I have so many words I need to write.  Virtual as fake.  Virtual as potential.  Machines taking over society.  "The Machine Stops".  Forrest Gump.  The Help.  Modern Times.  Fahrenheit 451.  Theses.  Blog.  New media.  Paper.  Paper.  Paper.  I feel like my brain is short-circuiting, but all in all I have been pretty happy about my classes this semester.  This is the first semester I've really felt engaged enough in all that was going on in my classes to answer questions and be a part of discussion.  Usually I just sit back because I can't wrap my mind around what people are saying.  The novel is god to most of my classmates, and it depresses me.  I love words on a page, but I don't think they are much more than that.  Meanings are wrapped up in texts, sure, and it's exciting to dig them up, but when knowledge is an idol it is discouraging to me.  I guess getting out of college will mean both freedom and also a little bit of loss.  I am already beginning to realize how much I will miss the University of Utah.  I have had some strange adventures up there, but I love being on campus so much.  It is beautiful at the U.  I am excited for the free time, I guess, but I don't know where to spend it.  I'm so used to homework always.  I am going to try to catch up on some reading of my own (I keep buying books at the DI that I don't have time for) as well as some Bible study.  I am so stoked.  I'm also going to delve into some film and try to keep an exercise routine going.  This time to relax is going to be good for my heart.

Time to find to a roommate.  Time to get going.  Time to bike away my nervousness.  Time to live for the first time outside of education.

SOLI DEO GLORIA.

I found this that I'd written down awhile ago, from one of my literary history classes or another, and it's pretty powerful.  I feel like I need to share it again.  This amazes me.

"The Parable of the Christ-Knight" (written in 1215 by an Unknown Author)

"A lady was completely surrounded by her enemies, her land laid waste, and she herself quite destitute, in a castle of clay.  But a powerful king had fallen in love with her so inordinately that to win her love he sent her his messengers, one after another, often many together; he sent her many splendid presents of jewelry, provisions to support her, help from his noble army to hold her castle.  She accepted everything as if it meant nothing to her, and was so hardhearted that he could never come closer to gaining her love.  What more do you want?  At last he came himself; showed her his handsome face, as the most supremely handsome of men; spoke so very tenderly, and with words so beguiling that they could raise the dead to life; worked many wonders and did great feats before her eyes; showed her his power; told her about his kingdom, offered to make her queen of all that he owned.  All this had no effect.  Was not this scorn surprising?--for she was never fit to be his maidservant.  But because of his gentle nature love had so overcome him that at last he said, "You are under attack, lady, and your enemies are so strong that without my help there is no way that you can escape falling into their hands, and being put to a shameful death after all your troubles.  For you love I am willing to take on that fight, and rescue you from those who are seeking your death.  But I know for certain that in fighting them I shall receive a mortal wound, and I will accept it gladly in order to win your heart.  Now, therefore, I beg you, for the love I am showing towards you, to love me at least when this is done, after my death, although you refused to during my life."  This king did just as he had promised; he rescued her from all her enemies, and was himself shamefully ill-treated and at last put to death.  But by a miracle he rose from death to life.  Would not this lady have a base nature if she did not love him after this above all things?

This king is Jesus, Son of God, who in just this way wooed our souls, which devils had besieged.  And he, like a noble suitor, after numerous messengers and many acts of kindness came to prove his love, and showed by feats of arms that he was worthy of love, as was the custom of knights once upon a time.  He entered the tournament and, like a bold knight, had his shield pierced through and through in a battle for the love of his lady.  His shield, which hid his divinity, was his dear body, which was stretched out on the cross:  broad as a shield above in his extended arms, narrow below, where the one foot (as many people think) was fixed above the other.  That this shield has no sides is to signify that his disciples, who should have stood by him and been his sides, all fled from him and abandoned him like strangers, as the Gospel says: They all abandoned Him and fled [Matt 26:56].  This shield is given to us against all temptations, as Jeremiah testifies: You will give your labor as a shield for the heart [Lam. 3:65].  This shield not only protects us against all evils, but still it does more:  it crowns us in Heaven....

"But, master," you say, "what was the point?  Could he not have saved us without suffering?"  Yes, indeed, very easily; but he did not wist to.  Why?  To deprive us of any excuse for denying him our love, since he had paid so dearly for it.  You buy cheaply what you do not value highly.  He bought us with his heart's blood--a higher price was never paid--to attract our love, which cost him so much suffering.  In a shield there are three things: the wood, and the leather, and the painted design.  SO it was in this shield: the wood of the cross, the leather of God's body, the painting of the red blood which colored it so brightly.  The third reason, then:  after a brave knight's death, his shield is hung high in the church in his memory.  Just so this shield--that is, the crucifix--is placed in church where it can be seen most easily, to be a reminder of the knightly prowess of Jesus Christ on the cross.  His beloved should see in this how he bought her love:  he let his shield be pierced, his side opened up, to show her his heart, to show her openly how deeply he loves her, and to attract her heart."

