do just about any aspect of microprocessor design without ever switching companies or managers.  There are so many different aspects.  And I'm told that I'd be at least two years, probably more like five years, ahead of what they're teaching in school.  You know how I've been considering getting my master's degree?  Well, at Intel I could design technology that actually winds up in the master's level textbooks down the line.  The woman who took me out for lunch informed me that she once considered going back for her master's and took a couple classes.  They taught her about a state-of-the-art 100-nanosecond adder.  Well, she had already designed a 1-nanosecond adder for Intel...

It's just plain fun to be at the cutting edge.  To know that you're working on the best (______) in the world.  Of course, Jeff is working on what I strongly suspect is the best calculator software in the world, and I think that's pretty fabulous.  But meanwhile, Intel is working on the fastest microprocessors in the world... and that has So. Very. Many. Applications.

With Jeff, I know and like my coworkers (they are, after all, almost all family), and I think along the same lines as my manager (Jeff).  With Intel, who knows?

Basically, careerwise, Intel is the better move, but I'll lose some other things that really matter to, well, overall life satisfaction, and working for Jeff is not a bad move careerwise, either.

Then there's the fact that Jeff is my brother and I love him and he's worried about having me quit just when he's likely to get a contract from TI to do a certain amount of programming.  He wants to be able to use me to help him make the contract.  I don't exactly want to leave him in the lurch.

(To you programmers out there: I might know a job which will be available soon...)

Still... I think I will be moving up to Portland and working for Intel, and I am excited about it.  I do have a good beginning already.  When I say hanging out with Robert and Laura and their friends was great, I really mean it.  And oh man, nothing beats Intel in microprocessor design...

So this is what I'm thinking about and where I'm at.  It's rather a lot to handle, emotionally.  It's weird, realizing how very many years might perhaps turn on this decision.

I really must hang out with all of you in Southern California before I leave... whenever that turns out to be.  And even on the off chance that I stay in SoCal, I still need to hang out with each of you soon.  :)

"Glass" parts 1&2

I stand

Pressed up against glass

Gazing out and upwards into darkness

Towards Golgotha.

Midafternoon,, yet only darkness swirls before me

Screams of agony tear my ears

Demonic laughter rumbles

Despair-thickened darkness

A different shout rings forth

IT IS FINISHED!

All else is silenced

Darkness shreds

Living Light overpowers

Raising the very dead

The Glory of God, golden light

Drives me to my knees

Sheltered behind the glass.

Pure light illuminates all

Over me it pours red

Stained by the glass

As I behold the glory of God

Which no eye can fully bear

Mercifully revealed as I stare

Through the blood of the Son.

Part 2

The power of the light

Transforms all it touches

Moves me

Lifts me to stand

My wonder increases

As the glass becomes clearer, brighter

Shot through with streaks of purple and gold

I gaze about, lost in wonder

Amazed at the Love and Power

Pouring into me, over me

Through the glass

More I take in

Sweeter it grows

Lily-whiteness all, at last

Yet one blemish remains

My shadow.

Those behind me

See only glimmers

Of Light pouring into me

I look at them, first with pity

Then Love, and Humility

Transform shadow.

And those behind begin to point

As the blood-red hue

Reaches them too

They think I have changed

Been utterly turned into fire

But I smile, because I know

That at last

I have been utterly changed

Into glass.

Victor Hugo may have passed up Dostoevsky in my mind.

Seriously, Les Miserables is a superb book.  And that doesn't do it justice.  It is superb as The Brothers Karamazov is superb, and maybe even more so.  And I never really expected to say that.

I've only read one section out of five.  Already it strikes me as one of the most compelling, insightful, glorious, challenging books I have ever read in my life.

Who of my fellow Franciscans has read it?  Those of you who haven't, should.  It's public domain.  So if you have a Kindle, like I newly do, you can read it in a happy booklike form for free.  ^__^  If you don't, well, you can still read it online or on something like Kindle for PC for free.  And if you really, really want a bound copy, well, it's totally worth buying.  Timewise, it is of course an incredibly giant commitment... it reminds me of Brothers K for more than one reason, yes.  But, well, you can read it slowly and savor it.  And I think you will wind up, like me, being kind of glad it's so long because it's just... so... good.  I shall certainly be reading the rest of it, and then I do believe I shall track down The Hunchback of Notre Dame as well.

