Coffee and Choices

This will perhaps be a strange blog entry-- definitely not my longest or most profound. But I wanted to share a few thoughts.

The past few days have been long. I had a test today, and several journal entries due. Tomorrow I have a long assignment due in History, a test plus a paper and several worksheets due in Government, a presentation in Digital Literature, and a quiz in Computer Science. Homework has been keeping me busy during the day (and night). All week, I'd been planning to go to Starbucks once I got through most of the homework, as a celebration. I haven't been to Starbucks in nearly two weeks, and I thought it would be a nice reward for myself. I budgeted in enough money when I got my paycheck cashed and alloted to various funds.

After some intense prioritizing and scheduling, I got through all my homework on time, with some free time to spare. I had had a rather stressful day, and all day hoped I could make the planned trip to Starbucks. But I got home and found out that my older sister would be gone until late that evening. I can't drive, and my brother can't drive without someone over 21 in the car. There's no way my father would willingly take me to Starbucks. Tomorrow will be too busy, because we'll be working in the evening, and on Saturday we won't have a vehicle available. No chance of making the trip until sometime next week.

When I first got home I was frustrated about multiple things, so I banged away on the piano for a long while before stopping to think. I then realized that I was disappointed that I couldn't make this trip I'd been planning, as petty and silly as it was. But I decided I wasn't going to let myself totally give up.

I went in the kitchen. I started coffee brewing on my little coffee maker. I opened the fridge and dug around. I found some chocolate syrup, some caramel syrup, and some whipped cream left over from who knows what. I pulled them all out and lined them up on the counter. I made coffee with chocolate syrup in it, and topped it off with whipped cream and caramel syrup. I felt absurdly proud of myself for finding this compromise.

Because you see, even a few months ago I would have just completely given up. I spent all of last year not allowing myself to do things like that. I never rested, I never slowed down. Even when I had no homework, I either found other ways to punish myself or slept. On the rare occasions when I planned to take a few minutes off and just do something relaxing, if it didn't work out first time I threw up my hands and said "I guess I just wasn't meant to be happy" and gave up.

But now I'm finding solutions instead of accepting brick walls that aren't even there. This may not make sense to many of you unless you've been in a similar place, but so often just being willing to overcome obstacles seems so incredible-- it seems like healing.

As for what I want you to take away from this: Jon Foreman of Switchfoot said on a live chat the other night "storms will always come, and we cannot change that, but we can control how we act in the face of the storms." It's not about how bad our day's been. It's about how we react to that. Do we blindly submit, accepting the lie that we were made for failure, or do we press on and overcome? It's not about what happens. It's how we react to it.

We have a choice on any given day as to how that day will go. We can choose to cry or to laugh it off. We can choose to doubt or to trust. We can choose to be angry or to forgive. We can choose to surrender or to fight. We always have a choice.

Funny how meaningful a cup of coffee can be.

God bless, tonight and always.

- Elraen, the Wandering Star -

Of Frostys and Rock Concerts

One of the unique things about my college situation is that I am still living at home. It’s not even that I drive to school every morning and drive back every night. I go back and forth throughout the day, walking through the same parking lot, unlocking the same gate, and walking down the same road over and over again. For the most part, I have looked on this situation as being an unbreakable chain that makes everything I try to do more difficult. But over the two weeks since I’ve gone back to school this year, there are a lot of things I’ve been able to see at least somewhat differently.

Every time I come in after being at class or work for a few hours, the moment my 8-year-old brother knows I’m in the house, he’ll run from wherever he is yelling my name and throw himself at me to give me a hug. On days when I’m particularly tired, this nearly knocks me over, but somehow I don’t mind. He’s honestly just glad to see me, and that is something special. Sometimes he comes and sits on my lap (even though he’s way too big) when I’m doing homework, just because he says “I want to be with you.”

