Sunsets, proclamations, and my attempt at art.

God woke me up this morning, quite decidedly. I fell asleep reading a textbook, and though I set an alarm, I didn't set the other three I always set on my phone. My real alarm is far too easy to silence, as a slight touch will shush its blaring beeps. 

And yet I was gently awoken by the Father a few minutes before 8 (about 30 minutes later than I planned). I got up without sleepy haze and got ready quite normally. I was able to fill my water bottle and grab breakfast/snacks to go. I found a parking spot not too far from the first Route 56 bus stop on the lot, and the bus pulled up just as I was walking there. I made it to class with about two minutes to spare. 

And I praised my Lord for caring for me in even the smallest, most unnecessary ways. 

A life with trust in the Creator is so, so much less chaotic. And though I'm definitely bad at this trust, He teaches me amidst my everyday chaos. And to top, He paints it with beauty. 

Per esempio, when I am in a hurry to make a meeting and get somewhere, and I run out of my condo with a full, buzzing mind of to-do's, and THIS is what greets me:

Or when I'm in a massive hurry to get from Rogers to Fayetteville on Thursdays to be a bit less late to chapter, and I glance to the right and encounter a brilliant sunset, just chilling there in sight of 540. 

It may have been only slightly hazardous to take this while driving...

We worry. We stress. We overanalyze. We pity party. We freak. 

Every good gift, every perfect gift, comes from above. These gifts come down from the Father, the creator of the heavenly lights, in whose character there is no change at all. - James 1:17

And through it all, our Lord who loves us through our insanity is solid, unchanging, and beautiful. So very breath-snatchingly beautiful. 

Admittedly, He calls me beautiful too. And further admittedly, I have a seriously difficult time swallowing that Truth. The human in me does not want to hear it. But I suppose if He cares enough to make a common stretch of sky into something so glorious, He has something in store for me. Something... 

Last week the lady who did my hair asked what I wanted to do for a career. When I said I don't have life plans, she commented on my collectedness. I told her "I figure God has pretty good plans. That or I'll just die." She found that particularly hilarious.

I'm humbled by the sky. I'm amazed at its vibrance at dusk or dawn and the array of colors, the grandeur of billowing columns of cloud, the brevity of its remarkable displays. Yes yes yes, I understand it's all science and physics and light refraction and the atmosphere and all that nonsense. I do go to college for the edjahmahkashun. But all the textbooks in the world couldn't inspire this praise within me. Those cold, hard facts don't fill me with joy. An argument in perfect Chicago style could not bolster me up to face the challenges of this world. 

paint + sharpie on canvas, September 2012

Yet again, I must end this blog with deep gratitude. I'm blessed beyond all comprehension; what more shall I say? 

European travels, continued.

If I had to concisely sum up my European adventure thus far, I would use 2 words:
novel beauty.

It's novel to me at least. I honestly don't understand how these people take this day in and day out.. To stare out across the Apennines or the Alps or the rolling, gentle countryside with farms plotted brilliantly onto the sides of steep hills - and to somehow not go mad from its grandeur? Do they become numb to all this glorious creation? How could they stand to stop marveling at the Gothic elegance of the duomo in Milano or the incredible panorama of medieval Gubbio? (or Siena or Florence or most other Italian cities, for that matter..)

I know it's easy to jump the assumption that I have simply become numb to the beauty in my own home. But that's not completely true. I may not be working to keep my jaw up every moment of every day, but I still praise G-d for the intense beauty of the Arkansan landscape around the Ozark mountains on my drives home from Fayetteville. Or the gorgeous view when driving south on 540 when the leaves begin to change. Or climbing dad's ridiculous tower atop the knob and seeing the curve of the horizon. Or taking the bike trail in Fayetteville.

The European beauty here is.... Different. Very different. Age has a lot to do with it. I've walked the same uneven, narrow streets as Saint Anthony and Marinetti and Puccini and Mussolini and Caesar. Back at home I've done that with... Bill Clinton? And I'm not such a nostalgic Pastist to freak out over that, but it is something I consider. The times and events that these walls and streets have seen are so very different than those of infant America's. Those times have added something to those less-than-straight walls. Yes age. Yes wear. But also yes to a character incomparable to any American dream home.

