Friday, October 29, 2004
:)
Yesterday I was walking home from class when it began to rain, and I said to Jesus, "It sure would be nice if someone came to pick me up right now." I stopped at the intersection and turned to my left with that cautious anticipation you all know so well, and saw Rebecca McGee waiting at the light! In two minutes flat, I was safe and dry in my own home.
Sometimes the slightest gestures will really make our day.
Sometimes the slightest gestures will really make our day.
Monday, October 25, 2004
Come Up Here
Need a new perspective?
Take fifteen minutes sometime this week,
and listen to this.
Worship leader: Jason Upton.
go here
(don't right click. don't surf while you listen, just listen.)
Take fifteen minutes sometime this week,
and listen to this.
Worship leader: Jason Upton.
go here
(don't right click. don't surf while you listen, just listen.)
Did you remember to take your ginkgo today?
I know we'll all be complaining about the cold in a month or two, but let us take the time to be thankful: the past few weeks have been absolutely perfect weather. Being deprived of the regular temperate-zone four-season cycle for seven years (in Panama and Arizona) really instilled in me a passion for spring and autumn.
Auburn is such a pretty city when the leaves are changing. I don't remember it looking like this in Prattville. Maybe it's the work of the landscaping students, whose laboratory is the campus. They do a good job!
Ginkgo biloba is my favorite tree, and I'll tell you why.
It's the only surviving species in it's phylum, Ginkgophyta, and doesn't grow in the wild on its own. It's a completely domesticated plant. By Mother Nature's rules, it really should be extinct, but we love it so much, we've kept it thriving in our ancient Chinese gardens and our city streets for thousands of years. If you live in Auburn, you can see some in the median of College Street just Samford's side of Toomer's Corner, and also on the front steps of the library. People take pills made from its leaf extract to improve circulation and memory. There isn't very much research to really support its medicinal value, but it is a marvelous organism nonetheless: one specimen in Hiroshima survived the atomic bomb dropped JUST ONE MILE from its happy sidewalk home! Now, that's resiliency.
It's dioecious, which means that each tree has a gender: only the female ones can produce seeds, and only the males make pollen. Flowering plants are bisexual and can therefore pollinate themselves. Not so with Ginkgophyta. Since it's a gymnosperm, it doesn't produce fruit. Only seeds, like a pine cone or a cycad. Unfortunately, its seeds smell really bad, so you usually only see the males planted out in public. The one on the right if you're facing the library in Auburn is a female, though, if you want to experience the stench for yourself. It smells a lot like dog poop.
Its leaves turn this brilliant yellow during October and November; they were streching out like a fire into the bright blue afternoon as I was walking home today.
It made me smile. :)
It's alternatively known as the "maidenhair tree." Do you see it?
Auburn is such a pretty city when the leaves are changing. I don't remember it looking like this in Prattville. Maybe it's the work of the landscaping students, whose laboratory is the campus. They do a good job!
Ginkgo biloba is my favorite tree, and I'll tell you why.
It's the only surviving species in it's phylum, Ginkgophyta, and doesn't grow in the wild on its own. It's a completely domesticated plant. By Mother Nature's rules, it really should be extinct, but we love it so much, we've kept it thriving in our ancient Chinese gardens and our city streets for thousands of years. If you live in Auburn, you can see some in the median of College Street just Samford's side of Toomer's Corner, and also on the front steps of the library. People take pills made from its leaf extract to improve circulation and memory. There isn't very much research to really support its medicinal value, but it is a marvelous organism nonetheless: one specimen in Hiroshima survived the atomic bomb dropped JUST ONE MILE from its happy sidewalk home! Now, that's resiliency.
It's dioecious, which means that each tree has a gender: only the female ones can produce seeds, and only the males make pollen. Flowering plants are bisexual and can therefore pollinate themselves. Not so with Ginkgophyta. Since it's a gymnosperm, it doesn't produce fruit. Only seeds, like a pine cone or a cycad. Unfortunately, its seeds smell really bad, so you usually only see the males planted out in public. The one on the right if you're facing the library in Auburn is a female, though, if you want to experience the stench for yourself. It smells a lot like dog poop.
Its leaves turn this brilliant yellow during October and November; they were streching out like a fire into the bright blue afternoon as I was walking home today.
It made me smile. :)
It's alternatively known as the "maidenhair tree." Do you see it?
Okay, okay: I take it back!
Sorry guys. (See post entitled "Recasting the vision")
I was in a really bad mood last week.
Too much coffee, not enough sleep: three major science tests I felt unprepared for, as well as a time-consuming out-of-lab project for my Clinical Microbiology class.
As I streaked my unknown microorganisms onto various selective media, as I learned to distinguish the difference between primary and secondary active transport across the plasma membrane, my life seemed to lose another bit of meaning with every sip of Taylor's dark roast (black).
I was irritated.
I missed lunch.
I guess it kinda showed?
