There is a small park that serves as a buffer between the Willamette River and downtown Corvallis. I have gone there a few times in the past couple weeks because I like to sit on a bench in the shade and read a book and watch people ride by on their bicycles. Somehow, I feel a little more like an Oregonian by doing that. If I did it while drinking coffee or recycling, I would be the real deal. A little farther down from where I like to read, there is an area with all of these fountains that constantly shoot water into the air like a glorified sprinkler system. On hot days, young mothers take their children to the fountains so that they can play in the water. It's a good way to get their whiny kids to whine just a little less for a while. The kids go crazy over the fountains, too. They run and whoop and act like today is the greatest day in human history. And I sit and think, "Poor kids. They're just so ignorant. Little do they know that those fountains really aren't that great. There are certainly more exciting and fun attractions in the world. Someday they'll grow up and be as enlightened as me." But that's the great thing about kids, really. That's the reason the rest of us might wish we could go back to our childhoods from time to time. To a child, even small things like fountains in a park are exciting experiences. To a child, everything is an adventure.
If we think of our lives as stories, we may be tempted to focus solely on the "big picture," on the overarching narrative than runs throughout our entire lives. Issues such as college choice and careers and marriage and retirement communities are important in such stories. We look for giant signposts to mark the significant moments of our lives, and everything else, the filler material, is shoved aside. Everyday scenes are forgotten for the sake of the bigger scenes. Life is only about major moments of climax and not so much about what happens in between. If a person views life this way, and you ask them, "What happened today?" they reply, "Nothing." Because to them, nothing happened. Or at least nothing worth noting, and so they have forgotten it all.
A kid playing in a fountain experiences life differently. For him, a hierarchy of events does not exist in such sharp distinction. Every scene can be fun and beautiful and wonderful and awe-inspiring. He does believe that "nothing" happened today. Maybe we would do well to follow suit. We need to learn to value events and conversations and interactions that at the time seem trivial. We can't allow ourselves to be numbed to the opportunities for adventure that exist all around us.
A few weeks ago, I received a letter from a friend. The letter was a very enjoyable read because it was a bunch of random stories from her recent experiences. They were not life-altering. But they were life as it happens. That's what the life-story is, in a way--a collection of smaller stories woven together like a quilt. At the beginning of the summer, I read J.D. Salinger's The Catcher in the Rye. It's supposed to be a classic in literature. I really liked the book (though I'm glad I didn't have to read it in high school English class. I feel like that could have caused me to dislike it.) In The Cather in the Rye, it is difficult to find a typical storyline. Instead, it seems to just be loosely-connected experiences of Holden Caulfield over the course of a couple days. Maybe that's why so many people have enjoyed reading it--because it tells of a man's life as it happens, through a string of stories.
I want to do a better job at appreciating the little things in life, and maybe you could do likewise. Late-night Taco Bell runs and games of Horse and conversations in dorm rooms and fountains and pet birds chirping in the kitchen and hikes along rivers and car rides with stereos bumping: these are what make up a life and a story. And it would be a shame if we skimmed all those pages.
Every once in a while, I wonder how my bank teller back in Joplin is doing, the one that I like to pretend flirts with me. I hope she's doing well.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Thursday, July 22, 2010
When You Give a Kid a Microphone
A little bit of belief in someone can go a long way.
My old youth minister David Logsdon probably had a greater impact on my spiritual growth than any other single person I have known. One of the most important things David did for me was to give me real opportunities to practice what he saw as my gifts, even when I was at an age that some others might not take that risk. For example, when I was in seventh grade, our youth group started having once-a-month church services separate from the larger church service. Some of the high school students led worship, and David would preach, and it was a good chance to connect as a group and do something geared more toward our stage in life. For one of the first youth services, David decided that, instead of preaching himself, he would have three students share their testimonies, and he asked me to be one of those students.That was really the first time that I spoke in front of a crowd like that. Looking back, I was a pretty odd choice. The other two students were both juniors in high school and were taller and certainly better orators than I was. I don't remember much about the event, other than that I was really nervous and said something about a t-shirt I had that said "i believe."