I think back to Urbania, la casa mia nell'Italia. Those streets... Their beauty. I remember them well. I walked them daily, felt the cobblestone beneath my shoes, admired the pattern that took great care to construct. In some areas, the grass grows between them. Freely; not exterminated with some chemical to keep some austere evenness. What have those streets seen? Wars, sickness, death. Joy, love, flowers. Beautiful, beautiful flowers...

I do miss my Italia. That's not to say the rest of this journey hasn't had its surprising helpings of beauty. On the way to dinner in Switzerland the other night, we pulled over to get a good view of the snow-covered Alps. It was a moment I couldn't capture with my little camera, but it's one burned into my brain. Their grandeur, their crispness, even on a sunless, gray day. Admittedly, that was just one of many moments in which His glory shone through creation in a way that overtook me. It grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me, seizing my attention and screaming at me the wondrous, creative nature of the King Who has and is my life.


It was like seeing the clouds seemingly yards above my head in atop the Apennines,

like seeing the view of a whole city from above,

like inhaling the clear, Italian mountain air and wondering why I'm here...

At some point during a long train ride, the Lord taught me to stop questioning, start praising, and enjoy. So I am. To Him goes the glory. To Him goes my heart. To Him goes all thanks and eternal thanks dipped in reverence and awe. What else shall I give? My life, my love, my heart, my gratitude, and now this time. This solitary, blessed time in motion, hopping between countries and viewing His handiwork in a novel, beautiful way.

The terms 'novel' and 'beauty' cannot be separated and still properly describe this experience. Where I've been is CERTAINLY not new, and pretty places exist on every continent. But for me, this experience has been beautiful in an original, soul-shocking way. The novel portion is mine; the beauty portion is His.

For now I'll happily take a serving of both.

Grazie; danke; thanks.

A long overdue update d'Italia

On a planet at which a day consists of 100 hours instead of 24, I would have blogged regularly in real time about my incredible journeys. Alas, this is not the case.

Ma - buona fortuna! Non ho dimenticato tutto.

My three weeks in Urbania certainly deserves detailed recount, but that could fill a week of intense blogging. Glimpses of Urbania will undoubtedly pop up in my posts; those people and that town is dear to me.

Per esempio: I remember one of my first couple of days there. I had a moment (one of many really) of a certain variety I call ‘crispness’. Vision legitimately seems better; the air is clear; the edges of trees and signs are sharp; surrounding sounds are not muffled. A sort of "ah ha" weird experiential thing. I can't control it, but for it I am ever-appreciative. Those times allow me to soak it all in: the shapes, smells, sounds, shades of pink and gray and blue in the cool and calm dusk on my walk home. I saw people sitting and sipping vino o caffé. Others were heading home too. I could hear talking near the doors of some places. Some sat out on their porches and just watched, sitting with their dogs. No one really ever seemed to be in a hurry there, at least not in the early evening.  

The weather was fabulous; I was actually cold the first few nights and had to learn the word for blanket (coperta). I think the first word I recall learning with my host family was spazzatura (trash can). There are a ton of useful words that fall through the cracks of class Italian. But also, a bunch of vocabulary I thought was way beyond me or not useful came in handy so many times. I was able to discuss social and economic issues with Armando the bus/taxi driver. He was one of my favorite people. The guy freaking punked me in italiano about seeing a golden eagle during one of our bird walks.

Allora, I have now graduated from buses to trains in my travels. I'm finally starting to get the hang of it! 3 trains later... 

I love utilizing the rail system, but the stations are stressful. The trains are peace, contemplation, scenery, (for the most part) security. The stations have beggars, confusion, rush, odor, (at least the feeing of) danger. These two are separated by a mere staircase, or sometimes no more than a threshold. But at the end of the ride you are forced to re-enter the chaos. You must pass through; there is no alternative way out. And then a different type of confusion hits. I entered Pisa a few days ago with just a few lines of directions on a screenshot of an email on how to find my hotel. There's no getting lost in this type of travel; you start lost and move toward understanding, or you fumble around clumsily with hopes of good luck.

How odd that is. To begin in a solitary, lost state of being. We come into life without a clue, helpless, tiny. But not lost, for at birth, there is no hurry to understand. Our surroundings are unimportant and there is nowhere to be. Some cases are more unfortunate, but for the most part, someone or many people are present right at the start to assure our well being. In traveling solo (sola in italiano), I have no human caregivers, no people hovering to attend to my every need. I have an overly heavy suitcase, a bit of money, a small understanding of italiano, and a wee bit of courage.

