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The Only Real Injury Was Having to Listen to that Annoying Pathfinder Song

Fri, 30 May 2008 01:13:50 GMT

It was questionable whether or not I would be able to lead a group of teenagers unguided down Class II and III rapids today, but we made it. Without injuries!

I credit our success to the captain of our raft, Pastor Michael. I may have been the only other adult on the raft, but I was by no means qualified to be a captain. I’m the small girl who always has to move around to “balance weight” and is the first to get thrown from the raft. Thankfully, this didn’t occur until after we had crossed the Class III Nantahala Falls.

After about two hours on the river, we beached our raft on a manmade embankment and got out to scout the falls. They’re close enough that a group can abandon their raft and walk back to the rental area, but we successfully convinced the one doubtful teenage girl that we would be just fine, that no one would fall out, and that if she did, we would immediately get her back in. We also prayed!

It was immediately after the Class III rapids (that we successfully navigated almost without getting wet…basically, because we’re awesome), when we were literally 200 yards from our docking site that we got stuck on a rock. The raft lost its balance, and well, so did I. The water was shallow, however, and I could have walked to the shore from that point. I let my group have the satisfaction of pulling me in, however. I hear they had to do the same thing with my editor last year and I understand the importance of traditions.

Traveling in close quarters by such means of transportation always makes for situations that tempt one to sing. Thankfully, the singing occurred while we waited (forever!) for our safety video and not inside the bus!

A section of calmer river.

A kayaker "surfing" the white water. This was the best I could get of white water pictures from the shore, since I couldn't take my camera out with us.

The facilities were surprisingly nice and had amazing hummus sandwiches for lunch!

Yes, I see that I'm dangerously close to a camel toe with those bunchy shorts in front (I will adjust next time!). On my left is Pastor Will; on my right, Pastor Michael. The few. The adventurous. The leaders brave enough to go white water rafting!

Why I Preached in Flip-Flops

Thu, 29 May 2008 01:54:55 GMT

With a sweet smile on her rosy-cheeked face, Marie* approached me after yesterday morning's devotion.

“Can I ask you who’s in charge of the music?,” she asked.

Her request was so polite and her demeanor so sincere that I just presumed that she wanted to make a request or even ask to sing herself for the evening’s meeting.

“You know, I’m not really sure,” I told her. “Let’s ask Pastor Tim.”

After a few more consultations with staff, it soon became apparent that her inquiry wasn’t about becoming more involved at all. It was about the drums. And her discomfort.

Pastor Mike, who is in charge of the youth division, apologized and we all thanked her for her honesty. At our staff meeting later that day, however, the decision was unanimous that the youth band was great and we were making no amendments.

This is the band in question, minus the vocalists, during their practice this morning. I will try and get a picture when they are actually performing, but I'm usually spazzing and praying that I don't humiliate myself (and God) when I get up to preach right afterwards. The clothesline/pins are where they hang their prayer requests as part of the morning devotions.

Then, the evening meeting started.

I somehow missed the organized protest of 20 youth who got up and walked out, but let me tell you, the other leaders did not. In fact, soliciting the attention of all but two of us (and one of us was preparing to preach at the time!), they continued to loudly complain about “the drums, the guitars, and the girls strutting their stuff up there [referring to the vocalists]” right outside of the meeting room. Their ringleader was a sixty something year old conservative Adventist who also managed to wrangle the conference president (who was conveniently walking by during “the protest”), the division president, and a few other important people into the conversation.

For an hour after our evening meeting let out, the leaders discussed what the appropriate course of action should be. Our division leader, Stanley (the same one who invited me to speak), was adamant that not only was there nothing inappropriate about the current praise team, but that we were not about to amend our current program based on the complaint of one group. Also, the protesters have been complaining since their group of home schoolers was in the primary division (for ages 7-9).

As leaders, we made the unfortunate mistake of allowing the praise team to be present during the first half of our meeting. The ultimate resolution was, of course, to allow them to continue, but the hurt expressions on their faces revealed what we all knew: the protesters had missed the whole point of worship.

