In the beginning...

... okay, I won't insult Scripture by making it into a play on words. I just wanted a catchy title for this post.

Two weeks ago life was in the process of plucking me up in cyclone of lists, plans, and details as the wedding creeped ever closer. Last minute preparations haunted the short days leading up to October 16, and as the peace after a storm, the day of the wedding was the comfort and salve to relieve the stress of the last ten months.


I won't give you a play-by-play of the ceremony and reception, but let me tell you-- the day was fantastic and we really couldn't have asked for anything better. Granted the weather was less than perfect, but once photos were done and we could warm up inside, our angst for the wind and chill melted away into what became the best dance party New England has seen since Bostonians flooded the city's streets to celebrate the Sox winning the World Series.


Now that the wedding itself is in the past, what Elliot and I are appreciating right now is just being together at our home. We've never lived together before, so coming home to each other, cooking dinner together, and making the bed together are new and exciting activities for us. We unpack boxes of wedding gifts, make fun of Fox News, and discuss which shade of brown the bedroom curtains should be (I think you can guess who cares about that more)-- all such simple things, but thrilling when done with the person with whom you're spending the rest of your life.


Mushy, mushy, mushy... I know. But such is the life of happy newlyweds. A few months ago it felt so cool to choose our wedding invitations and which food to serve at the wedding because those decisions represented the next big step for our relationship and individual lives. Those decisions, however, were for the short-term and now the big stuff like buying a house and swirly babies (don't get too excited yet) are on the horizon, and those are the decisions we can enjoy for decades to come.


If you didn't get to see the online footage of the wedding, the archived video is below.


That's all, folks!



Watch live video from saraandelliotwedding on Justin.tv

Waiting for the fireworks

(No, I'm not picking Elliot's nose.)

When I decided to dive into my current job with AmeriCorps, I questioned my future as a writer. Was I going to do "community stuff" until retirement, or was I going to get back on the journalism bandwagon after a few years of attempting to save the world? 

Questions, questions, and more questions.

As I began preparing for my position over the summer, answers to that question trickled in ever so slowly. Early on I created a blog for service learning at Campbell (which right now is more about community service) that soon began serving as a creative outlet for me at work. It doesn't exist as a catharsis for myself, but I certainly enjoy writing it. Not having to read and write for hours at a time (a.k.a. college) made me hunger for the written word. I was reading nutrition labels and evangelism literature in Spanish to get my brain to calm down.

I decided that my vocation is supposed to involve writing when I realized recently that I can only go so long without writing, and at this point by "writing" I mean posting on here because it's the best place to write. I'm not a journalist so I'm not crafting news and my brain works way faster than my hand so I don't keep a diary... but really, I don't write at all. I type. Blogging will tie me over for now.

Also in the arena of changes (but with not so serious questions) is moving permanently out of Buies Creek and 30 miles north to Elliot's place in Raleigh. Everything I own inside NC lines, minus clothes and toiletries, is either in one of our vehicles or stacked up in our apartment. Talk about transition. Buies Creek is a special place, but I've been looking forward to moving out. Living here is keeping me stuck in the student mind-set, and naturally I'd rather be exploring Raleigh with Elliot than becoming addicted to Hulu in the Creek.

It's no secret that the wedding is coming up so I won't bore you with my excitement about that. It's surreal that the countdown is in the teens, and such a short time ago in college I thought October 16 would never arrive. I feel like Elliot and I are watching fireworks shoot up into the sky and reeling in the suspense of them exploding in an unthinkable array of color and beauty. We've been waiting for and working towards this day for what seems like a long time, and if wedding planning has taught us anything, 'tis that the wedding day is just the launch pad for a beautiful and colorful life.

Elliot's camera magic at Walt Dizzle World.

Actual nose picking. What a couth man I have.

Stories from my journey

Old school Sara and Elliot

This morning I spoke at Campbell University Worship (CUW), Campbell's weekly chapel session required for freshmen and sophomores. When our campus minister asked me to be the first speaker of the semester I was honored. Not only was it an opportunity to speak to approximately 1,000 students, but it was a symbol that the Campbell community respected me and thought I had something valuable to say to students.

Typically before speaking publicly my heart beats out of my chest and my mouth dries up. Today, however, despite a nasty cold and not preparing heavily, my heart beat was calm and cotton mouth didn't kick in.

Below is the story I offered:

If you know me in anyway capacity you know that my life is a series of awkward moments and bad hair days. Over the years those awkward moments have become the kind of memories that make you laugh so hard you cry … and the bad hair days haven’t changed.

My friends will agree heartily that I have many stories to tell, and do so willingly. Escapades from my childhood, tripping up the stairs in a skirt at Marshbanks, to an embarrassing run-in with airport security all color my life and provide my friends a good giggle.