Sometimes, I'm given a map. How empowering that semi-glossy foldout can be! It’s the same when I find the dot signifying my current position on a big public map, especially after wandering around a city. With a map I sometimes gain renewed confidence. This from just an idea of location!

How important is location? Does it define us? Constrain us? Is it exhilarating or terrifying to lose your sense of it? Or both?

My current location? 

I'd say motion.

Locomotion? Locomotive?

Train? Training?

Training for what? 

It’s a bizarre feeling to have (practically) no responsibility, no schedule, and nowhere to be. If I attempt to think back to the last time that happened... I enter time warp. 

Before this there was Urbania: amazing, but busy with school and trips.

Before Urbania: home, but also moving out of my apt, packing, and seeing lots of family.

Before Salem/Fay: school and Ozone and Ozone and school. Even Christmas break was highly structured due to familial obligations, Hogwild, and Ozone whatnots.

Before junior year: camp, all summer except 2 weeks spent at national convention in CO.

Before that (2011) summer: school and band and school and school. Limited Christmas break freedom due to traveling and such.

Before sophomore year: Camp all summer except for a weekend spent in KY and a bit over a week in Salem cramming in every ounce of family time, cleaning, packing.

Before that (2010) summer: school and school and band and school. I don’t even remember Christmas break for freshman year... So perhaps I had time then. 

Before freshman year: INSANE summer of DLA, LIT-ing, CA for national FBLA competition, and prepping for college.

Before that (2009) summer: the non-stop jam-packed schedule of high school with band and clubs and schoolwork and several sports.

So.... yeah. It’s been a while. 

I wander down the streets of these gorgeous Italian cities with very little, if any, aim. 

I don’t have anyone for conversation. And it’s been sweet.

I can choose to get by on loneliness, or I can rejoice in intimacy with the Spirit, One that will never abandon me. One that has no language barriers. One that loves more than I can comprehend.

For now, I have no hope of human companionship for a few glorious days. 

So I will continue to wander, continue to pray, and continue to praise Him for all. 

Italia cominca!

Written May 29, 2012 (delay posting; forgive me)

a view of Urbania

A new experience is like having a child. 

It’s simultaneously 

challenging,

invigorating,

exhausting,

totally worth it.

Babies may cry constantly and do nothing but eat and poop, but they are beautiful. A baby is life at its most delicate and gentile state; a baby is a novel soul and a needy body. One must nurture it, attend to it, appreciate it, and at utmost - love it. 

The above mentioned at least somewhat approximates my feelings on new experiences. I’m smack dab in the middle of what is arguably my biggest so far, and it’s incredible. 

No, it isn’t mind-blowingly awesome just because it’s Italia. Sheesh, what a copout, amiright? Sure, people do come here for the good times, ridiculous food, and fine yet affordable wine at literally every caffè (which is synonymous with bar, but not in a raunchy American way). This time is awesome because it’s a departure from norm. Many people that know me have heard me say “I believe in drastic change.” It’s healthy to be ripped out of comfort and routine and monotony and safety; it’s glorious to depend fully on the Father in times of complete uncertainty and lostness. It’s certainly not an easy endeavor, but it pays dividends. 

For me? Sì, sono in Italia! 

I am living with a tremendously nice host family, signori Lucerna. I have my own tiny apartment thing separate but connected to the family; I have a kitchen(non-working sadly)/living room open area, a small bathroom, and a bedroom. It’s simple and presh beyond belief. The family speaks very little English, which is excellent for me!

Since I don’t live with other students, lack interwebz, and have yet to acquire a communication device, I am alone quite a bit when not in class. The Millikin people are very cool, and it would be sweet to get to know them better. But alone is good too. It’s another departure from my traditional over-connected, over-socially saturated lifestyle. America also moves so quickly. Things here are in a slower fashion; people go for relaxing strolls (“fare due [o quattro] passi” is the colloquial term), and old retired men hang out at the town center for many hours a day. It’s really awesome. I can feel myself take on their mentality. I find myself eating slower, basking in the natural beauty of the countryside, sitting in purposeful silence for contemplation and reading. These sadly get largely overlooked during my crazy American schedule. 

