Observations

I just got out of work, and instead of wasting time on my computer in the dorms, I figured I’d sit outside and enjoy the pleasant temperatures…

I’m pathetic, I know, to be wasting such time on the computer, or “blogging” multiple times a day, but I like writing, and right now I don’t feel like doing much else. Horrible excuse, I know…

I’m sitting at the Reitz Union pond again, it’s early evening, and I’m enjoying my surroundings.

I managed to find a corner of our “ampitheater” esque setting where I could plug in my computer. Opposite me, our “Theater Strike Force” comedy troupe sits practicing for their next performances. I’m not finding to much of what they’re saying particularly hillarious, so I’ve put on my headphones and have decided to listen to my music. Right now I’m taking a tour through some more of my upbeat tunes…like The Format and Hellogoodbye. In a second I might switch to some more tranquil, calming stuff like Shawn McDonald–my favorite accoustic guitarist. He’s quite talented, and I am dissappointed to be missing his show tonight in Jacksonville.

The guy wearing a lot of “Fierce” cologne (at least I’m pretty sure it was him…I smelled it quite strongly as I walked past) has gotten up and left. This guy from my CRW 1301 class just arrived not long ago, and sits smoking a ciggarette at the top of the stairs. I just noticed an aquaintance from RUF sitting behind me, but they seem engrossed in conversation with a friend, so I’ve decided to remain in my solitude…at least for a little while longer.

I am becoming paranoid at the plethora of ants patroling the concrete behind me, and can’t help but feel as if they are crawling down my back. We shall soon see as to whether that idea is simply a figment of my overactive imagination, or, in fact, a reality.

Dang it. Why can’t I ever write this much-and this fast-for my “reading response” homework for poetry? I still have 3 (2 overdue) that I have to finish writing and turn in. I really don’t want to do it.

I have a friend picking me up soon, and we’re off to visit another friend who’s just had ACL surgery. In the meantime, I’m here.

Last night I got to go to FCA. It was nice to see everyone there again… It’s been a while since I was there last. This musician Jonny Diaz was there, and we had a worship night. I was excited to see him perform live, because I had heard some of his music before, and he’s a really talented performer. I’m listening to his CD I bought last night.

I am the sole person remaining sitting here now. The mother and two children who were running about earlier have left… The little boy and girl were running around here earlier, chasing squirells. The girl’s light, blond hair hung straight down her face, and she gave me a hesitant smile when I waved at her. The brother wore a goofy smile, with lips stained red from who knows what artificial flavoring… The bright orange of his T-shirt marked a begining of a rainbow direction of colors.

Sorry for the failed attempt at literary greatness. I enjoy writing. But my trivial observations have probably bored you, and I should have most likely done something more productive with my time.

So goodnight for now.

I’m in class right now…

So I’m in class right now. There’s only about 20 students in here (CRW 1301) and I’m sitting just a few desks away from the teacher. I really enjoy this class, despite the unfunny amount of work we have–some of which I still have to finish! We’re reading over our poems from last week. I initially despised mine, but apparently everyone else liked it, so I’m not quite as hostile to it now…

WOAH!!!! My professor (he’s a grad student) just revealed to the class that he used to work in a pool hall for four years. Shocking. No idea how that came up…
There are a few things I’ll change about my poem eventually, but here’s the unaltered work, as it was when I first wrote it…

Someplace Else

By Sarah Madsen

 

 

Walking through the rain to the Reitz union pond, first it drizzled, next it poured,

Now my wet hair clings to my face—should have used that umbrella…

Before cloud covered skies cleared, I sat inside, dripping liquid from ends of my hair.

Later, as I stepped out, the humid air stuck to my body, I tasted its heaviness.

 

 

I rest on the edge of a stair’s ledge, observing the scene before me.

Passersby carry on conversations, their muffled sentences barely heard:

“I’ll talk to you soon,” spending the minutes on their cell phones;

unable to enjoy the austere beauty of the water without being bound

to the monotonous drone of machinery, society,

driven by words of politicians and fiscal calendars.