By focusing on the fact that a (muted!) drum was being played and two guitars were accompanying the piano, they failed to notice that almost 100% of the youth present were engaged in worship. They were singing loudly and were experiencing God. Outside of the worship meeting, while staging “the protest,” those twenty youth were not.

I had just returned from my sister’s place in Asheville before this meeting and was so rushed that I didn’t get a chance to change out of the black pants, casual top, and flip flops I was wearing. I am the child of a West Indian mother, so you can imagine the horror I experienced not preaching in a suit—much less in flip-flops! And, of course, it would be this night that Stanley stopped by to hear me and then, had me sit next to him during the hour long staff meeting. (I was blissfully ignorant of “the protest” while preaching, by the way. I noticed that the leaders only came in for the last ten minutes, but I didn’t know where they had been until afterwards.)

Worship is so much more than the way we express ourselves or the way that we look, though.

Tonight, after I was already dressed in one of the five suits I brought to preach in, I thought about why I felt compelled to wear it. I knew that not only did I have a better time preaching in flip-flops, but the only reason I really thought I should wear the suit was in case a conference official happened to walk by and notice how snazzy I looked. Then, maybe I’d earn more credibility and get invited back—maybe to do something bigger. Nobody else would really care. I mean, the kids are running around in shorts and t-shirts and so are the other leaders (including me, during the day!).

I wasn’t invited here based on the way I dress or anything I do in or of myself, though. I was invited on the merit of God working through me and absolutely nothing else. So, I hastily flung my suit onto my hotel room bed and changed into a pair of black slacks with a simple dressy shirt and heels. It was in this attire that I knew I was more approachable and that the focus was unmistakably on Jesus–not on me. Besides, even after the flip-flops, Stanley was in attendance for the second consecutive night.

My sister and brother-in-law came to tonight's meeting, as did my brother-in-law's cousin and his wife (pictured below). My brother-in-law's cousin's wife (wow, blogging is really hard when you don't want to use your family's names) took this picture...and she's obviously an amazing photographer!

My family's family. (See how I was slick, so we didn't have to do that description again?) I'm sorry this picture is blurry! I didn't realize it when we took it.

*Marie was not actually one of the "protesters." I realized that was not clear after I finished writing this. She just happened to complain on the same day. Thankfully, she was a lot more tactful. And appropriate.

I Already Know Delinquency is Unattractive, So Don't Tell Me Again in the Comments

Thu, 29 May 2008 01:52:54 GMT

Yes, I know many of you asked what my schedule and topics of preaching were going to be for the week...and I never told you. Sorry! I'm focusing on our relationship with God in the mornings and romantic relationships/relationships with each other in the evenings.

Sunday:

No Morning Devotional
Breaking Up is Hard to Do (Starting a Relationship Foundation in Jesus)

Monday:

God's Cell Phone Number (Jeremiah 33:3)
What Do They See In You? (Being the Right Person)

Tuesday:

Our Intercessor, the Holy Spirit (John Ch. 15)
Princesses Don't Date Gangstas (What We Should Be Looking for in a Partner--Character)

Wednesday:

Listening to the Silence (Psalm 23)
WWJD: Who Would Jesus Date? (On Dating Non-Adventists)

Thursday:

White water rafting! (No morning devotional or sermon.) Incidentally, I am supposed to chaperoning eight minors UNGUIDED down some river. I have been white water rafting all of ONCE. I think we should pray.

Friday:

The Power of Prayer (James 5:16)
Not Tryin' to Be a Baby Momma (Appropriate Behavior Before and During a Relationship)

Saturday:

The Prayer of Jabez (1 Chronicles 4:10)
Can't Turn a Harlot into a Housewife (Letting Go of Past Mistakes and Starting Over)

One more picture of the lake, this time from standing on the porch of the Youth Center. It rained today, but it's still so beautiful!