I normally don’t get to spend much time with my younger siblings, aside from passing interactions, because I am so busy. I only eat one meal a day with my family (and sometimes not even that, if I work evening shifts), and the in-and-out nature of my life keeps me in constant motion. But last week I had a chance to go out to Wendys for dinner with my father and my two youngest siblings (my 8-year-old brother and 11-year-old sister). They were thrilled beyond what even seemed reasonable to have me with them. Every time we had to walk between the car and any building, they each chose one of my arms and literally clung to me as we were walking. It made it hard for me to walk, but I didn’t tell them to let go. I knew it was important for them to have me there.

We ate together, and I listened to them talk in their random, sporadic way. I was sitting beside my little brother, and he discovered that because we were on a cushioned seat, when one of us would sit down the other’s seat would suddenly puff up— basically a waterbed effect. We amused ourselves for the next five minutes, taking turns standing up and then dropping back onto the seat to jostle the other one as much as possible. I realized at some point while I was doing this that most college students wouldn’t have the chance to do stupid, childish things like this. Most wouldn’t even want to. I felt sorry for them.

We all got Frostys, and my little brother kept clinging to me because he said he was getting so cold. He made me laugh by shivering dramatically and letting his teeth chatter.

By the end of the evening I’d lost a lot of valuable homework time, but I knew that what I’d done was even more valuable.

A few days later, I used my student ID to get discounted tickets for my 14-year-old brother and I to attend a DecembeRadio concert. He’d never been to a rock concert before although he’d wanted to for years, and so he was excited.

The concert ended up being amazing. The first opening band, Dekree, was a lot harder than the two bands that followed, and they called anyone who wanted to come up to the front to form a mini-mosh pit. I looked at my brother, grinned, and brought him down to the very front, where we stood together headbanging. At the end the drummer threw his sticks, and my brother caught one. I think I was just about as happy as my brother was.

After that we were all told to go back to our seats for the next two bands. However, we didn’t stay there. During DecembeRadio’s set, several people were going down into the aisles. Once again, I looked at my brother and told him to come with me. We jumped over the backs of our seats and ran down into the aisle to jump and sing with the others.

Afterwards we went out to meet the bands at the merch tables. My brother went over to the opening band’s table, but I was too nervous to, particularly because I felt bad that I had no money to support them with. But then my brother came and said “they want you to go over there.”

I blinked. “What?”

“Dekree,” he said. “They said they want to meet you.”

So I went over, and we talked to the band. Apparently they’d noticed me rocking during their set (I guess my hair makes me rather noticeable). My brother bought their album and got it signed, and I had them sign my ticket. We talked for a bit longer before going over to DecembeRadio’s table.

I’d met DecembeRadio when they’d come to my University in March, and I’d been talking to them that morning as well for a good long while, so I waited until everyone else had gone through the line before going to talk to them again. My brother bought a poster, and wanted them to sign it. He was so nervous to ask them, but I encouraged him to just go ahead and ask— I knew they’d want to sign it for him. I talked to their lead guitarist for a while (I’d talked to him for like 20 minutes that morning) and then to their lead singer. They were very, very nice, and it was fun talking to them. (I’ve told most people the full story of meeting them, so it won’t go here, because it doesn’t really relate to the point I want to make.)

After I made sure I got a picture of my brother with the band, we walked home.

We walked and talked about the concert, and then I settled in at my desk to do homework. Over the next few days, I started planning out a blog entry about the concert and how and why music is so important to me. But in the end, I realized a different entry needed to be written.

One of the major reasons that concert was so special was because I got to share it with my brother. I got to show him the ropes of concert-going, and he got to experience something he loved for the first time.

I heard so many times from freshmen last year that one reason they came to my school was because it was far enough away from their family that they wouldn’t have to see them too often. I understand that, and at times I have envied them. But I’m coming to understand that they’re missing out.

I don’t want to be the older sister who drops out of her siblings’ lives or who, worse, comes home and yells at them and tells them to leave her alone. I want to be a sister who my siblings can want to have around. I want to be the kind of sister who can do silly, childish things with her 8-year-old brother. I want to be the kind of sister who takes her brother to rock concerts and helps him meet the band. I want to be the kind of sister who gives up Starbucks money to buy snow cones from her little sister’s stand.