I don't know if a lot of people know it but I've been going through a pretty crappy season in my life.  Things are changing rapidly, people are disappearing, and I've struggled to find the joy in all of it.  This gives me incredible hope.  I am loved so incredibly deeply despite all of my great shortcomings.  I can't read this without choking back tears.  The love of God is enough.  It always will be.  

Uncle Tom is in town. He is like Garrison Keillor, but with Alzheimer's. He still has the great stories, even if they're half truths, and he starts up a toast at dinner every five minutes, but he's a southern gentleman at heart. I enjoy Uncle Tom. His descent into oblivion is sad to watch, but I love it when he remembers things and gets so excited.

My heart, my body and my mind are tired. I worked 14 hours today. Retail the day after Thanksgiving is nothing compared to a bakery the days beforehand. I have bruises, burns, cuts, and swollen hands, but I am managing well. One more day and then sweet rest.

letter to my professor:

I woke up in Siberia this morning.  I don't really know how I got there but it has been a frequent trip back and forth lately. Anyways, mornings in Siberia usually start something like this:

Alarm clock dreams to alarm clock reality,
morning Quiet Time with the good Lord
and learning how to dress underneath the covers.

Breakfast in Siberia is a jumble of protein powder, toast and jam, and day-old macarons.  Throw in some burnt coffee and there you have it,folks, the mornings of a forever sleepy college student.  After bundling up in no less than like, ten layers, I walked out into the 19 degree reality and attempted to get into the car.  Siberia hates me, though, and the door was frozen shut.  I yanked at it until I was sure the handle was going to fall off, and then it yielded and I was inside fumbling for the scraper. I got the windows insufficiently clean and made my five minute drive to the bus stop.  Siberia's cold was unforgiving and my fingers were on fire, but I managed to stay alive for my five extra minutes of braving the elements. The bus drove through the twilight zone and back into Salt Lake reality, and we got onto campus with every one intact.  Walking to class was half the battle, though, because University of Utah mountain is made of ice and I'm no ice dancer.  I slipped and slid my way up the hill into the warmth of LNCO, and I am not convinced I want to make the trek to the rest of my classes after all.



And a second letter:

Sorry, Greg, but my love of pastries and staying warm is tempting me to stay away from your class.  Please forgive me for not growing as buff as you want me to.


(Note: I never actually skip crossfit even when I make poor eating choices right before class. I just can't bring myself to do it. Working out on a stomach full of coffee and pastries is pretty miserable in hindsight though. But, as always, the trainer smiles and pretends I am not sweaty and gross, and I stay happy)

"She laughed nervously as she spoke, and watched him with her vague forget-me-not eyes.  She was a curious woman, whose dresses always looked as if they had been designed in a whirlwind and put on in a tempest.  She was usually in love with somebody, and, as her passion was never returned, she had kept all her illusions.  She tried to look picturesque, but only exceeded in being untidy.  Her name was Victoria, and she had a perfect mania for going to church."

-Oscar Wilde,  The Picture of Dorian Gray

I keep reading that paragraph over and over when I open this book.  It is one of the only things reminding me of why I chose this major in the first place.  Language is beautiful, in contrast with 1984, where they try to cut it out day by day.  God is so good to give us these little things to enjoy.  Words, sentences, novels.

What a whirlwind of a few weeks.  Upped hours at work:  flour in my hair and on my glasses, powdered sugar all over my jeans.  Longest school days: messy Crossfit hair and always searching for a microwave for protein on protein. Sometimes these days overlap and I don't know what to make of them.  Rolling orange rolls to rolling out my aching muscles on a foam roller to discussing virtuality.

Leaves are everywhere.  Our backyard has spent the last week or two turning yellow.  I woke up from one nap or another and all of the trees were golden; the whole neighborhood is shades of orange, red, and yellow, with some blandly tan houses in between.  Fall is incredibly beautiful and makes me nostalgic for days in Sherwood, days in Portland, the state of Oregon in general.  55 MPH on the interstates and trees lining everything.  I miss all of my family in that general Northwest area.  I wish I could spend another month traveling around and head up there, but I need to be responsible now probably.

Five more weeks of undergrad life.  I will be nostalgic for this next fall, but right now I am looking forward to the break.  I am going to read some latin american novels, but the freedom of getting to choose my own books might be a little scary.  I need the lists to keep me productive.  I need them to remind me that I do enjoy Charlie Chaplin films, and to tell me what books to be spending time on.