This Sabbath there was a special dedication for the Student Missionaries, so I went to church with my boss. We were sitting on the front row of the alcove, so we had a great view of both the platform and the congregation. He took this opportunity to educate me on men’s fashion.

For you to really appreciate this, you’d probably have to know my boss. Japhet is British and he pops the collar of his Pathfinder Camporee polo shirts. Clearly I should trust his fashion sense.

So I learned the suitable thickness of the soles of shoes you wear with nice suits (thin – definitely not chunky) and the proper way “trousers” should hang on a man’s legs. When a man sits down, he should hike his pants up just a bit so you can catch a glimpse of his socks (which must be taught, not rumpled).

I always thought this meant your pants were too short. Silly me.

“You can tell a lot about a person by their socks,” Japhet said, looking down on me knowingly.

He seemed to feel like he was giving me an invaluable gem of wisdom. A bit of dating advice, perhaps. If any suitors come to your door, check their socks before you let them in!

My boss isn’t the first person who has told me that socks reveal important information about someone. I’m guessing these people think highly of someone who spends extra money for really nice socks. Maybe quality socks reflect quality character.

Right then, I made a mental note to never let my boss see my socks. To me, socks are a purely functional item of clothing – they provide warmth, prevent blisters, and probably absorb some foot sweat. But in my experience, cheap socks do all those things too. I still wear socks from high school; I don’t know why you’d get rid of socks until they have holes in them or are irreversibly dirty. But who knows, maybe my socks are way out of style by now.

I don’t know what this says about my character. Please don’t judge me.

when the birds chirp
during a thunderstorm
are they singing
or screaming?





















.

I’m writing this blog on the back of an old quiz from my GRE class, sitting atop a warm clothes dryer. It just finished its cycle and is making the same popping and cracking noises my car makes when I turn it off. Ah, the comforting sounds of old machinery. Why am I writing in the laundry room, you ask? It’s a bit of a long story…

It started this afternoon, actually. A series of unfortunate events left me feeling lousy. After contemplating all of the ways I could throw myself a pity party, I decided on a nap. I pulled off my stiff teacher clothes, put on some comfy pj’s, set my phone alarm for 5:00 pm, and crawled under my down comforter. Ah...pity.

Life was really much better when I awoke. I ate some supper, put my teacher clothes back on, and headed back to school to teach my evening class: 7:00 – 7:50 pm. I only agreed to this horrible time because the other alternative was Friday afternoon.

Tonight, one of my students had to stay late to make up a quiz. While she was working on it, I ran back to my office to get something I’d forgotten. In the process, I forgot something else in my office: my keys. I did not realize this until I had collected my student’s quiz and was headed toward my car to go home.

Irony of the day: This morning in comp, in an effort to explain the difference between showing and telling, I gave this example: “Don’t tell me your friend Emily is forgetful – show me! Describe how she forgets her phone and misplaces her keys...” Oh how quickly these words came back to haunt me. As I searched through my purse a second time for my keys, I realized my phone was not there either.

I’m a minimalist when it comes to purse contents. I carry my wallet, my Andrews ID, my gym card, 1 pen, chapstick, and usually my keys and my phone. It would be hard to miss those items in my purse, but I checked a third and fourth time just to be sure.

I could no loner deny the truth. My phone was still sitting on my bedside table, right where I’d left it after my pity party nap. And my keys…likely sitting on my office desk.

My office! I headed back over, hoping the professor I had seen there minutes before would still be there and let me in. No luck – he must have just gone home.

At this point, I realized I had two options: I could call Campus Safety and have them let me into the office so I could get my keys. Or I could walk home. I thought it might be faster to walk home, and it certainly sounded like more fun. The thought that my roommate had book club tonight and might not be home was tickling the back of my brain, but I ignored it and started to walk.

It’s only a little over a mile to my apartment, and the sunset was beautiful (even if it was behind me). But the sensible heels I wore today were starting to seem not-so-sensible…particularly when I got to the cornfield behind my apartment.

About two weeks ago, this field was plowed and fertilized. Every time it rains (or snows and melts, as was the case today), the lovely aroma of fertilizer surrounds our apartment - and most of Berrien Springs. I have to admit, the soft and squishy field was kind of fun to walk through, but now my heels were caked with manure.

As I entered the parking lot, the fear that had slowly been creeping toward the front of my brain was confirmed. Jamie’s car was not in the parking lot.
That’s okay! I thought optimistically. Maybe she left the door unlocked. Unlikely – we even lock the door when we’re inside.

Sure enough – locked. My neighbor came out of his apartment to check his laundry and I rang the doorbell to look like I had a purpose for standing there, staring at the locked door. When he left, I ran around to the side and tried the side door. Also locked. I took off my shoes, sat down on my doormat, and started to grade GRE quizzes.

Does Jamie’s book club last from 7:00 – 9:00 or 8:00 – 10:00?

I looked at my watch. 8:30. I was starting to get cold, and the dryer vent was blowing linty moisture onto me. I decided to relocate. I scribbled a note to my roommate and stuck it on the door: “Jamie – I’m in the laundry room. Come get me when you get home!”


I was just talking with Kessia this morning about needing to be more intentional about building community. Step #1: lock yourself out of your apartment. I met several of my neighbors while in the laundry room. Mostly very awkward first interchanges – “Don’t stay here all night!” and “Are you sitting on that dryer because it’s broken?...or can I use it?” and “You’re still here?!”

They all offered to help in one way or another. But I stubbornly and politely refused, insisting to sit in the laundry room and grade my quizzes (and organize my folder, and write tomorrow’s quiz, and throw away old papers, and…write a blog?).

One guy told me that there was a key box here that I could get the code for if I called the landlord. I smiled and thanked him, and didn’t tell him I didn’t have my phone.

When he came back an hour later, and I was still sitting there, he insisted. So I admitted my second fault, and he went and got his phone. By this time, it was 10:10. I felt awful for calling my landlord so late. But this guy wouldn’t let it go! When I got voicemail, he went and got his rental agreement to find another number. No luck with that one, so he called the first number again. This time the landlord answered and gave me the code.

So I entered my apartment at 10:27 pm and began typing. My roommate’s headlights shone through my window at 10:36. I bet she is wondering where my car is.


If you're still reading, I'll reward you with a moral. I was very tempted to resurrect my pity party at quite a few points throughout the night. Why me? Why such a bad day?

Well actually, the bad day was almost entirely my fault. At every turn for the worse, there was always the opportunity of asking for help. But instead, I clung to my stubbornness and pride until I was practically forced to accept help.

Why do you think God tells us to ask for what we need? He already knows. Why doesn't He just provide? There are probably lots of good reasons. But maybe one is that He wants us to realize our dependence on Him. To deflate our pride, admit our inadequacy, and say, "God, I need!"

I need help. Every day. I don't have enough wisdom to be an excellent teacher. I don't have enough discipline to do my homework before the last second. Enough patience to wait for things I want now. Enough courage to do what is hard. Enough love for people who frustrate me. Enough humility to admit what I lack.