"He sternly asked himself what he had understood by this: 'My object is attained.'  He declared that his life, in truth, did have an object.  But what object? to conceal his name? to deceive the police? was it for so petty a thing that he had done all that he had done? had he no other object, which was the great one, which was the true one? To save, not his body, but his soul.  To become honest and good again.  To be an upright man! was it not that above all, that alone, which he had always wished, and which the bishop had enjoined upon him! ... Alas! that was the greatest of sacrifices, the most poignant of victories, the final step to be taken, but he must do it.  Mournful destiny! he could only enter into sanctity in the eyes of God, by returning into infamy in the eyes of men!"  -Les Miserables, Fantine VII.3.

Congrats to our Grads!

Congratulations to Melanie and Nicole, who are graduating/have graduated recently!  And a special congratulations to Melanie, who graduated with the highest GPA of any Electrical Engineer at USC this year.  Not too shabby.  :)  And the lovely Nicole is graduating from Biola, so if you're in the La Mirada area, go see both Nicole and Melanie walk on the 28th of this month!

On a different note, how many of us are still in school?  I still have two years (I hope) at SJSU in Aerospace Engineering (if rising tuition doesn't kill me).  Lydia is pursuing her PhD at UCR, and the gentleman Brett is going to Pepperdine next year towards his law degree.  Sarah is working on a master's degree (I forget all the shiny details, but I know there's online work involved).

And let's not forget about Dorothy, who's off in very far away places doing awesome things.  I believe she's extended an open invitation for us to tour Europe with her.  If anyone wants to kayak from California to Europe with me, I'll buy one of the paddles.

--Sam

'Tis Only the Splendor of Light Hideth Thee

I see life through glasses

so I see lens flare

At the touch of the sun

rays diffract through the glass

and they shine

glowing columns hiding what lies behind

I see life through glasses

covered in tiny motes of dust

and never notice the dust

until the sun falls on it

and it gleams

obstructing my vision

I see life with weak eyes

which cannot handle so much light

When I look at the sun

I am dazzled

and I see phantom colored spots

that never existed

I can only see that the sun is round

when it is hidden behind a cloud

I can only see that God is love

when Love is cloaked in human form




-Melanie

So, Why Are We Still Talking About Rules?

Grammar rules aren’t exactly rules. They’re more… guidelines.

Oh, they’re important guidelines to know. But I hate to break it to you, but they didn’t come down from God on high. Heck, as Christians we don’t believe that we have to live by the letter of every law that came down from God on high, either, or none of us would eat bacon. But leaving that aside, grammar rules just aren’t in the same category. If you leave a comma out of a list of nouns, you haven’t broken the law of God, nor have you made an error along the lines of claiming that 2+2 = 5. It’s not that you’re objectively wrong in all possible worlds. That doesn’t mean you’re not wrong, of course, but let’s get straight why you are (or might be) wrong.


Make Your Writing Easy to Understand

First, a popular example: “The panda eats, shoots and leaves.” Oops. We can still figure out what the writers of that sentence undoubtedly meant, of course. It’s silly to pretend that that sentence really means the panda is a rampaging gunman. No one would mean that, and everyone who hears it knows that, so that’s not what the sentence means. However, the first time you hear it, it forces you to think of rampaging gunman panda, at least if you’ve learned those pesky grammar guidelines well. And that just doesn’t work wonders for the tone they want to have. The point of grammar guidelines isn’t just to prevent long-term misunderstandings; it’s to prevent short-term misunderstandings. It’s to make it so that you don’t have to read that sentence, blink, and then figure out what they meant. The goal is to facilitate rapid, easy understanding. Reading a well-written book or essay or blog is easy. No parsing multiple possible meanings. No scrambling to figure out how that word relates to the rest of the sentence, as in, “Wait, is shoots an action taken by the panda or a thing eaten by the panda?” Grammar rules take away an awful lot of alternate meanings. They are the great spoilers of awful puns. They help the writer avoid double-takes. An intelligent reader can normally rule out alternate meanings anyway. But a good writer should do that job for them. Good writing flows smoothly and naturally. Comprehension is easy. Legalese, by the way, is a particular form of bad writing – good for its purpose, but generally bad – where the goal is not to make it easy to understand, but to make it impossible to misunderstand. Try to make your writing easy to understand.

