In which I am a geek...

I need to geek out about something right now.

This is not normal for me. And if you doubt that, then you clearly need a lesson on the difference between “nerd” and “geek.” I can nerd it up with the best of them, but I lack the technological interest and know-how required to be a geek.

But tonight I discovered a program for my Mac that has me bouncing off the walls screaming, “I LOVE TECHNOLOGY! YEEHAW!” (This is one of the perks of having the basement to myself…)

It all started when I was cleaning my room. I was overwhelmed by how many books I’ve amassed since I came out here to college, and I really just wanted to get them organized. (I have this weird thing where the rest of my room can be a complete and total wreck…but so long as my books are organized, I don't even notice the squalor in which I'm living)

Since I catalogue books at my job fairly frequently, I’ve used a couple library programs, and I know how tedious it can be to type in all the information (especially ISBN numbers…bleh!)…so, I turned to my friend Google and thus I discovered BookHunter.

Basically, it's a library program for people to catalogue books they own and keep track of what they've lent out (and to whom...super handy!). I've used some pretty clunky library programs, so I really appreciate that this one is sleek and shiny (yes, I'm all about the looks...). It's looks a bit like iTunes, and it's really easy to use.

And if that were all, I probably wouldn't have written this blog post. But that's not all. Oh no. Let me tell you about....the scanner.

Let's say you want to add a book. One click, and up pops a "New Book" window. Now, you could spend the next ten minutes of your life finding all the relevant information and typing it in...but who wants to do that? Instead, you can just click this little button that activates a scanner on your webcam. Hold the barcode of your book up to the camera, and voila! It reads the barcode on your book and automatically fills in all the information from Amazon.com. Author, title, illustrator, publisher, ISBN number, cover art…everything you could possibly need to know. BAM. Just like that.

Is that not the niftiest feature ever?!

Words cannot explain how exciting I find this. You should hear my little giggle of triumph with each book I scan into the system. Who cares if I’m twenty…I can still play Library, right?

Ok. Enough blogging. I have books to scan!

P.S. Turns out I have 101 books (not dalmatians) out here in Idaho. Back in Florida, there are three or four huge Tupperware bins in my dad's garage stuffed full of books. I know what I'll be doing as soon as I get home! :)

The Bus Ride

It’s been awhile since I updated, and I have no real excuse. School is out for the summer. I have very little that needs to be done, and lots of time to do it in. This is the exact opposite of my life during the school year. Feast or famine, y’all.

I got home (“home” here defined as Idaho) about a week ago from my first real trip of the summer—a week in Washington and Oregon to visit family. David, Leah, and Seth came out to Seattle to attend David’s brother’s graduation, and I, not being able to resist the fact that three of my favorite people were going to be one state away instead of…well, however many states there are between Idaho and Maryland, just invited myself to come along and join the party. Luckily for me, the Johnsons are a wonderfully gracious bunch, and I had a blast spending the week with them. Best of all, I got to spend my birthday there surrounded by family and friends and peanut-butter pie instead of, say, reading a book alone in the basement. (Although, to be honest, that sounds fun, too…)

I was a bit loopy, however, because I’d stayed up the night before to attend the midnight showing of a certain movie that I was, oh, slightly excited about….and then I came home, packed for a few hours, went to Winco to pick up snacks, sleepily drove for an hour and forty-five minutes (forcing myself to sing at the top of my lungs to whatever song my iPod shuffled too…I had a sore throat by the time I arrived, but at least I was alive!), arrived at my roommate’s house, so she could drop me off at the bus station, and then….well, then…I met my fellow bus passengers.

The scene: I have just arrived at the bus station. I find my gate (is it a gate if it’s not an airport?), scan the available seats, avoid the ones in close proximity to creepy men, and choose one next to a pajama-clad young woman.

“Are you going on the west-bound bus?” she asks.

“Yep!”

“Oh good! Me too! I was so worried that I was in the wrong spot, so I just wanted to make sure. This is my first time riding a bus before, and I have a long trip ahead of me.”

“Oh, yeah? Where are you headed?”

“Vancouver.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah, I lived there for about a year with my fiancé, and then I came back to Spokane…but actually, my fiance and I, like, just had a miscarriage, and I was like *@#$ this, I’m tired of all this *$%&, I’m moving back in with you!”

“….oh…I’m sorry…”

“Yeah. But anyway. See this bag here? It’s full of every single, &*$%ing food you could ever imagine, and I got it all with food stamps! You’re welcome to any of it. Hey, do you think we could maybe hang out today? Like, sit together?”

“Oh…well…sure,” I responded weakly.

After enduring a few more profanity-laced tales, I realized I had essentially signed up for eight hours of craziness and desperately tried to backpedal.