 

 

Empty Coke bottles float on the surface of emerald green,

defiling what little splendor that remained.

The surrounding trees let go of their leaves, a lousy excuse for fall,

coating the pond in spots of brown, they hide the sun’s reflection.

 

 

Two men lean over the railing, creating ripples with their spit.

Their paths diverge—one sits down with his head against the wall

Perhaps, an artist mind, he sits thinking of old monuments, and how these

green steps built to resemble edifices of the past do them no justice;

the cold concrete serves only to remind of cold worlds.

And I would rather be someplace else.

Fog

So here’s one of my other installments for CRW 1301, aka “Creative Poetry Writing.” We had to write a poem about fog, and we couldn’t use “foggy” language, and we had a lot of other restrictions and requirements too… I thought it was going to be a hard one to write, but I found it relatively easy, and I liked it better than some of my others. I wrote it based around an actual memory of watching fog in California on one of my many family vacations… So here it is… I hope you like it.

California Fog

By Sarah Madsen

 

It comes, cool,

over blackberry bushes that line the road

and through tall redwoods

whose height lets them pierce the sky

to feel the sun’s warmth on their boughs.

In the dark afternoon it descends,

rolling off the mountain cliff

with wings of the little gull,

soft and white.

Plunging to the ocean, tumbling

across crags it falls, yet gently

sweeps the ocean waves with

the personification of its fingers

that are placed upon my neck.

And I watch the California fog.

Little things…

So I was thinking today.

Wow. That was profound…

No…I was thinking about all the little things that mean the most to me.

So I figured what the heck. Here’s an edited version of my list of little things that have made my days:

Hugs. Not those whimpy side-hugs/simple greetings. I mean those grab-you-and-don’t-let-go, I’ve missed you/really care about you hugs. I know a few really good hug-givers.

Conversation with people. Deep conversation with people. I save memory clips of my favorite conversations, and play them over and over in my head until I can no longer remember them.

Catching smiles—this is when I am just walking, or passing by someone, mostly total strangers, and smile in greeting (ok, so sometimes I’m really strange and just break out into a full-out grin for absolutly no reason at all) and then I catch smiles that they send back.

Out-of-the-blue compliments… Like…

“I love the way your smile matches your eyes”

“You look radiant in bright colors”

Or just whatever. : )

Stories. I love hearing them and telling them. I have a million if you just give me a chance to think of them all.

When I’m coming back home from vacation, and I catch those first familiar senses of home… I roll the windows down, take in the sights and sounds and smells of it all. Gently I’m lulled to sleep by the rhythmic sound of the tires on the pavement below me, only to be awoken by the noticeable turns into the neighborhood and up my driveway…rolling into bed, tired, but happy.

The satisfaction of reading a good book or watching a good movie.

The sound of the rain–especially rain against wheels as they roll across the pavement.

Concerts.

Roadtrips with friends.

Making mix CDs.

Sitting outside on a blanket in the sun.

Writing.

Singing at the top of my lungs, with a bunch of friends as we ride around to nowhere…

Getting a phone call or a letter when I least expect it.

Leaving the windows open when it’s cold outside, letting breezes blow across rooms.

Windows. I love windows.

Watching the sky. Especially looking at the stars in Wyoming, where people and city lights can’t spoil the million twinkle-lights that light up the midnight.

Laughing until I cry, or fall on the floor…

Doing stupid stuff with some of the people I love the most, my siblings, and holding the incriminating evidence against them for years to come. I’ll have so many good stories to tell their friends/significant others…

Hearing someone say they love me.

Being told that I’ve made a difference to someone.

Being able to feel God’s love tanglibly…and having an amazing sense of peace that comes with it.

These are only some of the little things that God has blessed my life with that make it so much more beautiful to me… I love the simplicity, and at the same time intricacy with which the web of my life is weaved…

What are the little things that you love?

