Not that you care but . . .

I got a new comforter and duvet. I'm in love with it. And I'm also in love with IKEA. I've wanted a down comforter ever since I slept under one in Germany almost 4 years ago. So happy birthday to me. That also means I have extra blankets for any visitors who should happen to come my way ;)

My Husband

I caught the bouquet, so I'm on the prowel! Haha, just kidding! You can pull your hearts out of your throats and rest assured that your Miranda is as happily and contentedly single as ever.
As you may know, I affectionately refer to Dietrich Bonhoeffer, my favorite theologian/ethicist/martyr/pastor/author/German/confessing churchman, as my husband. And he is the subject of this post.
I've been meaning to finish reading his book The Cost of Discipleship ever since I read sections of it for Jerry's Intro to Christian Faith class during my freshman year at Whitworth. It's pretty much the most convicting book ever, full of truth and grace.
Dieter (I don't know if anyone ever actually called him that, but he's my husband so I'm allowed to have a nickname for him) says that the world is full of cheap grace. Preacher's fling grace around so haphazardly that people end up justifying their actions because they know that they are already forgiven. Dieter says that grace should be the point at which one arrives after true repentance and contrition. He says it more eloquently and longwindedly than that (turns out German lends itself to very long sentences), but that's the gist. One of my biggest frustrations, both with myself and with others, is the attitude that being Christian means we are free to do whatever we want because we are forgiven. As Wesley (you know, the Methodist guy) says, Christians are free to sin as much as we want, but being sanctified, which is inseparable from being justified, means that we don't want to sin. Grace is costly. It cost God's life. I'm not saying that we have to earn grace, and neither is Dieter. I'm saying that if we are going to receive the free gift of God's grace into our lives we should live in a way that sets us apart as people who take that gift seriously.
There is a fine line between conforming to the dominant culture and being able to communicate with the dominant culture while remaining clearly different from it. If we flaunt the grace we have received by doing what culture calls normal (you know, sex, drugs, gossip, hate, etc) then we not only fail to live as lights in this world, but we also fall short of the abundant life that God has for us.
Nothing in particular caused this little jaunt down critical lane, just thoughts inspired by my man Dieter. Read the book, or better yet read the Bible (Paul's letters are especially strong on these themes), and take life seriously. I'm talking to myself as much as I am to whoever makes it to the end of this post, and to no one in particular.
Grace and peace to you from God our Father, and the Lord Jesus Christ.

Encore, Encore

I guess my performance under anesthesia last November was so good that I just have to reprise my role as ear surgery patient. That's right, for your viewing pleasure, another tympanoplasty is coming your way within the next few months. I'll try to have a camera on hand to document the process, and especially the ginormous head bandage that makes it look as though my brain might fall out of my skull. Sit back and relaxe as I bring you, over the next two months, all the laughter, tears, and expletives a ruptured ear-drum can bring. Again.

Pretty Girls in Pretty Cool Places

Ah, the wonders of the jellyfish.
















Ooh, there are mountains here!















Kissy the fishy!















Why does everyone look so relieved/astonished?















The entourage of body slammers.





















Pretty pretty princess. I mean bride.

My Fishy's Getting Baked!

And by baked I don't mean any kind of drug-induced state.
I can't believe it! We used to joke about honeymoon's and she once threatened me with an ugly bridesmaid dress if I didn't stop teasing her about something (probably her freshman year crush). And now it's finally a reality - except for the ugly dress part. I actually like my dress. I realized as I was scrolling through old pictures that most of us who were at Jeni's wedding will also be at Becky's. And Jeni will be there in spirit. How cool that we have great enough friends to drive or fly across the state or the country to be with them on their special days. I'm so excited to see my Fishy walk down the aisle, and it's been so much fun to be there from the very beginning of the relationship. I used to have all the emails she sent me about him from when they first met and she was developing a crush on him, but sadly they were all lost when I didn't check my hotmail while I was in Africa. But that's okay because they have a whole life of memories and emails (or whatever form of communication replaces email) waiting for them.
So those are a few of my thoughts as I get ready to go finish packing then drive to the Philly airport and fly across the country for someone very worth the cost of the ticket.
Let it be know to one and all, I love my Fishy, my roommoo hedgehog, and my beck-beck-beckEEE.

