Seth's Baptism

Little child, for you Jesus Christ came to this earth, struggled and suffered;

for your sake He crossed Gethsemane and went through the darkness of Calvary;

for your sake He cried: 'It is finished';

for your sake He died and for your sake He overcame death;

indeed for your sake, little child, and you--still--know nothing of it.

And thus the word of the apostle is confirmed: 'We love God, for He loved us first.'

(French Reformed Baptismal Rite)

musings from a nostalgic former mime

I was a twelve-year old mime. Because when you’re homeschooled and in that horribly awkward, angsty middle-school stage, and you really don’t have tons of friends because (let’s be honest) you’re a bit “unique,” and you’d rather wear long dresses from Jane Austen’s time period than anything that was in style at any point during the last three centuries, clearly the best way to up your coolness points is to join a mime troupe.

So a bunch of homeschoolers got together at a church every Monday morning, and we practiced getting stuck behind invisible walls.

As exciting as that sounds, I would come home from mime practice every week frustrated. People weren’t listening to the teacher. Now, I’m not the firstborn. I’m not really even a strong type-A personality. But whenever the giggly girls in the back were being disruptive, the whole group got reprimanded. Week after week, we got the same lecture, and I was getting sick of it. Whenever I heard the other kids talking, completely ignoring the teacher, I wanted to ask them if they were actually aware of what the word mime meant, apparently operating under the assumption that saying “Shut up!” isn’t nearly as effective as referencing the dictionary.

Looking back, I needed to lighten up. Instead, I wrote the teacher. That’s a whole ‘nother story, but it actually helped the class situation. Unfortunately, the end result was that I wasn’t the most popular kid in the mime troupe. And when you’re the least popular one in a mime troupe, you know it’s bad.

I am so glad I’m not twelve years old anymore. Or a mime.

But I stuck it out until the end of the year, and I distinctly remember our last performance. The whole week had been full of extra rehearsals and practices. We’d performed at a nursing home and a church already. Now, we were the opening act for an award-winning ventriloquist performing at the largest auditorium in our county.

Maybe being a mime wasn’t so bad after all.

Anyway, the excitement and nerves that I shared that one week with my fellow mimes changed something. I was having fun. We were bonding. And at the end of our last performance, as we stood there in our striped shirts and suspenders, washing off our white faces for the last time, we all started feeling nostalgic. Promises of “we’ll all be back together next year” echoed through the room.

And I went home and told my mom that I wanted to do mime again next year. Being the wise person she was, she told me to wait and see how I felt in the fall.

It only took a few weeks to make my decision. Mime? Um, no. Never again.

I don’t know why, but nostalgia hits me at weird times, in weird places, and about weird things that I never really liked in the first place.

So here I am, about to enter into my last week of freshmen classes. And I’m feeling nostalgic. Immediately, I am suspicious. Is this just mime nostalgia all over again? I’ve been thinking about this a lot over the last few weeks. It’s not. It’s nothing like mime. But the school librarians might prefer it if I worked a bit more on my mime-like qualities.

I am nostalgic about freshmen year in a good way. I’m not idealizing it. I don’t want to go back to the beginning of freshman year, or continue in a state of perpetual freshmanliness. (Freshmasculinity?) I want my robe and sophomore title. But freshman year has been awesome, and the end of awesome things is bittersweet.

I've learned that it's possible to read hundreds of pages in a day, and that it's possible to write papers overnight, but not advisable. And flannel and fleece PJ pants will be your best friends in the winter, but no matter how comfy your pajamas are, you shouldn't stay up all night in them writing papers. And you should definitely not do that twice. But on a more serious note...

I really don’t know how to describe it without sounding sappy, but worlds have been opened up to me. Things have clicked. I have a deeper understanding of God now, one that doesn’t rely on understanding alone. I’ve been encouraged, admonished, and loved by students and faculty who genuinely care about me.