“You know,” I said. “I’ve been up all night, and it looks like there aren’t going to be that many people on the bus. We could probably even each get a row to ourselves. That’s probably what I’m going to try to do.”

“Yeah…but then…what if someone else sits next to you?”

“Well…yeah. That could happen.”

My non-committal response did not sway her. From then on, she and I were a “we.” As in, a few minutes later, “Hey, shouldn’t we get in line now?”

The bus wasn’t leaving for a good half-hour, and although a few people were in line, the doors weren’t even open yet. I told her I was going to wait, but that she should feel free to go ahead. She stayed seated beside me. We were a team, after all.

After approximately thirty seconds of waiting, she sprang out of her chair, turned to me, and said, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…I can’t do this anymore. I have to get in line. I’m so sorry.”

And with that, our sitting-together pact was broken. Sometimes fickleness is a beautiful thing.

I boarded the bus and found an empty row, strategically placed my jacket on the other seat, leaned back, and attempted to sleep. It was a good plan. People either assumed I was saving the seat for someone else, or they just didn’t want to wake me up to ask. Yes, I am sneaky and selfish. I’m working on it. But five minutes before our departure, I still had a row all to myself. I was thrilled. Maybe I could catch up on some sleep after all!

And then…they walked in. An elderly couple, shuffling down the aisle, looking for two seats together. They made it to the end of the bus without any luck. “Well,” said the husband. “I don’t think we can sit together.” I was still pretending to be asleep, but I could hear the sadness in his voice.

And I tried to justify it to myself. Oh, I tried. Tara, you were here early enough to get a good seat. You staked your claim, and it’s rightfully yours! You haven’t slept at all…you could actually spread out and get some sleep here! Let someone else give up their row. And hey – it’s your birthday! Let this be a gift to yourself!

But I couldn’t do it. If I were married, I would want to sit next to my husband...and the fact that the couple was elderly just clinched it. I gave up my seat, and with it, my happiness.

Not really. It’s just that I ended up in a broken seat that didn’t recline. It had neither footrest nor armrest, nor was there was no room for my legs because my seatmate and I both had too much luggage. Pajama Lady’s craziness began to look appealing in comparison. I blared gospel music in my ears until I sort of fell asleep. Luckily, the bus stopped thirty minutes later, and I grabbed a seat next to a sweet elderly woman at the front of the bus. Honestly, there must have been twice as much leg room…and the footrest worked! I was just thrilled.

Eventually, the sweet elderly woman got off the bus, and my new seatmate—a woman in her forties—plopped down next to me and asked, “Is this the bus to Seattle? I’m nervous because this is my first bus ride.”

Apparently, I attract people who don’t know what they’re doing. I’d like to think this is because I look so calm and self-assured, but I’m starting to wonder if they’re just looking for someone as clueless as they are. Anyway, this woman and I pretty much left each other alone after that first conversation. The one thing that struck me as odd is that she didn’t bring anything to do while she was on the bus…and if I recall, she was catching a bus in Seattle and would be travelling for another half-day after that. Yet – no book, no magazine, no music. She just had a tiny purse and, presumably, a checked bag. She couldn’t even stare at the window, because my pillow and I were blocking most of the view. She didn’t sleep. She just sat there.

When she wasn’t dancing, that is.

About ten minutes after she sat down, I noticed her bopping up and down in her seat. I started to think perhaps she was hinting that my music was too loud. I turned it down. She kept bopping. I turned it down even more. Nope, still bopping. I turned it off – but even then she continued on her merry ol’ bopping way. I shrugged, turned my music back up, and went back to sleep.

So I guess if you don’t bring anything to do on a bus, you can always dance.

Well – eventually, I arrived, and seeing everyone was totally worth enduring the weirdos on the bus. We had dinner and dessert, and I got to sleep in a bed for the first time in 36 hours. It was wonderful.

More later...

Book Review: A Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp

I didn't want to like this book.

Is it bad that I'm prejudiced against the books written nowadays by Christian women? No doubt I've been soured by the likes of Captivating. Gag.

I kept hearing glowing reviews of A Thousand Gifts from Christian woman in the blogosphere. People said it was like The Love Dare only with God. Meh. Sounds corny. And goodness gracious, the author writes for the Christian division of Hallmark? That clinched it. I'd give this book a try...but only to make fun of it.

And so I bought it---not an actual copy of the book, mind you---but the Kindle version. And this from the girl who insists that if a book is worth owning, it's worth the space on your bookshelf. But with this silly book? I figured I'd buy the digital copy, read it, mock it, and promptly forget all about it.

Well. A hard copy of her book is currently on my desk, with a bookmark halfway through. Why? Possibly because I read the Kindle version, decided I wanted to actually own the thing, and have now started to read through it a second time so I could underline all my favorite parts.

Possibly.