Pictures

I thought y'all (as in those of you who I know read my blog, more so than random people who don't know me in person for and whom this post with mean nothing) might like some of these pictures. I think you can download them off of here, right?
And we get to do it all again, minus a few very important people and plus a few other very important people, next weekend! Wahoo!

An Aural Fiasco (amended/addended)

Key players, for your reference:
Dr. Farmer: otolaryngologist who performed tympanoplasty (ruptured ear drum fixing surgery) on me last November.
Dr. Kay: Dr. Farmer's associate who I saw before he directed me to Dr. Farmer.
Klais: my insurance company.

The sequence of events:
Call #1, to Princeton Otolaryngology: I need to schedule an appointment with Dr. Farmer, but he is no longer an associate at Dr. Kay's office. Try to schedule with Dr. Kay, but he's booked until August, and I should really follow up with my surgeon anyway.
Call #2, to Dr. Farmer's new office: I can get an appointment next week, but they've never even heard of Klais and the out of pocket fee is almost $300.
Call #3, to Princeton Otolaryngology: Try in vain to get an appointment with Dr. Kay, and they claim to have never heard of Klais either.
Call #4, to Princeton Healthcare Systems for a referal: I tell them I need someone with a background in ear surgery, and they refer me to Dr. Farmer, the only one on their list. By the way, they have also never heard of Klais, even though I got their phone number off my Klais card.
Call #5, to Klais: Get directed to a voice mailbox, then my phone lost reception while I was leaving a message:
Call #6, to Dr. Farmer's office: They give me the name of the only other dr. they know about.

As it stands, I have a tentative appointment with Dr. Farmer, and will undoubtedly jump through numerous ridiculous hoops trying to figure out whether Klais will cover it.

And the moral of the story is don't rupture your eardrum.

I realize not all of you know the sad story, so here's the short version: rupture eardrum probably while swimming on June 11 2005; find out about it in October; many doctor visits; surgery on Tuesday of Thanksgiving week in Princeton (intubation, ear cut off, skin from scalp covers hole in eardrum, ear sewn back on, stay overnight in hospital, cool scar); insurance fiascos, etc, etc. All I need now is for someone with an MD behind their name to put the flashlight thingy in my ear and tell me if everything is normal. Apparently that's just too much to ask.

But our citizenship is in heaven. And we eagerly await a Savior from there, the Lord Jesus Christ. - Philippians 3:20

Soaring to new casual heights

Yesterday I didn't come in to work. Why, you may ask. Well, because I wanted to spend the entire day in my pajamas then ride my bike to work today (Saturday) when no one would be here so I wouldn't have to change into work clothes. That's right, I'm at the office on a Saturday so that I can wear a t-shirt and workout pants.
The problem with my brillian plan is that it's a 3 mile bike ride from the house to the office, and it's mostly coasting on the way here, which means I'll pretty much be dying on the way back.
Tomorrow the housesitting gig is over and I'll return to . . . well, I don't actually know yet. I can't move into my dorm room until Friday, so I need to find places to sleep in the mean time. Maybe here at the Foundation, or on a friend's floor. It'll work out. I'm looking forward to getting settled in my room. By then I will have been living out of a suitcase for almost 2 months. It's funny how a dresser and closet can become luxuries.