Some People Treat Me Like a Rockstar, But They're 15. And Home-schooled.*

Wed, 28 May 2008 02:19:57 GMT

With arms laden with two notebooks, my Bible, and the change of clothes I took to Asheville today, I slammed the passenger car door behind me. As I pressed the remote of my sister’s car and heard the beeping of the locking mechanism, three darkened figures yelled to me from the second floor balcony of the hotel that faced the parking lot.

“Shaaayynaa!!!”

Caught of guard, I waved hello back and shouted that I’d be up soon. Fleetingly, I entertained the thought of my poor sister’s car getting vandalized and then, lamented not having chosen a less conspicuous parking space.

A few minutes later, I stopped on the second floor to talk to the kids about living in Washington, DC and running the half marathon (something I mentioned in last night’s sermon). Inside the lobby, before I could make it to the elevator, four more teens wanted to know who I was backing in tonight’s NBA game, which was playing on a TV set in front of them. (Every night, I start the meetings by answering their questions--personal or otherwise. Last night, I answered someone’s question about who I was supporting in the night's game...Pistons over Celtics.)

I always wondered why my editors refused to stay at the host hotel at conferences. Very quickly, however, I learned that when you do, it takes approximately two hours to navigate your way from meetings to your hotel room. And, almost always, you have to be looking magazine quality when doing so:

I don't know if I'd call this "magazine quality," per se, but in comparison to the pictures below, it's a whole lot better. I snapped this in my room just before I left to speak yesterday afternoon. Here in the woods, we still have showers and electricity. THANKFULLY.

Yesterday, I bravely ran/walked the 5.6 miles around the lake (the front desk said the trail was 2.8 miles and I did it twice). Then, I fearfully returned to my hotel room looking like this:

I didn't bother to crop this picture better, so the hot mess factor would be minimized. Umm...you're welcome.

I secretly hoped that no one would recognize me and took the opportunity to test this theory by purposely saying hello to people I knew. Twice, there was zero recognition. Mission: accomplished.

Those little black things you see would most certainly not be freckles. Those are BUGS that got stuck to me as I ran around the lake. How I actually endured this occurrence is beyond me...just looking at this picture makes me cringe.

In all seriousness, however, I really do love my job and I relish the moments sitting in the lobby arguing about who’s going to win game four, or on the boardwalk like last night. In the darkness, one of the girls who attended the meeting stopped me to ask about witnessing to atheist friends. I prayed with her and before raising her head, there was a noticeable pause. It was the kind of pause that happens when you know you've touched someone in such a profound way that they actually have to stand still, lest they disrupt the moment with their tears.

It’s those times when kids really get to know you and hopefully, Jesus through you. Moments on the boardwalk, on the balcony, and in the lobby are the reason I put up with the ridiculous pay, sometimes questionable accommodations, and political garbage. Ultimately, it’s about reaching them—and nothing else.

*I, by no means, intend to make fun of home-schoolers. I'm just illustrating the limit of my fame and sphere of influence, lest you actually think that people recognize me on the street or something. I assure you, they don't.

It's Not the Hilton, But You Can't Beat the View

Mon, 26 May 2008 17:09:55 GMT

I should have known not to have unrealistic expectations about Lake Junaluska. I was impressed by the existence of hotel facilities located at the camp, though. When my host pastor, Michael, mentioned our first meeting would be at the “Health Center,” I was certain that everything would be completely fine. (If possible, I don’t travel to hotels that don’t have gyms or room service. There. Now you know. Don’t judge me.)

My sister and her husband--the crazy outdoor enthusiasts---make fun of me because I am apparently “a city person.” I do prefer the culture and pulse of the city, being surrounded by people, and sometimes, I get a queasy, helpless feeling when I’m too far away from civilization.

I didn’t grow up camping and even though I was a wandering little kid who ran around and played with bugs, I’m not a big fan of tents, lack of showers, or having no occasion for heels as an adult. The first time I went away to Camp Kulaqua (Seventh-day Adventist camp in High Springs, FL) when I was 14, I stayed in a two story mini- lodge with carpet and air conditioning. Any grime could be easily disposed of in one of the two bathrooms that was professionally cleaned every day.