I don't really think that sharing what I do from day to day is stupid. It came out wrong. And even if I did, it wouldn't mean that I thought you were stupid for sharing what you do from day to day.
I care about it; you care about it; everyone cares about it.
Maybe not what you eat for dinner, though...unless it's something new for you. Like sushi. ;)
I find myself lately being really outspoken about things. Things that don't even matter. If I'm not careful, this little weblog (and, unfortunatlely, innocent bystanders such as yourselves) could get a lot of unnecessary speaking out from yours truly. And sometimes, I'm guilty of sacrificing the truth in a statement for the sake of impact. It's an endearing little idiosyncrasy, if you'll just give it a chance.
See: this is me ranting to a tree. (No one else would listen to my cause.) In this photograph, Calla Maria has just locked her keys in the trunk, the locksmith is taking forever, and we are an hour late already...FOR OUR MISSION TRIP!!!
So I'm sorry if I offended anyone.
Contrary to appearances, I'm not going crazy. I'm doing well. Better than ever, actually. I promise! I'll try to balance Nihilistic Dave with Breath-of-Fresh-Air Dave in the future. And when I sound like an idiot, please grant me grace and surf on by with a chuckle and a tsk-tsk-tsk.
I'd be glad to reciprocate. :)
I'm liking the Blogger thing that's beginning to arise. Don't let me ruin it for us all! :)
I was in a really bad mood last week.
Too much coffee, not enough sleep: three major science tests I felt unprepared for, as well as a time-consuming out-of-lab project for my Clinical Microbiology class.
As I streaked my unknown microorganisms onto various selective media, as I learned to distinguish the difference between primary and secondary active transport across the plasma membrane, my life seemed to lose another bit of meaning with every sip of Taylor's dark roast (black).
I was irritated.
I missed lunch.
I guess it kinda showed?
I don't really think that sharing what I do from day to day is stupid. It came out wrong. And even if I did, it wouldn't mean that I thought you were stupid for sharing what you do from day to day.
I care about it; you care about it; everyone cares about it.
Maybe not what you eat for dinner, though...unless it's something new for you. Like sushi. ;)
I find myself lately being really outspoken about things. Things that don't even matter. If I'm not careful, this little weblog (and, unfortunatlely, innocent bystanders such as yourselves) could get a lot of unnecessary speaking out from yours truly. And sometimes, I'm guilty of sacrificing the truth in a statement for the sake of impact. It's an endearing little idiosyncrasy, if you'll just give it a chance.
See: this is me ranting to a tree. (No one else would listen to my cause.) In this photograph, Calla Maria has just locked her keys in the trunk, the locksmith is taking forever, and we are an hour late already...FOR OUR MISSION TRIP!!!
So I'm sorry if I offended anyone.
Contrary to appearances, I'm not going crazy. I'm doing well. Better than ever, actually. I promise! I'll try to balance Nihilistic Dave with Breath-of-Fresh-Air Dave in the future. And when I sound like an idiot, please grant me grace and surf on by with a chuckle and a tsk-tsk-tsk.
I'd be glad to reciprocate. :)
I'm liking the Blogger thing that's beginning to arise. Don't let me ruin it for us all! :)
Sunday, October 24, 2004
For my friends who have started over*:
Today (right click, "open link in new window")
by the innocence mission
Into the traffic changing,
a good friend I have had.
Today, today his leaving
makes me sad.
My friend is starting over.
There is a trembling.
Today, today is trembling
through the trees.
If you see him there on your street
will you smile or shake his hand?
Today, today,
the brotherhood of man.
*Andrew, Jake, DaniLou, Adrian, Zettie, etc.
Stop and shake their hands. :)
by the innocence mission
Into the traffic changing,
a good friend I have had.
Today, today his leaving
makes me sad.
My friend is starting over.
There is a trembling.
Today, today is trembling
through the trees.
If you see him there on your street
will you smile or shake his hand?
Today, today,
the brotherhood of man.
*Andrew, Jake, DaniLou, Adrian, Zettie, etc.
Stop and shake their hands. :)
Soul and Body
from The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera:
When will my soul flood out to the surface and express itself through the medium of my flesh? Isn't that something we're waiting for in Heaven? When our bodies are resurrected and restored to Life, will they then match the depths, the intricacies, the minutia of our spirits?
There's muscle in my shoulders and arms. I see it when I'm fixing my hair in the mornings. There's tone and definition under the softness on my stomach. It shows through in my heavy breathing after sit-ups.
If I worked out, these muscles would grow, would come to the surface and change the way I look. Would they change the way I look at myself? How others look at me?
Would it further align my body with my spirit?
Somewhere beneath all of my weaknesses is an Heir to the Throne of God.
Is he muscular? Is it the fat that's keeping him imprisoned?
II Corinthians 5
A long time ago, man would listen in amazement to the sound of regular beats in his chest, never suspecting what they were. He was unable to identify himself with so alien and unfamiliar an object as the body. The body was a cage, and inside that cage was something which looked, listened, feared, thought, and marveled; that something, that remainder left over after the body had been accounted for, was the soul.