Fast forward a year and a half. I was on campus at Colorado State University for my first CIY in the summer before my freshman year. After one of the elective classes, I was walking out of a building with two girls from my youth group when one of them randomly brought up that testimony I had given at the youth service, and she said something like, "You did a really good job when you gave your testimony. You would be a good minister." I had never really thought about going into ministry before then. At that point, I wanted to grow up and be a journalist. But that girl's words stuck with me, and by the end of the week the prospect of going into ministry had continued to grow in my mind.
Now here I sit, two-thirds of the way through another youth ministry internship before I go back for my fifth year of Bible college. I'm sure there are a number of influences that led to me actually ending up in ministry--most importantly the call and work of God. But at least a large part of it is the fact that over nine years ago, my youth minister asked me to get up and talk to the youth group. That might be something not every youth minister would be willing to do. I was a frail little middle schooler, for heaven's sake. There was no telling what might have happened. I could have freaked out on stage and ran off crying for my mommy. I could have mumbled out a 30-second, garbled mess that would have been nonsense to everyone else. I could have wet my pants right there in front of everyone and decided never to come to church again. And yet, for some reason, David saw something in me and used it, and that's partly what has gotten me where I am today. And I don't even have time to tell how David was the first to let me preach, or how he got me to play drums in a worship band for the first time.
I was reminded of all of this by an article on CNN.com from earlier this week about Donald Miller and his mentor, David Gentiles. The article tells of an incident that Miller writes about in To Own a Dragon. Gentiles was Miller's youth minister, and one day he asked the young Miller if he would like to write something for the church newsletter, and Miller wrote about a girl who was booed at the school talent show. Afterward, Gentiles continued to give Miller opportunities to write. When Miller started to write books, Gentiles was his biggest advocate. And now Miller has written a number of books and influenced a crazy number of people, including me.
Last week, we at Suburban took our middle school students to Salem to work with the Union Gospel Mission. The students did a great job working their tushes off and interacting with the men at the mission. They sweat and labored for hours at a time, while I sipped my blended chai and "supervised." They even finished all the work that the mission had planned on them doing, so they had to find other projects for us. One of the cool things about the trip was that, before we left, the students were split into different teams, each responsible for a different aspect of the trip. One of the teams was the worship team, who planned our devotions and such that we would have during the week. Instead of having some of the church's pastors or other adults write the devotions and plan small group discussions, they decided to step up and do it themselves, and they did fantastically. Also, one of our high school students came on the trip as a sponsor, and he also did a great job. One night he and I co-led a small group, but he did more to guide the discussion than I did.
My hope and prayer is that, through such opportunities to serve and minister, our students will continue to grow in their gifts and abilities and use them for Christ. Sometimes it just takes a little trust and room for failure for a young person to understand what they can do in the kingdom. The reason I write all this is that I know there are a number of youth ministers, volunteers, and others who work with youth that read my blog. My encouragement to all of you is that you give your students a chance to use their gifts. It might mean that you have a little less control about the outcome. It might mean that you have to get out of the way. But it can mean a lifelong impact on a young person for you to simply say, "I believe you can do this," and then to support them and cheer for them along the way. It was for me, anyway.
When I was driving to the church on Tuesday, I saw a man riding a unicycle down the sidewalk while juggling three basketballs. I guess if this whole ministry thing doesn't work out, I know what I want to do with me life!
My old youth minister David Logsdon probably had a greater impact on my spiritual growth than any other single person I have known. One of the most important things David did for me was to give me real opportunities to practice what he saw as my gifts, even when I was at an age that some others might not take that risk. For example, when I was in seventh grade, our youth group started having once-a-month church services separate from the larger church service. Some of the high school students led worship, and David would preach, and it was a good chance to connect as a group and do something geared more toward our stage in life. For one of the first youth services, David decided that, instead of preaching himself, he would have three students share their testimonies, and he asked me to be one of those students.That was really the first time that I spoke in front of a crowd like that. Looking back, I was a pretty odd choice. The other two students were both juniors in high school and were taller and certainly better orators than I was. I don't remember much about the event, other than that I was really nervous and said something about a t-shirt I had that said "i believe."
Fast forward a year and a half. I was on campus at Colorado State University for my first CIY in the summer before my freshman year. After one of the elective classes, I was walking out of a building with two girls from my youth group when one of them randomly brought up that testimony I had given at the youth service, and she said something like, "You did a really good job when you gave your testimony. You would be a good minister." I had never really thought about going into ministry before then. At that point, I wanted to grow up and be a journalist. But that girl's words stuck with me, and by the end of the week the prospect of going into ministry had continued to grow in my mind.