Bugs and People

So I feel awful right about now…

I woke up late and didn’t make it to my bugs and people class. (Science for non-science people)

“So what? You missed one class. Not like an exam. What’s the big deal?”

Oh, no. Not just one class. This was only one meeting out of about 4 that I’ve missed…

Not good. Not good at all, Sarah.

I honestly had no intention of missing class.

The thing that makes it so horrible, is that I keep running into my professor on days that I’ve not shown up to class. And it’s not a small class, so you’d think I’d be fine, that I might go unnoticed… No such luck. Out of a 400 + class, my professor noticed me gone. Why is it that I can never be invisible when I want to be?

And today, he had asked me to be a little earlier, and to sit in the front row. Man, I feel horrible. I had even jumped out of bed at 8:37, (class starts at 8:30am) and misread the clock as saying 8:07, so I thought I still had time to make it, but I really didn’t. And then I was thought, “I can still make it and slip in the back.” But that didn’t happen either…

AAAHHH!!!!!
He’s a cool teacher, so I hope he won’t be too upset about it… I plan on being to class early Thursday.

…So I just got distracted by a number of different online conversations. Which have made me feel a lot better. And hopefully I will not waste the rest of my day. So I’m off to go volunteer at the elementary school!

yay for middle class suburban life.

Did you catch the sarcasm in my title?

So it’s been a while, about a week actually, since I’ve blogged. Here’s a quick recap of my week:

Monday: work and Bible study

Tuesday: Exam, skipped lecture to sleep, work, RUF

Wednesday: Work, class, hung out with Delane (it was Wednesday, right?), did poetry homework, watched LOST

Thursday: Missed my first class (bumped into the Professor, who noticed I was gone. 400 people, and he notices me gone!), work, poetry class, back to work

Friday: Psych class, did a little cleaning, work, nap, family came into town!!! (for family weekend, which was fun), dinner at Carraba’s, dancing with friends and sister on the roof of the parking garage, sleepover with Delane and my sister!

Saturday: sleep in, BBQ and whatnot with the family, dinner and the “Over the Hedge Movie”, other sister stayed over in the dorm-we watched Pride and Prejudice, sleep

Sunday: Church with the family, mall, picnic with Cassie and her family, nap, volleyball (yeah RUF & Ready!!), and back to the dorm for an eventful night in front of my computer.

I had a wonderful weekend, but reflecting back upon my week, everything blurred together. BAD SIGN.

Here’s why:

I don’t want to simply fall into the “middle-class/starbucks-drinking/do whatever/live for fun” kind of life.

I don’t want to simply fall into that “white picket fence/suburbian/church sundays, work 9-5″ existence.

Don’t get me wrong, I think all of these things are wonderful. I love hanging out at Starbucks, enjoying the company of friends, doing fun things. I’d love to live in that cute little two-story yellw house with the brick steps and white picket fence-I think that my dreams for a typical middle-class suburban life aren’t bad.

But what other aspirations do I have beyond that?

“You mean that’s it, Sarah? Don’t you want something else? It all sounds good.”

Well, yeah. I’d love to have a family to share it with, nice friends, and all that jazz.

“Cool.”

But then I started thinking…

Are those my only dreams?

You selfish human being.

Wait, wait… I do want to make a difference in the world.

“No you don’t, loser. All you want is the accalades that tend to come with it.”

Dang it. I know myself all too well.

Looking back, I can find no outstanding event that took place in my week. I didn’t do one noticeable thing for someone else. I couldn’t even do my own work efficently and in a manner that reflects dedication! What kind of legacy have I left behind so as to point to Jesus Christ?

“You go to homeless council once a month…”

Sure. But what I am I doing on a daily basis to help others?

In the newspaper the other day, I came across this article:

As retirement plans go, it’s creative, but rough

COLUMBUS, Ohio–A man who couldn’t find steady work came up with a plan to make it through the next few years until he could collect Social Security: He robbed a bank, handed the money to a guard and waited for police.

