I've seen people try to change

and I know it isn't easy, but nothing worth the time ever is.

I've only 20 minutes until class.

The reading is finished in time for American Lit. I am not sure it counts if it is within the last thirty minutes before the deadline - especially during the first week of school. I think this is going to be an interesting semester.

I have an interview this afternoon at 2:30. The Apologetics Office finally sent me an email late last night in response to my resume and I am grateful for my first (and hopefully my last?) interview of the semester. I will work. I will work. I will work. I should have brought my interview dress to LA.

I will also get involved in a ministry. I will no longer subscribe to this "all-talk" business. Maybe I will even have a radio show. I should probably figure my life out.

I am currently wearing my new(er) high rise jeans and a cropped shirt that Nana/Kathy gave me last year. I would be willing to bet that this sweater-shirt is older than I am. I just ordered iced tea without any flavoring or sweetener. In conclusion, I am a grandma.

Stay tuned for a excerpt from John Winthrop's "A Model of Christian Charity" circa 1630.

For we are bound by symmetry.

I keep waiting for the energy to write a fantastic first post for the new year. Well, as it turns out, the energy isn't coming and I am determined not to let a complete month go by before I get something out there. So, here it is?

I am waiting to board a plane that will take me back to Los Angeles. It will (probably) be four months before I return to the City of Roses. Four months before I kiss my mother and witness another Joe-ism. Four months. That will be the longest it has ever been.

Please write to me. I love Biola and, in a sense, I love LA, but words and sentiments from those who are North bring me comfort.

Give 'em Hell Harry

Okay, I've done a bit of slacking. I recently chastised my friends Brittany and Taylor for depriving me of new blog posts, and here I am, writing for the first time in nearly two weeks. Yikes, that is embarrassing.

What is new...what is new? Well, I could tell you about Christmas, being home or the joys of finally making (slow and rather shameful) progress in Anna Karenina, but that would be forced, I think.

My father has been watching a documentary on President Harry Truman for at least the last hour and I find that my speech is being affected by that old way of speaking. You know: you hear it in recordings of old news casters or in the voice of Cary Grant in "An Affair to Remember". As I write, I am tempted to use phrases like, "Now look here!" or "Say, what do you mean by that?" or even "I think we could get along alright, so long as he doesn't give me too much soft soap!"

I find myself partial to Bess Truman. She was shy, private and a bit stern. It seems she wasn't all that pleased at being the first lady - Joe calls her "A simple Missouri woman". But Harry loved her. When they were in their early-mid sixties he is quoted as affectionally telling her that she looked "exactly as a woman of her age should look." How romantic (please do not imagine that I am being sarcastic). I think I will make it my goal, from now on, to look my age - to embrace it. Thanks Bess, or rather...thanks Harry? I appreciate it.

I'm not going to try to change your mind.

I wondered today why I always wanted to be somebody else. With that haircut and that skin and that body with those clothes. And now the blinders are lifted to be replaced by another pair. I now desire that haircut and a body that looks like that in those clothes.

But you can only do so much. And the media only has so strong a grip because it doesn't breathe or ache for meaning, for salvation. Neither does an oversized scarf or hair that looks messy enough to be by accident. But I do, and along with the earth I pine for His presence and for final rest from this constant comparison. I am in the process of reminding myself that I am set apart.

A sweet smell.

I'll tell you right off - I've been a cranky girl. I mean, Friday was just lovely and this morning I listened to John Piper via podcast. I am currently drinking an americano, wearing a sweater that Cass lent me and listening to a "James Taylor" Pandora station. But the cranky is hiding just below the surface.

If I were a camera, I would be out of focus. Pray for adjustment?

But, fuzzy photography aside, I learned something really wonderful the other day. In New Testament last week we went through all of the worship in Revelation as a class. This means that we spent 45 minutes participating in a type of liturgy followed by some songs of worship. During the liturgy, we read over Revelation 8:4: "...and the smoke of the incense, with the prayers of the saints, rose before God from the hand of the angel." This is where it hits the bone. This illustration has been an incredible blessing to me. Incense is used for it's beautiful smell. The implication is that for the incense to mix with the prayers rising from earth is to create the most beautiful and appealing of smells. My prayers are like incense to God Almighty. How poetic to imagine words of desperation, praise, thanksgiving and petition having a particular smell.

Later that night I was at After Dark (a student run chapel offered on Wednesday nights), and I tried to imagine my prayers as incense. I was feeling weighted and anxious and I decided to offer each of my anxieties up to the Lord separately. I began to pick them out: school, certain social situations, plans for the future, etc. These floated lightly and quickly up to my creator. As I dug deeper into my heart, however, my anxieties became heavier and the "smoke of my anxiety" seemed to hang in the air around me, refusing to rise. This is when I realized that I have not been truly trusting God with all that I have been dealing with this semester. I have been hanging on to these anxieties, afraid to relinquish control. Here is where the cranky comes into play. As the small situations in my life become more pressing (school, etc.), the buried frustrations of the deeper and larger situations are becoming manifest.

I don't exactly have an answer yet, but I do have prayer that I know is reaching the nostrils of He who gives me life.

In the Hood.

This is what I experienced over the weekend. Alpha Third East finally took a floor retreat and, let me just say, I am surrounded by some encouraging, persevering and heartwarming women of God.

I am so thankful for where He has me.