Now here I sit, two-thirds of the way through another youth ministry internship before I go back for my fifth year of Bible college. I'm sure there are a number of influences that led to me actually ending up in ministry--most importantly the call and work of God. But at least a large part of it is the fact that over nine years ago, my youth minister asked me to get up and talk to the youth group. That might be something not every youth minister would be willing to do. I was a frail little middle schooler, for heaven's sake. There was no telling what might have happened. I could have freaked out on stage and ran off crying for my mommy. I could have mumbled out a 30-second, garbled mess that would have been nonsense to everyone else. I could have wet my pants right there in front of everyone and decided never to come to church again. And yet, for some reason, David saw something in me and used it, and that's partly what has gotten me where I am today. And I don't even have time to tell how David was the first to let me preach, or how he got me to play drums in a worship band for the first time.
I was reminded of all of this by an article on CNN.com from earlier this week about Donald Miller and his mentor, David Gentiles. The article tells of an incident that Miller writes about in To Own a Dragon. Gentiles was Miller's youth minister, and one day he asked the young Miller if he would like to write something for the church newsletter, and Miller wrote about a girl who was booed at the school talent show. Afterward, Gentiles continued to give Miller opportunities to write. When Miller started to write books, Gentiles was his biggest advocate. And now Miller has written a number of books and influenced a crazy number of people, including me.
Last week, we at Suburban took our middle school students to Salem to work with the Union Gospel Mission. The students did a great job working their tushes off and interacting with the men at the mission. They sweat and labored for hours at a time, while I sipped my blended chai and "supervised." They even finished all the work that the mission had planned on them doing, so they had to find other projects for us. One of the cool things about the trip was that, before we left, the students were split into different teams, each responsible for a different aspect of the trip. One of the teams was the worship team, who planned our devotions and such that we would have during the week. Instead of having some of the church's pastors or other adults write the devotions and plan small group discussions, they decided to step up and do it themselves, and they did fantastically. Also, one of our high school students came on the trip as a sponsor, and he also did a great job. One night he and I co-led a small group, but he did more to guide the discussion than I did.
My hope and prayer is that, through such opportunities to serve and minister, our students will continue to grow in their gifts and abilities and use them for Christ. Sometimes it just takes a little trust and room for failure for a young person to understand what they can do in the kingdom. The reason I write all this is that I know there are a number of youth ministers, volunteers, and others who work with youth that read my blog. My encouragement to all of you is that you give your students a chance to use their gifts. It might mean that you have a little less control about the outcome. It might mean that you have to get out of the way. But it can mean a lifelong impact on a young person for you to simply say, "I believe you can do this," and then to support them and cheer for them along the way. It was for me, anyway.
When I was driving to the church on Tuesday, I saw a man riding a unicycle down the sidewalk while juggling three basketballs. I guess if this whole ministry thing doesn't work out, I know what I want to do with me life!
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Risk
Previously, I and many others before me have written about the idea of life as a story. A couple weeks ago I watched a movie called Stranger Than Fiction that touched on this theme quite well. In the movie, the main character, Harold Crick, lives a life that is, quite literally, a story. One day, Harold begins to overhear the narration of his life, which is created by an author. He begins to understand that the events that the author writes direct the course of his own life and that her story is becoming real for him. I thought it was a great movie (due in part to the fact that the actor who played Buster in Arrested Development is in it). I feel that it holds a lot of meaning and that I would have to watch it several times over to be able to really grasp much of what it was trying to communicate. I had the same feeling when I read The Little Prince.
At the beginning of Stranger Than Fiction, Harold's life is dictated by his wristwatch. He is characterized by routine, precision, and solitude. He wakes up at exactly the same time every day, brushes his teeth with the same number of strokes, takes the same bus to work at the right moment, eats his meals alone, and goes about every day just like any other. Change is an alien concept to Harold. He doesn't build new relationships, take up new hobbies, or mix up his daily schedule. He simply lives, just as he has lived for ages.