Quintilian describes the perfect teacher, saying

Let him adopt a paternal attitude towards his pupils, and regard himself as taking the place of those whose children are entrusted to him. Let him be free of vice himself and intolerant of it in others. Let him be strict but not grim, and friendly but not too relaxed, so as to incur neither hatred nor contempt. He should talk a great deal about what is good and honourable; the more often he has admonished his pupils the more rarely will he need to punish them. He must not be given to anger, but he must not turn a blind eye to things that need correction; he must be straightforward in his teaching, willing to work, persistent but not obsessive. He must answer questions readily, and put questions himself to those who do not ask any. In praising his pupils’ performances he must be neither grudging nor fulsome: the one produces dislike of the work, the other complacency. In correcting faults, he must not be biting and certainly not abusive. Many have been driven away from learning because some teachers rebuke pupils as though they hate them. He should himself deliver at least one speech, preferably several, a day, for his class to take away with them. For even if he provides them with plenty of examples for imitation from their reading, better nourishment comes, as they say, from the “living voice” and especially from a teacher whom, if they are properly taught, the pupils love and respect. It is difficult to overestimate how much readier we are to imitate those whom we like.

Those are my teachers.

And when students have teachers like that, they can't help but

love their teachers as they do their studies, and think of them as the parents not of their bodies but of their minds. This feeling of affection will do much for their studies. They will be ready to listen, have confidence in what is said, and want to be like the teacher; they will go to classes cheerfully and eagerly, they will not be angry when corrected, they will be pleased when they are praised, they will try to earn affection by their application. As the teachers’ business is to teach, so theirs is to make themselves teachable. Neither is sufficient without the other. And just as it takes two parents to produce a human being, and seed is scattered in vain if the ground has not been softened in advance to nurture it, so eloquence cannot develop unless teacher and learner work in harmony together.”

Quintilian and I had a tumultuous relationship, but he was spot on here.

I've been taught to appreciate God’s creation more…though my stubborn Floridian heart still resists the snow. I’ve rediscovered how awesome Latin is. I’ve learned that poetry isn’t stupid, and that there are some things that poetry alone can convey. Not only that, but I can actually write poetry. I used to think my poetry skills were confined to limericks and Dr. Seuss knock-offs. Goofy poetry. Then I wrote a serious poem. A sad poem. And my teacher liked it, and he asked me to read it again at Disputatio, but all that paled in comparison to my father’s response when I e-mailed him my poem. “Favorite poem ever,” he said. And maybe he only said that because I’m his daughter, but I don’t care, because I wrote it for him.

Tomorrow is Sunday. And so starts my last week of classes. Then a week of finals and then . . . home.

The speaker at Convocation told us freshman year would be like Mr. Toad's Wild Ride. I didn't make it to Disney before they closed the ride, but if Mr. Toad's Wild Ride was anything like freshman year, I think I would have liked it.


Freshman books...

Wait, where did break go?

The other night I was making pizza when someone knocked on the door. As Leah went to answer it, I cautioned her to look through the peephole first. After all, we weren't expecting anyone, and who knows...it could be someone scary. She obediently looked through the peephole...and burst out laughing. I came over to see what was so hilarious...and the door opened. The idea that this person could be a crazy ax-murderer hadn't exactly left my mind, so I was really startled by some tall guy just bursting into our house. And then I realized... it was my brother. Yep. On his way back from his Spring Break fun in Florida, he took a detour through Atlanta to see me and Seth. It was a fantastic surprise.

Today we all went to Stone Mountain. Stef got a workout carrying Seth up. I got a workout just carrying myself. Whew. But it was super fun, and a decided improvement over my last trip. I was seven years old, and hiking was not one of my favorite activities. Hellooooo, you can't read and hike at the same time. I also tripped and cut myself pretty badly, and I was scared of heights. Bad memories. But we were so cute!



Since then, Stefan has stopped wearing Puffy Paint shirts, Leah had learned that ladies sit with their ankles crossed, I've learned that hiking isn't the worst thing in the world, and Tomas has learned...hmm, he's so stinkin' cute in this picture that I can't think of anything to make fun of.

It's my last night here in Atlanta. I leave tomorrow bright and early. Except more like dark and early. I've printed off my boarding passes, packed a lunch, and stuffed clothes in my carry-on. I'm going to set a reasonable number of alarms (perhaps seven) to ensure that I will actually wake up...and then I'm going to bed.