Most of all, I want to be the kind of sister who loves her siblings like Jesus would.

I’ve failed pretty epically on that last one, but I’m working on it. I hope my younger siblings understand that some day.

- Elraen -

Sunshine and Rain: The CleanPlace Moot 2009

[reposted from facebook for those who don't have an account there]

I unpacked the suitcase I took to the moot yesterday, at long last. Maybe that's the sign that I've finally moved far enough away from the experience that I can actually look back at it clearly-- I don't really know. Regardless, I'm going to try to write this now, before the memories fade too far away. I shared some of this the last night of the moot, around the campfire, but this is the full story... beginning, middle, and end. It's a long story, as is to be expected, so if you're short on time it would be acceptable to skip towards the ending. It is also a very honest story, which makes it hard for me to post, but some words need to be written and shared.

There was a rainbow waiting to greet us when we reached Colorado Springs. Not the fragmented kind you catch through the trees in Texas; this vibrant rainbow stretched over the city, making full use of the wide horizon. I thought it was probably a good sign. Rainbows are symbols of faithfulness, after all, and when facing something that I felt incredibly uncertain about, I needed the reminder. As we drove through the city, rain pelted the windshield, but sunlight made it glitter. Sunshine and rain. I wrote in my journal later that I found it significant. I didn't know why yet.

The first few days with Mangy and Midget were good days-- days of settling in, days of smiling, days of Skillet on the radio, days of too little sleep and too much Mountain Dew (courtesy of Legolas). But I couldn't take it in yet. I kept wondering is this what it feels like to be happy, maybe?

A week later, when staying with a couple my family grew close to during the 2008 Moot, I would say that the 2009 Moot was the best week of my life. Mr. Jon asked me if that was because it was really that good, or because the rest of my life was that bad. I answered that it was a bit of both. Those first few days with Mangy and Midget, my school came up a lot. Every time I didn't really know what to say, because I've never known how to talk about it. All I knew was that the thought of going back made me feel trapped and desperate.

I learned a lot, my first year of college, and not just about calculus and biology and psychology. I learned how to be completely numb. It was a self-defense method, at first, because I knew I couldn't keep getting up in the morning if I kept feeling the way I did. The depression screening I did at midterm my first semester told me I needed to see a counselor, that I was dangerously depressed. The screening I did in psychology told me about the same thing, in addition to the unnerving fact that the section on depression in my textbook basically described my life at the time. But this didn't bother me much. I'd fought depression on and off for four long, long years, and I had almost always chosen to fight that battle alone. It had been so much better, after the summer of 2007, but now it was worse again. And I have never been as alone in my life as I was my first semester of college. I didn't adjust like the other students, and they barely knew I existed. Because my situation was so unique and different from everyone else, I found it almost impossible to form connections. Every time I tried, it made things so much worse. After trying to ignore it for too long, I made a decision that I was not created to have close relationships. I would stop trying.

My entire second semester was spent running from the memory of the first, the unanswered question I just couldn't face. At the beginning of that semester I wrote the following on my blog: Most of all I'm trying to make a resolution to try to be happy. I have to try; it doesn't come naturally to me, nor does it come easily. It's a complicated maneuver I can never quite get the hang of, no matter how I try to figure it out. Maybe I would have done better on that particular resolution if I had actually allowed myself to feel at all. But I was too afraid.

In the days and months leading up to the moot, I could feel at least one thing: terror. I couldn't get away from it. One of the things I was most afraid of is that I wouldn't be able to feel, and so I wouldn't know if I'd enjoyed the moot or not-- I was afraid it would slide away like any other day, in the familiar haze I created to hide behind. But above all, I was afraid that I wouldn't be accepted there, wouldn't be wanted, because I was not good enough to be on level with these incredible people.

I wasn't ready for the lock-in. When everyone got there, I felt panicked. I went into survival mode. Too many people, too little safety, and too much noise. Noise everywhere, screaming in my ears as everyone else yelled and shrieked and laughed. The noise proved to me my own complete and total inadequacy. I couldn't be part of the noise. I was too quiet, just like at school. I wasn't good enough. Curling up in dark corners crying wasn't working, so I finally found a safe place in the dark sanctuary by the piano. Music has always seemed so safe to me.