I often feel like Harold Crick. In fact, I wrote a post just a couple months ago about how resistant I can be to change. In my thinking, if there is nothing necessarily wrong with how things are going, I might as well keep it like that. I'm not one to do things different or start a conversation with a stranger or go someplace new for the thrill of it. This is likely the result of a number of different factors--my own passivity, apathy, fear, or laziness. The problem, of course, is that this doesn't make for a very interesting story.
I wish I had my copy of Donald Miller's A Million Miles in a Thousand Years with me here in Oregon, because it is all about this idea of life as a story. But alas, it is stuffed in a box in my storage bin in my dorm back in Missouri. However, I do know that Miller defines a great story as one in which a character wants something and overcomes conflict to get it. Great stories don't involve guys who sit on their couches all the time eating Gardettos. They're about people who do something. Characters who make a decision. Who make a change. Who take a risk. In a great story, there needs to be a moment at which the character changes his course. Harold Crick eats cookies with Maggie Gyllenhaal. Frodo decides to take the ring to Mordor. Huck Finn rafts down the Mississippi with Jim. They don't settle down for a comfortable, predictable life. They push themselves into situations where they might lose something, into conflict, in hopes to gain what they want.This is what separates a round character from a flat one, an interesting story from a dull one.
Don't get me wrong. I believe that everyone has a story, and that they are stories worth hearing, as I have already written about here. It is a fact, however, that some stories are more interesting than others, and that the most interesting ones are about those who take a risk. Great stories don't normally just happen. They're made. Risk-taking and change doesn't come naturally. They require conscious decision. For that reason, I feel that I'm probably not the best person to be writing any of this. My friend Caitlyn would be much better. She's all about not having any regrets. In fact, she's the one who told me to write on this topic because it's something that she already thinks about. I, on the other hand, am not much of a risk-taker. Sitting around the house with a book or a laptop is so much safer and more comfortable than creating stories. But it's probably much more boring.
At the same time, I consider myself very fortunate to be friends with a number of people who are creating incredible stories with their lives. When I think about some of my closest friends and where they are right now or will be in the near future, their locations range from Maryland, Indiana, New Orleans, Arkansas, Oklahoma, and even Russia and Thailand. They're all over the map. They haven't settled down. They've thrown themselves out from their nests to places they don't know, all so that they can serve God with everything. And it makes for great stories, and I'm glad to somehow be privileged enough to run in the same circle as them.
What sort of story are you creating? Do you know what you want, and are you doing what it takes to get there? Or are you just existing, hoping that will somehow be enough to make a great story? My advice for today is this: take a risk. Do something. Start learning to play the clarinet. Ask that pretty girl you know to the Shakespeare festival you think she'd like. Go on a road trip with friends just to see what you can find. Take the homeless guy on the corner to lunch. Go on a mission trip. Make a story.
Before I wrap it up for tonight, I would like to share my favorite quotation from Stranger Than Fiction, when Harold says to Maggie Gyllenhaal's character, "This may sound like gibberish to you, but I think I'm in a tragedy." The pessimist in me relates. Go watch the movie.
At the beginning of Stranger Than Fiction, Harold's life is dictated by his wristwatch. He is characterized by routine, precision, and solitude. He wakes up at exactly the same time every day, brushes his teeth with the same number of strokes, takes the same bus to work at the right moment, eats his meals alone, and goes about every day just like any other. Change is an alien concept to Harold. He doesn't build new relationships, take up new hobbies, or mix up his daily schedule. He simply lives, just as he has lived for ages.
I often feel like Harold Crick. In fact, I wrote a post just a couple months ago about how resistant I can be to change. In my thinking, if there is nothing necessarily wrong with how things are going, I might as well keep it like that. I'm not one to do things different or start a conversation with a stranger or go someplace new for the thrill of it. This is likely the result of a number of different factors--my own passivity, apathy, fear, or laziness. The problem, of course, is that this doesn't make for a very interesting story.
