Must love...bugs?

Thought I could use a more light-hearted posting, and this is kind of funny. My current roommate and I were just sitting around discussing what makes for good roommate compatibility; in college, we generally choose based on convenience, but now that we're moving out into the "real world" we're facing the prospect of "interviewing" with potential roommates and trying to decide how one goes about making these decisions.

In the middle of this discussion, I got up to get something in the kitchen and then heard a thump and a shriek from the bedroom. I ran back into the room to find my roommate standing and pointing at her notebook on the floor a few feet away from her; she looked up and me guiltily and confessed, "I just threw that notebook on a fly, but now I'm scared to pick it up." Now, at this point, I have to confess that I'm feeling a little smug; I am generally the one afraid of bugs in our relationship. In fact, this summer, I had to call her to come over (she was not living with me at the time) to kill a spider (in my defense, it was HUGE) that had taken up residence on our outside staircase--not because I thought it would get in, and not because I ever had to go near it, but because it scared me too much just to see it through our kitchen window. So, after enjoying my rare moment of superior-courage-in-the-face-of-insects, I picked up the fly and threw it away.

At this point, I couldn't help mentioning that I never knew she was afraid of bugs (yes, I was enjoying this too much). I asked her what, in particular, bothered her so much about flies. We discovered that we have totally different approaches to insects. She views them from a pragmatic perspective; she is extremely bothered by insects that have no purpose. (And apparently flies have no purpose; she's the science person so I'm just trusting her on that one.) For that reason, however, she respects spiders; she even campaigned, briefly, for the Godzilla spider on the porch (although she relented when she realized that I was avoiding the kitchen and therefore starving myself because I couldn't stand to see that spider!) I, on the other hand, am more of the artist/philosopher when it comes to bugs. I can appreciate insects that are beautiful and don't bother anyone--ones that either increase or at least don't decrease my quality of life, and that includes moths and flies. They might buzz a little, but they are not out to harm me and sometimes they are even entertaining to watch flying around. I cannot, however, deal with spiders; spiders are scary looking, they want to bite me (I simply don't believe those people who say "they're more scared of you than you are of them"--if that were really the case, why would they EVER creep and crawl into my presence?!), and I know they serve some higher purpose but I would rather they served it out of my presence, thank you very much.

We laughed when we realized how differently we regarded the bug situation, and how, at the end of the day, neither of us really have the moral high-ground. And while we are not bug compatible (as in, we both would rather live with the bugs that the other despises), we are bug-exterminating compatible; if we can accept the other's fears as legitimate, then we can be very helpful to each other in killing off our opposing insect nemeses.

So maybe that will be my next interview question: Do you take the pragmatic or philosophic approach to insects? More importantly, will you be the one in the relationship who kills all the spiders? Because if not, that might be a deal-breaker.

Never let me go

When I was little, I struggled with a lot of fears and anxieties. My mom and I have talked a good bit about it recently and tried to decide what exactly caused this; we still aren't totally sure. Thankfully, while I am still much more fearful than I should be, by God's grace in growing and teaching me my fears have become much less debilitating as I have grown older. (Except for my fear of spiders. Potential future roommates and life-mates take note: I will never, never, never be the one in the house who kills the spiders. Period.)

I can still remember quite vividly, though, the fears I had and the power they had over me. My memory of one particular fear is particularly poignant. I went through a period (my mom tells me it lasted several months) when I was afraid of falling asleep. It was one of my more bizarre fears, but it was very real, and I used to try to make my mom or my dad sit in my room with me from the time I went to bed until I fell asleep. My mom says I used to say I was afraid of the point when I became "unaware of myself"; I hated the idea of losing control of myself and of not having anyone around me to protect me if and when that moment occurred. Of course, my mom could not always sit in with me (and in fact, she should be sainted for how often she did), and so some nights I had to force myself to pass through that dark passageway into unconsciousness alone. On those nights, I remember I had a coping mechanism. I would wrap my blankets around me in a cocoon and imagine that someone was holding me, very tightly, as I fell asleep, and would watch over me even as I became more and more vulnerable to whatever it was that I feared could hurt me. Sometimes those arms belonged to God; sometimes to an angel; sometimes I didn't really know who they belonged to, and it didn't particularly matter to my little heart. It was enough to imagine that in that frightening moment when I fell out of my own control, I was held closely in someone else's.