Today, of course, the body is no longer unfamiliar: we know that the beating in our chest is the heart and that the nose is the nozzle of a hose sticking out of the body to take oxygen to the lungs. The face is nothing but an instrument panel registering all the body mechanisms: digestion, sight, hearing, respiration, thought.
Ever since man has learned to give each part of the body a name, the body has given him less trouble. He has also learned that the soul is nothing more than the gray matter of the brain in action. The old duality of body and soul has become shrouded in scientific terminology, and we can laugh at it as merely an obsolete prejudice.
But just make someone who has fallen in love listen to his stomach rumble, and the unity of body and soul, that lyrical illusion of the age of science, instantly fades away.
Tereza tried to see herself through her body. That is why, from girlhood on, she would stand before the mirror so often. And because she was afraid her mother would catch her at it, every peek into the mirror had a tinge of secret vice.
It was not vanity that drew her to the mirror; it was amazement at seeing her own "I." She forgot she was looking at the instrument panel of her body mechanisms; she thought she saw her soul shining through the features of her face. She forgot that the nose was merely the nozzle of a hose that took oxygen to the lungs; she saw it as the true expression of her nature.
Staring at herself for long stretches of time, she was occasionally upset at the sight of her mother's features in her face. She would stare all the more doggedly at her own image in an attempt to wish them away and keep only what was hers alone. Each time she succeeded was a time of intoxication: her soul would rise up to the surface of her body like a crew charging up from the bowels of a ship, spreading out over the deck, waving at the sky and singing in jubilation.
When will my soul flood out to the surface and express itself through the medium of my flesh? Isn't that something we're waiting for in Heaven? When our bodies are resurrected and restored to Life, will they then match the depths, the intricacies, the minutia of our spirits?
There's muscle in my shoulders and arms. I see it when I'm fixing my hair in the mornings. There's tone and definition under the softness on my stomach. It shows through in my heavy breathing after sit-ups.
If I worked out, these muscles would grow, would come to the surface and change the way I look. Would they change the way I look at myself? How others look at me?
Would it further align my body with my spirit?
Somewhere beneath all of my weaknesses is an Heir to the Throne of God.
Is he muscular? Is it the fat that's keeping him imprisoned?
II Corinthians 5
Saturday, October 23, 2004
Recasting the vision
One of the biggest things I have been learning about this year is something called honesty. I used to think that being honest meant telling everybody everything you ever did and felt, and that for me to not be a liar I would have to share all my sins with everyone. So I decided I would be better off being a liar.
I was a really good liar.
When God first began to put this desire for honesty inside of me, I got scared. I thought it meant I had to tell everybody everything I ever did. They would think of me much differently if they even knew the half of it. So I fought the urge--pretty much stopped talking altogether.
At least I wasn't lying.
Unfortunately, this period in my life coincided with my first year at college, when I didn't have my old support group to keep me feeling safe. So since I didn't want to risk honesty and I was sick of lying, I sort of just decided to keep my trap shut. I kept another blog (which still exists, but you will never read it) which served as my outlet during all of this introspection. This didn't work either.
And then I got involved in this on-campus group called Chi Alpha Christian Fellowship. People there were honest--disarmingly so. They weren't afraid to act the way God made them and let other people deal with it.
(For more on this concept, read John Eldredge's Wild At Heart.)
Authenticity scared me. I ran away. But they kept drawing me back, with hugs and kisses and prayers and love. And I began to face the fears surrounding authentic relationships. I conquered a lot of them. Things really got interesting when Calla Maria and I decided we were sick of the superficial babbling we'd become so comfortable with: we vowed to be completely honest.
Things had the potential to get ugly--we were exposing ugly things. But sometimes we need a little danger if we want to grow.
It says in I John 1 that when we walk in the light--when we're sincere and straightforward about our faults--we have fellowship with one another, and we're cleansed from all our sins. If you say that you have no sin in you, then you're a liar. But when you confess them, He is faithful and just to forgive you. It's that simple. It took me a long time to learn this, but I did...in a very dramatic way.
So, it has been a process of learning. I went too far in my first attempts at authenticity. But I've finally struck a healthy balance. I'm not going to tell you guys everything I've ever done. Not here, at least. That's not really appropriate. I have certain people with whom I am completely honest, and walking in the light is how I am made pure. You should seek that, if you haven't already.
But. I am going to be honest with you. You don't care about what I ate for dinner or what I'm doing in school right now, so I'm not going to bore you with the details. I'm going to share with you WHO I AM.
(I do hope you care about that.)
Maybe I just want to do this because I'm a self-absorbed loser.
But I feel like most of you don't even know me: and I consider many of you to be my best friends. And I don't think I know you, either. That's why we're constanly surprised and unfulfilled by our relationships. Because we're just playing off of these stupid facades that don't mean anything.