Saturday was better, but still hard. I kept watching everyone else, seeing them laughing, and trying to figure out if I could imitate them well enough to start enjoying myself like they were. I remember that evening, after worship (which was incredible... I hadn't done anything like that in a long, long time), I stood in the kitchen and talked to Rivus, Daeriel, and Wolfsong before going outside to howl at the moon with a group of other crazy people. That was the first time I started to feel a little bit... safe.

The next morning, Nia sent us all out to be by ourselves and remember what it is to be silent. I was thrilled at the prospect, because being quiet is something I do rather well. I went farther than I probably should have, but I couldn't resist the perfect, smooth rock surrounded by aspen trees, beside a grassy clearing with white flowers dotting tall green grass. It was the first time I'd had a chance to really be still and quiet and talk to God since beginning traveling three weeks earlier.

After a conversation that I'd needed to have with Him for a long time, I simply asked God if He could show me what it was to be happy. And I didn't just ask; I actually really, truly wanted it, more than I wanted the numbness and the fear. Instantly, a deep, intense, indescribable gladness hit me like a breaking wave. I literally couldn't breathe at first. It was a feeling I had never imagined existed in such a strong, pure form. I felt so incredibly alive, my black and white world suddenly vibrant and colorful. And I knew that I was changed.

The following days were more beautiful than I could ever have asked for. To be with so many beautiful, incredible people would have been enjoyable in itself, but that they wanted to share in my life, to listen to me, sing with me, laugh with me, and cry with me, was more than I could have comprehended just a few short days earlier. Looking back on it, the memories stand out in such stark contrast to the reality I'd been trapped in before.

I was welcomed to sit down at a table every meal time, to talk and laugh. I remember the day at school where I sat down at a table with two other girls, who immediately whispered to each other and got up and sat at the next table over, leaving me sitting alone.

I laughed so hard on Sunday night that my throat muscles were sore and exhausted. I remember that, my first semester of college, I would often go weeks without laughing even once.

At the moot, I played piano for others for the first time in six years, and Daeriel and Younger Fern gladly gave their melodies to share with mine. I remember all the times I was told I wasn't a real pianist, all the hours of sneaking in practice when most of the family was gone.

One night a group of us went out stargazing, and I lay on the cold, pale earth with some of the most incredible people in the world to watch shooting stars slicing the darkness with their radiance. I remember one night when I wandered around campus for a few hours, in the dark, on one of the coldest nights of the year, trying to find somewhere I would be welcome to do homework.

I climbed up a huge rock and stood there with Wolfsong, Rivus, Yellow Leader, Daeriel, Mangy, Blue Monkey, and Mylla, looking out over mountains and forests and valleys, standing on top of the world with friends. I remember sitting in small, quiet corners behind chairs, because I didn't want to be seen standing by myself again.

I stayed up late several nights, with a group of friends on computers, laughing about things that are only funny after 1:00 a.m. I remember hearing about other college students doing things like that, and wishing that sometime I could be good enough to have friends to do that with too.

The last night of the moot we shared laughter and tears around the campfire, and I felt completely and totally accepted and loved. I remember curling up in the lobby outside my classroom nearly every day after Biology, putting my head on my knees and crying; no one ever so much as stopped to say hello.

It was during the moot that I, for the first time in my life, claimed the right to smile and to laugh. Before I hated both, because I felt like it was lying-- like I shouldn't be smiling and laughing, because I'm not that kind of person, and because I don't deserve to be that happy. The mooters changed that. I couldn't not laugh. I had never been so happy in my life. Laughter seemed inescapable, but that was alright.

On the last afternoon I spent with CPers, we hung out at Mangy's for a while. I was so completely happy and relaxed by this point that it didn't seem weird to be hitting Rivus with a giant fish, or to bunny hop with the adorable and eternally energetic Julie, or to join Rivus and Julie in chasing Wolfsong all over the house for a ball. I felt like I was floating, a beautiful feeling of being suspended in joy that no one will ever be able to take away from me. Towards the end, I stood outside in the cold rain with Wolfsong, Anywhere, and Telpe. As I stood there, a thought came to mind. Rain must be met with open hands. And it is better to meet it when standing beside friends.

