Ramona Without Rage

So, I'm sitting in a jam-packed hotel room, supposedly working on one of my final papers. Yeah, right. This weekend is my first away frisbee tourney--Fall Brawl at Princeton. Today was one of the most gorgeous days: Sunny and 55. I'm living here forever.
Because of my mono relapse, I have to be really careful about how much I exert myself. So, I spent almost every other point subbing out. I was a little bitter at first, but then I realized how lucky I was to be spending a beautiful day outside, off campus, and with some of the coolest girls I've ever met.
As I was telling my mom about the afternoon (yes, of course I text my mom 24/7), I remember thinking to myself that I would not have survived this semester at Yale without my suitemates and Ramona. They're the best. Period.
It's really interesting being on a Yale athletic team, for a variety of reasons:
1) I'm not athletic.
2) Everyone else is surprisingly athletic.
3) I can no longer use the excuse "I'm more of a school person" to explain my inathleticity; everyone here is a "school person".
But that's okay. They still accept me. I think.
One of the most striking realizations I had today was during the last game. The score was tied 8-8, the soft cap had sounded, and the coach of our opponents was getting a little antsy. And by antsy I mean completely inappropriate. He spent the entirety of the game, no matter the score, abusing his players. Not surprisingly, he became more and more violent as the game progressed. Worse than constantly demoralizing his players, he failed to create a sense of unity among them. While I understand that coaches should be firm in their instruction and criticize in order to improve, there also needs to be a foundational level of support and trust; judging by the dynamic I observed between the players and this coach, that level was non-existent.
I was furious. The more time I spent on the sideline, the more upset I became. I not only felt for his players, but I felt for him, too. I can't imagine going through life with that bitter outlook. I seriously considered going up to him after the game to ask him what in his life was causing him so much anguish. Had we not won, I probably would have; considering their marginal loss, he probably would have blown up in my face.
So, to Claire, Luci, and all of my other teammates who have given me constructive criticism, I thank you for the love with which you do it. You da best.

CL in the City

Back by popular demand....
Not really, but my trip to NYC with Maria was too phototastic to pass up.

         

  

Okay, so the tags weren't working...

(1) Grand Central Station

(2) Yum

(3) Maria won a Keurig at a rando street fair. It was a day full of luck.

(4) 30 Rock, y'all.

(5) Painting class in The Park.

(6) Obligatory self-timer shot.

(7) The Boathouse--27 Dresses, anyone?

(8) We had some trouble at first. Two ex-rowers in a rowboat wasn't as easy as we thought.

(9) The fall foliage was gorgeous.

(10) Reunion with Diva Leif and 2/5 of my favorite family.

55 Days 'til Christmas...Not That I'm Counting...

Okay, so the photoblog wasn't the best idea. Mostly because I'm too lazy to take pictures. But today is a special day. 

IT'S THE START OF THE CHRISTMAS SEASON. Or it is in my book, at least. I honestly can't wait for Christmas. FINALLY coming home December 14th--hide yo kids & mark your calendars. I'm beyond excited to see you all; you're all I dream about, in the least creepy way possible. 

But before I get to come home, I have to make it through November. So far, I haven't heard anyone utter the phrase "No Shave" so that's definite step up from last year. In preparation for Thanksgiving, I'm doing another Daniel Fast. I did my first one over during Lent last spring, but I didn't make it through the whole thing uninterrupted. This time, I'm determined. I am in need of perspective. 

I've been going through a season of spiritual dryness. When I intimated this to my Chris (see earlier blogpost for deets), shared with me some encouraging words. In case any of you are going through a similar ordeal, I thought I'd share them with you:  "Sometimes God can withdraw the "fire" or strong feeling we have for Him to try us and teach us, so that we don't love the feelings we get from HIm more than God Himself." This idea comes from Dark Night of the Soul by St. John of the Cross. I just started the book today, but I  can tell already it'll be a great read--if you haven't read it, I highly recommend it. 

I don't believe Chris intended for this passage to be convicting, but it was. I don't think we are meant to feel bad for asking God to return to us a passion for Him, but we must allow Him to do it in His own time. It's not fair for us to immediately want to be filled as soon as we are emptied, but instead we should try to gain understanding as we migrate from spiritual richness to the sensation of depravity. 