And it's killing us.
So, I guess my point is this: Don't be surprised if I don't seem to be who you thought I was. It doesn't mean, "Oh, David's just changed so much since he's gone to college." True, I have. But if you think it's a change for the worse, then you don't know me, and maybe never did.
(That's not an accusation, but a confession, by the way.)
Sometimes I'm unhappy. Sometimes I use strong language. Sometimes I ask questions of God that might not have an immediate answer. HE certainly isn't afraid of honesty. I believe He's big enough to cover my doubts, and I trust Him to give me the appropriate answers in the best ways imaginable (even if the answer is Silence).
This is your chance to understand me.
For what it's worth.
I don't believe God made anyone for nothing, so I have to consider that in the light of my own self. What do I have inside of me that you could benefit from? And likewise, what do you have that you can feed me with? That's what Life is all about: growth! Development! Daily epiphanies, however small.
So, let's get to it!!!
I was a really good liar.
When God first began to put this desire for honesty inside of me, I got scared. I thought it meant I had to tell everybody everything I ever did. They would think of me much differently if they even knew the half of it. So I fought the urge--pretty much stopped talking altogether.
At least I wasn't lying.
Unfortunately, this period in my life coincided with my first year at college, when I didn't have my old support group to keep me feeling safe. So since I didn't want to risk honesty and I was sick of lying, I sort of just decided to keep my trap shut. I kept another blog (which still exists, but you will never read it) which served as my outlet during all of this introspection. This didn't work either.
And then I got involved in this on-campus group called Chi Alpha Christian Fellowship. People there were honest--disarmingly so. They weren't afraid to act the way God made them and let other people deal with it.
(For more on this concept, read John Eldredge's Wild At Heart.)
Authenticity scared me. I ran away. But they kept drawing me back, with hugs and kisses and prayers and love. And I began to face the fears surrounding authentic relationships. I conquered a lot of them. Things really got interesting when Calla Maria and I decided we were sick of the superficial babbling we'd become so comfortable with: we vowed to be completely honest.
Things had the potential to get ugly--we were exposing ugly things. But sometimes we need a little danger if we want to grow.
It says in I John 1 that when we walk in the light--when we're sincere and straightforward about our faults--we have fellowship with one another, and we're cleansed from all our sins. If you say that you have no sin in you, then you're a liar. But when you confess them, He is faithful and just to forgive you. It's that simple. It took me a long time to learn this, but I did...in a very dramatic way.
So, it has been a process of learning. I went too far in my first attempts at authenticity. But I've finally struck a healthy balance. I'm not going to tell you guys everything I've ever done. Not here, at least. That's not really appropriate. I have certain people with whom I am completely honest, and walking in the light is how I am made pure. You should seek that, if you haven't already.
But. I am going to be honest with you. You don't care about what I ate for dinner or what I'm doing in school right now, so I'm not going to bore you with the details. I'm going to share with you WHO I AM.
(I do hope you care about that.)
Maybe I just want to do this because I'm a self-absorbed loser.
But I feel like most of you don't even know me: and I consider many of you to be my best friends. And I don't think I know you, either. That's why we're constanly surprised and unfulfilled by our relationships. Because we're just playing off of these stupid facades that don't mean anything.
And it's killing us.
So, I guess my point is this: Don't be surprised if I don't seem to be who you thought I was. It doesn't mean, "Oh, David's just changed so much since he's gone to college." True, I have. But if you think it's a change for the worse, then you don't know me, and maybe never did.
(That's not an accusation, but a confession, by the way.)
Sometimes I'm unhappy. Sometimes I use strong language. Sometimes I ask questions of God that might not have an immediate answer. HE certainly isn't afraid of honesty. I believe He's big enough to cover my doubts, and I trust Him to give me the appropriate answers in the best ways imaginable (even if the answer is Silence).
This is your chance to understand me.
For what it's worth.
I don't believe God made anyone for nothing, so I have to consider that in the light of my own self. What do I have inside of me that you could benefit from? And likewise, what do you have that you can feed me with? That's what Life is all about: growth! Development! Daily epiphanies, however small.
So, let's get to it!!!
Friday, October 22, 2004
moment:
I felt like my skeleton could no longer hold me inside anymore. I could feel my jugulars ready to snap, spilling my life all over the brick sidewalk in one final burst of exasperation. I was trying to describe it to You, walking across Samford Lawn on the way to Chi Alpha, but I was afraid to say the word, "PANIC."
Before I could get it out, though, I caught some color coming around the corner. A young woman holding a dozen helium-filled balloons: yellow and purple and green and red. Just as I began to smile, some music faded in from the bar on the corner--like it was a movie and this was the climax. The crickets joined in the soundtrack and I sat down beside Langdon to stare into the fading sunset.
The pressure's gone now. Thanks for reminding me.
