I essentially do not blog anymore. I would like to, but when I started working I stopped and haven’t gotten back in the groove.
I am upset because I have a bunch of artist’s supplies and I cannot get the computerized stuff to hook up correctly. I have many Christmas presents planned but if I can’t get the cricut to cut, there is no way I can do them efficiently.
My birthday is coming up and I’ll be thirty-six. I crossed the threshold of 35, one I dreaded because it was so adultish. I have no opinion on 36.
I have been political lately. Cain and Gingrich are both idiots. We had an idiot for a president, anyone remember Bush? Remember how embarrassing he was? The made up words? Do you miss sitting on the edge of your seat waiting for him to say or do something that brought chagrin to your soul? I remember all of that, and more. So what if Obama lacks a spine? He doesn’t cheat on his wife and you don’t have to worry about ridiculous behavior. (Is anyone paying attention to politics care where he was born? And as for the whack jobs who believe that Osama Bin Laden is not dead, well, in my world there is little hope for you.)
One more thing before I go…. I have been super intimidated lately. I have a few friends who have had the privilege of going through MFA programs. (Last I heard, one makes copies of porn videos for a living, but whatever.) I was feeling kind of threatened, working on my own projects, because I have never even applied for such programs. The closest I had to a mentor was opposed to them. I toyed with the ideas of going to school to further study poetry, but I did not do so. Now I do not impose my writing on anyone, and I feel kind of lonely about it, now that you mention it. But mostly scared. It’s not a composition, but I am sure the next time I write something I want someone else to read, they will take it and think quietly to themselves, “This poor creature. I learned not to do those stupid-ass things my first week of my MFA arrangements.”
But…. it was over ten years ago when I was teaching high school Sunday School. (We didn’t call it that.) It was December and many of our students had gone away to Bible college or Seminary. They were coming and I was teaching. I thought it was kind of a joke. I didn’t go to Bible school and I was never going to go to Bible school. They must know about a billion things more about Christianity then I would.
So, I was praying about this and something occurred to me. Of course I would never go to Biola. What I did have, however, was myself. No on in the world had been through all that I’ve been through, or would share how God revealed himself to me and with me. I had heart piercing experiences and I could share those without trepidation. I would never know as much as they did about the Reformation or the various doctrines of hell, but I had myself.
I don’t have that kind of confidence, not yet. But I think it will come. I am me, after all.