On Wednesday Timothy Bowers told a judge a three-year prison sentence would suit him, and the judge obliged.

“At my age, the jobs available to me are minimum-wage jobs. There is age discrimination out there,” Boweres, who turns 63 in a few weeks, told Judge Angela White.

The Judge told him: “It’s unfortunate you feel this is the only way to deal with the situation.”

Reading that, it sounded like something straight from one of O Henry’s short stories–exept Mr. Bowers got what he wanted, unfortunate as it may sound.

I am struck with how selfish I really am. (Not that it’s a completely new revelation.)

I definately don’t want to be the “rich young ruler” in the Bible, who couldn’t bear the thought of parting with his wealth, or the pharisee, who unlike the widow, gave only part of his wealth instead of all of it.

The truth is, I get so caught up in myself. I become so impatient for my life, for things that I think I deserve, but that there’s no way in heaven that I have earned. I become absorbed in the little bubble that is my life, often neglecting those that share in this life with me. Or even worse, neglecting the very One who graciously sustains me.

While I’m looking ahead to my middle-class lifestyle, picture-perfect family and happy existence, I have lost a love for others.

Jesus was a humanitarian. He triumphed feeding and clothing the poor, helping the sick, being a friend those who may not have one…

For whoever welcomes these in my name welcomes me; and whoever welcomes me doesn’t welcome me, but the one who sent me…

Mark 9:37

The movie I saw with my family this weekend, Over the Hedge, was essentially a parody of middle-class suburban life. They displayed the self-gratifying, selfish ways that we, especially as Americans, have adopted. We’re gluttons. (If I recall correctly, that’s one of the “Seven Deadly Sins,” which has to say something about how shameful our lifestyles are…)I don’t want to simply live my dreams and then die. I want to live my life so that others can see Christ reflected through me. I want to make a difference in their lives. Not simply a difference so that when I die they’ll come to my funeral and say, “Sarah was a good person.”
That’s not enough.

I would love for them to say of me, “I loved Sarah, because she loved me. She showed me God’s love.”

That’s the kind of impact I want to have. And I’m not going to have that by being a self-absorbed, self-centered human being.

I won’t say a forever farewell to my dreams of that picture-perfect magazine life. It’s something that I’d one day love to have. But instead, I want to add perspective to it… I want to live a life that is centered around others–around others that may not physically or spiritually have as much as I do, around others who need to be loved and appreciated and cared for–just as I do.
Christians, it seems, are falling behind in the whole area of others-centered lifestyles. We think so long as we do “our part” to feed the hungry, or clothe the poor, or tend the sick, we’re good. It’s like a one-time deal for us, a yearly fee that we pay, so as to ensure we’re good with God. We do it simply because we don’t want any sort of spiritual debt. We view this responsibility just like we do our taxes–something that we hate doing, might enjoy when it’s over, and do once a year to make sure we’re alright.

Living for others needs to be a daily part of our lives. It doesn’t have to be a daunting task, though it may be very difficult at times. We need to remember that our lives are no longer our own: they are Christ’s. We need to live in a way that reflects and brings him glory.

I don’t want to become so involved in my own dreams that my view of the world becomes so limited.

It’s not a small world, after all. We shouldn’t forget that there is life outside of our white picket fences, lexus cages and trips to the local coffee shop.

Love is the Movement, after all. And what better way to show love, than by living as Love did, for others?

Welcome home screams…

I just had one of the best weekends in a while…

These past few weeks have been busy, tiring, and had left me in a state of sheer exhaustion.

Friday held a lot of excitement for me, however. Around 5:30 in the afternoon, I loaded my suitcase into Delane’s (a good friend here at school) car and we headed over to the parking garage to meet up with RUF before heading to RUF Fall Conference 2006.