I love You, too. :)
Before I could get it out, though, I caught some color coming around the corner. A young woman holding a dozen helium-filled balloons: yellow and purple and green and red. Just as I began to smile, some music faded in from the bar on the corner--like it was a movie and this was the climax. The crickets joined in the soundtrack and I sat down beside Langdon to stare into the fading sunset.
The pressure's gone now. Thanks for reminding me.
I love You, too. :)
Sometimes I feel like such an asshole.
1.I judge.
2.I complain.
3.I roll my eyes.
4.I feel sorry for people.
5.I try to manipulate my friends.
6.I ignore the ones who get on my nerves.
7.I think I'm nice, that my gift is loving the unloved.
8.I fish for compliments.
2.I complain.
3.I roll my eyes.
4.I feel sorry for people.
5.I try to manipulate my friends.
6.I ignore the ones who get on my nerves.
7.I think I'm nice, that my gift is loving the unloved.
8.I fish for compliments.
Wednesday, October 20, 2004
HIP* Phrases #1
*(heard in passing)
Some days the sun shines through the cynicism long enough for even the most inane remarks to take on a substance of their own.
The other day I was walking between classes alone with the sun in my eyes, and I couldn't help but marvel at the brief snatches of dialogue I caught from people passing by.
"...a 24 year old Hungarian..."
"...people offa the streets that don't wanna have to give they whole life story..."
"I am not a person that wears shoes."
You should eavesdrop more. It'll really brighten your day. :)
Some days the sun shines through the cynicism long enough for even the most inane remarks to take on a substance of their own.
The other day I was walking between classes alone with the sun in my eyes, and I couldn't help but marvel at the brief snatches of dialogue I caught from people passing by.
"...a 24 year old Hungarian..."
"...people offa the streets that don't wanna have to give they whole life story..."
"I am not a person that wears shoes."
You should eavesdrop more. It'll really brighten your day. :)
Monday, October 18, 2004
Miss Calla Maria Davis
The other big piece of news that everyone's been asking about:
(Now, I don't normally do this. It's something totally new for little David.
So don't make me feel like a nut for going for it this time.)
We met in Panama City on Chi Alpha's Spring Retreat, before she was Calla Maria: two sets of roommates haphazardly sharing a booth one midnight run to Waffle House. The friendships bloomed from there: Jessi, John, Maria and me. Nothing too formal. Just college kids hanging out.
Sometime during sophomore year we began to suspect that we were actually long-lost Siamese twins, joined at the head and separated by a cruel twist of fate. This explained our manifold similarities, and why we looked so good together in pictures. We worked on the Care Team together ("We care because we care!"): every week at Chi Alpha's main meetings, we were responsible for welcoming the visitors and getting them to fill out an information card. Then on Wednesday afternoon we would deliver little packages full of candy and information about what all we had going on. We were a bridge from the periphery to the heart of Chi Alpha's ministry.
Working together really helped us bond. We complemented really well. That spring break we went to Reynosa, Mexico together for a mission trip. We played with orphans and publicized a local concert, stuff like that. We had so much fun together, everyone assumed we were dating. We had never discussed it, but we both secretly entertained the idea.
So this summer most of our friends were away while we were both in Auburn, and we had a lot of time to hang out, just the two of us. We were learning about honest and effective communication together, and we exposed a lot of deep issues to one another, worked through some things together. It was a really amazing time of growth for me, thanks largely to her patience and understanding.
The day Hurricane Francis blew through we were studying together for a Stats test. Things were starting to sour. I felt like we had explored every room of our relationship that we could. There were realms left undisturbed that we couldn't enter without unlocking the door: since we had never specified our feelings for one another, there were a lot of ambiguities that were starting to wear on the both of us.
(You might frown upon the idea of dating one's long-lost identical twin, but it really can't be helped. We were in too deep. Don't worry, though: Now that we know each other a bit better, we see that we really have a lot of differences--probably too many to really support the idea of sharing chromosomes.)
I told her the truth. I had to. It was coming sooner or later, whether I wanted to face it or not. I hadn't planned on spilling the beans so soon, but I now see that if I hadn't done so soon, it might have all melted away. The best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry.
That's Shakespeare.
She was utterly shocked, having convinced herself that I didn't "like her like her" and we were doomed to be "just friends" forever. A few days later, she admitted her mutual attractions, and we floundered around with this new information for almost a month.
It was a...special time for us. You should want to have been a fly on the wall during one of our DTR ("define the relationship") talks. We DT'd the R with the best of them: over sushi, curry chicken, cookies and coffee; at her house, my house, on the side of the interstate; in graphs and diagrams, metaphors and movies; with humor, frustration, excitement and despair.
But we've officially assigned the "dating" title to our relationship.
Not one person who knows us both has been surprised to hear the news. This bothers her, but delights me. (She's always gotten pleasure out of shocking people.)
It's new and exciting and fun and totally a learning experience for the both of us. Pray that we're responsible with it, okay? :)
So, there's the short version. My first official girlfriend since Ivey Plaisted in the 7th grade.