Which leads me to a major point about grammar rules: Breaking them is usually no worse than a dozen other mistakes of bad writing. Breaking the comma rules leads to double-takes, forcing the reader to work a little harder to grasp what the writer was saying, so you should avoid breaking them under normal circumstances. But reckless use of pronouns can have the same effect. (“Wait, who is that she referring to?”) So can long, unwieldy sentences where you don’t keep your clauses in order. (For an example, let me see whether I can successfully befuddle you by the mad skills which once won me the prize of “Most Likely to Talk in Paragraphs” on my cross country team when our captains were giving everyone funny stand-out-type awards, skills which helped me do well in Spanish class because, believe it or not, they even transfer to foreign languages, skills at piling up clause after clause until, as Steven Brust says, they fall over; and if this hasn’t befuddled you yet, I can keep going for a good long time, but anyway, I think you get the point, and even though this sentence is absolutely grammatically correct, I do believe, it would be a really, really bad idea to try to use it for anything but an example of truly awful writing of a particular almost-awesome-but-actually-really-terrible sort.) So can using words like “utilize” instead of simpler options like “use.”

Now, to do grammar teachers justice, a number of them also teach you those other “rules” to avoid bad writing. I’ve heard quite a few people, including teachers, discouraging the use of utilize. But, well, those other rules can be a problem too, precisely because they are nearly always phrased as rules. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard things like, “Never start a sentence with because,” just to counter the bad writing of grade school kids writing in incomplete sentences which fail to make it clear just what they are explaining. Well, guess what – not only is it quite possible to write a complete sentence which begins with because, but it’s frequently a good idea, in writing, to use incomplete sentences. Why? Because it flows better sometimes. See, I could have said, “That’s because it flows better,” or even, oh the horror, “The reason why one should sometimes use incomplete sentences is that sometimes incomplete sentences flow better than complete sentences,” but the more I think about it, the less that strikes me as a good idea. It’s rules like that that slanted my writing more and more toward those horrific, unwieldy sentences. It’s rules like that that made my writing less and less comprehensible as I obtained more command of my language. If the point is to avoid double-takes, we’ve got to learn to use incomplete sentences sometimes. We’ve got to learn, in fact, that sometimes good writing is more than avoiding bad writing. All those things the teachers tell you? Guidelines. Useful guidelines. Learn them. Then disregard them when they hurt your writing.

So, why learn grammar rules? For the same reason we learn to enunciate clearly when we talk: so that people can understand us easily. Can your friends learn to decipher your speech if you mumble and stutter? Theoretically. And in fact they ought to try. But you had much better speak up. And you had really much better pay attention in school and learn how to write clearly. It’ll go better for you.


Write To Your Audience

Back to another reason why you might be wrong to ignore the so-called rules: You’ve got to figure out who your audience is and write accordingly. The rules they teach you in school are not, for the most part, hard-and-fast rules for good writing. But they do tell you how to thrive in the most formal situations. And they just tell you all those rules straight out! Everything you need to know to be taken seriously on formal occasions! Have you thought about how rare that is? I can’t tell you how often I’ve wished I knew whether my clothes were the right level of formal, or what I was supposed to do with my fork at a formal dinner, or whether a given joke was appropriate to retell to a particular set of people. Well, with grammar, if you’ve been paying attention in school, you don’t need to guess. Would you wear jeans and a T-shirt to an important job interview? I do hope not, unless it was an interview with Google. Neither should you use incomplete sentences when you write to your potential future employers – or, worse, to your doctoral dissertation committee!

It goes both ways, of course. What would be appropriate in a doctoral dissertation is wildly inappropriate in a text message or a children’s picture book. Obviously. Say what you will about “txt speech,” it generally reaches its audience. Should it become a more general style? Heavens, no. See goal #1 – we’d like to make writing easy to understand – and txt talk, because of its extreme push toward brevity, of necessity sacrifices easy understanding to some extent. But don’t get stubborn and whine about txt talk in a text message written from one teenage kid to another. It has its place in communication, and that’s its place. If you’re texting a teenage kid, you might consider trying it.

So, why learn grammar rules? For the same reason we obtain a good business suit: so that people will naturally take us seriously. Can potential associates ignore your slovenly attire and body odor and learn that what you have to say is valuable? Theoretically. And in fact they ought to try. But you had really much better freshen up. And you had really much better pay attention in school and learn how to write formally. It’ll go better for you.


And The Third Reason Is…

I don’t actually have a third reason. That doesn’t mean that there isn’t one, but it does mean that it would be foolish of me to spend too long racking my brain for another reason right now – likely finding a weak reason which would dilute this essay – just to obey the “rule” that “supporting paragraphs should come in threes.” That guideline would do just as well to be forgotten, or if not forgotten, at least swept under the rug. I absolutely did not learn it from examples of great writing. I have almost never seen it in great writing. I’ve really only seen it in the slavish writing of students.