The Conference was only about 20 minutes away in Micanopy at an old YMCA camp. The group consisted of RUF campus ministires from UCF, USF, FSU, UNF and UF, with ours being the largest, of course. Delane, Shari, Ashley and I rode together, stopping to grab dinner at a Subway before we got there. While in line, Delane and I talked to this girl we had let get in front of us to order. She was pretty cool, and ended up giving Delane one of her cookies. Isn’t it so cool how people can interact like that?! I love it.

Anyways…we all got registered at camp, and dropped our stuff off in the cabins, and came back to the main hall where everyone was gathered. I was visiting with people and introducing myself to others from the different schools. Unfortunately, the mosquitoes were TERRIBLE. But I have to admit–there is not a better way to meet someone than by killing a blood-sucking freak that’s about to bite them, and then extending your hand in greeting. I was in attack mode that night. Reminants of mosquito guts remained visible on my fingers. Yuck.

I came to conference with low expectations (for the sessions) and was plesantly surprized. The speaker, Tom Cannon, is the RUF campus minister at the Savannah College of Art and Design. I enjoyed what all he had to say–a lot of his lessons were very pertinant for me, and one even mirrored a chapter in Donald Miller’s Searching For God Knows What that I had previously finished. Some people may not get as much from camps as I do, and to be completely honest, it’s that I get something out of the human interaction more than I do from the lessons, but there are occasions where things really “click” for me.

In the afternoon, I had a chance to play football. I love playing football… Came away with a nasty bruise on my knee though. Oh, well. Battle wounds! Later I went on a walk around the camp with a group-in a skirt. I wouldn’t recomend it, especially if you’re in a highly wooded area, and also wearing flip-flops. Don’t ask me why…I have no idea. The group explored the grounds, and walked down by the lake, where I was promptly threatened to be thrown in.

After our evening session, a bunch of us (primarily UF students) grabbed pizza and headed over to Craig Carter’s (an elder at a local church, has everyone over to watch UF away games) to see the UF vs. Auburn game. It was a suspenseful evening, and a dissappointing loss. There were some bad plays, and bad calls, but it’s just a game, and the Gators are still 6-1. (My statement that it’s “just a game” may bring me some heat from diehard UF fans, to which I’d reply: “Prioritize your life.” I’m a big Gator football fan, but it doesn’t rule my life.) In order to boost our mood on the way back from the game, us girls in Delane’s car listened to a bunch of rap and really upbeat songs. Dance party. Woohoo.

Delane and I stayed up visiting with some RUFers from Orlando, and then headed back to our cabin really late. As we were walking back, we noticed how beautiful and bright the stars were, so we decided to sit outside and watch the sky. I really enjoyed just getting a chance to talk to her. It was that “human interaction” that I’ve been needing lately, and she’s become a fast friend!

Sunday morning we had a church service, and took a few pictures before leaving conference. Early on Saturday, Melissa had asked me if I’d like to go home on Sunday afternoon for the night. I hadn’t been home to Winter Park in over 8 weeks (hadn’t seen my family either) so I jumped at the chance. I was so happy/excited I could have nearly cried. I decided to surprize my family, so I didn’t tell them I was coming back, except for Leah… My family had to go out of town in the first half of the day for my sister Hannah’s soccer game, so when I got home, they woudln’t be back for another hour or so. I ran over to see my Uncle Mike next door, and see the neighbor kids across the street. I came back home, hid my suitcase, and locked the door back. When I heard the car pull into the driveway, I stood in the hallway, and as my sister Hannah burst in, she let out a scream. Never had I felt more love from a scream. It was a very serendipitous sound. The rest of the family filed in, and I gave them all hugs.

It was so nice to catch them offguard. And even though I was only back for the night, it was wonderful! My mom rubbed my back for me, and dad held me and asked how everything was. My brother was so excited and wanted to show me everything that was going on back home… Boy how I’ve missed them. Leah got back later from babysitting all weekend, and I visited with her briefly before she became immersed in her studies.

I got to visit my youthgroup on my short trip home too… It was so good to see everyone. I tackled a few people, and hugged everyone I could. I managed to make it in time for music practice too, and it was fun to get to sing with the worship crew again! I’ve missed them all a lot!