Here's to you, Ivey. You taught me everything I know!
Look real close at her left eye, and you can see the scar from where they seperated us in the neonatal ward. My scar is on my left cheek. In the end, it's probably best we were disconnected. We were just staring at each others' butts all day. ;)
(Now, I don't normally do this. It's something totally new for little David.
So don't make me feel like a nut for going for it this time.)
We met in Panama City on Chi Alpha's Spring Retreat, before she was Calla Maria: two sets of roommates haphazardly sharing a booth one midnight run to Waffle House. The friendships bloomed from there: Jessi, John, Maria and me. Nothing too formal. Just college kids hanging out.
Sometime during sophomore year we began to suspect that we were actually long-lost Siamese twins, joined at the head and separated by a cruel twist of fate. This explained our manifold similarities, and why we looked so good together in pictures. We worked on the Care Team together ("We care because we care!"): every week at Chi Alpha's main meetings, we were responsible for welcoming the visitors and getting them to fill out an information card. Then on Wednesday afternoon we would deliver little packages full of candy and information about what all we had going on. We were a bridge from the periphery to the heart of Chi Alpha's ministry.
Working together really helped us bond. We complemented really well. That spring break we went to Reynosa, Mexico together for a mission trip. We played with orphans and publicized a local concert, stuff like that. We had so much fun together, everyone assumed we were dating. We had never discussed it, but we both secretly entertained the idea.
So this summer most of our friends were away while we were both in Auburn, and we had a lot of time to hang out, just the two of us. We were learning about honest and effective communication together, and we exposed a lot of deep issues to one another, worked through some things together. It was a really amazing time of growth for me, thanks largely to her patience and understanding.
The day Hurricane Francis blew through we were studying together for a Stats test. Things were starting to sour. I felt like we had explored every room of our relationship that we could. There were realms left undisturbed that we couldn't enter without unlocking the door: since we had never specified our feelings for one another, there were a lot of ambiguities that were starting to wear on the both of us.
(You might frown upon the idea of dating one's long-lost identical twin, but it really can't be helped. We were in too deep. Don't worry, though: Now that we know each other a bit better, we see that we really have a lot of differences--probably too many to really support the idea of sharing chromosomes.)
I told her the truth. I had to. It was coming sooner or later, whether I wanted to face it or not. I hadn't planned on spilling the beans so soon, but I now see that if I hadn't done so soon, it might have all melted away. The best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry.
That's Shakespeare.
She was utterly shocked, having convinced herself that I didn't "like her like her" and we were doomed to be "just friends" forever. A few days later, she admitted her mutual attractions, and we floundered around with this new information for almost a month.
It was a...special time for us. You should want to have been a fly on the wall during one of our DTR ("define the relationship") talks. We DT'd the R with the best of them: over sushi, curry chicken, cookies and coffee; at her house, my house, on the side of the interstate; in graphs and diagrams, metaphors and movies; with humor, frustration, excitement and despair.
But we've officially assigned the "dating" title to our relationship.
Not one person who knows us both has been surprised to hear the news. This bothers her, but delights me. (She's always gotten pleasure out of shocking people.)
It's new and exciting and fun and totally a learning experience for the both of us. Pray that we're responsible with it, okay? :)
So, there's the short version. My first official girlfriend since Ivey Plaisted in the 7th grade.
Here's to you, Ivey. You taught me everything I know!
Look real close at her left eye, and you can see the scar from where they seperated us in the neonatal ward. My scar is on my left cheek. In the end, it's probably best we were disconnected. We were just staring at each others' butts all day. ;)
The scores are in!
I had at least thirty different people praying for me on August 14th as I went to face my destiny. It was my mother's birthday, and I was shut up in a windowless room in Haley Center from 8:00 to 5:00, racking my brains to prove myself worthy.
Chi Alpha's leadership team was on a retreat--which I was missing for this silly exam--that day and they took some time to join together in prayer for me and the other medical hopefuls they knew. They were believing for a 33, but Calla Maria was asking for two more. One thing you should know is that I ALWAYS get the grade Calla Maria requests. It's worked out quite nicely, and it worked again this time around. :)
After I was finished I met up with Ryan and drove to Coffee County for the rest of that leadership retreat (at the Vineyard, Crestview kids!), because I am leading a cell this year with John through Chi Alpha Christian Fellowship. I was exhuasted. Introducing Ryan to Waterdeep's Live at the New Earth, which pulled me through this crucible of a summer, was fun.
I came back to Auburn with three days to rest. (It wasn't enough.)
During the 60 days I was waiting for my scores, I had plenty of time to weigh my options. I had two dreams during these two months that represented the fork I had come to.
The first came a week or two after the test. I approached the mailbox timidly, fully confident that the score would be inside. I opened the envelope meticulously, trying to put off the moment of truth for as long as possible. Unfolded the paper, turned it over....