And that’s what I wanted to say in closing: Don’t make the mistake of thinking that a list of rules – any list of rules – will make you a great writer.

Don’t make the mistake of thinking that no set of rules can help you, either. There are a lot of guidelines to help you. There’s a lot of advice out there. To give one example of an awesome book of advice, Donald Maass’ book Writing the Breakout Novel is extremely helpful, and paying attention to guidelines like “Tension on every page” can almost always make your writing better. It’s arrogant to assume that a set of rules has nothing to teach you.

But don’t assume that if you just obey a set of rules like those of Mr. Maass you’ll automatically achieve greatness. (The only reason that might be true is that some of his rules are impossible to obey just by thinking of obeying the rules. For example, he tells you to have a unique, compelling voice. Good luck pulling that off just by thinking, “Unique voice, unique voice, unique voice…”) There’s really only one kind of person who can teach you to become a great writer, and it’s not the grammar teachers. It’s the great writers. So don’t plan on learning from the rules alone. The rules can make it a lot easier to notice what’s going on in great writing, but it’s the great writing that is the measure of the rules, not the rules that are the measure of the writing. If great writing pretty much always follows a particular set of rules – and if the great writing that doesn’t follow those rules would be still greater if it did – then you’ve got yourself a good set of rules. If very little great writing follows a particular rule, you would still do well to ponder what pitfall the people who made up the rule were trying to avoid, but then you should avoid the pitfall without adopting the rule. Read great writing. Think about why it is great writing. Emulate great writing. And then, hardest of all, emulate great writing in your own style. That’s the only real way to learn to write well.






AFTERWORD: A CASE STUDY

Ever heard that you must never end a sentence with a preposition? It’s a popular rule among grammar nazis. Officially, I do believe it really is a “rule” of the English language. Whatever officially means. Which means that, since you must write to your audience, if I’m ever writing a doctoral dissertation I will go out of my way to avoid ending sentences with prepositions. But aside from that rather contrived circumstance, not only do I recklessly disregard that rule, I proudly and deliberately disregard it.

Why? Well, I hear it may be an urban legend that when someone confronted Winston Churchill about ending a sentence with a preposition, he said, “That is the kind of rule up with which I will not put!” but whether Churchill said it or not, it illustrates very nicely the kind of awkwardness that ensues when people actually obey that rule. Similarly, when my AP history teacher confronted me with a hanging preposition in one of my essays, I just asked, “Mr. Schooler, did you really want me to say, ‘on which the Han Empire depended’?” and he admitted that he did not. (I don’t remember exactly what the phrase was. It wasn’t really “on which the Han Empire depended.” But it was something like that.)

The fact is, slavishly following that rule makes your writing a whole lot harder to understand, not easier. Furthermore, great writing breaks that rule all the time. Pay attention while you read great authors, and you’ll definitely find some hanging prepositions. This informs me that the rule against hanging prepositions was a mistake by an overzealous rulemaker. Are there times when hanging prepositions make a sentence difficult to read? Yes. So avoid that. But there are also times when refusing to leave a hanging preposition make a sentence difficult to read. So avoid that. Unless your audience won’t take you seriously unless you bow to their wish never to end a sentence with a preposition. Then humor them. It’s a bad writer who won’t humor his audience.

Upon doing more Internet research, I find that I am far from the only person to beat up on that “rule.” I can find a lot of grammarians to throw punches right along with me. But my point is that I didn’t need to find a grammarian to figure out that that rule was worth throwing punches at. (Oo, yay, I was hoping a hanging preposition would slip into my writing naturally! Hello, hanging preposition! Make yourself at home!) All I needed to do was compare the flow of sentences breaking that rule with the flow of sentences contrived not to break it. To confirm my judgment, I paid attention while reading my favorite writers. That’s all that’s necessary. And you too can do that.


---This rant has been brought to you by: Melanie---

Story idea - Sleeping Beauty modified

So I [Melanie] had an idea for a story premise recently. It's kind of fun, modifying fairy tales. It's a popular genre lately, and I'm rather fond of that fact. This is a Sleeping Beauty premise. I think it would be a particularly fun way of exploring that ever popular topic, true love. Without further ado, here is my prologue, titled, A Terrible Gift.