This fear came back to me powerfully tonight for two reasons. One, I was at the house of some friends who have kids, and their sweet daughter was crying for fear of going to bed as they tried in vain to soothe her. Two, I was thinking about my future and my family's future in light of all that is changing--for better and for worse--and feeling increasingly panicky as the vital and life-changing details of the future seem so far out of my grasp. In short, I am in a place right now where I am losing control: my life, at least for the last several years, has remained relatively stable and predictable, and that is all changing quickly and in ways I cannot predict. It would be nice to think, even just for a moment, that I can somehow stem this tide of change and uncertainty, but in my heart I know that it is just as inevitable as sleep. It must come, eventually; some of it is healthy, although it is scary; but it cannot be put off forever, or even for long. And when I am faced with that uncertainty, that loss of control, I throw up my arms and think, "I just need someone to hold me through this; I need to know that when I have lost control someone else will still have it."

The truth is that there are many places I could turn for this, and many of them are good in part. Two of my friends tonight gave me hugs and ice cream when I was feeling particularly low; they held me through a moment of fear, and I am so grateful. But they, too, struggle with a lack of control; they can bear the burden with me, but they cannot promise me to stay awake through the scary night. They need to be held, too. I know that the answer is that I need to be told, over and over, that the sovereign God, who is also my gentle, loving Father, holds me through every night and day of my life, through the fearful times I know are coming and through the good and bad times that I cannot predict. This is all a very childish metaphor, and I feel a little embarrassed that anyone who reads it will find it either melodramatic or cheesy, but it is helping me as I wrestle with the sovereignty of God. Sometimes, his greatness and power over all seem intimidating and inaccessible to me; but when I find myself feeling most like the child that I am, the greatest comfort I can find is not an imaginary friend but a truly sovereign Father, who though the night may come and come on fast, will never let me go.

Love that dirty water...

In the fall, I was feeling discouraged and unenthusiastic about next year. I think I was still a bit in denial that college was ending, and I could not get excited about the job search process. I'm typically always daydreaming about the future--maybe too much!--and generally really excited by all the possibilities, so this was all particularly disconcerting and I prayed that God would renew my hope and anticipation of next year.

Over the past few days, I've realized that prayer has been answered. I still don't have a job :), but as I drive around Boston, I am so thrilled by the prospect of living here next year. There's so much that I love about this place. I love driving over the river, even on windy, traffic-jammed Storrow Drive. I love all the three-story clapboard houses on quiet Cambridge streets. I love the piles of snow in the mall parking lot that won't melt until April. I love the Dunkin Donuts on every corner--sometimes, right across the street from each other, so you don't even have to turn your car around. :) I love the accents and the blunt sense of humor. I even love the crazy roads and driving--makes getting everywhere more of an adventure! (My new favorite observation: in multiple intersections, two lights will turn green at the same time for cars from different lanes entering the same lane. Basically, you have to intuitively know that green doesn't mean "go"; it means "merge.")

Oh, Boston, you're my home!

Choices

This quote is from my favorite book at the moment, A Grace Disguised by Jerry Sittser. This book has just given words to so many things that I have been struggling with and thinking through, and also helped me to understand just a little better what it means to hope in God's work in the world and keep moving forward even as we see more and more brokenness around us. Here's what I read this evening that I found particularly challenging and simultaneously encouraging. He is addressing how we live in a world where loss and grief are inevitable:

"Choice is therefore the key. We can run from the darkness, or we can enter into the darkness and face the pain of loss. We can indulge ourselves in self-pity, or we can empathize with others and embrace their pain as our own. We can run away from sorrow and drown it in addictions, or we can learn to live with sorrow. We can nurse wounds of having been cheated in life, or we can be grateful and joyful, even though there seems to be little reason for it. We can return evil for evil, or we can overcome evil with good. It is this power to choose that adds dignity to our humanity and gives us the ability to transcend our circumstances, thus releasing us from living as mere victims. These choices are never easy. Though we can and must make them, we will make them more often than not only after much agony and struggle." (46)