It was then that the phrase came back to me-- sunshine and rain. It is the contrast that forms the beauty of life. The moot was sunshine, almost completely, but I walked through dark and bitter rain to get there. The joy that God poured into me through those amazing people will never make the long, lonely year go away. It will always exist. But it is part of the reason why the moot was so beautiful, and I understand that now. They need each other, balance each other, like the sunshine balances the rain. The moot answered the aching question left by my first year of college, and left me feeling whole and complete. Because you see, it's when the sunshine and the rain meet that we find the rainbow-- the beauty, the glorious, breathing colors that make us feel so intensely alive.

I once asked (through a facebook status) how to move on from one of the most life changing experiences you've ever had, how to go back to everyday life. Nia told me to treasure it in my heart, to let it change me from the inside out. That is how I have spent the week and two days since getting home. I've carried it with me, letting it burn away the mists. And I'm not afraid of school now. I'm not afraid to try this thing again, to face the rain with open hands. The moot taught me to believe in beautiful endings, to claim the light on the other side of darkness.

My first night out of Colorado, we stayed in a hotel in Wichita. Our van was broken down 7 miles away, and I didn't know if we'd make it home alright. I had a dream that night, the most vivid dream I'd had in a long, long while.

I opened my eyes to find the hotel room full of light and sound. Someone had turned all the lamps on, and I could see all the mooters packed into the room. I could hear their voices, their laughter, the tiny things that I'd come to know so well. I could see their faces as they talked and joked. I was confused.

"Why are you all here?" I asked.

"Oh, just making sure you're safe," someone answered.

I smiled and curled up in the bed, ready to fall asleep. I carried that legacy with me, that simple truth that I'd come so far to find.

I'm safe.

Under the Stars

[Written July 27, 2009, under the stars in Yosemite. I felt like sharing it - I'm not really sure why.]

The stars open above me as I write tonight. Soon the sky will blaze with silver. Tonight is my last here, and I wanted to see them one last time. They remind me of hope.

Night is kind to the scarred ones. It hides them, grants them silence and space. The space can become terrifying, at first glance. That's because it looks empty. But when we walk through that darkness, the candle of love held high in shaking hand, we see lights opening above us, around us. We see the stars. We see the hope, the beauty, the peace, that never fails to shine in even the darkest sky. Clouds may cast a momentary veil over our view, but they cannot endure. Love is always strongest, and it never gives up.

God gave the stars especially to those who understand and have seen the bitter emptiness found in night. He scattered them as angels to watch over us on silver wings. He wanted us to know htat he hasn't forgotten about us, and so, even with our scars and fears and failures, we can be brave enough not to forget about Him - about love. About the hope in the stars.

- Elraen -

Thoughts on a Trip to California, 18 1/2 Hours Before

I’ve always disliked change. Within 24 hours, my life will be totally flipped upside down and shaken sideway for a month.

I think a lot of the time I write to make sense of things around me. A constant theme in the novel I’m currently writing has been that one of the main characters is flexible and loves changeableness, while the other hates anything to change and can’t stand uncertainty. It’s a theme that’s appeared more and more as July 18th draws closer.

Tomorrow morning I head to fly out of Dallas with Mar and Telpe. We’ll be flying into California, and spending two weeks with our aunt and uncle there. I guess I should be excited. Instead I just feel incredibly apprehensive. Maybe part of it is because trips aren’t usually enjoyable for me. Maybe part of it is because I’m afraid it will be enjoyable, and I have no place in my head for things like that anymore. I really don’t know.