It seemed like such a good idea at the time. It was the finest gift I could think of to give the only daughter of my best friend, the good Queen Auriel. Beauty, kindness, wit, these things and more my sisters would give her, and all would make her delightful to those around her. But I wanted little Briar Rose to be happy. Really happy. Happy as Auriel was not, for all her rank and goodness. Happy as few princesses ever could be, let alone only daughters who carried the throne with them when they wed. It was clear as could be that Princess Rose, so precious and innocent, was destined to be bartered away in marriage like her mother before her. And she would do her duty, for one of my brethren would doubtless give her a sense of duty.

And so that was the gift of my heart to Princess Briar Rose: that just at the time when she would normally be bartered away to the highest bidder, sent to a prince for the kingdom’s purposes, she would fall asleep instead, and only true love’s kiss could awaken her. No one could force her into a marriage, not even herself. No one who did not love her could have her. That was my gift: true love.

Wouldn’t you want to sleep for a hundred years if you knew that at the end of it you would awaken to true love?

That was the idea.

My name is Ficienne, and I am Briar Rose’s fairy godmother. You may have heard me called Maleficent, for malice. I cannot blame those who spread that story, those who saw the horror of my gift more clearly than I. But there was no malice in it. So: I am Ficienne, and I beg you to forget the name of Maleficent. Forgive me my terrible gift. I meant well.



...That's what I've written so far.

Thing is, in my version there's no hundred-year time limit, and Ficienne doesn't have any prophetic gift. She just says Briar Rose will sleep an enchanted sleep until she is awakened by true love's kiss. But can a man feel true love for a princess only based on rumors of her beauty and goodness? If Rose sleeps for too long, will she be able to understand the world at all when she awakens? What of all the friends and family she will lose if she sleeps for a hundred years? And so, Briar Rose frantically attempts to find true love - whatever that means - before her fifteenth birthday, so that when she falls asleep her love can promptly awaken her.

I think it could be a fun little premise, particularly for exploring that ever-popular concept, true love, and what it means. I'm not sure I'll write the story anytime soon, or ever, but... it could be fun. What do you guys think?

Rachael Rant of the Week: Be Prepared

From Rachael:

Get ready folks, this one's a doozy!

RACHAEL RANT OF THE WEEK (Month. Actually.)

It's been a rough month. It started with our homeowner's insurance deciding they wanted to cancel our policy because we had:

1. Peeling Paint

2. a car in the driveway without a valid registration tag (what business is a CAR of a HOMEOWNER's insurance company?)

3. a rack with metal next to the house (at first they declared it a "fire hazard". When we told them it was metal, and they'd have to be stupid to think it could be a fire hazard they then changed their story to a "trip hazard", but wait... it's laid NEATLY IN.A.RACK!!! Morons)

4. trenches in the front yard people could trip in (this I will admit was actually a "problem". We were in the middle of fixing pipes and the stupid company refused to give us the time we needed to fix them).

So we were given two weeks to do all of that work or we would lose our insurance which would mean that we would have to pay all of our mortgage at once which would effectively mean we would lose our home.

Well, we did it... in one week. Our backs were sore (dad has two ruptured discs in his back so it was excruciatingly painful for him to do all that stuff that fast, in fact, I did quite a bit of it myself and we were able to get a friend to do most of the rest. Dad was still laid up for the next week afterwards though).

Around that same time, we got a puppy. For a month straight he woke me up every two hours to go potty. Then it was every three hours. Now he has graduated to every four hours with a five hour night thrown in every now and then. So, I haven't had a good night's sleep in a while. Dad and I got into an argument one night due to my sleep deprivation. It was all my fault and it showed me I need to be better at honoring him, even when I feel like I'm going crazy. I serious thought I was going to have a mental breakdown for a few days there it was that bad.

(kinda graphic info about puppy parasites, you may want to skip this paragraph)

We also found out after having him for a month, that he had a tapeworm in him (I'm assuming just one). I'm still having the creeps about that. When we got him we knew he had worms (all pups do unless they were on a strict deworming regimen from the breeder) so we dewormed him twice, that got rid of all but the tapeworm (those usually aren't common but they do occur in pups). Before we knew what it was we didn't understand why it was taking so long for the "worms" to get out of his system. It turns out that what we were seeing were sections of the tapeworm that "fell off" and turned into egg sacks which strangely have their own motion (EWWWWWWWW!).

(/end graphic info)

Because of all of our pup's intestinal troubles I just kept washing my hands every time I touched him. I washed them so much they got raw and cracked and calloused and bled all over the place. They still crusty and hard to the touch, especially the knuckles.