Here's hoping for a safe flight that doesn't involve sitting next to creepy and/or obese men.

So, what's new?

1. I've made it through 3/4 of my Freshman year. Third term was hard for me. It started off really well, but somewhere around...oh, I don't know...9:27AM on February 8th, I suddenly because very homesick. But I wasn't homesick for home. I was homesick for a person. And I'd never even met him. So I plodded away at the books, even though my heart wasn't in it, and hopped a plane as soon as I could to go visit my nefoo. Ahem. Nephew.

2. That nephew is kinda cute, by the way. And by "kinda," I mean that no matter how cute you think your son/grandson/nephew is, Seth is cuter. In fact, he is the cutest kid to ever roam the earth. Although he hasn't really started to roam. He's still working on the whole holding-up-your-own-head concept.

3. However, almost peeing all over your Aunt Tara's face while she's trying to give you a bath = not cute.

4. Jet lag is annoying, particularly when combined with Spring Forward. Speaking of which, why do we did we give such a horrible situation as losing an hour of sleep such a peppy name? Spring Forward. Really? I suggest "Groggily stumble out of bed an extra hour early and make plans later that day to stomp on Ben Franklin's grave for ever coming up with the idea of Daylight Savings Time in the first place." Not quite as catchy, and it doesn't help you remember whether we lose an hour in the Spring or the Fall, but I think it sums up the situation quite nicely. (FYI: "Fall Back" shall be rechristened "Merrily skip out of bed having had an extra hour of sleep and make plans later that day to lay flowers on Ben Franklin's grave").

5. Don't be fooled. I'm living in denial that time zones and Daylight Savings Time exist. Hence my not making an appearance until somewhere around 11:30 each morning.

6. Will I ever be old enough to NOT be freaked out by Twilight Zone episodes? I kept asking Leah to turn the volume down, because it's the creepy music and sudden screams that freak me out. Case in point: I watched Psycho when I was home alone at 11:00PM one night. I just turned the sound down as soon as I saw the shower, and I was fine. Trivia: the blood was chocolate syrup.

7. The Biggest Loser is scary in another way. The biggest thing that show needs to lose is the drama. The emotional scenes are so heavy-handed, (hear the gentle piano music? That means something is going to be touching! Wait for it!) and sometimes the drama is so manufactured that all you can do is roll your eyes, sigh, and wait for it to pass. And then tune in next week for a new episode. Sigh. It's like eating Cheese Puffs. You know it has absolutely no substance and it's bad for you..but you like to secretly indulge anyway.

Warning: over-consumption of actual Cheese Puffs will lead to contestant eligibility on The Biggest Loser.

8. Dad and I came up with a March Madness Bracket tonight. It was strongly suggested (I believe the exact words were "complete this or you will fail") for one of my classes. It was actually really fun, and for the first time in my life, I will probably be checking Sports news. Random sidenote: our bracket is freakishly similar to the President's. At first, I thought that was bizarre, but now I know exactly what happened...

DISCLAIMER: The following story is intended for comical purposes alone and is not meant to imply certain character traits in certain people. Most of the time.

Once, there was a president who couldn't come up with brackets for March Madness. He didn't want to be wrong...after all, he was leading an entire country! If Americans couldn't look to him to predict sports winners, who would they turn to? As you can see...he was very distressed.

Suddnely, a thought occurred to him. "I know just who to ask!" he exclaimed. "Michelle! Get Al on the phone!"

Then Michelle calmly reminded him that she was not his secretary.

Moreover, she explained that in addition to being America's Favorite Trend-Setter, she was also the First Lady and that there are dozens of administrative assistants who could find Al's phone number and that she needed to go coordinate some diversity somewhere.

Luckily, Al was free. He calmly explained the whole situation to the President, using a ballpoint pen to draw visual aids and occasionally to gesture with.

At last, it made sense to the President. He smiled appreciatively at Al.

In fact, he was so excited he called a press conference to announce his bracket, making sure that Al was sitting nearby, just in case. Despite the fear lodged in the pit of his stomach that he would accidentally say "Kansas State" instead of "Kansas," he held his chin high and looked confident.