I asked my dad to cook dinner that night-vegetables. Yes, I think one of the first times I’ve ever requested vegetables for dinner. I can’t remember the last time I’d had some since being up at school…and I am actually quite shocked that I’ve managed to loose wieght instead of gain it! We sat around the dinner table as a family, and I became aware of just how much I’ve missed not being there anymore…

Before Hannah or any other of my siblings went to bed, I wanted to take a few pictures. So much for normal shots. My endeavors quickly turned into a crazy photofest… Leah and Hannah grabbed the camera and started snapping away. Joe took some with me later.

My sisters and me…

I slept better in that one night than I have in a while. I’ve really been homesick. The best part of vacation for me was always pulling into a familiar part of town, as we neared home, and then backing into the driveway after a long night of driving. Curling up in my bed, wearied from my adventures, I slept better than I had in ages. I slept at home. There’s always that part of me that longs for that rest that I find there. I know everyone thinks it’s “cute” that the freshman misses home a lot, and needs to go back… It’s not so much that. I think I’ll always need that. Sure, it’s wonderful to come back to my independence and friends up here, but I will never grow tired of going back to where I came from. Everyone has a different opinion about going home, or where they feel at home. I’ve always been close to my family, so it’s strange for me to not be such a regular fixture in their lives.

Isn’t it amazing how such a feeling can reflect an even deeper, intrinsic feeling? The feeling I have towards being home reflects the way I should feel about heaven. It is the place that I come from, it is where I belong. My real home is where I shall find eternal rest in Christ Jesus. Until then, I remain somewhere in-between. Not quite perfect. Awaiting the day when I’ll come back to screams of welcome as Someone runs through the door to meet me…

It’s now early, early Wednesday morning, I have yet to go to bed. Monday and Tuesday found me swamped with work once again… And tomorrow holds more. I’m just hanging on to the expectations of my family’s visit with me this coming weekend, and getting home for a full weekend by the end of October. So goodnight, goodnight. Dang it, now I have that Hot Hot Heat song stuck in my head…

Pleasant dreams.

Welcome home screams…

Where have you gone?

Lately I have been haunted by the memories of two friends…

I can’t but help to wonder what ever became of them.

Sometimes I search for them–on-line, or in newspapers, or in passing thoughts…

The first was my friend Andrew Kramer. I actually count him as one of my best childhood friends. I grew up with him in our neighborhood in Pine Hills. Being the homeschooedl family that mine was, Andrew would often spend most of his afternoons at my house while his mom was off at work.

We’d do everything together. Both avid Power Rangers fans, we would watch the show together, often pretending to be one of the characters. When the movie came out, I went over to his house to watch it.

Having the longest driveway in the neighborhood, and four kids in my family, our yard was the designated hangout place. On any given day, you could find 10 kids on our front lawn, climbing trees, rolling down the hill, or running around and inventing new games to play. Andrew and I would frequently swing on theplayset in my backyard, or explore the wildlife outside. Back when I wasn’t disgusted by bugs, we emptied all of the milk and juice cartons in my house and proceeded to catch them for a “bug museum” that we had set up on my back porch. That afternoon we had made a sign advertising our enterprise, which charged a whopping 25 cents. Only a few cars drove by us as we stood at the neighborhood’s entrance, and the laughter that came from one such passerby caused confusion in my young, naive mind.

Andrew was very much an entrepruner, and he’d head up numerous fundraising activities. One time, we made a Lucky Charms cake and set up a stand by the road. Othertimes it was lemonade…

My favorite pasttime with Andrew, however, is not a commonplave childhood activity… Tea. My siblings and I would sit down just about every afternoon with our mom, and we would drink tea from our mugs at the kitchen table. One particular afternoon, Andrew was home alone, and it started to storm. Home alone, he called our house, and ran down in the pouring rain. My mom placed his wet jacket in the dryer, as he sat down with the rest of us at the table. Andrew frequented at tea time. His favorite was mint…

Years passed, birthdays and other monumental events had come and gone… In 1999, my family moved from my childhood home to Winter Park, next door to long-time best friends in a wonderful community. In the year before we moved, Andrew and I had drifted apart a little, he was often busy with school work, and we didn’t hang out as much anymore. One time, I wanted to mail him a mint tea bag, but my mom told me he didn’t live in our old neighborhood anymore.