How the Other Half Lives

Friday afternoon I got to go babysit on the Upper East Side in Manhattan. For those of you who, like me, are unfamiliar with the NYC lingo, that's right by Central Park and includes such sites as the Metropolitan Museum of Art and the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel - swanky! So the grandparents of these kids I watch fairly regularly have an apartment in this neighborhood where they spend about 20% of the year. It is beautiful and posh and highly unchildproof. So I took the youngun to the playground in Central Park and had the wierd experience of realizing that people assumed he was my kid. I got to sleep in a Murphy bed (those ones that fold out from the wall) and when the grown ups got there they took me to lunch and paid me handsomely. I spent the rest of the day with Bill gallavanting through the Met and Rockefeller Center and the East Village.
Money, eh? Crazy stuff. I cannot deny that living it up in an Upper East Side penthouse has its appeal. Why can't that be my mission field? I mean, rich people need Jesus too, right? But that flies in the face of everything I think I know about how Christians are called to use whatever wealth we may have. I'm sure God could use a multi-million dollar penthouse to advance his kingdom on earth and bring people to Christ, but if the same ministry could be done in a modest apartment while the rest of those multi-millions fund missionaries and translation projects and AIDS research and clean water supplies then we cannot pretend that the expensive material stuff is justifiable. It's just a thought from a poor student. If you are a Christian with a lot of money to spare I'd honestly love to know how you deal with that. After all, people die for lack of money, so it's not fair to just make a blanket statement about the proper use of it. It's just something I think about, especially while I'm a squatter in the Princeton world of BMWs, live-in housekeepers, summer homes, and 1000 tv channels.

Playing House

After spending the last month in my parents' two bedroom apartment, on the floor in Claire's apartment, in Andi's basement, and in the Quality Inn Oakwood, then two nights on a friend's love seat in Hodge Hall, I'm finally living it up in a real house. My friend Bill and I are housesitting, and taking full advantage of the kitchen, plasma tv, and pets. He's been cooking up a storm (we've had enchiladas, burgers and steak fries, spaghetti, Thai curry, and have even sat down to breakfast each morning). The animals include the most chill, friendly dog ever, who I can't resist petting despite the allergies, and a very cute cat, who I do resist petting because of the allergies. There were two fish, but now there's only one (oops) and the guinea pig is still alive and squeaking. It's so nice to have a routine, a comfortable place to stay, a friend to hang out with, and the same bed for 2 full weeks.
We went to the shore on Sunday afternoon and it was beautiful. Ocean Grove is a town that started as a location for revivals and camp meetings during the Great Awakening. I actually wrote a paper about it for Religion in America. The town is super cute and the beach was warm and clean and relaxing. I burried my feet in the sand and wrote and just sat in beachy bliss for several hours. We also got yummy ice cream. All in all, a great way to spend Sunday afternoon. "Something about the ocean makes me rise up in praise . . ."

Singing in the Darkness

In the last few years a calling has developed in my heart for going into dark places, places that are dank and bleak and in desparate need of the light of Christ. That's why Claire and I wanted to go to Amsterdam last January (but the tickets were too expensive so we went to Budapest instead), and it's why I'm thinking about living in the inner city somewhere in the world.
Night before last I was watching the movie The Bone Collector (a mystery/suspense starring Angelina Jolie and Denzel Washington) and was suddenly struck by what it really means to go into the darkness. There is a scene in a pool hall/bar where it is very dimly lit, people are drinking, doing drugs, prostituting themselves, etc. My stomache turned as a saw that picture of darkness and I wondered whether I could really go into a place like that and retain a song of joy in my heart and on my lips.
Last night I curled up in my blanky and watched Interview With A Vampire. I used to really like this movie a lot. My sister and I rented it all the time when we were kids (yeah, not so much a kid movie), and the last time I watched it was a few years ago. This time was different though. Almost as soon as it started my gut was writhing within me. The movie is no longer a fantasy to me or simply an entertaining fiction. The movie attempts to make darkness, evil, death, and immortality desirable and superior to mortality and God. It makes statements about evil that are direct allusions to the Bible and Christ, thus twisting truth. I noticed this before and found it intriguing, but now it makes me sad and offended and grateful for the truth that Christ has already defeated Satan on the cross. I'm not saying the movie is horrible or that I won't watch it again, but it's presuppositions are disturbing.
I think it's because I just left a place of such radiant light that the darkness is suddenly hitting me so hard. Being in the fellowship of the saints, with Claire and Dave and all my Whitworth friends, for two full weeks got my eyes adjusted to the light, thus rendering the darkness all the more shocking and upsetting.
And yet I am called to go into that darkness with the confidence that we are more than conquerors in Christ Jesus, taking heart in the truth that although in this world we will encounter darkness Christ has already overcome the world. As followers of Christ we go into the darkness singing, and praying that even in the darkness we will meet brothers and sisters who want to join the song.