As cameras flashed and people oohed and aahed, one reporter asked the President if he had received any help in determining this fabulous bracket. Al quickly turned to the President, smiling, anxiously awaiting his moment in the sun. Al was so excited about being recognized for his efforts that he didn't realized he was turning in the wrong direction. Blame it on the excitement.

"No, I basically came up with it all by myself," the president said. The more the president talked, the grimmer the expression on Al's face became.

Finally, Al couldn't hold it back. Al was not happy. You could even say that he was sad.

He'd had enough. He was going back to Florida. Or maybe to Idaho to visit his daughter. The president realized what a treasure was slipping out of his hand. "Please don't go, Al," he pleaded.

And there, on National TV, they shook hands and made up.

And then the President backed away from the microphone and gave Al his change to shine. And shine he did. The President made affirmative grunts throughout his speech, just to prove that he understand what was going on.

And then Al went to Idaho and visited his daughter, just like he planned.

And they all lived happily ever after.

It's been awhile...

I vowed to never use my blog to complain, so this might be a short post. Haha.

I love school. Really I do. But right now, I don't care about it at all. I don't want to write papers. I don't want to take finals. I just want to go meet my nephew. And hold him. And snuggle. And listen to all those cute little gurgling sounds that newborns make. And then hand him to his mother when he has a messy diaper. Phooey on school--I want to go be an aunt.

Blood is thicker than schoolbooks. What more can I say?

Danger

My nephew still has not arrived. Come on, little man! We're waiting...

Expecting to hear the news of his birth at any moment, my mind has naturally been focused on little Seth Danger Johnson. The other day, I remembered this quote from one of my favorite books, Notes From the Tilt-a-Whirl by N.D. Wilson, and I realized how applicable this is to the Johnsons right now. (Yes, it's parenting advice, and no, I haven't had kids...but listen to it anyway! Mr. Wilson is a father of five...)

"The world is rated R, and no one is checking IDs. Do not try to make it G by imagining the shadows away. Do not try to hide your children from the world forever, but do not pretend there is no danger. Train them. Give them sharp eyes and bellies full of laughter. Make them dangerous. Make them yeast, and when they've grown, they will pollute the shadows." (pg. 152)

Seth means "appointed one." Danger means...well..."danger." I'll admit it. I used to tease Seth's parents about his middle name. "Here's hoping he won't live up to it," I'd laugh.

Now, that's exactly what I'm praying for.

We need men appointed by God to be dangerous. Dangerous to wickedness. Dangerous to bad theology. Dangerous to the work Satan. Of course, everyone is a threat to something; may Seth be dangerous to the right things. Err, wrong things. You know what I mean.

And though the rest of us might not have the constant reminder of a middle name, we can't forget that we are involved in this spiritual battle, too. I have a little green army man named Jorge on my desk at home. Somehow he never made it out to Idaho. I took Jerry the Giraffe instead. (Note: Jerry the Giraffe has no theological significance as far as I can tell. He's just fun.) Anyway. Every time I looked at Jorge, I was reminded that we're in a battle. Every day, I have a choice to bring glory to God or not. To advance the kingdom or not. Luckily for me, the military strategy is not complicated. Love God, and love what God loves. That sounds too simple. It's not. It sends the enemy running in the other direction.

So, I urge all of you...go out into the world and be danger! And to Seth, I give the opposite command. You're already "Danger," and before you can go out into the world, you first need to come into it.

So, like I said...

We're waiting...

Tidbits.

I've given up on blogging with anything resembling continuity. Randomness now reigns.

~~~

My grandparents will be happy to know that tonight I took the Jeopardy! quiz. It was great fun, but I totally flunked it. Y'all, the first question was about Dr. Seuss, and I got it wrong. What a cruel and bitter irony. Oh well. I'm more concerned about the fact that I may flunk my five-question quiz on the New Testament tomorrow. I'll take "Epistles" for 200, please....This book was written by Paul...."What is Romans?"..."Oh, no. I'm sorry. We were looking for 1 Corinthians. 1 Corinthians. But you're still in the game. We'll see if you can catch up to the other players right after this..."