I only have one picture of Andrew and I, taken with a child’s camera. Half of his body is cut out. We have our arms around each other’s shoulders, and bunny ears behind our heads…

There are many times when I think of Andrew, and the good friend that he was. I’d like to know what became of him. Did he graduate? Is he in college? What things does he like to do now? Would he even remeber me…? I keep a weather eye out for his name anywhere. I’d like to have to opportunity to look back on my childhood with someone who shared such a great deal of it.

——————-

The other friend I think of often is someone who was in my 7th grade english class. Her name was Sarah Wolf, I’m pretty sure. I forget exactly how she spelled her name, and have been meaning to search through some old papers of mine that she graded…

She came into our class after the year had already begun, and sat in the desk next to mind. We didn’t seem to have much in common, besides our name, but we’d talk a lot to each other. There was a connection that I felt with her that was different from any others in the class.

Seventh grade was my first year in a public school. It proved to be quite an experience, a majority of those being postive, infused with minor traces of negativity. I wasn’t wholly blind to the world around me, but there was so much that my innocent mind hadn’t witnessed before.

Sarah’s life seemed very difficult, and riddled with pain. She spoke little of her personal life, and when she did, she was very reserved.

One day in class, Sarah came back to school after having missed a few days…

She was sitting in front of me, and lifted up the pants leg of her jeans, to reveal scars all over her leg. I asked what had happened to her, and she replied that she had cut herself shaving.

I don’t know whether her response to me was to protect me from the truth…

A few days after the incident, Sarah didn’t come to class. We were told by the teacher that she had gone somewhere to receive treatment. The following year, she returned to school. I saw her in my 8th grade science class, she sat a few tables away from me. She seemed to have changed-a haircut, and she answered now to the name of “Gabby” because, she said, she talked a lot.

She was only in that class for a couple of weeks before she was gone again. This time I had no idea where she went. I haven’t seen her since.

A couple of years later, I came to understand that Sarah was depressed, and suffered from suicidal thoughts. I learned she “cut” herslef…

There is a pain I feel looking back, and I can’t help but wonder if I could have in any way made some sort of difference in her life. I pray for her–pray that she’s better, living well, happy…

I search for her sometimes, typing her name into web search engines, in fruitless efforts to find a friend from my past…

I’d just like to know how she’s doing.

——————-

These friends were a big part of my life…

Their memories are like old songs, that cross my mind, playing over and over in my head, as I try and remember each word, each note…

If they ever have a chance to read this, I’d like to tell them that I’ve been thinking of them, praying for them.

I hope you’re doing well, friends.

Psychology is making me psyck…

Forgive my lame title, and my poor play on words. However, it rings very true right now.

I have just spent the past 5 hours working at the Reitz [student] union on my psychology homework.

Admittedly, it is my own fault for procrastinating. However, my laziness in checking online announcements was the cause of my ignorance as to the fact that homework was due. Thus resulting in my completing 3 online chapter quizes before midnight, for which I did no reading (and still haven’t).

Our professor says we can use our book when taking the online quizes, which I can thank for my almost-perfect scores on all three. (Hallelujah! It’s the only thing keeping my grade afloat.) Unfortunately, this will not help me on my 8:30am test tomorrow morning. So I still have a lot of studying to do. I’ve calculated that I currently have a C+, and would very much like it to be an A by the end of the semester. Looks like I shall have to improve my study skills.

Our student union is FREEZING!

