cover letter

I am delightfully haunted by a place called I Woo and often find myself telling stories about this magical land, stories with wonderfully named characters like Riske and Umfundisi. Now there are some that say college is not real, but as I describe it: a short period of make-believe. They insist that those who pretend it to be anything else will be in for an awful awakening in “the real world.”

I have lived in this real world for two years now and have met the people that make these terrible assertions and have come to believe that they are in fact the silly ones, the ones who are pretending. Where on earth did they get the unbelievable idea that church was supposed to be dull and that you are not suppose to know the people in your pew? Or the idea that you are to stop learning when you are older (unless of course some more education would get you a promotion)? I see it as make-believe to think, as they do, that in real life you must own your own of everything. And that at a certain age adventure is only a memory. Or that answers are more important than questions. Doctrines more important than conversations.

The truth is that the most magical place is the most real place. God is not ordinary, but extraordinary. Can the world He created be anything else? Two years later, I still believe in Indiana Wesleyan. It is not a fairytale, but the most real place in which I have lived, a standard in which I seek to emulate in the neighborhood I find myself now. “Take it with you,” Dr. Judy Huffman told me, speaking of the community I told her I would miss.

When I dream about the possibilities of church, I see a place like Hodson Hall with its nakedly honest community. When I am feeling dull, I know that buying stuff will not make me feel new. Learning and wonder make life new. This I learned from a fiery bearded man some call Stonehouse who had a sleeping bag for a bed and a bulky dictionary under his arm. The adventurer JMak taught me the beautiful nature of mystery, which is not simply a temporary feeling (a truth not yet revealed), but a part of reality (a truth unexplainable). He says has a “box” for mystery in his life, a part of his mind to hold those truths too incredible for understanding. Moreover, there are echoes from I Woo that bounce at me unexpectedly from time to time and I often hear God in the voices of those I knew at Indiana Wesleyan University. “God is after you,” I hear. “Follow your heart,” I am told. “Be here now,” nudges me.

magic

"The grass seemed signalling to me with all its fingers at once; the crowded stars seemed bent upon being understood. The sun would make me see him if he rose a thousand times. The recurrences of the universe rose to the maddening rhythm of an incantation, and I began to see an idea...A child kicks his legs rhythmically through excess, not absence, of life. Because children have abounding vitallity, because they are in spirit fierce and free, therefore they want things repeated and unchanged. They always say, 'Do it again'; and the grown-up person does it again until he is nearly dead. For grown-up people are not strong enough to to exult in monotony. But perhaps God is strong enough to exult in monotony. It is possible that God says every morning, 'Do it again' to the sun; and every evening, 'Do it again' to the moon. It may not be automatic necessity that makes all daises alike; it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never got tired of making them...In short, I had always believed that the world involved magic: but now I thought perhaps it involved a magician. And this pointed a profound emotion always present and sub-conscious; that this world of ours has some purpose; and if there is a purpose, there is a person. I had always felt life first as a story; and if there is a story there is a story-teller" (G.K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy).

marshmellows in hot chocolate

December blew in today to make the last few leaves of autumn spin around in circles. Just in time. For the last few days of November had seemed like August. Its funny how things change so fast here in Rochester, by the big lake with its stange winds.

A few weeks ago it rained for days and driving was like being on a boat. Streets were rivers and intersections were rapids. I grew sea sick of soggy socks and wondered if I had in fact moved to the city of Seatle, not Rochester. Then one afternoon the the clouds disappeared like marshmellows in hot chocolate and the sun shown as if for the first time. It all happened so quickly. For days the city had been like an untouched coloring book and I had walked in its pages of black and white, feeling grey. When suddenly a few strokes of orangish red appeared in the space above me. Then pink. Then blue. A blue I had never seen, or more likely, forgetten. Other hues appeared and as I looked all around me, I blinked my eyes in wonder as the blank spaces where given meaning. Puddles became mirrors reflecting greens, blues, browns, and yellows. Buildings seemed to shine and people, glow, as they flooded the streets to watch the sky being colored, to watch God play with his crayons.

It was a moment of creation, or recreation. Things that had not been, became.