~~~

I almost want to watch the Superbowl, just to see Tim Tebow's commercial. Almost.

~~~

Today, I had coffee. I like coffee. But my reactions to caffeine vary, and I never know what I'm going to get. At first, I felt extraordinarily perky and wanted to hand out lemon drops and hugs to everyone I passed in the street. And then an hour later, I felt like I'd been hit by a train. Eight hours later, and I can't get to sleep. How long does it take caffeine to leave your system anyway? From now on, I'm think I'll go with decaf. Unless it's Week 4 and I actually need to stay up all night.

~~~

Actually I shouldn't need caffeine, because I already have a favorite stimulant. My drug of choice? The Latin language. (And my father breathes a sigh of relief...because he'd rather have a nerd for a daughter than a pothead.) Anyway, I think I'm addicted, and it doesn't help that everyone at the school is enabling me.

~~~

This weekend is Prospective Student Weekend at school. I have fond memories of my trip with my dad...having fun together in Moscow, and visiting the Johnsons. I also have not-so-fond memories like realizing that it snows in March (what?!) and having my cell phone ring in the middle of a Lordship recitation. Yeah, way to be a silent observer, Tara.

~~~

The weather was gorgeous and sunny today. I think it was a birthday present from God to my roommate, who is also gorgeous and sunny.

~~~

Why does the word "gorgeous" have the word "gorge" in it? I always imagine someone glutting themselves on pie, but magically becoming beautiful in the process. What a beautiful world that would be.

~~~

People may tease short people, but there are benefits. For example, in a hug sandwich, you are the meat, not the bread. I love hug sandwiches. I also love my brother and my cousin. Miss you two!

Sleeping

I fail at taking naps. I always sleep too long and end up groggy and grumpy and worse than I started. But by 4:00PM last Sunday, I realized that not taking a nap was not an option. Having Googled the best amount of time to nap, (I told you--I fail at taking naps! I need Google!) I set my alarm to go off at in thirty minutes. Thirty minutes went by. My alarm went off. I was still awake. Bah humbug. I didn't bother to get up and re-set my alarm. An hour and a half later...I was awakened from a deep sleep by my cell phone ringing. It was Stefan. We had the following conversation:

Tara: Hello...?

Stef: Hey, how's it going?

Tara: Whaaaaa...?

Stef: How's it going?

Tara: What are you saying?

Stef: How's it going? It's a contraction of "How is it going?" Are you high, or did you just wake up?

Tara: I just....woke *yawn* up.

The rest of the conversation was along those lines.

Anyway. I think I've been tired because I've been getting up at between 5:45 and 6:30 every morning since I've gotten back to Moscow. Traveling from the Eastern Time Zone is a wonderful thing. Of course, now I get tired around 10:00 every night...but I find that I'm more productive in the wee hours of the morning than I am at night anyway, so I'm trying to keep this up as long as I can. It's nearing midnight right now---the latest I've stayed up this term---but I just finished talking to my roommate, and now I'm all "waked up." Phooey on my extrovertedness. So I decided to write a blog post to bore myself back to sleep. (You're not allowed to use my blog as a cure for insomnia, however. That's just mean. You should drink warm milk instead. It'll gross you out so much that you'll want to lose consciousness for a few hours.)

The other night, I had a dream about having insomnia. That, my friends, is ironic. Buying bleu cheese wrapped in blue wax really isn't ironic, despite what the man at the Food Co-op said.

Speaking of dreaming, babies have taken over my subconscious. Leah in the hospital. Leah having twins. The Octomom painting windows for the house across the street. (What in the world did I eat that night before going to sleep?!) Babies, pregnancy, and labor have figured into all of my dreams for the past month. I keep my cell phone at all times, and every time it rings, I expect it to be Leah saying she's having Seth. I may faint from excitement when the day finally does arrive.

Our Rhetoric teacher and his wife had the class over for dessert tonight...I had a blast talking to their little sons. Little boys are so much fun. Just one more thing that makes me excited for Seth's arrival.

Ok. I'm sleepy now, so instead of telling how amazing Lordship lecture was today, I'm going to go dream about babies, and then get up and face Mozart sonatas and Latin homework. But first things first... *yawn*

Laughing...