I wish I had my copy of Donald Miller's A Million Miles in a Thousand Years with me here in Oregon, because it is all about this idea of life as a story. But alas, it is stuffed in a box in my storage bin in my dorm back in Missouri. However, I do know that Miller defines a great story as one in which a character wants something and overcomes conflict to get it. Great stories don't involve guys who sit on their couches all the time eating Gardettos. They're about people who do something. Characters who make a decision. Who make a change. Who take a risk. In a great story, there needs to be a moment at which the character changes his course. Harold Crick eats cookies with Maggie Gyllenhaal. Frodo decides to take the ring to Mordor. Huck Finn rafts down the Mississippi with Jim. They don't settle down for a comfortable, predictable life. They push themselves into situations where they might lose something, into conflict, in hopes to gain what they want.This is what separates a round character from a flat one, an interesting story from a dull one.
Don't get me wrong. I believe that everyone has a story, and that they are stories worth hearing, as I have already written about here. It is a fact, however, that some stories are more interesting than others, and that the most interesting ones are about those who take a risk. Great stories don't normally just happen. They're made. Risk-taking and change doesn't come naturally. They require conscious decision. For that reason, I feel that I'm probably not the best person to be writing any of this. My friend Caitlyn would be much better. She's all about not having any regrets. In fact, she's the one who told me to write on this topic because it's something that she already thinks about. I, on the other hand, am not much of a risk-taker. Sitting around the house with a book or a laptop is so much safer and more comfortable than creating stories. But it's probably much more boring.
At the same time, I consider myself very fortunate to be friends with a number of people who are creating incredible stories with their lives. When I think about some of my closest friends and where they are right now or will be in the near future, their locations range from Maryland, Indiana, New Orleans, Arkansas, Oklahoma, and even Russia and Thailand. They're all over the map. They haven't settled down. They've thrown themselves out from their nests to places they don't know, all so that they can serve God with everything. And it makes for great stories, and I'm glad to somehow be privileged enough to run in the same circle as them.
What sort of story are you creating? Do you know what you want, and are you doing what it takes to get there? Or are you just existing, hoping that will somehow be enough to make a great story? My advice for today is this: take a risk. Do something. Start learning to play the clarinet. Ask that pretty girl you know to the Shakespeare festival you think she'd like. Go on a road trip with friends just to see what you can find. Take the homeless guy on the corner to lunch. Go on a mission trip. Make a story.
Before I wrap it up for tonight, I would like to share my favorite quotation from Stranger Than Fiction, when Harold says to Maggie Gyllenhaal's character, "This may sound like gibberish to you, but I think I'm in a tragedy." The pessimist in me relates. Go watch the movie.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Symbol of the Same
There are a lot of cool things to do in Corvallis, Oregon. Oregon is honestly one of the most beautiful places I have ever been, and many of the people here take advantage of the scenery by hiking or mountain biking. It is also not very far from the coast, so a person could go enjoy a day at the beach if they so desired. It is also a university town, so I imagine there are things to do that state university students like to do, like dance and drink and talk about how much they hate the Ducks. However, I'm not one who likes to go hiking alone, I don't mountain bike, I'm not a huge fan of the beach, I don't drink, and I sure as heck don't dance. So when I had a free afternoon last Friday, I decided to do something a little more up my alley and went to a local park to shoot baskets on their little half of a basketball court. While I was shooting baskets, I thought about shooting baskets, and here's what I decided.
I think people who don't know me very well are always surprised to learn that I like to play basketball. I do get asked if I play chess a lot, however. One day when I was in high school, I went to the locker room to get my basketball shoes to take home, and the school's basketball team was starting to warm up before one of their first practices. When I walked into the locker room, there was a kid in there that I had never even talked to before, and he took a look at me and said, "Man, don't tell me you made the basketball team." Go figure.
In any case, I really do like playing basketball, and as much as I like to play a pick-up game or to play intramurals, there is something nice about just shooting around by yourself. As I continued to bonk the ball off of the rim at the park, I was reminded of all the hours I spent in my driveway back home playing on the goal in front of my house, or how every Wednesday in high school I would go to the church, set up tables for the church dinner, and then spend the rest of the afternoon shooting there.
I think what I appreciate so much about shooting a basketball is that, no matter where you go, it's basically the same. Ten feet of space separate the rim from the ground. That's how it is at the park in Corvallis, as well as in my driveway at home, at my church, or in Ozark's gym. I could go just about anywhere in the world, and if there is a basket and ball, I have something familiar to do. The hoop becomes a symbol of constancy. If I'm in a new place, surrounded by strangers and dropped into an unfamiliar situation, there is something that is indeed the same. And that's reassuring, I think.