So, I'm trying to use this short, three week period to gain such an understanding and, at the same time, prepare myself for a season of Thanksgiving, rather than just a single day. 

Because, as everyone knows, Thanksgiving really means CHRISTMAS. And Christmas is the best. 

 

You Treat Life Like A Picture

...but it's not just a moment that's frozen in time. Thank you, Rascal Flatts for my life motto. I thought I'd try something new this month: Photoblog. I'm trying to force myself to start taking more pictures, so bear with me a little bit. Thought I'd start off with a collection of some of my favorite pics from my time here at Yale thus far. Enjoy...or at least pretend.

Cross Campus

               Pierson, Pierson College                                                                                                        Harkness Tower

The Place & Apple Picking

 

YSC Retreat

One of Those Lives.

I'll be honest. Today was a bad day.
I knew one was bound to come along, but I didn't think it'd be this soon. Bad days are usually few and far between for me.
The problems started this morning at breakfast: there wasn't any oatmeal. Oatmeal is the best. Enough said. From there, I went to my math class, where I was informed by a number of returned assignments that I was failing the class. Literally failing. Yale is actually hard? What?
Luckily, I only have one class on Mondays so I didn't have to endure any further grade-related disappointments (but there's always tomorrow...). Later in the afternoon, I went for a run. I hadn't made it two miles before my shins starting hurting--badly. They've been bothering me for the past couple of weeks, but it's a lot easier to ignore certain problems than fix them. Today, it got to the point where it was hardly bearable. After consulting with the trainer and a few other experts (my healthy, lean and sedentary suitemate) I believe I have shin splints. Kill me. I also came back to my suite to find my suitemate in tears, wallowing in homesickness. I may or may not have cried again.
On the upside, I did get a taste for the many resources Yale has to offer today. I went to my math teacher's office hours and he recommended a one-on-one tutoring problem (free of charge-#winning) with an upperclassman. Additionally, he referred me to this wonderfully lovely British lady who spent two hours with me tonight going over the lesson we learned in class today. I also went to schedule an appointment with Dean Fabbri (Italian motorcyclist extraordinaire) to discuss my progress sometime next week. While this more than adequately addressed my math problem, the others were not so easy to fix.
As for the shin splints, WebMD and Wikipedia (reliable, I know) recommend refraining from strenuous activity/exercise for at least three weeks. Yeah, right. Did that with mono--worst thing ever--never going back. As for my suitemate, I wasn't really in a position to help her since she had my waterworks going, too. It's hard to be rational in a situation that directly attacks your pathos.
It surprised me how emotional I got so quickly. I guess I've had a lot of stuff building up. I've been stressed about my performance in class (who wants to start out with a 2.5?), friendships back home, missing my dog (and my family, too), etc. But, even as I sit here, wallowing a little bit, I realize how much I have to be thankful for. JESUS LOVES ME, as Brooks so kindly just reminded me via tweet (thanks, Jason). He loves me when I'm hurt, homesick, weak, heartbroken, lost, confused, distracted, or desperate. He loves me, and His love is all I need.

The Great Quotables: Abraham Lincoln, Ghandi, and Chris Matthews

"Wanting for God to tell us what to do is us desiring for control rather than desiring to abide with Him every step of the way."-Chris Matthews

Chris is my Bible study leader and one of the directors of a campus group called YFA-Yale Faith and Action. It's a chapter of a larger organization called Christian Union. Christian Union was founded at Princeton by Matt Bennett in the hopes that he could equip future leaders with a spiritual foundation that would require as much work and dedication as that of their Ivy education. Since its founding, the Union has expanded to encompass the Harvard, Yale, Columbia, and Dartmouth campuses. At first, I honestly thought it sounded a little snobby and elitist, but I've found that since it was designed specifically to cater to the Ivy environment, it's able to supplement the overwhelming amount of secular philosophy we, as students, are exposed to on a daily (if not hourly) basis.  The Bible course is a four year commitment (go big or go home) and, I've been told that the seven other freshman girls in my study will be my future bridesmaids; Chris apparently assumes that finding a husband is an easy task. While we are all still trying to get to know one another, I was amazed at the depth of our first meeting this week. I CANNOT WAIT to see where the rest of our conversations will lead us over this semester, this year, and the rest of my college career. But, for the time being, I have only this past week to reflect on. Luckily, the quote at the top of this post provides more than enough material for me. 