Also, I can’t deny that I have a terror of airports now. I’ve had countless bad dreams about being stuck in airports alone since December. I keep telling myself that the chances of something going terribly wrong twice in a row are incredibly slim, but it’s hard to be rational when your first flying experience (not counting half-remembered images of airports from flying to and back from Africa as a toddler) ended up so badly. Of course, I can tell myself that I survived that quite proficiently, and that it only lasted for about 18 hours, and then I was rescued. Then I tell myself that Mar will be with me this time, and he’ll have a debit card with him so we’ll have all the money we’ll need, and I’ll have my iPod with all the phone numbers we need, and if worst comes to worst we can get online via my iPod and message someone to come help us. I know now how to navigate airports and find what I need. There is a world of difference between this time and The Airport Saga. But I still don’t want to go into an airport. I don’t mind the plane itself. I like airplanes, far more than cars (which may just be because they’re still new and exciting to me). But I have no interest in airports.

Plus, I have no idea what to expect from the trip itself. This is going to be the first real “vacation” kind of trip I’ve ever taken. My family tends to operate in a very low-key mode, as far as most Americans would be concerned. For “vacation” we go camping (tent camping, no less), or up to a mission station in North Carolina, or to visit grandparents. We don’t do theme parks or tourist attractions or stay in fancy hotels and lodges, because they’re just too expensive. But in California we’ll basically be doing a full tourist experience. I have no idea how to even process that concept. At Disney Land I’ll probably just head straight for the coasters, because they make sense to me. Plus, they’ll remind me of Sixflags and the last Skillet concert, which is always comforting.

Also, I will have limited internet time. Over the past year the internet has been my sanity and my lifeline. It’s where all the people I actually trust enough to talk to are, and so I feel totally isolated and alone whenever I can’t be online. It’s not necessarily that I think I shouldn’t talk to people face to face, it’s just that I can’t talk to any of these people face to face, so the internet is the next best thing. And that’s going to be mostly gone. There are so many people who I won’t be there for. The thought of someone needing to talk to me, needing encouragement, needing prayer… and I’m not there… that makes me furiously angry with myself. I feel like a deserter.

Then of course I won’t be working for a whole month. That’s almost as bad. I haven’t taken more than two or three weeks off in over a year, and even when I did take time off, I felt guilty. That’s a full month that I won’t be earning money. It’s also a full month that my coworkers (and my Father) have to do without me. That makes me feel incredibly irresponsible.

It’s not that I don’t understand that this trip is a great opportunity. I know that. I love my uncle, and I enjoy spending time with him. It’s just that the whole thing feels like I’m being irresponsible and self-centered in order to do something I’m afraid of doing anyway.

And of course, the bottom line is, I just hate change. I’ve spent all day every day for two months at class or in work, then alone at night, on my computer with my Skillet and my graphics and my writing. And I like that. I’ve been more content than I had been in a year, because being alone like that is so safe, and so much less exhausting (besides the fact that almost everyone being gone from my University is a source of much happiness to me anyway).

So the long and short of it is that I’m sitting here thinking “why don’t I just stay home for the next two weeks and then go to the moot in August?” Not an option. I often remind myself that there are only two kinds of things in my life: that which I must do, and that which I can’t allow myself to do. Nothing else matters.

Before I leave tomorrow morning: another 5 hours of work at the library amidst the chaos of the freshmen’s pre-orientation, finish packing my checked bag and pack my carry on and purse, go shopping with Em for a new pair of jeans, write at least another 3,000 words, clean the church with my family for 3 – 4 hours, sync my iPod, and hopefully sleep at least a little. Oh, and maybe answer more of the messages piled in various inboxes.

Hopefully I’ll be able to update this blog a few times over the next month. “Keep a weather eye on the horizon…”

- Elraen -

Whispering Star

Meet Whisper.

Whisper (whos full name is WhisperingStar - long, long thought process behind that name, ask me if you want to hear it all, but obviously it's partly a play on Wandering Star) is my brand new 16 GB iPod touch. I waited a long, long time for her.

I've wanted an iPod for years now. My parents gave me a little MP3 player for Christmas when I was 16, and it went everywhere with me. It was only 2 GB, and pretty quickly it developed some major quirks, but it was like a lifeline. My family called it my IV. When I started college, I would listen to it while walking from class to class, I would listen to it while doing homework away from home, I would listen to it in the car.