Maybe because of that truth, shooting baskets is something I often do when I need some time to think or when I'm upset about something. It gives me something to do while I process my thoughts and emotions. Of course, that doesn't mean that every time you might see me shooting baskets by myself that I'm going through some sort of crisis. Sometimes I might do it just for kicks. But in many ways, shooting baskets is like a little sanctuary; a place of calm in the middle of an ever-changing world.
So I wonder: Do you have some activity like that? Maybe it's playing guitar or reading or crocheting or singing or lifting weights. Anything that you turn to to reassure yourself that, even though many things in life are in continuous flux, there are some things that are always the same. What's your go-to activity? Feel free to share.
You may notice that on the sidebar I now have a little gadget that shows what book I'm working on reading. I always think it's really interesting to hear what other people are reading, and I saw this on Kyle Tapper's blog, so I thought I'd copy him.
Tomorrow I'm leaving for our high school retreat, which will go through Saturday evening, and then Sunday I will be heading to Salem with our middle school students for a mission trip. So please keep us in your prayers: that God would be working on students and that we would be able to serve effectively, and that God give the other leaders and me the energy that we need. Happy second half of Twenty-Ten.
I think people who don't know me very well are always surprised to learn that I like to play basketball. I do get asked if I play chess a lot, however. One day when I was in high school, I went to the locker room to get my basketball shoes to take home, and the school's basketball team was starting to warm up before one of their first practices. When I walked into the locker room, there was a kid in there that I had never even talked to before, and he took a look at me and said, "Man, don't tell me you made the basketball team." Go figure.
In any case, I really do like playing basketball, and as much as I like to play a pick-up game or to play intramurals, there is something nice about just shooting around by yourself. As I continued to bonk the ball off of the rim at the park, I was reminded of all the hours I spent in my driveway back home playing on the goal in front of my house, or how every Wednesday in high school I would go to the church, set up tables for the church dinner, and then spend the rest of the afternoon shooting there.
I think what I appreciate so much about shooting a basketball is that, no matter where you go, it's basically the same. Ten feet of space separate the rim from the ground. That's how it is at the park in Corvallis, as well as in my driveway at home, at my church, or in Ozark's gym. I could go just about anywhere in the world, and if there is a basket and ball, I have something familiar to do. The hoop becomes a symbol of constancy. If I'm in a new place, surrounded by strangers and dropped into an unfamiliar situation, there is something that is indeed the same. And that's reassuring, I think.
Maybe because of that truth, shooting baskets is something I often do when I need some time to think or when I'm upset about something. It gives me something to do while I process my thoughts and emotions. Of course, that doesn't mean that every time you might see me shooting baskets by myself that I'm going through some sort of crisis. Sometimes I might do it just for kicks. But in many ways, shooting baskets is like a little sanctuary; a place of calm in the middle of an ever-changing world.
So I wonder: Do you have some activity like that? Maybe it's playing guitar or reading or crocheting or singing or lifting weights. Anything that you turn to to reassure yourself that, even though many things in life are in continuous flux, there are some things that are always the same. What's your go-to activity? Feel free to share.
You may notice that on the sidebar I now have a little gadget that shows what book I'm working on reading. I always think it's really interesting to hear what other people are reading, and I saw this on Kyle Tapper's blog, so I thought I'd copy him.
Tomorrow I'm leaving for our high school retreat, which will go through Saturday evening, and then Sunday I will be heading to Salem with our middle school students for a mission trip. So please keep us in your prayers: that God would be working on students and that we would be able to serve effectively, and that God give the other leaders and me the energy that we need. Happy second half of Twenty-Ten.
Friday, July 2, 2010
Independent Living
When you opened up this page, the first thing you probably noticed is how devilishly handsome I look in my picture on the right. The second thing you may have noticed is that my blog has a new look. For the longest time, Blogger only had a handful of available templates, but a few weeks ago they branched out with a new design tool. Thus, in an effort to differentiate myself from Connor, Ryan, Jim, and Morgan, I decided to mix things up. Do you like it? Dislike it? Don't care about a thing I write and care even less about how it looks? Let me know.