The classes I’m taking are fantastic. Today we went on a seriously impressively gorgeous 3-hour hike to look for birds and experience Italian nature for the Biology of Birds class. I took so many pictures, but none of them do the place justice. That kind of beauty cannot be captured, simple as that. My Italian conversation private lessons are somewhat challenging but so applicable. My Futurism, Fascism, and 20th Century Electro-Acoustic Music class is one of the most interesting courses I’ve taken so far. We are going to build some legit noisemakers and perform in their style at the end. 

another view of Urbania

UPDATE --> June 2, 2012

I have since found interwebz for home, which is convenient, and acquired a cheap cell phone. Want to text me? Facile! Tweet at me: @stephmac19

I have gone on another glorious nature walk with my bird class and will post pics to Facebook soon. Soooooo much beauty here. I think I might drown in it. 

Oh, and gelato is as good as everyone says. 

Let the summer blogging begin.

On May 3, my last class of my junior year ended and I attended my last Ozone as intern.
On May 10, I completed my last final and jury.

On May 12, commencement band ended in the afternoon. 

On May 19, I left my apartment at Woodway for the last time. 

Each event brought a sense of completion, an end point, a tiny finale. Each was preceded by work, time, effort, joy, sweat, diligence, blood, stress.

A semester of class and hanging with Rogers kids.

Study guides, cramming, practicing.

Rehearsal rehearsal rehearsal. 

Packing, cleaning, organizing.  

Yet they weren't ends.

Nothing ever ends. School bled seamlessly into summer. I glided from textbooks to snowcones without missing a beat. It's a blessing and a curse, and it's a pattern to which I am well-accustomed. Since about the 6th grade, my summers have gotten progressively more full. More busy. More awesome. 

One would think that at a point, the awesome must abate. I'm sure there's some technical economics mumbo jumbo to describe that principle, but that's out of my league. The years cannot continually produce more incredible experiences. 

Yet so far they have. 

Summer is more beautiful than I remember. Schoolwork must have been clouding my sight; I'm pretty sure it didn't just turn incredible when I gained free time. Since finals concluded, I feel I can see rightly; the sky is crisper, brighter. As I drive, I'm completely distracted by how gorgeous Arkansas summer really is. Some are too turned off by the sweltering heat and sometimes preposterous humidity, but I love it. I love those days of feeling the thick air like a blanket, the cleansing sweat, the satisfaction of cold water. I love the heat and I love the opportunity to experience air conditioning. Perhaps I just love contrast. 

Contrast is lovely. I often up the contrast on my photos, sometimes to balance and sometimes because I just prefer it that way. There's contrast in summer dusk. It's so interesting that colors become more vivd right before it all fades to blackness. At the right time of day, the light this time of year seems richer, more saturated, and the resulting glow of dusk light playing on the hilly landscape is positively frabjous. Yesterday as I traveled home, I was seriously taken aback. Creation declares His goodness, and now louder than ever. Or perhaps it depends on how closely one listens. 

I do pray this is a summer of listening. I'll have more solitude than usual, and I look forward to that time being rich and glorious. I'm excited for Europe, though not quite prepared. I'll be blogging regularly, so for you 3.5 people who read this, check back often! 

Your glory is so beautiful. 

I fall onto my knees in awe. 

And the heartbeat of my life

Is to worship in Your Light...

RMB: Ridiculous Meme Blog

I had a stroke of inspiration today while perusing the UARK Memes page on Facebook with Ed and Josh. Most are misused memes or just not funny. Some are pretty clever, but it's definitely a minority. We thought we could do a better job of producing homemade memes...

So obviously I made them on about the Razorback Marching Band. 
If you have other caption ideas, comment on this post or email me. 
There are more to come....


Enjoy. : ]

I would love feedback! Thanks for checking these out. 

Sometimes I wear my rainboots when it's sunny.

Or perhaps I wear them to slosh about in puddles of my own tears.

I jest; I jest.....

I did look at the weather at some point VERY early in the morning after a study cram session and saw rain coming. Maybe that was for Friday. Oops. 

My rainboots certainly are quite darling. They are a shade of Chelsea (Burris) green and of high quality. I didn't think I would particularly like short rainboots, but these are delightfully legitimate and I recommend them highly. The color on Amazon is NOT at all the color of the boots. 