They're Married

I have no words. Seriously. The wedding was so wonderful and my heart is so full of joy I can hardly contain it. I think it was just seeping out of me through the whole ceremony and reception. It was truly the happiest day of my life up to now. And more than just being beautiful and joyous, it was powerful to experience God's presence in the wedding itself, and I am indescribably excited about what God has for them in the future. And yes, she managed to lindy in her dress. I can't put words to how much I love the new Mr. and Mrs. Thorpe. I miss them already. And I'll fill in more details as they come to mind. For now I am off to the post office then packing to fly back to Jersey tomorrow.
(The second picture is the three of us in Santa Fe 2 weeks before the wedding)

I week in the life of

Saturday: pack Claire's house
Sunday: Go to church then drive to Santa Fe
Monday: Hang out in Santa Fe then drive back to Colorado Springs
Tuesday: Breakfast with Caitlin then more packing
Wednesday: up at 6 to pack then to the Air Force Academy graduation and air show, more packing and hauling stuff to storage across town and some very rapid but thorough cleaning. Finally we went to bed at Dave's relatives' house at 11pm.
Thursday: Drive from Colorado Springs to Billings, Montana
Friday: Drive from Billings Montana to Spokane, where we moved in to our various temporary houses and slept like rocks.
Today: I'm at Jeni and Matt's. Wahoo. I love Spokand and friends, and if you're in town but I don't know it you should call me and tell me so.

So long . . .

. . . fair well, auf weidersehen, adieu. That is until I see some of you next week, or until I start posting again. I'm about to head back down to Claire's, where I will be helping her and Dave pack, doing some shopping, learning how to apply makeup (that's right, I'm 23 and have never learned to wear more than cover up and mascara), driving to Santa Fe to pick up jewelry hand made by April Szuch, and generally having a fun time. Next Thursday or Friday the three of us will drive to Spokane, then they'll tie the knot on June 10. I am so excited. Okay, everybody knows that. Anywho, I'll probably be burried in boxes, tulle, gift wrap, and love. I know it breaks all your little hearts to know that I won't be writing for a few weeks, but with the help of Christ and a caring support group I'm sure you can all carry on.

Lady of the Dance

I never wanted to learn to dance. For five semesters of college I went to the ballroom dances in the HUB to hang out with my friends, all of whom were experienced ballroom/swing dancers, and watch. I was happy with that. I enjoyed it, and I could always join in on a little Charleston or line dancing.
That all changed when I was faced with the necessity of fulfilling 2 PE credits in Spring of my senior year, and literally the only 2 classes that fit my schedule were Swing/Lindy Hop and American Ballroom Dancing. I moaned and groaned about it pretty much all semester, spending much time feeling tall and awkward and generally insecure. There were fun moments, yes, but the love of the dance had not yet seized me.
I graduated from Whitworth doubting that I would have many opportunities to dance, at least not outside my little circle of friends with whom I was comfortable looking ridiculous. But when I arrived at my parents two bedroom apartment for the summer of '05 with no friends within 10 years of my age in a 50 mile radius, Lindy Hop at the Mercury Cafe in Denver became my saving grace. Almost every week I met Dave and whoever he brought with him from Colorado Springs for an evening of dancing. I learned, I taught, I danced with complete strangers, and now I can honestly say I have interests outside the realm of religion and languages. Plus I got to know Dave a lot better, which is good because he'll be marrying my best friend in just under 3 weeks. At the wedding reception we are dancing to the song "On Revival Day" which we claimed as our own last summer.
Last night I returned to the Merc for the second time since last summer. I was with Dave and Claire, two of my favorite people and a great couple to watch dance together, and a bunch of college students from their church. I danced with some really good leads, discovered that I can Cha-Cha better than I thought I could, and generally had a great time. I still can't hold a candle to Claire or Dave as a dancer, but I'm glad to have overcome my blinding fear of the dance.