Then, in September last year, it died.

I was so upset that I nearly cried. That was a very bad stretch of my life overall, and the fact that I now would have no way of listening to my music unless I had my laptop seemed strangely devastating at the time.

But of course life goes on, and we find we can live without things. I knew I had to buy textbooks and pay for insurance and other nasty grow-up things like that. So I decided I would have to wait.

Towards the beginning of this summer, as I got my work schedule nailed down, I started thinking about the iPod again. Both last summer and this summer I've allowed myself to get one really nice thing to reward myself for working and paying for all my necessary expenses. Last summer it was my camera, The Martian (that name is totally not my fault. Can I blame Joy?). This summer I decided it would be an iPod.

But, I knew nothing about iPods, aside from that my brother's decrepit iPod classic did not seem to appealing to me. So I started asking around. Coincidentally, I ended up going on the advice of the same person who advised me to get the model of camera I did. She told me about all the different features of the iPod touch, and after some back-up opinions from others (mostly friends on the Skillet boards), I decided that that was what I wanted. Despite the fact that it's the nicest, and thus most expensive, iPod currently on the market (not counting the iPhone).

So I saved. I knew I had to pay for other expenses first. I paid off all my school fees for the summer and next semester, minus textbooks. I finished saving money for our Colorado trip in August (I've been working extra hours since January to pay for that). I wrote and revised budgets for the summer. I decided on exactly which paycheck I would spend on the iPod. And I waited.

I ordered the iPod the morning I got the paycheck. My older brother, who has an apple account, helped me order. More waiting. According to the calculations I made, it wouldn't come until the following Friday. But instead, it arrived on Wednesday morning, yesterday.

As soon as the FedEx truck pulled out and I saw the size of the package I knew it must be mine. I signed for it and took it inside. My older sister was the only other one home, and I was shaking so much that she had to help me open the package.

The wreckage after we opened the package:

I am enthralled by the shininess:

Turning on for the first time:

Syncing the library:

First song played on Whisper: "Monster" by Skillet

First video played on Whisper: "Whispers in the Dark" by Skillet

Let's try it with the earphones now:

Discovering the Internet capabilities that evening:

Overall, I have rarely made an investment I am so pleased with. Which is good, considering how much I paid for it. I keep telling people that I feel like it's way too cool for me. I also have a paranoia that I'm going to break it or something. But at the same time, I'm just so thrilled to have it. I can listen to music while walking to work. I have endless apps to occupy me if I'm waiting in line somewhere and get bored. I can send e-mails from anywhere. Music is very, very important to me, and for that reason, getting an iPod is very much worth it.

And I'll admit that my first thought when I heard it had internet capabilities was "we're going on to an airport in July. If I have internet, I can contact people if something goes terribly wrong." Yes, the ordeal in December left its mark on me.

Finally, the most special thing about the iPod is that I got it engraved with my favorite lyrics. These lyrics have meant a lot to me for more than two years now, but even more since the Skillet concert in April. I also have my name on it (at my older brother's insistance), but I've blurred it out in this picture for precaution's sake.

God bless!

- Elraen, the Wandering Star -

Not Finished, Not a Failure

Yesterday I walked up to the registrar's office and dropped a class for the first, and hopefully last, time in my life. I've talked to many of you about how much I was looking forward to this class and how excited I was, so perhaps in a sense this blog entry is an explanation.

I heard about this class towards the beginning of the Spring semester. And English professor I didn't know very well came to the library desk with a huge stack of Tolkien books, and as I checked them out for him I started a casual conversation (considering how much the subject interests me). I found out he would be teaching a class on Tolkien's works in the summer. I immediately decided I would be taking it. Anyone who knows me at all would view it as a given that I would.

I talked to my advisor and learned that the class would not cover any of my necessary credits, but that was OK with me because I love the subject so much. So I signed up for the class and looked forward to it immensely.

I got through the literature class I was taking, and then started the Tolkien class the next day. For about the first week, I was mostly alright with it. I even got to read a few shorter pieces I hadn't read before. The class proved to be difficult on my schedule, as it meant I had to be late to work every day and I had to bring something to eat at the desk in the library for lunch, but I decided I could just keep working around that.