Ahh, it feels good to be back in school. My ennui has vanished.

I intended to read the NT on my flight home, but I forgot that planes make me sleepy. On my first flight, I was zonked out before the flight attendants even came by with the drink cart. I vaguely remember a woman asking loudly if I wanted something to drink, but I ignored her, because I was comfortable (on a plane, people! That's miraculous!) and I didn't want to have to settle in again.

On my second flight, I stayed awake long enough to have a sip of water, and I spent the rest of the flight asleep. With my mouth open. How embarrassing.

On my third flight, I had my mouth open...in a different way. I knew five people on my flight, and I was coincidentally sitting across the aisle from one of them. Next to me were two empty seats. I kept waiting for someone to sit down, but when the flight attendant announced that the cabin doors were closed, I raced up the aisle and grabbed my friend at the front of the plane so we could sit together. I hadn't seen her for a month, and well...there was a lot of talk about. We did a crossword together before the plane had even taken off, and we were the lovely recipients of a death glare from a woman sitting a few rows up from us. I would have understood if she were also doing the crossword and was getting annoyed that she couldn't figure out 62-across before we did...but as far as I could tell, she was just listening to the safety announcements, and it's not as if we were shouting. Is there a new etiquette rule about being mute the entire time you're on a plane?

If so, I broke that rule. Absolutely shattered it. Oops.

About halfway through the 3.5 hour flight, a flight attendant came over to our row, and assumed the "I have a migraine" position. You know? Pinching the bridge of your nose between your thumb and index finger, with your head in your hands? Blargh, bad description. Anyway. She looked like she was about to faint, so we asked if she was okay. She sighed and said, "The man in front of you has complained that you're being too loud. I don't know what to tell you. I don't think you're being loud, but I'm supposed to come and talk to you."

I felt terrible. I think it was my laughing. My classmate sitting three rows behind me said he could hear me. My classmates sitting 5 rows back couldn't hear me. Phew.

When I came home, my boarder sister came downstairs and said, "I thought I heard Tara's squeaky laugh!"

So, yeah. I guess I need to stop having fun. Taking joy in life is overrated. From now on, I will be stern, severe, deadpan. I will stop poking fun at myself. I will not make jokes. I refuse to notice puns. Palindromes will no longer make me squeal with glee. Your jokes will not amuse me. Life is serious. Bah humbug.

Um, yeah right.

HAHAHAHA doesn't translate well, so just imagine me laughing right now. Cackling. Loudly. You know you love it. Unless you're one of the two grumpy people who were on my flight. In which case, I am truly sorry for ruining your flight. Please accept my apology. (P.S. Lighten up.)

Off Again

Did break go by quickly or slowly? I'm still trying to figure that one out.

I'm sitting here in the airport, waiting for my Cincinnati flight. After stopping in Minneapolis (still hoping for a glimpse of Mary Richards or Rhoda Morganstern...), I'll end up in Spokane, where my wonderful roommate will pick me up. I should get back into Moscow on Sunday, and school starts on Monday. Bring it on.

I think I'll work on some school while I'm traveling. I need to read the New Testament by...Friday, I think? I'm starting with Matthew in the Orlando airport...let's see how far I can get. I've sped-read lots of books, but never the Bible. This should be interesting.

Thanks to everyone who made my break super-special. Leah and David, staying with you was a great way to kick off Christmas break. Thanks! Stefan, I don't think you even read my blog, so you don't get a shoutout. In your face. Tomas, you better call me tonight. I wish we had more time together...maybe if SOMEONE wasn't doing school all the time. Just kidding. Keep up the hard work. Auntie K, thanks for teaching me how to tat. Maybe you can give me "Aunt" lessons, too...I'm going to need them when Seth comes along. :) Jason, we never said goodbye! What's up with that?! Laura, I wuv oo, and I miss your hugs. Grandma and Grandpa, thanks for letting me stay with you and borrow your car! It was great to see you again! And thanks to all the wonderful friends that spent time with me when I was here! (I can list family names, but I'm not going to try to list friends, because I'm sure I would leave someone out on accident. Haha.)

And Dad, a simple "I love you" looks like lame, but it's true. You're the best. I miss you.