Ok, so maybe I was wrong about the author. And maybe I did judge the book by its cover--a cutesy photo of two robin's eggs in a nest.

The title comes from a dare her friend gave her: write down 1,000 gifts you're thankful to God for. I expected a list of trite little happinesses. I didn't imagine she'd tackle the problem of evil--that theological quandary that's plagued people throughout centuries--because after all, this was a just another hokey Christian book, right?

But then she opened the book with her earliest childhood memory: the sight of her baby sister crushed by an oncoming truck.

Not exactly Hallmark material, folks.

And against that backdrop, she asks: where is God? Where is grace? How can we give thanks in all things in a world like this one?

Even without her footnotes and quotations, her influences were obvious: Annie Dillard, C.S. Lewis, G.K. Chesterton, Alexander Schmemann. Um, I'm not sure why I put the least-known guy last. Emphasis fail. But I really, really, really liked what I read of Schmemann last year...and he's got an awesome name, so there you go.

Occasionally her writing veers into overly-flowery territory, making her poetic prose sound forced...and boy, did I have to resist the urge to dot her sentences with commas. (Do Canadians have different rules??) But for a first book...well-done.

It's #11 on the New York Times Bestseller List...and I'm excited. I want people to read this book. It's a defense of joy, beauty, and gratitude. It's inspirational, but not in the Thomas Kinkade everything-is-all-light-and-happy sort of way. It's about finding beauty in the shadows, about being grateful for God's story--whatever that entails-- and your part in it. It's about living sacramentally. To be honest, this book sums up most of what I've come to learn in the past few years here at school...just packaged in a different way. Which means it can reach other people...especially those women who like the schmaltzy Christian books. ;)

And just a sample from the first chapter...

From all of our beginnings, we keep reliving the Garden story. Satan, he wanted more. More power, more glory. Ultimately, in his essence, Satan is an ingrate. And he sinks his venom into the heart of Eden. Satan's sin becomes the first sin of all humanity: the sin of ingratitude. Adam and Eve are, simply, painfully, ungrateful for what God gave . . . we look and swell with the ache of a broken, battered planet, what we ascribe as the negligent work of an indifferent Creator (if we even think there is one). Do we ever think of this busted-up place as the result of us ingrates, unsatisfied, we who punctured it all with a bite? The fruit's poison has infected the whole of humanity . . . but from that Garden beginning, God has had a different purpose for us . . . He means to fill us with glory again . . . that's grace. It is one thing to choose to take the grace offered at the cross. But to choose to live as one filling with His grace? . . . Could I live that--the choice to open the hands to freely receive whatever God gives? If I don't, I am still making a choice. The choice not to."

Ok. Spring Break has ended, and I'm officially getting back to work. Enough of this blogging silliness!

Finals Week, Day 1

Here is today in a nutshell, simply because I need a break from studying.

I woke up.

I ate chocolate cake for breakfast.

I studied Natural History.

I listened to a brilliant thesis defense about women as historical agents.

I studied more Natural History.

I talked about how nervous I was to take my Natural History oral.

I read Psalm 121, because someone heard me freaking out and conveniently had it printed.

I took my Natural History oral.

I did not cry during my Natural History oral.

I cried approximately 5 seconds after leaving my Natural History Oral.

I looked stupid.

I went to the bathroom, looked at the sorry sight of a girl with puffy eyes, no make-up, and seriously poofy hair, and told her to get a grip.

{Don't ask why I was crying. I haven't figured that out yet. I was happy enough with my grade, but I was so nervous going into it, and once I was done--all this pent-up something just came out of my tear ducts.}

I decided to wait in the bathroom until I looked normal.

I realized I didn't have that much time.

I visited the school secretary's desk and raided her candy bowl.

I went home.

I ate chocolate pie.

I watched an episode of The Dick van Dyke Show. "Oh Rob!!!"

I worked on my history timeline.

I went to a study group.

We talked about monks and time and Bede and King Radbod. Okay, I talked about King Radbod. Wikipedia tells me his name is also Redbad, but where's the fun in that?

I ate chocolate pie. Again.

I came home and threatened to put my boarder-brother's name in the church bulletin under the "Expectant Mothers" prayer list.

I decided I like my job too much to risk losing it.

I wrote this blog post.

Next up: history timeline.

Adios.

P.S. Yes, I did have chocolate cake/pie at every single meal. No, I don't regret this.

Stress

Christmas break was so relaxing. No deadlines, no pressure, no assignments. I needed the break. Oh, how I needed it. I felt like I'd been treading water for four months, with my nose barely staying above the water line the whole time.

And so I spent a month in pure, unadulterated sloth. I got up late, spent the days how I pleased, and went to bed whenever I wanted.