But as time went on, a few things changed. One, I realized I wasn't learning anything. This didn't bother me too much at first; after all, I've learned very little in the English and Literature classes I've taken in college thus far (excepting my very first composition class which I did as dual credit while still in highschool). That kind of thing is like playing for me; it requires little to no effort. The Tolkien class was no different. Also, several of the other students seemed to believe themselves very knowledgeable on the subject of Tolkien, which I found slightly irritating yet vaguely amusing considering no one else in the class but my brother had actually even read The Silmarillion (which I've read through four times, in case you wondered). What did frustrate me is when they would get things wrong and be too prideful to be corrected. Furthermore, I am a very quiet person, and the class was set in discussion format. That is the worst possible format for me. The professor can talk to me for hours and I'll drink it in and learn. But the moment you ask me to say something, I get lost, confused, and feel like a total idiot. Every time I even tried to offer a thought, one of the guys would interrupt me and ignore what I had said. I gave up, because I'm perfectly content to listen. It's what I do. However, it meant I wasn't participating in the class.

When we reached the discussion of The Lord of the Rings, yet more changed. Primarily the fact that the teacher began mercilessly criticizing the movies. Even when he talked about the book, it was in the context of “and this is an area where Peter Jackson, once again, failed.” Understand, I do not by any means believe that the movies are perfect. I have annoyances with them; many, in fact. But no movie is perfect. That said, I believe Lord of the Rings comes as close as any movies possibly can to perfection. They totally changed my life, and had a huge impact on the person I have become (see my blog post from February on the subject). So for me to hear them shredded, day after day, was incredibly painful. It felt like I myself was being torn apart, because the movies are part of me. I was nearly in tears by the end of class one day, and I realized “this is ridiculous. Why am I doing this?”

In addition to that, I noticed a disturbing trend in myself. I was starting to complain about the class. Not just laying out my opinions, logically and rationally. I would come home and bitterly rant. This is very out of character for me, because I have fought so hard against it. I have an incredibly strong natural tendency to be negative about things. However, two years ago I gave that to God and waited to see what He could do. The result is that I only slip into complaining and being really negative if I feel wounded, lost, cornered, and like I have no other way out (note that I have been very negative at times about school in general, and the people there – that's why. I'm not excusing the behavior, simply explaining it). I am constantly fighting against the urge to be bitter, and this class was drawing that old tendency out in me to an alarming degree.

Basically, I could see no possible reason for staying in the class. I wasn't learning anything. I wasn't enjoying it. I couldn't even claim I was in it to spend time with my brother, considering he sleeps through class most days (I don't know how he does it – Mar is like a sleeping machine). I was only going to hurt myself and those around me more by staying in it. So I worked up the courage to e-mail my professor and advisor, and I dropped it.

It's my natural first inclination to feel like this was a major failure on my part. I keep thinking I should have made it work. But then I realize did I really need to make this work?

The last day of class that I sat in on, I prayed before going to class and asked God to guide me that day and show me what He would have me do. We watched part of the movie that day, Moria to be specific. Gandalf's line to Frodo hit me very, very hard. All you have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to you. What would I rather do? Sit in on a class with no foreseeable benefits and be miserable for two hours a day? Or spend two extra hours at home, helping my mother, playing with my dear, funny little brother who I hardly ever get to see, eating lunch normally, and getting to work on time?

I don't think the decision I made was a failure. Not this time, at least. I just have to remind myself of that.

And of course there is the regret that something I was looking forward to so very much ended up being nothing but more frustration and disillusionment. But that is the story of my entire college experience thus far: look forward to it, dream, and reach it and find out it's all dust and ashes crumbling in my hands. I feel absolutely no ill will to the teacher; I can't blame him for opinions. I would never blame anyone for that. And I will not mourn for one class that falls by the wayside. In the grand scheme of things, the most meaningful thing is that I'm consciously choosing the road that I believe is right.

- Elraen -