Today, however, I almost had to fight tears when the front desk told me that there were no indoor workout facilities at Lake Junaluska. Apparently, I have to go for a run around the lake if I want exercise. As if people still do that.

View from the path along the lake that I walk to reach the pavilion where I speak...and where I will also be running later today.

Since the classmates and I decided we’re running the Virginia Beach Rock 'n' Roll Half Marathon in September, I suppose there are worse fates that could have befallen me here. Like the time at Camp Kulaqua when some girl I had to share the mini lodge with stole my towel. I had a flashback moment yesterday when my sister and my mother were driving away and referenced the frantic phonecall made eleven years ago demanding that my mother, “COME AND GET ME RIGHT NOW! I DON’T CARE IF YOU HAVE TO DRIVE FOUR HOURS IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT! WHY DON’T YOU LOVE ME?!”

I jokingly assured her yesterday,

“I’ve got cable TV, wireless internet, and a cell phone this time. I just might make it."

Along the lake right before my sister and mother left me yesterday. My mother did come back this morning to hear me speak, though...and to bring fruits and snacks. Much like sleep away camp, the food is pretty awful.

The pavilion where I speak is the one here, on the water. That is a swimming pool bordering the lake. Yes, there is a swimming pool and I realize I have no occassion to be whining.

I’m also a semi-important invited speaker, so I get a hotel room with this view:

That room would be sans dirty strangers who steal towels, by the way. I love adulthood.

Just So You Know, It's Been Fun

Tue, 08 Jan 2008 21:28:07 GMT

I never thought I'd be writing this entry. Especially in the throws of the bet that started the whole thing four years ago, I knew I'd never surrender to defeat! Even if the blogging was superficial and meaningless, there would be one entry per week! But then, work picked up. I started traveling. There were books and newsletters and Christian writer's group meetings. And then, that whole graduate student thing that took over my life. I have to say, it also didn't help that I was getting hate/panic mail whenever I posted about men or relationships. I lost motivation to blog and as you noticed, the prospects became sort of dismal for the blog's survival.

So, don't think of this as goodbye. Think of it as an invitation to a mystery of sorts! The relationship stories--of which there are none lately, since I'm not dating--are now being posted in an undisclosed location on the interweb. The religious stories are now located on www.miracletemple.net/blog. Work stories, like usual, are at www.insightmagazine.org/blog. I hope you'll keep reading and if you find the other blog, enjoy! Remember it's just for entertainment and usually, it's not about you. Thanks for reading, it's been fun.

Why I Need to Sleep, But Will Go to the Gym Instead

Fri, 30 Nov 2007 23:45:51 GMT

I ate graham crackers with peanut butter and chocolate chips for dinner. Again.

If this is any foreboding of what medical school is going to be like, I may have to forgo earlier plans of marrying an investment banker in favor of someone more practical. Like a chef. Or personal trainer. You know, someone who will make sure that my body doesn’t suffer for the edification of my mind. *sigh* It should be noted, though, that my blood sugar does drop rather sharply these days and I need the simple sugars from the chocolate followed by the protein from the peanut butter. Really, I'm doing this for my health.

The One in Which I Meant to Post the Blog

Fri, 30 Nov 2007 11:44:25 GMT

Did I tell you about Thanksgiving yet? Because I wrote about it. And then didn't get the time to post it. I have pictures too, but they're mostly of my cousins glued to Guitar Hero III. If you try really hard, you can almost make eye contact. I assure you that this represents the experience fairly accurately, except when said cousins needed to eat. They regained the ability to have actual human contact when food was involved. :)

Breaking Our Vow

Fri, 23 Nov 2007 20:57:12 GMT

“Promise me you’ll never do that.”