This is all well and good...for a time. But toward the end, I was sort-of-but-not-really looking forward to school. Sort-of because I feel antsy without a schedule and a routine. Not-really because with schedules and routines comes stress. I don't like stress...and yet, I always end up going back to him. (Don't ask me why I always turn life situations into relationship analogies. I think it's like guys and sports.)

{Random story that is slightly-related, but didn't fit anywhere in this post: During my fall break, I started a documentary called “Stress: The Silent Killer.” Yes, I watched a documentary about STRESS during a break week. Or, that is, I tried to watch a documentary about stress during break week. I had to turn it off about 5 minutes into it. It was making me stressed.}

During break, I was reading this book about mothering little ones. (Don’t judge me. I’m just storing up wisdom that I might need later. Besides, I can’t help reading books that are right there in front of me. It’s a compulsion.) Anyway, in one of the chapters, the author mentions how overwhelmed she was in one particular season of her life, and how she realized she needed to ban the word “overwhelmed” from her vocabulary.

Well, "overwhelmed" isn't the trigger word for me. I'm definitely on Team Stressed. It's my go-to word for whenever I feel lazy or grumpy.

So. I've been consciously trying to...not necessarily ban the word...but just be way more aware of using it. I've used it so many times over the past seven-ish years, that it just needs to be retired from my mouth for awhile.

Stress is my excuse to grumble (“Ahh, how am I supposed to get all this reading done? Why did the teacher even assign this book?”), which is ultimately rooted in disbelief. Do I really believe that God ordains my circumstances? Not just in a classroom where we're discussing Calvinism, but in my life? And not just the big events, but the little itty-bitty details, like reading assignments and paper deadlines? Because if I do, then why am I stressed out? Why don't I just do my best, and let Him take care of the outcome? Sure, the circumstances won't always turn out the way I wanted. I might end up with a B instead of an A. Oh, the horror. But a B cheerfully earned is worth more than an A fretfully pursued. Can someone please translate that into Chinese and tattoo it on my face?

So, I’m determined to keep my priorities straight (none of this skipping Bible reading for school reading, no more fudging on keeping the Sabbath), work hard, trust God, and let the crumbs fall where they may. I'm done with giving into the stress, finished with masking a grumbling spirit with a stupid little word.

It's only been Week 1 (admittedly the easiest week of the term), but I've noticed a change in my attitude. Stress has been one of the major motivators in my life. I've always worked better under pressure, under stress. But now - I'm reminding myself that I have a different motivation. I need to be working hard because it's the right thing to do, not because the consequences of not working hard frighten me. I'm supposed to be working heartily as unto the Lord, not as unto stress. And that same Lord was the one who said, "Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light."

Stress, on the other hand, says things like, "Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you more to stress about. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am a harsh master and proud, and you will find turmoil for your soul. For my yoke is heavy, and my burden is even heavier."

I think I'm going to go with the Lord on this one.

All these revelations have come to me at an interesting time. You see, this term is going to be by far the most stressful one yet. I nearly doubled the hours at my job, and I’m taking an extra class. Let me remind you that I was stressed with the normal coursework and 3.5 hours of work a week. Without a shift in attitude, this would have been the term that stress would have done me in. Conversations with me would look something like this.

Hey Tara! How are you?

Oh, stressed. You?

Oh, not too bad.

Oh, good for you. You’re not stressed like I am. Must be nice to not be stressed. I wish I weren't stressed.

Um, yeah. Hey, are you coming to the party tonight?

Nope, I’m feeling too stressed.

Oh, but maybe the party would do you good?

Nope. I’d be too stressed. I’d spend the whole time there thinking about how stressed I was, and then I’d get more stressed, and then I'd collapse in the middle of your floor in a giant fit of stress.

Ok. Well…we’ll miss you.

Yeah, well...I’ll probably be too stressed to miss you. But have fun!

You too!

I will. Stress is so much fun, you know. Nothing like a big ol’ glass of stress to wash the schoolbooks down with.

Um...ok. Sure. Bye!

Yeah, I have to leave too. We've been talking too long already...hopefully stress won’t kill me before we meet again!

And then I would lose all my friends, because who wants to be around THAT person?

I feel like I should clarify...I don't believe, not for a minute, that I'm going to frolic through life stress-free for the rest of my days. Even if I were to ban myself from saying the word aloud for the rest of my life, I will still say it in my heart. Just give me a few more weeks...finals week will loom ahead, and stress will wind its snaky fingers 'round.

But I'm more aware of it now. And as every single breaking-addictions group will tell you, admitting you have a problem is the first step.

Also, refusing to be stressed doesn’t mean that I’m not going to be studying and working like crazy. I've been starting my days at 5am, and I'm planning to keep that up as long as possible. I'm going to be skipping out on parties. I'm going to be doing school on the weekends. I'm going to say "no" to some things that I would have otherwise liked to do. Honestly, on the outside, it's not going to look like much has changed. But it has.