It’s only 10:26pm. Which is a good thing, I guess, because I still have studying, another paper, and a couple loads of laundry to do before tomorrow.

I am greatly anticipating the weekend conference with RUF (Reformed University Fellowship). Granted, I live for any kind of social interaction, and love retreats of all kinds, so this weekend is a welcome escape from my lack of anything.

I know that I would die if I was a hermit, or stranded by myself on an island, or just ALONE. I can’t stand it. Perhaps in very small amounts. But it’s always on a need-to basis. A lot of times when I go some place to be “alone” I end up going somewhere surrounded by people–like in the student union, sitting outside, etc. I hate that I’m so dependent upon other people. I hate that I value what others think of me–we all say we don’t care, but we’re lying, you know you care… I can’t ever seem to rely wholly on God and His love to give me value and purpose. I’m a people person, and sometimes it makes me sick. And when I say “people person” in this context, I mean that I derrive my meaning, my worth, my motivation from others. I count is as the main reason for Facebook or myspace for becoming such addictions for me.
It’s bad. It causes me to become depressed, and self-concious, and all sorts of other negative things.

True, it can make me feel loved or appreciated or cared for– but I get to the point where that is all I’m living for…

It’s an area where I’m most convicted, and falter so often.

I think it could explain a lot of my lack of motivation. (And I mean…) I become lazy and unmotivated to do work or other things because it does not affirm me. I receive no outstanding form of validation from it, so I turn to areas that do–such as pleasing people. It’s why I’m a social butterfly. I do just enough to get by (when it comes to work/homework, etc). Heck–I do enough so that it looks like I try hard, when in reality, I’m apathetic to doing what I should, because all I care about is being affirmed (feeling loved).

It stings when I hear the words “Do everything for the glory of God.”

My work should reflect Him. It should be a mirror of His Glory (to the best of human ability), and bring Him praise and honor.

I haven’t been doing that.

Definately something I need to work on. It may take quite a while…

Prayer and a more God-focused life are the only remedies to such a problem. I don’t want to add them to some sort-of “To Do” list, labeling them as simply things that I might need to work on. I want a change of heart.

So I guess it’s on to studying and laundry and bed.

Carnation, Lily, Lily, Rose

I just finished my third poem for my CRW1301 class. (Creative Poetry Writing) It’s one of my favorite things to do–write poems, that is–but I find it takes me a lot longer when I’m given specific guidelines to follow. This particular poetry assignment wasn’t as difficult as the first two. We were given the task of finding a painting by a famous artist, and writing the poem in a style reflexive of a few works by other poets.

I chose John Singer Sargent’s Carnation, Lily, Lily, Rose. (I took a particular liking to the title.)

It’s not very refined, and I’ll probably do some revisions on it later, but here it is:

Carnation, Lily, Lily, Rose

By Sarah Madsen

Far Removed from hosannas of war

where children starve to sleep

hangs the image of Sarget’s

Carnation, Lily, Lily, Rose.

Soft summer lanters lit

by innocent hands

reflect not the dark demons

who hide inside each petal’s frame.

Not a plea to love

nor the lily’s sweet fragrance

can keep unwanted visitors away;

And quickly fascination

becomes buried in graves.

That’s it. Not too special. Pretty good to be written in half an hour, if I do say so myself though.

A bit of interpretation, for clarity:

“Hosanna” was origionally a term used by the Hebrews when they would call out to God “save us.”

I use the meaning of the flowers in the poem as well.

Lily was generally a symbol of purity (as are many flowers) but it was also used to “keep unwanted visitors” away.

Roses represent love, and carnations facination. (Hence “fascination buried in graves”)

Sargent was also an American painter. (You might take this into account when I say “Far removed from hosannas of war,” as well as the origins of the word hosanna, and how they are all tied back in to “war”).

I have no idea if my explination of my poem is only confusing you more or what. But it seems as if every time I write, no one can get the deeper meanings that I try and incorporate into them. Sigh. Oh, well.

I hope you enjoyed it.