This is more like it.

There were no puddles for my well-engineered rain garb today. The sun shone; the wind blew; the world kept turning with little regard paid to any unseen, unmentioned sturm und drang.

It's not just you German-loving/speaking folks who can throw out fancy foreign terms. Music history, ftw.
*if I could frat snap I would*

Speaking of music history - I enjoy color coding things. 

Above is a picture of my listening study guide for MUHS with decades similarly colored. Highlighted in rainbow order of course. I'm a highly visual learner, and I tend to capitalize on that. Additionally, putting things in rainbow order really toasts my bread.

Toast > bread. 

Unless it's fancy or delicate bread, in which case toasting could end in disaster or a destruction of intricate flavor layering. 

I am highly interested in baking my own bread. Or biscuits. Or scones. 

NO I got it - SOFT PRETZELS. 

Oh, I do enjoy a good soft pretzel. I even delight heartily in boring small crunchy snack pretzels. I pick the salt off though. Why aren't saltless pretzels readily available yet? They are relatively healthy snacks except for the excess sodium. I believe things are generally better with less salt.

Tears are salty too, but I have not the power to separate bits of NaCl from them. With less salt, I believe even tears could be improved, albeit it just slightly.

Sodium is terribly unhealthy is great quantities, you know. 

Tears in great quantities can really make you think. 

FUN FACT: Did you know that emotional tears have a different chemical composition than that of those that lubricate our eyes or help flush out irritant substances?

Yup. Pretty cool, and I don't even care about science that much! You can read up about it on wiki.

Excess crying is also particularly annoying when wearing glasses. It's kinda similar to when it rains and you suddenly wish little baby windshield wipers would appear on the front of your glasses...

 

Take this guy. He's cool, collected, and not a bit worried about impaired vision due to rain. What a boss.

Or this guy. He's super pumped about those sweet sweet wipers. If only we could all be so frabjous. 

We could even just kick it like this hipster. He's probably jamming to something really obscure.

Point is, wiper shade are a worthwhile venture, as demonstrated effectively by the above fine men. Now, if we're talking tear wipers, it gets more complicated. You have to worry about taking out an eyelash with each wiper mishap or the possibility of sticking your eye if hit with a large blunt object right in the socket. It is an altogether inconvenient venture; I do not recommend it. 

The problem you face in the absence of a tear-wiper is the inevitable forward splash in any event of substantial tear production. These tend to dry quickly and leave an unfortunate stubborn residue on the inside of glasses. Silly salt and protein. 

Upon this most unfortunate event, your vision can be blurred. The tears form a translucent, gray skin squarely blocking once pristine vision. The weirdest part is the delay in noticing the blockage. You can go on hours with the gunk on the lenses, too busy with the bustle of life to notice. True view is distorted; suddenly you cannot feel right in your own world. There is too much gray, causing distress and initiating a creeping numbness. The sun shines a shade dimmer, and the clouds move more ominously. Hope fades, and somewhere in the world, a small innocent bunny stops hopping. 

Then suddenly in a moment of grace, He allows the unattractive grayish blobs to snap into view. In actuality, the distraction was mere product of excess, unhindered sorrow. Yes, things happen from time to time. Grief is an occasionally appropriate and widely accepted emotion. The real question lies in the following resolution. From where does it come? From whom? From what? 

If distracted by the very output of our sorrow, how shall we seek proper comfort? If the grayness of my tear stains make the world a sadder place, in turn heightening my sadness, what ends the cycle? Is my crushed spirit a mere source of shame? Are my tears little more than weakness in liquid form?

Certainly not. Even Jesus wept. 

My weaksauce body tends to fail. I get sick; I miscalculate and eat it on a sidewalk; my heart weighs heavy with burden; often my mind goes a bit nuts. I get dramatic or emotional or sensitive or irritated. I don't always say the best or right things at the right times. That is what it is. 

Alas, when I fail, my strength must come from the right place. I pray I someday understand an inkling of the extent of Him being my portion.

It's OK to weep sometimes. The tears don't last forever. The stains on glasses are easily removed with a dab of spit. See clearly again, take a breath, keep calm, and carry on. It can really feel good to have a release, a source of output of feelings too lofty to handle. What better time to practice reliance on something far greater. When the sturm und drang of life grow heavy, don't dare to bear it alone.