I wrote it down as soon as Chris said it because I loved it. And I came to find that I loved it (still love it) for many reasons. 

1) It was convicting. I can't tell you how many times I've asked God to tell me what His plan is for my life: vocationally, romantically, etc. I've always been a control freak and, until recently, I thought I always would be. The past month has taught me a lot about what is and is not within my own control (another post entirely). In short, I've come to realize that no matter how many times I try to work out a plan in my head, God can (and will) turn it completely around.

2) It presents a choice. After meditating on it for awhile, I came to find that I would have to make a choice. This choice centers on desire, a word I've recently come to despise. The way I now see it, desire is either very good or it is completely detrimental; it either glorifies God or contributes to our own self-love, the antithesis of Christ; there is no middle ground. Here at Yale, and at every university worldwide, students are being taught to desire, in the most dangerous way possible. We are told to want to become powerful and influential, to exalt ourselves in our own intelligence, and to create our own future based the excellence that we ourselves have generated. In the midst of this and in light of Chris' quote, I must ask myself, "How can I train myself to want to relinquish what little hold I have on my future?"

3) It has the power to alleviate fear. While that may sound strangely like a TV commercial for some new medication with hundreds of unmentionable side-affects, it's true. Sincerely abiding with God means being with Him at all times and using Him as a resource at all times. I think sometimes people forget to see God as a resource but, especially in the context of this quote, He can be a means of stress relief. In a school where I am constantly pressured to decide which field I want to pursue and what I want to do with my life, I know that I don't have to decide any of those things right away. There is no one "right path"--God can use whatever it is that I decide to study (and all of the things I learn outside of the classroom) to further His kingdom. So long as I am abiding with Him every step of the way, I cannot make a wrong turn.

Now, saying these things and even believing them whole-heartedly doesn't make them easy to live out. While I would like to tell you all that I've renounced my claim on my life, I haven't; it's a struggle. While I've learned to decipher the good desires from the bad, that doesn't mean there isn't any self-righteousness that still lingers in my heart. But I have become more aware of my weaknesses and I know that they will be the mechanisms God will use to show himself to me. 

Talk is Cheap?

Today, I have had two of the best conversations of my entire life. And they were just about as opposite in intention as any two conversations could be.

The first was with a fellow Piersonite during lunch. Jason is a student from the UK. At the age of 19, he is in the middle of writing a book on nuclear fission and energy, has signed said book with Cambridge Press to be published next summer, and conducted a year's worth of independent research for the same book in Beijing. He also taught himself how to speak Chinese. He's kinda smart.

At lunch, after asking me how my classes were going and other such expected formalities, he looked at me and asked me what I thought about language. Thinking it a rather strange question, I answered "It's useful?" After agreeing, he began to explain an idea he imagined while on a train from Beijing to some rural Chinese village. 

He was conversing with some of the other passengers but could not, for the life of him (declared he), pronounce a certain word (which I cannot remember, mainly because I speak little Chinese; luckily, it is of little consequence to this story). He said he wished the Chinese woman with whom he was speaking could have sent his brain a telepathic message which could have instructed his muscles precisely the way in which they should move in order to correct his pronunciation. From that, he realized that any communication could be switched to, what I call, "text messages of the brain." 

After thinking for a bit, I expressed my concern that all need for verbal communication would be lost. With that, language (and on a larger level, expression) would essentially lose its beauty. After that, the discussion digressed into other factions of mental transportation and, in the end, became a rather heated one about what it is that makes language meaningful. I will spare you the details. 