We were walking toward our cars after class when our path crossed with hers. Amanda and I hadn’t known each other that long, but our friendship had definitely developed well enough to acknowledge certain basic, fashion truths.

“Skinny jeans are not for everyone,” I said, glancing at the girl walking toward us.

Amanda laughed as we averted our eyes long enough for the girl for whom skinny jeans refused to do justice to pass. Before we reached our cars, six other girls flaunting the skinny had passed too.

“I won’t if you won’t,” was the promise we giggled, knowing full well that neither one of us have the teeny tiny thighs required to pull such a look off.

A month later, as I told her a story involving boots over jeans, though, I mentioned the necessity of the skinny jean. To her feigned horror.

“We promised we’d never do that!,” she exclaimed, with raised eyebrows.

I knew she was joking. Still, we had made a vow. And I couldn’t as long as she didn’t.

Today, though, the skinny jeans were so seductively cheap. Dark wash for under $20 in an early morning sale! With a little bit of scrunch on the end, they actually didn’t look half bad. Maybe the fashion travesty has finally just broken me, but especially when paired with the long black sweater I bought during the same excursion, they actually looked kind of great.

So, I bought them. And I’m not telling her. I know it will be at some holiday party where my bubbling enthusiasm replaces my memory of our vow that she realizes I cheated. She will be horrified, but only if she’s not wearing them too.

On the Experience of New York Public Transit

Thu, 22 Nov 2007 04:20:34 GMT

My response was unconscious as I plowed into him in the terminal of Penn Station in Manhattan.

“Oh, excuse me.”

There were masses of people in the station—perhaps more so than what is normal—and my laptop bag had just hit him squarely in the side. After consulting the illuminated map of the LIRR and its stops in Long Island, though, I was navigating my way towards the electronic ticket booth where a long line was curling out of the tension barriers. Accidentally, a wheel of the small pullman I was toting ran over another man’s foot.

“Sorry,” I muttered, being crowded and unable to really move out of the way myself.

He didn’t look up or acknowledge the incident.

“Remember you’re in New York,” I told myself as I continued to maneuver my way to the ticket booth. "Just keep moving."

Life in Washington, DC is so much less…rude. Perhaps it’s the sheer quantity of tourists from friendlier locales inhabiting the place, but people are just more self-aware. Even in Union Station during rush hour, there’s an assumed courtesy. Or at least that’s been my experience.

Happily settled on the train a few minutes later, though, I was just grateful to have gotten a seat. I was also sort of pleased with myself for having maneuvered Penn Station alone. My cousin copped out of picking me up in Manhattan, so it was my first time taking the LIRR to Long Island.

The train seemed fine, as did the people, so I pulled out my cell phone to give my cousin an ETA. The guy next to me had even been polite enough to answer my question when I asked how long it usually took to get to my particular stop.

Not even a few seconds after answering my question, though, I noticed that he closed his eyes and began…groaning. For no apparent reason. First, the aspiring physician within me thought that he actually might be in pain. He had his mp3 earbuds in, though, and it didn't seem to be that kind of groan. Hopefully, his music was just simply that….inspirational. Otherwise, there was no explanation for the deep, sensual groaning that should really not be done alone. Or in public. When he took off his jacket, earlier pleasantries were forgotten and I definitely stole a glance towards his waist just to make sure that all appendages were…accounted for. Then, I made sure that the distance between us was maintained. I mean, I’m friendly. Not stupid.

What was the most striking about this experience, though, was that this guy would occasionally stop to talk to me as if nothing odd was happening.

“With the rate this train is going, it’s going to take more than thirty minutes,” he told me during one of his pauses.

Good information. Very helpful. Now seriously, stop with the moaning!

A young GW student I sat next to on the bus up from Washington, DC had told me,

“I think DC is great…Just not comparatively to New York.”

After growing up in Manhattan, I wouldn’t expect my young friend to have another opinion. There must be some sort of social conditioning that immunizes you to all of New York’s…less desirable qualities. Either that or he was the one I should have been concerned about and I just missed it.