Even in a barren, lonely landscape of concrete, dirt, and trees, and academia... 

When it is far from practical...

When little more is gained than marginal happiness from sheer cuteness...

When you relate to Alice swimming in her tears...

When the ground is hard and dry and every last pothole on campus holds little more than air and dust...

It's OK to wear rainboots on a sunny day.

Keep on the sunny side, right? 

Always on the sunny side. That's what I say. 

NOW INTRODUCING, for your viewing & potentially eventually listening pleasure...

the KINSEY GRACE REVIVAL BAND

You've probably never heard of us....

But you definitely want to.

Influences: Gungor, Sufjan Stevens (but not Age of Adz), Vampire Weekend, Streetlight Manifesto, mewithoutYou, Freelance Whales, NEEDTOBREATHE, Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeroes, Page CXVI, Tally Hall, Regina Spektor, The Avett Brothers, Charlie Chaplin, Mario Kart Love Song (the song, not a band), Noah and the Whale, All Sons & Daughters, Ella Fitzgerald, Trololololol guy, Vocal Spectrum, The Civil Wars, The Carpenters, Rick Astley, Gregorian chant (the type of music, not the band), The Weepies, Brooke Fraser, Mozart, Bon Iver, She & Him, Matt & Kim, Lecrae, Nyan Cat, Sixpence None The Richer, Mumford and Sons, Nickel Creek, Straight No Chaser, John Denver & The Muppets, Jenny & Tyler, Andrew Bird, Ingrid Michaelson, Cake, old Disney movies (the movies, not a band), The Partridge Family, The Addams Family, Rocky Votolato, Haydn, Slow Club, David Crowder Band, Ben Folds, Anais Mitchell, Brett Dennen, Billy Holiday, David Bazan/Pedro the Lion, The Marvelous Breadfish, Harry Connick Jr., Julia Nunes, Iron & Wine, Matisyahu, The Beatles, Jesus (the Savior, not a band)

Namesake: Meet Kinsey Grace! [last name: Wallace]
Purdy, ain't sheh?

In actuality, her name is complete happenstance. Her parents just picked random letters! It works for some. The band is not named after her. 

Anyway, on our EPIC road trip of spring break 2011 [see pics HERE! And again right HERE!!] we stopped in Kinsey, TX to delight in organic falafel and meet the ambassador of Rottnest Island. As we were driving out of town, we noticed a cardboard sign pointing down a desolate gravel road. It read "GRACE REVIVAL - live music!" and on a whim, we took the fated turn down the road. We parked the small red car out with the others in a field, and followed the roadside lanterns about 200 yards. Under a massive yellowed canvas tent was a most glorious sight. Surrounded by candles and an attentive, reverent crowd, the small band sang in glorious harmony as a lone mandolin plucked out a simple yet compelling countermelody. The specific hymn escapes me, but so much is still so clear. As we slowly approached the back of the large tent, the smell of spring at dusk settled around. I stood amazed beside my friends, afraid to blink or make a sound in fear of it disappearing as a dream. The band finished the second verse and the whole group joined in for a chorus. An acoustic guitar and a cello began to sound from the stage, and our captivation deepened. We joined in, melding in the smooth, praise-filled melody. Even the grasshoppers joined in worship. The tent seemed to sway with emotion as those within were consumed with thanks, fellowship, and His glory. Love soared straight through that yellowed, tattered canvas and up and beyond. The hymn decrescendoed gently and ended with just those on stage humming with the mandolin. After a small sigh and a smile, the band picked up their array of instruments and started in on a quick-paced tune. It was a giddy folk tune, catchy and fun and completely unfamiliar. We went to find seats near the back, but were grabbed by strangers and thrown into a clapping, dancing circle of joyous people. After a few wonderful tunes proclaiming the beauty of Light and unending joy, the cellist grabbed Kinsey's hand and drug her on stage. She handed her a triangle. The guy on fiddle came to me, Josh, and Ed. He smiled a huge smile and corralled us on stage. We were handed random percussion instruments and the band played a medium tempo song. In the euphoria, our nerves were consumed and we simply played from the heart. It honestly wasn't that good, but it didn't matter. After the hilarious experience, the fiddle guy led the 4 of us off stage and told us how thankful he was for our good attitudes and high sprits. We stayed into the night, praising in hymns or fast folk jams and chatting with all and being amazed. We had somehow found an improbable pocket of wonder; this was no longer Texas or a world we knew. As we drove away hours later, we had little to say. Each of us had plenty to contemplate in our own heads and hearts. We were simply overcome with Awesome. 