There is another reason for the style change. Today is a very special day, in that it was on this date two years ago that I started writing A Chicken in a Cage With a Ferret. And what a two years it's been. There have been some laughs, a few tears, and a whole lot of using this page just to get to the links to some other blogs. As we celebrate this year, we're pulling out all the stops with a little giveaway. The twelfth commenter on this post will win a date with the Former David Heffren Roommate of his or hopefully her choice. It's quite a deal. And remember, you don't need a Blogger account to comment. Just choose Name/URL where it says "Choose an Identity."
I have now been in Oregon for a little over a month as I work on my internship. This is a momentous summer for me because it is really the most "on my own" I have ever been in my life. I have always considered myself a pretty independent person, but maybe that is only because I have not had to deal with many adultish responsibilities before. After several weeks of being in such a situation, I am surprised that so many people my age are so eager to get out on their own. And so, for your reading pleasure and personal betterment, I include a few preliminary reflections on what it means to live on one's own.
Probably the most difficult thing about trying to act like a responsible adult this summer has been providing food for myself. For the most part, I have needed to provide for myself in this area since I've been here, which means I have had to learn how to prepare some delicious meals. For a person with next to no cooking experience, this is a challenge. The following list of what I have at the house for my upcoming meals may give you some insight into how confident I am in my culinary skills: a frozen pizza, a can of soup, ramen noodles, ham sandwiches, a box of Pop-Tarts, Hamburger Helper (which pushes the limits of my ability to prepare), and seventeen hot dogs (which was 21 before I ate four of them for dinner last night). Granted, I have been quick to criticize Ozark's dining hall on a few points (I just want chocolate milk back, alright?), but the big positive about it is that I don't cook there. It's nice to be able to say, "Hm, I'm hungry, and I can go get food that someone else has prepared, allowing me to eat something that doesn't only involve a microwave."
A second topic I wish to address is more of a question. Or maybe an anomaly. But what I am realizing is that I really have no idea how relationships work in the "real world." Any sort of relationship. Ozark is a relational incubator. We live together, we eat together, we go to class together, we use bathroom stalls next to each other. It's easy to develop good relationships in an environment like that. It's somewhat of a mystery to me how that happens when you have four walls of a house separating you from the rest of the community, especially for someone who is as naturally reserved as me. (I can still remember my first day of preschool, when I freaked out at the prospect of having to stay there with so many kids I didn't know. My mom had to stay with me for part of the day, until we started playing some game that involved a small red ball, which I guess distracted me from the trauma at hand.)
Almost everything I know about social norms, I learned from movies. In The Sandlot, the main character is in a new town where he doesn't know anyone, and he fiddles with his Erector set in his room until the cool kid in the neighborhood invites him to play baseball. In my mind, that's how it's supposed to work whenever someone moves into a new situation, but no cool kids have asked me to play baseball yet. I can only build so many battery-powered Erector cars before I need some companionship!
I hope you can sense some of the sarcastic exaggeration in all that. The people I've gotten to know in Corvallis have really been great. But I don't think it is as easy to make friends as it is in an enclosed setting like Ozark. I have heard that to meet people, one must go where people are. And so far, none of the people at Wendy's or Taco Bell have seemed too interested in hanging out.
Of course, if I don't really understand how friendships work in the real world, I have even less of a clue how romantic relationships come to be. I don't even know how those work at Ozark. Apparently, poking a girl on Facebook until she eventually confesses her undying love for you doesn't work. Believe me, I know. The improbable odds associated with romantic endeavors are ridiculous. Think about it: you have to find someone roughly your age who likes Jesus (and just that is pretty difficult in Oregon, by the way), and you should hopefully find them at least mildly attractive, and you should have some common interests, and then (and here's the catch) they have to find you mildly attractive and enjoy being in the same general area as you. It's a wonder our species has made it this far.
Note: Please don't misunderstand my reason for writing this. I am not in the Northwest in search of a ladyfriend. I've gotten in trouble for that enough for one lifetime. I'm just observing/rambling for the sake of doing so.
Well, I guess that's about it for now. Maybe I'll return to this general topic again before summer's end. Thanks for reading, and thanks for celebrating this anniversary with me. Maybe we'll have a carnival or something for our third anniversary, with funnel cakes and ferris wheels and the whole bit.
Because we all know how much I love funnel cakes.