IT WAS A 40!!!! The powers that be were so impressed (the most you can get is a 45) that they wrote me a personal letter of congratulations. It was as exaggerated and exhilerating as the teacher in A Christmas Story shouting "A, plus, Plus, PLUS!!!" upon reading Little Ralphie's "What I want for Christmas" essay.
Truth be told, a 40 is an exceptional score, but it certainly wouldn't warrant a personal letter from anyone in the AAMC. Josh later suggested that this dream wasn't so much a forecast of the MCAT scores, but simply God's expression of approval over a different test I had recently passed. I think you may be right, Josh. ;)
The second dream came about a month later, when I'd had sufficient time to doubt myself. I approached the same mailbox with the same timidity and opened the envelope just as meticulously. The world balanced upon the tip of a pencil, waiting to see which way to roll.
This time, the score was unimpressive. Low 20's. I couldn't get in with that score. But, the weird thing was...I wasn't sad or scared or even surprised. It was like a confirmation. I set the paper down, turned around, and walked on to a different future. I had options: lots of them. And they were exciting!
Needless to say, this sent me into my mid-twenties crisis a few years early, and I spent endless hours deliberating what my future was really all about. It was stupid, though, because it wasn't as if I could just say, "Well, if I make a good score then I'll be a doctor, and if I don't, I'll do something else." What if I scored well, but still didn't want to go through with it? Shouldn't I be sure about this before I register for spring semester? Sparing you the boring details, in the end I came out confident that either way (doctor or no), my life would be worth something somehow.
So I wasn't particularly worried when the scores FINALLY came in. It was a bit less ceremonious, though, than I had dreamed. They don't send paper score reports anymore. I clicked a button on the internet, and covered my eyes and made Calla Maria check for me. She didn't know which number was which, and so I had to just look for myself.
And, in short, I got a 35 on my MCAT. 35 S.
This is a good score. (Okay, it's a great score!) I can use it.
Honestly, if I hadn't passed it the first time, I don't think I could have gone through the preparation again. I almost went off the deep end trying to prepare for that stupid thing.
So, now the big question is this: because I produced some certain number, is this still what I want to do with my life?
And then I think of those children I met in Mexico, and I get excited somewhere deep inside.
Thanks for praying for me, guys.
Chi Alpha's leadership team was on a retreat--which I was missing for this silly exam--that day and they took some time to join together in prayer for me and the other medical hopefuls they knew. They were believing for a 33, but Calla Maria was asking for two more. One thing you should know is that I ALWAYS get the grade Calla Maria requests. It's worked out quite nicely, and it worked again this time around. :)
After I was finished I met up with Ryan and drove to Coffee County for the rest of that leadership retreat (at the Vineyard, Crestview kids!), because I am leading a cell this year with John through Chi Alpha Christian Fellowship. I was exhuasted. Introducing Ryan to Waterdeep's Live at the New Earth, which pulled me through this crucible of a summer, was fun.
I came back to Auburn with three days to rest. (It wasn't enough.)
During the 60 days I was waiting for my scores, I had plenty of time to weigh my options. I had two dreams during these two months that represented the fork I had come to.
The first came a week or two after the test. I approached the mailbox timidly, fully confident that the score would be inside. I opened the envelope meticulously, trying to put off the moment of truth for as long as possible. Unfolded the paper, turned it over....
IT WAS A 40!!!! The powers that be were so impressed (the most you can get is a 45) that they wrote me a personal letter of congratulations. It was as exaggerated and exhilerating as the teacher in A Christmas Story shouting "A, plus, Plus, PLUS!!!" upon reading Little Ralphie's "What I want for Christmas" essay.
Truth be told, a 40 is an exceptional score, but it certainly wouldn't warrant a personal letter from anyone in the AAMC. Josh later suggested that this dream wasn't so much a forecast of the MCAT scores, but simply God's expression of approval over a different test I had recently passed. I think you may be right, Josh. ;)
The second dream came about a month later, when I'd had sufficient time to doubt myself. I approached the same mailbox with the same timidity and opened the envelope just as meticulously. The world balanced upon the tip of a pencil, waiting to see which way to roll.
This time, the score was unimpressive. Low 20's. I couldn't get in with that score. But, the weird thing was...I wasn't sad or scared or even surprised. It was like a confirmation. I set the paper down, turned around, and walked on to a different future. I had options: lots of them. And they were exciting!
Needless to say, this sent me into my mid-twenties crisis a few years early, and I spent endless hours deliberating what my future was really all about. It was stupid, though, because it wasn't as if I could just say, "Well, if I make a good score then I'll be a doctor, and if I don't, I'll do something else." What if I scored well, but still didn't want to go through with it? Shouldn't I be sure about this before I register for spring semester? Sparing you the boring details, in the end I came out confident that either way (doctor or no), my life would be worth something somehow.
So I wasn't particularly worried when the scores FINALLY came in. It was a bit less ceremonious, though, than I had dreamed. They don't send paper score reports anymore. I clicked a button on the internet, and covered my eyes and made Calla Maria check for me. She didn't know which number was which, and so I had to just look for myself.