Soon after we formed the Kinsey Grace Revival Band. An EP is in the works, and the picture below is our potential album art. Stay tuned. : ]

Therefore, since we receive a kingdom which cannot be shaken, let us show gratitude, by which we may offer to God an acceptable service with reverence and awe; for our God is a consuming fire. - Hebrews 12:28-29

Alot no have time for this.

Alas, it's late and I have reading yet to do. E dovrò finire i miei compiti italiani!!! 

For your enjoyment, here are 2 pictures I took on my phone since school started back up. To understand the first one you'll have to click HERE and read this. Surrriously, do it now; you'll never regret it. Then the pic might at least make you chortle. 

This is from the first lecture in Honors Physics and Human Affairs. My notes are little messy/frazzled... But I was so bored in the lecture it was a bit hard to stay fully awake. Cue atrocious handwriting. [I apologize for the highly inaccurate Alot. Drawing is not exactly a gift of mine.]

This next one is a slyly taken one of my Physics-n-HA lab TA. He's an interesting fellow... Jeans, Super Mario light yellow shirt, a denim jacket a different color from the jeans and a bit too short, black dress shoes with no socks, and a dab of fingernail polish on every fingernail. Yeah... His hair could belong to a girl. I wouldn't call him precisely pleasant, but he's nice and helpful enough. It will certainly be an interesting semester in there. 

Creeper pic FTW. 

"If you don't pay attention and if your imagination isn't pretty much engaged, you're going to miss things and you're going to miss opportunities for it to be as compelling and as creepy as it can be." - Bruce Greenwood

.... or miss how creepy I can be...........

A friend loves at all times. Hummus not required.

I lied about delving into the root of our obsession with social media. Today I pondered as I wandered on better things. 


Though I woke up at 4am, it has been a fruitful, joyful, non-zombie day. I did doze uncontrollably in a few of my classes, but no longer than a few moments. It seemed my body was either fully up and hyper and alert or teetering on the verge of comatose. 


Tonight was a lot of fun in the Hogwild band! Perhaps the game should not have been as close as it was, but it did make for a more exciting night. I got Hogwild member of the game! It was tweeted, pic and all by @HogwildBand. But alas, I will not see that for a while! A definite highlight was the B-squad tryout. Bobby and I went for it tonight. SUCH a blast. Dancing, whooping, laughing, and so much lawl. We made callbacks! 


Something I realize more every day: I have good friends. 

They like guacamole. And cilantro-lime rice. And cookie cake. And smoothies. And really most things I cook.

Some of them love hummus and chai tea... but not all. (see below) 

They aren't all in this picture, albeit a good one. Below I speak for/about those shown and those not, both for ones in Fay and very far away. I do believe you know who you are. ; ] 

The Lord has given me quality companions with whom I consider it a supreme honor and huge blessing to serve, love, and confound with riddles. We break bread (often with honey) and sometimes couches. We stomp too loudly and play games while cats chill in the refrigerator. They knit me scarves, squeeze acidic things my broken hands can't handle, burn brilliant CDs, pick perfect limes, steal free apples, dance at Hogwild games, troll wholeheartedly, turbokick like crazy, rally for games of spades, share tasty music, write forever long emails, wear shirts about trombone, write letters and postcards from far off places, travel the country, debate Caddo/Osage, journey on the bike trails, learn through ministry, give amazing hugs, and occasionally take out the trash. I love having them as a reason to open my kitchen and small home, practicing one of a great many callings He has been good to give me. For them I will continually lay down my life, following the Example, and hoping to share perfect Light and glorious Love all along the way. They are my Brothers, my Sisters, my sincere friends. 


For them and much much more I do praise Him all my days.

What a luxury it is to poop with the door open.

It is day two of my social media fast. What an interesting time it has been... 