There is another reason for the style change. Today is a very special day, in that it was on this date two years ago that I started writing A Chicken in a Cage With a Ferret. And what a two years it's been. There have been some laughs, a few tears, and a whole lot of using this page just to get to the links to some other blogs. As we celebrate this year, we're pulling out all the stops with a little giveaway. The twelfth commenter on this post will win a date with the Former David Heffren Roommate of his or hopefully her choice. It's quite a deal. And remember, you don't need a Blogger account to comment. Just choose Name/URL where it says "Choose an Identity."
I have now been in Oregon for a little over a month as I work on my internship. This is a momentous summer for me because it is really the most "on my own" I have ever been in my life. I have always considered myself a pretty independent person, but maybe that is only because I have not had to deal with many adultish responsibilities before. After several weeks of being in such a situation, I am surprised that so many people my age are so eager to get out on their own. And so, for your reading pleasure and personal betterment, I include a few preliminary reflections on what it means to live on one's own.
Probably the most difficult thing about trying to act like a responsible adult this summer has been providing food for myself. For the most part, I have needed to provide for myself in this area since I've been here, which means I have had to learn how to prepare some delicious meals. For a person with next to no cooking experience, this is a challenge. The following list of what I have at the house for my upcoming meals may give you some insight into how confident I am in my culinary skills: a frozen pizza, a can of soup, ramen noodles, ham sandwiches, a box of Pop-Tarts, Hamburger Helper (which pushes the limits of my ability to prepare), and seventeen hot dogs (which was 21 before I ate four of them for dinner last night). Granted, I have been quick to criticize Ozark's dining hall on a few points (I just want chocolate milk back, alright?), but the big positive about it is that I don't cook there. It's nice to be able to say, "Hm, I'm hungry, and I can go get food that someone else has prepared, allowing me to eat something that doesn't only involve a microwave."
A second topic I wish to address is more of a question. Or maybe an anomaly. But what I am realizing is that I really have no idea how relationships work in the "real world." Any sort of relationship. Ozark is a relational incubator. We live together, we eat together, we go to class together, we use bathroom stalls next to each other. It's easy to develop good relationships in an environment like that. It's somewhat of a mystery to me how that happens when you have four walls of a house separating you from the rest of the community, especially for someone who is as naturally reserved as me. (I can still remember my first day of preschool, when I freaked out at the prospect of having to stay there with so many kids I didn't know. My mom had to stay with me for part of the day, until we started playing some game that involved a small red ball, which I guess distracted me from the trauma at hand.)
Almost everything I know about social norms, I learned from movies. In The Sandlot, the main character is in a new town where he doesn't know anyone, and he fiddles with his Erector set in his room until the cool kid in the neighborhood invites him to play baseball. In my mind, that's how it's supposed to work whenever someone moves into a new situation, but no cool kids have asked me to play baseball yet. I can only build so many battery-powered Erector cars before I need some companionship!
I hope you can sense some of the sarcastic exaggeration in all that. The people I've gotten to know in Corvallis have really been great. But I don't think it is as easy to make friends as it is in an enclosed setting like Ozark. I have heard that to meet people, one must go where people are. And so far, none of the people at Wendy's or Taco Bell have seemed too interested in hanging out.
Of course, if I don't really understand how friendships work in the real world, I have even less of a clue how romantic relationships come to be. I don't even know how those work at Ozark. Apparently, poking a girl on Facebook until she eventually confesses her undying love for you doesn't work. Believe me, I know. The improbable odds associated with romantic endeavors are ridiculous. Think about it: you have to find someone roughly your age who likes Jesus (and just that is pretty difficult in Oregon, by the way), and you should hopefully find them at least mildly attractive, and you should have some common interests, and then (and here's the catch) they have to find you mildly attractive and enjoy being in the same general area as you. It's a wonder our species has made it this far.
Note: Please don't misunderstand my reason for writing this. I am not in the Northwest in search of a ladyfriend. I've gotten in trouble for that enough for one lifetime. I'm just observing/rambling for the sake of doing so.
Well, I guess that's about it for now. Maybe I'll return to this general topic again before summer's end. Thanks for reading, and thanks for celebrating this anniversary with me. Maybe we'll have a carnival or something for our third anniversary, with funnel cakes and ferris wheels and the whole bit.
Because we all know how much I love funnel cakes.
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