And, in short, I got a 35 on my MCAT. 35 S.
This is a good score. (Okay, it's a great score!) I can use it.
Honestly, if I hadn't passed it the first time, I don't think I could have gone through the preparation again. I almost went off the deep end trying to prepare for that stupid thing.
So, now the big question is this: because I produced some certain number, is this still what I want to do with my life?
And then I think of those children I met in Mexico, and I get excited somewhere deep inside.
Thanks for praying for me, guys.
Saturday, October 16, 2004
Vision Casting
Hey friends (and strangers),
I've been debating over whether to stoop to this for a long time now.
I love you all and want to keep in touch with you, but it's hard for me to write everyone satisfactory emails regularly. This is a test-run at keeping everyone who's interested informed on my life's proceedings. Hopefully, it will double as a fun creative outlet for me and a source of information for y'all.
I'm flirthing with a love affair with photography, so I'm hoping to be able to share some interesting images. I've always had a penchant for writing my worldview, so I'll try to wax eloquent on the meaning of life when the opportunity presents itself.
This introduction may be superfluous, but I'm not sure that everyone is familiar with the concept of a weblog. I can post to this website (text and pictures and links and whatnot) absolutely free. It's the playground of this information-glutted generation. You can bookmark the page and check back every week or so to see what's up with David Lee. Or you can forget about it and never read this again.
It's your choice.
And if you're totally enamored with the idea, you can get your OWN blog! And then we can have a whole happy circle of blogging friends. But maybe we're not all that nerdy....
It's just that the world seems so big sometimes, and we all know the truth: It's a small world after all.
So let's keep it that way. I love you guys.
I hope you don't think I'm a loser.
:)
Take care, check back from time to time. Email me.
Love, david.
I've been debating over whether to stoop to this for a long time now.
I love you all and want to keep in touch with you, but it's hard for me to write everyone satisfactory emails regularly. This is a test-run at keeping everyone who's interested informed on my life's proceedings. Hopefully, it will double as a fun creative outlet for me and a source of information for y'all.
I'm flirthing with a love affair with photography, so I'm hoping to be able to share some interesting images. I've always had a penchant for writing my worldview, so I'll try to wax eloquent on the meaning of life when the opportunity presents itself.
This introduction may be superfluous, but I'm not sure that everyone is familiar with the concept of a weblog. I can post to this website (text and pictures and links and whatnot) absolutely free. It's the playground of this information-glutted generation. You can bookmark the page and check back every week or so to see what's up with David Lee. Or you can forget about it and never read this again.
It's your choice.
And if you're totally enamored with the idea, you can get your OWN blog! And then we can have a whole happy circle of blogging friends. But maybe we're not all that nerdy....
It's just that the world seems so big sometimes, and we all know the truth: It's a small world after all.
So let's keep it that way. I love you guys.
I hope you don't think I'm a loser.
:)
Take care, check back from time to time. Email me.
Love, david.
Friday, October 15, 2004
How to live richly (#1):
Laugh in the face of danger.
I found this picture on the Weather Channel website during all the hubbub of our recent string of tropical storms.
Amish people on the Florida beaches during Hurricane Frances. :)
It's an exhilerating picture: very immediate, what with the water on the lens and the violent smiles.
New Spice
I finally found a deodorant that works.
It's been a really long process of trial and error, learning and growing. I went through a lot of different brands during puberty, hardly ever buying the same one twice. I needed to figure out what scent smells best with my body chemistry, and just how dry I can expect to stay throughout the day. You might not know this about me, but if you spend very much time with me you've probably noticed that my armpits sweat a lot.
I had resigned myself to this (a life of sweaty pits), convinced I had found the best protection available. Old Spice High Endurance Red Zone seemed the most intricate formula on the shelf, and while I would still sweat profusely with a healthy coating in the morning, I always smelled fresh and clean, which is what's really important to me. There are ways to conceal sweat stains, but there is nothing to disguise malodor.
So I wanted to panic when I went to Wal-Mart and couldn't find my brand. I was out. It was gone. Kaput! This was my last day. I was doomed. I didn't have time to scour the city in search of the perfect deodorant. I had places to be. Things to accomplish. Life to live. Smelly or no!
So I bought the next best thing...or so I thought at the time. It's still from Old Spice, but it lacks the fancy knob that the pushes soft, powdery solid through a tiny filter so as to allow for the most thorough coverage, the greatest absorption. It's a simple "invisible solid."
But do you know what today has been?
Dry.
I haven't sweated a drop all day. And I smell GOOD!
Sometimes we just don't know what's best for us. We think we've found what's right: far from perfect but the best we're going to get from this world. I thought I had developed the best coping mechanism available for my particular problem (sweaty armpits could at least smell good with the right deodorant), when all along the perfect solution to the problem was the next item over on the shelf!!!
profile pic receptacle