Winter is coming and this year I want to think of it's grey as God outlining a new page of his coloring book, his story that we are in, so as to dazzle us with colors in spring, to recreate earth again so we don't forget that He made this place and us.

"And us." This is easy for me to forget. My life for a moment has appeared to be a blank page. I've been wondering at its meaning, struggling with its greatness (as I mentioned before). This is my winter season and for reasons only the snow maker knows, I need it. And I accept it for that reason. And in the mean time, while I wait for spring, I am warmed with the colors of others.

arguing with greatness

"From glory to glory." That's somewhere in the Bible or in a hymn or something, right? I'm not sure what it really means, but I know what I want it to mean. I want it to mean that we are made of the same stuff God is. I believe that when God turned the stars on and filled the oceans, he also made us, and in us, he put a little bit of Himself in. His glory that is. So that when we communicate (God and us), we communicate from Glory to glory (or glory to Glory).

I know that His glory is in me. I know it is, because sometimes it shines out. I've seen it in other people too. But recently I have hidden it. I'm still trying to figure out why, but an idea I found in John Steinbeck's "East of Eden" is helping me understand it. In the story a father desribes his son as "arguing with greatness". He sees in his son "a drive and fear, an advance and a retreat."

I am retreating... I avoid conversations. I don't return my friends phone calls. I've traded running, reading, and writing for video games. I've neglected my family and forgotten my goals. Why? I don't want to be great. I don't want the responsiblity, the pressure. I'm afraid. Afraid that maybe there isn't enough glory in me, that its all too big for me.

So I hide, close my eyes, and ignore all that I love. It doesn't make any sense. I'm made of glorious stuff. We are all made of it. So why do I argue with it? Why am I afraid? I don't know.

"There’s a fire burning inside me, makes the lame walk and the blind to see. Here I am wandering on what I should be. The old earth, the moon, the sun; some wings to rise the dawn" (Stephen Delopoulos).

tastes like burnt popcorn

Starbucks has introduced me to the world of coffee tasting. I'm new to it, but I am learning. They say you don't drink coffee just for the caffeine. A that it's ok just the way it is, that you don't need cream and ten packs of raw sugar. They also say that some coffees actually taste different from others. A diversity of aroma, acidity, body, and flavor.

The first step in coffee tasting is fun, yet silly to observers. Smell your coffee. It's a good idea to swirl your cup a little, to aerate the coffee, releasing the wonderful nose candy. I'm not sure if this really helps, but it makes you feel like your drinking wine. After you sniff your joe, slurp it. They say slurp so you splash your tongue, sprinkling all of your taste buds. I say slurp so you don't burn your tongue. A swollen tongue can dramatically alter your coffee tasting experience. Most of your descriptions will be "smoky and a little spicy". Plus you won't taste anything the rest of the week. The last two steps include locating the concentration of flavor on your tongue and then describing the taste.

They give you some helpful terms to describe the taste. Nice words like, "Intense, elegant, clean, caramelly." I translated a few… "Earthy"…tastes like dirt. "Herbal"…tastes like wet grass. "Smoky"…tastes like burnt popcorn.

They also offer a few hints in helping you realize the variety flavor. One is food pairing. Often a pastry can brighten a coffee's unique taste. A cinnamon role can bring out the spice in Sumatra. I just think it's a good idea because cinnamon roles taste good, so good that you forget the dirt taste of coffee.

Sometimes, they say, it can be helpful to compare two blends of coffee together in order to taste the differences. Makes sense to me, worse coffee makes bad coffee seem good.

I have to admit, I'm a little cynical, but also equally interesting, in coffee tasting. Sometimes I wonder if I'm really getting it or if my imagination is just getting better. Either way, this experience has caused me to wonder…

If drinking coffee slowly and analytically can make dirt taste good, or at least interesting, than how would sweeter and more fulfilling foods taste if I really tasted them deeply? Anyone up for a chocolate milkshake tasting? A shrimp tasting? A pizza tasting?

Or even more importantly, what if I tasted life like I do coffee? I think coffee tasting is a metaphor for life, and it's not just the cup that you are given that decides the flavor, it's the way you drink it as well.

Slow down. Take pictures. Journal. Tell stories. Find the beauty in your situation. See the good in people. "...live deep and suck out all the marrow of life" (Thoreau, Walden).