Hard Core Vegging (aka TV is the Devil)

I've been in Colorado for a few days now, and other than the fabulous 24 hours at Claire's I've been wasting away in front of the TV at my parents' apartment. Sad? I think so. I've tried to find alternatives, but all my high school friends have moved away and my Whitworth friends are either passing through too quickly to get together or are in the Springs, so I won't see them (okay, her. there's only 1) until next week. So call me, eh? As much as I feel icky sitting on my bum most of the day, it is also nice to give my brain a break. I'm still adjusting to not having any homework. In fact, I wish I had brought my Greek home with me so I could start translating Mark. Some veger I am. Currently I am sitting in my mom's recliner with my lap top in my lap and the TV tuned to Honey, I Shrunk the Kids on TBS. Fear not, I will not waste away forever. I'm having lunch with my pastor today, and working on embroidering my shoes for Claire/Dave's reception. Sunday I head back down to Claire's where Dave will be teaching in Sunday School, and then we start packing their respective abodes and preparing to drive to Spokane for the wedding.
PS: I hate the M*A*S*H* theme song. Literally, every night, emanating from my parents' room, that stupid theme song. I'm not exagerating either. Every Night! Aaagh.

Adventures in post-Finals Freedom

I've been living it up here in Princeton with my friends, who are a lot more entertaining now that they are free from the academic stress that never quite caught up with me (thank you Whitworth, for getting me out of intro. classes). I've had time to work, pack, and hang out. A lot of hanging out. It's sad that I didn't get to do more of this fun relaxing stuff during the year, but I've definitely made up for lost time.
Here are some pictures from Sunday's adventure to Ocean City, Atlantic City and the Diner somewhere along the way.
Tomorrow I head to Colorado, after finishing the packing and going to an interview for a summer cataloging job in the seminary library.
Boring post, I know, but I'm simply too excited to go home/Spokane to be creative.

It is finished!

Is it inappropriate to appropriate Jesus' final words to rejoice in something as ultimately trivial as finishing my first year of seminary? Perhaps, but I just did it anyway. 2 bluebooks and some hand cramping later, it's finished. I must do something celebratory! Like fly to Colorado then drive to Spokane. But since I can't do that until Friday, I'll just rejoice in God's faithfulness, chill with my friends, and maybe even have a drink.

The Grand Final(e)

Tomorrow afternoon I will take my last exam. My only exam. And my first real in-class test at seminary. I had one short mid-term last semester, and a take-home, but that's it. I've been writing papers. So tomorrow I will do what the rest of the first years have been doing all week: enter Stuart 6, take 2 blue books, and emerge three hours later with a cramped wrist and a depleted brain. Kudos to all the juniors for whom this is their fourth or fifth exam! I remembered over the last few days the sick pleasure I get from writing study guides and formatting them to my perfectly type A specifications. I also got a healthy dose of humility while studying with friends. Being put in a position/putting myself in the position of teacher when I don't know as much as I think I do is always humbling. I guess that's the paradox of my degree, the Masters of Divinity. Trying to master the unmasterable will always leave me realizes how infinitely beyond me God is, and how elusive some foundational doctrines can be. May my mind be used for the glory of God, rather than the pride of having others see me as knowledgable!