Honestly, my mind is still spinning. Jason is one of those people you maybe meet once in a lifetime. I looked at my roommate, Folake, and just asked her, "Where did he come from?" His thirst for information is really quite incredible. I've had the opportunity to talk with him several times since I've been here (perhaps not so animatedly as this afternoon) about politics, ethics, religion, film, and even literature. His knowledge seems endless and his curiosity infinitely greater. He'll win a Nobel Prize someday. Bet on it.

The second meaningful conversation I had was just minutes ago. This time, instead of with a boy genius, it was with my sister. For those of you who know her, you'll know that she has a little more work to do if she wants to win a Nobel Prize. She has been trying to Skype me almost every night since I've been here. I'll be honest-I've been negligent of her, mostly because whenever we do Skype, I have to ask all the questions and she's perfectly content to just sit in order to have a distraction from her homework. The same thing happened tonight.

10:27 PM: R we gonna Skype?

After making an excuse that was true but avoidable, I received this. 

11:43 PM: I just had something i needed to ask u. Maybe wen u really have nothing to do we can talk about it.

Knowing that there would actually be a point to this conversation, I gave her a call. And I'm so glad I did. While my conversation with Jason was fulfilling and intriguing, it was not nearly as rewarding as the one I shared with my sister.

One of the girls that I had in my CL tribe this year goes to Molly's school. The week before my departure, I had been trying to encourage my sister to be nice to her and tell her "Hi" for me, but Molly has always been stubborn-she claimed that the girl was "too popular" to talk to, and that she was certainly different at school than the way I first described her. At first, I thought she was exaggerating; but after taking Molly lunch one day, I found her statement be true. However, I encouraged her to just be nice, just not best friends. I reminded Molly that the girl didn't have a great home life and that Molly should do all that she could to make sure she was taking that into account when she was evaluating her behavior.

When I called Molly tonight, she asked for advice on how to invite her to do something. I was honestly dumbfounded. As an eighth grader, I always admired my youth pastor's advice about reaching out to everyone at school but I never acted upon it. I was nerdy and kinda weird (still am, if you know me) and I knew that if I ever invited anyone outside of my circle of friends to a church event, they would just laugh at me. While (most of) my social struggles were alleviated throughout my years of high school, I still didn't get any braver. By senior year I had the courage to reach out to others, but I was unwilling to jeopardize my comfort. I was shocked that an eighth grader, who is nerdy, short, and a clarinetist,  would even WANT to ask the girl to hang out on the weekend or come to one of our church's events. Shocked. Even though I had been preaching it to her, I didn't think she would act upon it. How awesome is it that she is the one who taught me a lesson?

Tonight's lesson in our large group was about finding significance here at Yale. Our speaker, John, reminded us that our significance should not come from how well we do in a class or how many prestigious fellowships we acquire; instead, it should come only from the power of Christ. While Jason is an amazing individual, undoubtedly to be praised by thousands, their approval won't count so much as that of the One who gave him such talents. But as for my sister, she has certainly made me proud and I believe her intentions have made her Father proud, too. 