And to top it all off, I studied like a madwoman for my midterm today and felt so good about my understanding and then I got to the room. Our most recent homework was passed back and I got a whopping 6 out of 12. Then I took the test and I'll be lucky to get 50%.

That's been my past month and a half. How's yours been?

Hey Ya'll

So yeah, it has been a while since I last posted here.  I had a wondrous vacation in So-cal and Idaho after Christmas, when I got to see a bunch of Franciscans and varied and sundry other friends. I got offered a job in LA, but found that God was calling me to stay right where I am.  I think I am beginning to  understand that a bit more, because like my dorm rooms and my apartment, my house is becoming a hub for people to hang out, and I can see that God is using that.

I just started working on my masters in counseling.  It is rather intimidating, but I think it will be really good for me, both to learn the subject, and to learn the discipline necessary to succeed in this program.

I really was hoping to write more in this post, but my sleep deprivation is catching up with me, so I suppose I should sign off before I start typing gibberish.  Farewell  *_*zzzzzzzz

(oh yeah, I should probably say who this is....)
~Sarah <3

The Proverbial Christmas Letter

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year friends!

It was such a delight to get to visit with some of you (Ellene, Nicole and Rachael) during my break between fall and winter quarters. Biola will always be home to me and Francis will always be family to me.

Christmas was a much needed break from school. I got to spend several days with Brett and his family and then I spent the remainder of my break with my family. I attended Ellene’s graduation with Rachael and Nicole (Melanie I wish we had seen you too!) just before the break got hectic. My family and I took a wonderful vacation to San Diego just in time for the rain to start, though by the last day we had beautiful weather. Also, we visited my Grandma in Blythe,CA on Christmas day and celebrated Christmas as a family on the 26^th. Brett visited me and my family for several days after Christmas, and I spent some time with other friends I hadn’t seen in awhile, including Miss Kate. Before I knew it, the three weeks was over and I had to come back to Riverside.

My dad is still teaching at Fullerton Community College and the occasional class at Biola. He is soon to be included in a lunch gathering with Dr. Corey where there will be a discussion of the construction of the new science building in the near future!! My mom is still the secretary for the Sociology department at Biola and her office is right next to the construction site for Talbot, so she gets to daily see the progress. My brother is of course still at Biola and looking into internship positions for this summer. The one he is most interested in would focus on nanotechnology and quantum computing. My sister is applying for colleges and Biola/Torrey is her top pick. Her senior year has proved to be more work than fun and she spends most of her time these days doing homework for her various AP classes. Brett is finishing up his applications to graduate programs and law schools and currently living with his family and working. Right now his top choice is law school at UC Irvine and his second choice is the PhD in philosophy at UC Riverside.

Living and going to school here in Riverside has definitely had its ups and downs. The ups: getting to teach general chemistry, and making friends and going to church with Patrick and Karen Schact who are Torrey grads and live in the area. The downs: being away from family and friends, the difficulty of my classes and learning how to live on my own. 

My roommate is never here and I spent much of my time alone last quarter. Making friends out here is taking time, especially since there are fewer people with whom I share values. Still, I am fortunate to be near enough to my family and to Brett that not a week goes by when I don’t see one or the other and God has been providing comfort despite the loneliness. The best thing that has come out of being here is realizing how much support I have from family and friends and being able to see so clearly that God is taking care of me. The Schact's in particular have been a blessing. They not only invited me to join their church but also their weekly bible study. I also made a few friends through Intervarsity Christian Fellowship who make me feel like I'm still at Biola because where do they hang out? The coffee shop.

Fall quarter took me to my absolute limits academically. Passing graduate classes requires a B or better and I passed one class with an A- and failed the other with a C+. I was fairly sure I was going to fail both classes until my final exam saved my grade. Fortunately, keeping my TA position and salary only requires a 3.0 gpa and I was able to stay at UCR. Winter quarter has so far been much smoother and though I am still getting acclimated, I have high hopes that it will be much more manageable from here on out. I love the teaching aspect most of all. I teach four classes per week and am further convinced by my experience here that I am on the right career path.

I miss you all and hope to talk to each of you soon, whether in person, on the phone or by email. I hope you are all doing well.

Fondly,

Lydia

p.s. Book I’m reading right now: Orthodoxy. That is going to have to be a whole post by itself.

p.p.s. When I’m done, I’m starting over on The Chronicles of Narnia. Brett gave them to me as a Christmas present this year.