I am certainly not the most savvy Facebook creeper among my friends, nor am I the cleverest tweeter. I know I am by far not as obsessed with either as many poor souls are, yet this short break from our ultra-connected digital world has been very revealing. It is an absolute wonder to observe and marvel at my habituated self throughout the days. My finger scans the area of my phone where Facebook once was; my eyes and mouse flit across the bookmark bar for the familiar blue icon; some strange desire in me yearns absently for the newsfeed. By far the most intriguing and most disturbing are the deeply ingrained Twitter reflexes buzzing in my brain throughout the day.

I have been classifying my Twitter-thoughts into categories: 

1) Tweetable (restrained for this week)

     - clever

     - informative

     - ponder-worthy

     - encouraging

     - funny

     - for communication's sake

2) Thinkable (restrained for this week and almost always anyway)

     - boring observation only interesting to me

     - small only slightly quirky/clever personal thought

     - response to tweets

3) Abominable (restrained always)

     - highly odd

     - too personal 

     - rude/sinful thought

     - example: the title of this post [I was in my apartment alone and it struck me how
       special it was! How rare. How it is a blessing to be in an apartment at all this year.]

The "Abominable" category is listed as a "Twitter-thought" because these past couple of days has brought to light the extreme conditioning of which social media is capable. Would I really seriously tweet about my poop habits? Of course not. I hold nothing against my dear friends who would and do, but that is not my style. Yet, some thin blanket of Twitter covers a great many of my casual or random thoughts throughout the day. You know the type; they are almost certainly 140 characters or less. 

(note: my tweets go to my Facebook, so I am referring to Facebook posts as well, for the most part)

It all happens very quickly: 

- The subject is casually existing in the world.

- Some minor or major stimulant appears.

- Thought commences and SIMULTANEOUSLY the conditioned urge to tweet/post rouses within.

- Subject immediately deems appropriateness of thought.

- Appropriate thought is screened for quality. 

- Thought is shared on social media or discarded and kept forever private. 

This is just one common form; almost as often, the rouse to tweet comes before the thought commences, at which time the thought has a greater probability of becoming a tweetable one. As I see time and time again, far too many skip the screening step and share whatever nonsense their deluded brains stumble upon. I will primarily discuss tweets of a higher quality since I do try to generally hold myself to something higher than mere observations of my surroundings. 

So far, this is all a bit dry and analytical. Perhaps that Psych major thing is finally kicking in. But to speak colloquially:

No one cares that I can blow my nose without bleeding for the first time in weeks. That is something I would have easily posted. How much would my friends care about my early morning yoga experience?  It is somewhat laughable that hazing was so clearly happening at that 6:30 class. [Fratty guys in footie pajamas who didn't try at all or fell asleep]. The funny way my foreign physics prof says "Aristotle" certainly wouldn't have been enjoyed by all of social media. [Ah-riss-toe-tottle, slight emphasis on 'riss']. Sure, some people back at home and on campus might like to know I am one step closer to going to Italy after getting some things signed today. Maybe the general populous could get a guffaw out of a punny statement about Psychology now and then. Many would surely empathize with my annoyance at campus construction or at parking frustration. A decent number would feel a sense of pride or anger because of a well-versed tweet of Caddo pride. Someone could potentially gain much from a post referencing fruitful Scripture. Who knows, maybe through the poop tweet titling this post, someone could be inspired to think of the rarely mentioned freedoms inherent in living in an apartment instead of a dorm, where doors stay shut and small spaces contain all privacy. 

WHY AM I COMPELLED TO SHARE SO MUCH ON THE INTERNET?!

I honestly don't think I over-tweet or Facebook in excess. I think of myself as a highly average participator in social media. What has brainwashed and conditioned me so acutely? Why do I place such value in the approval and recognition of those I know? 

These questions and more - in my next blog. 

Since I cannot publish this to Facebook or Twitter until next week, I presume no one will read this. If you are, kudos! It would be quite ironic for you to share/post this. I would never know! Lawl.

I apologize for the rant and the somewhat scientifically presented interpersonal observations. I hope and think it will get more interesting; I have barely scratched the surface on the nuttiness running rampant within muh brainz. For now, I'll leave with some of what has filled my head and time in lieu of the connective sedation of social media:

It's incredibly valuable to check oneself times. To check one's time and use of it. The days are evil on their own! For now, He has very clearly told me to be slow. To sit. To wait. To cease striving.

*insert jeopardy music* 

It is in this still state I hope to be given understanding.