Embarrassing Moment #1

I'm sure that this isn't my first embarrassing moment, just the first one actually worth mentioning. Today was a day like any other-55 and raining...All. Day. Long......
This morning, I got to sleep in, thanks to my 10:30 calc class, had a nice lunch, went to my physics lab. Same old, same old. The most exciting thing that happened all day was one of my suitemates opening the emergency exit, causing the alarm to go off for a good forty-five minutes before Yale Security came to turn it off. They said they waited so long to "teach us a lesson." Needless to say, I left for dinner with a throbbing headache.
Dinner was lovely as ever, just a bit overcrowded seeing as no one was willing to eat out due to the weather. After dinner, I headed to Bible study. It was to be held at another residential college, Silliman, in a YSC (Yale Students for Christ) senior's suite. I was greeted at the entrance by a charming young man who ever so warmly welcomed me and imparted to me clear instructions as to how to find the suite. Fourth floor, suite M42. Simple enough.
After climbing four flights of stairs (the horror) I reached a door propped open wide. Stepping through, I encountered a spacious common room, well light and well furnished. Giant plush couches and armchairs formed a circle and, in the middle, a coffee table had been christened with an unopened jar of Nutella. I knew at once that this was the Bible study for me. No one around, I sat down on the sofa and began to make myself at home. I took out my Bible and my pencil bag, stretched my feet out onto the coffee table, and began to take in my surroundings.
After sitting there for a good two or three minutes, I heard some other girls approaching the landing. One of them said something about "M42" and, as I watched through the still cracked door, proceeded to head through the door directly on the other side of the staircase.
Just as I was on the verge of yelling out to them that they had gone the wrong way, I realized that perhaps the two dozen or so empty cans of Keystone Light were not just a way of creating an extremely open environment. I realized that it was perhaps a bit odd that no one had been stationed in the common room to greet me. Most importantly, I realized that I was in some one else's suite.
No sooner had this thought crossed my mind that a group of young and, by the looks of them, fun-loving guys came through the door and looked at one another in confusion. Not that they were perhaps objected to a little, curly-headed freshman with her Bible open and pen at the ready making herself at home in their suite, but it definitely wasn't what they expected to find upon arriving home. I hastily grabbed my things (at this point they were strewn across the floor and couch), cringed in terror, did some awkward fidgets, spit out some words that are known only to those who don't speak any existing language, and proceeded to bolt from the room.
After flinging myself into the true M42, I was greeted by a warm circle of YSC students but, to my slight disappointment, no new jar of Nutella.

....Don't you dare close your eyes.

Well, here I am again...waiting...to catch my breath. Taking a break from a run at the moment. For those of you who have never had the chance to visit Yale's campus you should 1) do it, and 2) know that it is primarily flat, making it the ideal place for a nice afternoon run. There is one exception: Science Hill. At first, I thought it was a quaint nickname to make science classrooms seem more appealing or, at the very least, familial. However, it is not a nickname; it's a hill and a rather steep one at that, stretching a little more than a half mile. After doing my "flat course" I offered myself a challenge: run all the way up. This isn't a Hitchcock wanna-blog so I'll spare you the suspense: I made it.
The truly breath-taking moment (no pun intended) was seeing the view. About a block after reaching the top, I took a turn off toward the observatory. Before me lay a huge grassy knoll and, at the top, hanging beneath a huge, lone oak was a wooden swing. 
Now, I sit pleasantly swinging myself out over the hill and typing this post, wondering how many students (other than astronomy majors) have taken the time to seek out this beautiful spot, separated from the hustle and bustle of campus. 
To be perfectly honest, I was a little homesick earlier today, but right now, I'm happier than I've been almost all week. I think God knew I needed this place and I assure you even now that I'll be here several times a week. The ice might make the trek impossible by way of sprinting up the hill, but a nice quiet walk might be just as nice (and definitely a little less daunting). I would say that it's a #yaleproblem that not a lot of people know of or appreciate this place, but then again, it would be an even bigger problem if they did.

Waitin' On A Woman

I guess I feel the most inspired to write when I'm waiting: waiting for a grade to be posted online, waiting on a friend to text me back about that night's plans, or, in this case, waiting in a line of over 300 people to get their math placement test analyzed. Maybe everyone thinks more clearly while they're in limbo because I have come to conclude that Yale likes to make their students wait at every given opportunity.
As a Yalie, you must wait to hear into which of the twelve residential colleges you've been sorted, you must wait until your arrival on campus to enroll, you must wait until your sophomore year before officially moving into your college, you must wait until 24 hours after the Pretty Little Liars summer finale to watch it on Hulu because you have a meeting with your master (not bitter....).
While I hate waiting (really, really hate it), I've come to realize that sometimes it is for my own good. A lot of this realization, I owe in part to one of my favorite authors. In one chapter of his book "Searching for God Knows What" Don Miller introduced me to a completely new perspective. In the midst story of creation, he points out something I had never noticed. I had always grown up with the belief that Adam and Eve were made within several minutes of each other. That God created Man, woke him up, put him back to sleep, and then came Eve. Feminists might argue that God created them at the same time, that the whole "rib thing" is yet another example of men trying to prove their inherent dominance; however, I don't agree with them and, frankly, I don't want to. As a romantic myself, Miller's take on creation appeals to me more than any other. He focuses in on Genesis 2, starting around verse 15:



 ¹⁵ The LORD God took the man and put him in the Garden of Eden to work it and take care of it. ¹⁶ And the LORD God commanded the man, “You are free to eat from any tree in the garden; ¹⁷ but you must not eat from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, for when you eat from it you will certainly die.”
 ¹⁸ The LORD God said, “It is not good for the man to be alone. I will make a helper suitable for him.”
 ¹⁹ Now the LORD God had formed out of the ground all the wild animals and all the birds in the sky. He brought them to the man to see what he would name them; and whatever the man called each living creature, that was its name. ²⁰ So the man gave names to all the livestock, the birds in the sky and all the wild animals.
   But for Adam no suitable helper was found. ²¹ So the LORD God caused the man to fall into a deep sleep; and while he was sleeping, he took one of the man’s ribs and then closed up the place with flesh. ²² Then the LORD God made a woman from the rib he had taken out of the man, and he brought her to the man.
 ²³ The man said,
   “This is now bone of my bones
   and flesh of my flesh;
she shall be called ‘woman,’
   for she was taken out of man.”

Then, he emphasizes verse 20. Adam named every animal, mammals and birds and fish alike, BEFORE he was given Eve. Miller writes, "This was a man who, despite feeling a certain need for a companion, performed what must have been nearly one hundred years of work, naming and perhaps even categorizing the animals...and the entire time he could not imagine what a helpmate might look like, how a helpmate might talk, the ways in which a helpmate might think. The idea of another person had perhaps not even entered his mind...So here was this guy who was intensely relational, needing other people, and in order to cause him to appreciate the gift of companionship, God had him hang out with chimps for a hundred years. It's quite beautiful, really."

I had never considered the act of waiting to be beautiful before reading that. It was (is) a great relief to me, because I feel like a big, neon "PENDING" sign is the motif of my life right now. I look back on many instances, one very long one in particular, and see how God was using them to build a foundation. While they may seem inexplicable at the time, God gives us seasons of waiting to prepare us for blessings that await us ahead. While I'm almost certain that there isn't an Eve waiting at the end of this seemingly infinite line (no offense to her, of course), I am sure that there are a handful of lessons that I can take from it that will be a tad more helpful to me than a lovely woman extracted from my rib.  

Stuck in Houston

The truth is, I've missed blogging. A lot. When I was thinking of potential topics, I figured that "Oklahoman headed for average-of-thirteen-feet-of-snow-a-year Connecticut" would be as good as anything else. But it's more than just the weather.
For those of you who know me personally, you know why I'm making this Exodus to the East: Yale. For those of you who don't know me, you might now infer that I'm either a brainiac or a musical prodigy. That is the general make-up of the Ivies, is it not?
Thus, I introduce you to the title of this series: #yaleproblems.
This hashtag started as a joke among a couple of my friends and, I have to say, it fits my life quite well. Nota bene: these problems are not those which you might expect: my dorm room isn't big enough, I'm smarter than my professors, etc. No, the real #yaleproblems are the things that come out of my mouth that make people ask the question (to themselves or aloud) "How did you get into Yale?" My answer is, each and every time, I don't know.
That being said, some clarification might be helpful. I did well in school. I was by no means a genius, but I worked hard...in everything but chemistry...kind of... Anyways, I appeared to be a good student--mostly on paper which is really all you need to get into a good school. It's dumb and completely impractical, but it's true. Had the admissions officers had the opportunity to hear 87% of the conversations that I have with my friends (or teachers or siblings or Target cashiers, etc.) I can guarantee you that I wouldn't be headed to New Haven.
From this stems the #yaleproblem that concerns me the most: as I sit at this moment in an airport awaiting a plane to take me there, I can't help but wonder what the french toast I have gotten myself into. Maybe it's fate, luck, or even karma-I don't know. But maybe it's a God thing. Maybe I'm going just to make others feel better about their own intelligence or simply to put a smile on someone's face when I say something weird-heaven knows that's bound to happen.
That's the purpose of this blog; to let you all in on my experiences that will undoubtedly cause people to ask, "How did she get here?"
Get ready, Yale. You have a slew of #maggieproblems headed your way.