The most profound story of my life thus far, however, is how a small town girl from Massachusetts ended up in a smaller town in North Carolina to have a four-year adventure to experience another culture… and how she ended up staying.

I grew up with the same people from pre-school through high school. The kids who ate glue in kindergarten were the ones in detention every day in middle school, and the girls who sang the Lion King theme song with me in first grade were my lunch buddies until the day we graduated.

Despite the deep roots I had in the no-traffic-light town of Warren, Massachusetts, I felt called to a place different than what I was used to. And when I say “called,” I don’t mean the universe whispered in my ear and I don’t mean I wanted to travel. I mean God had plans for me elsewhere in the world.

That’s where Campbell came in.

After introducing myself for the first time to people, the most frequent first question is, “How did you get to Campbell?”

My response by this time is rehearsed. My answer is always “I used Google,” and after seeing a confused face I continue with my explanation. I grew up wanting to represent people in some way. I flirted with the idea of becoming a pediatrician so I could heal sick children too poor to buy band-aids and thermometers. I thought about becoming a teacher so I could teach the world to read and write.

By my junior year of high school, however, neither of these ideas seemed to settle. I didn’t have peace about my post-high school future until one day, the answer literally opened up in front of me.

The principal of our high school asked me to be the editor of the school’s first student-run newspaper. I had read magazines, filed through newspapers, and listened to the evening news my whole life, but I didn’t know the first thing about crafting it myself. This new situation was intimidating to me. Looking back, God was throwing me into a situation He knew would take me to greater things.

Senior year rolled around, along with college application deadlines. While working on the student newspaper I grew to love writing new stories. Though only about seemingly trivial topics like a high school dance or the annual essay contest, something inside me yearned to perfectly mold a story from the endless details and facts floating in the air. I wanted to catch the sights, sounds, and smells of everything I wrote about so the reader could best understand what happened. I decided I would major in journalism so I could learn how to better tell stories.

So, to Google I went. I wanted a Christian school… or did I? I grew up in church but wasn’t sure if I wanted a “churchy” environment for the next four and very formative years of my life. I thought long and hard about it and gave myself a question to ponder. Was I ready to go out into the world and live my faith by myself, or did I need a few more years of an encouraging Christian environment?

I chose the latter, and searched in Google for Christian schools on the East Coast with journalism programs. Well, what do you know, those are pretty narrow parameters and I literally ended up with just two results: a tiny, faith based college outside Boston and a slight less tiny faith based university in rural North Carolina, placed quaintly between a few cotton fields and churches of every breed. As the oldest of four children, my mom and I ventured out on my family’s first round of college visits. We took the tours, read the brochures, and bought the t-shirts.

And I had yet another decision to make—do I stay in my comfort zone and send my deposit to the school in Boston? I knew the culture. I was part of that culture. I would be close to home and people talked like me. Or I could be almost 800 miles from home and sleep in my cozy, full size bed only during Christmas and summer breaks. I would miss birthday parties, snow storms, and weekends visiting with my grandparents, who’s health was deteriorating more than any of us wanted to admit.

Campbell was the last school I applied to, and the first acceptance letter I received. God had placed my destiny in North Carolina, and I knew I had to go find it, even if I had to call my grandparents every Saturday instead of having lunch with them.

Summer of 2006 came and went with the breezes of the season. I graduated from high school, went on a couple shopping sprees at Linens ‘n’ Things, washed my clothes and packed up the family minivan. I was ready—way more than I should have been. At that time of my life I was so shy I dreaded Sunday school and meet-n-greets at church because I hated talking to new people. I didn’t like change. I ate Life cereal almost every morning since I could chew. But somehow I wanted to ship off to North Carolina for four years. I had no friends there, didn’t know the area, the people talked funny, and I sure wasn’t going to eat fried everything. But somehow, somehow… I was ready.

Strangely enough, I immediately acclimated to college life. I took advantage of some AP credits to take only 12 credit hours the first two semesters. I spent my extra time dabbling in SGA, CAB, and the Campbell Times. I had lots of friends in each of the four undergraduate classes. I loved my life at Campbell and felt I was truly myself here. While I brought the baggage of my pre-college life down with me, no one else knew my past, and I knew nothing about anyone else. At first my new college friends didn’t know the size of my family, that I’m afraid of heights or that as a child I cut my own bangs into the shape of a triangle. I was a new person at Campbell.

Little did I know how much my first year at Campbell, those fewer than twelve months, would ripple effect my whole life. I met people who became my mentors. I met people who I never want to be like, and I met people weirder than myself, which taught me that there are all kinds of people in the world but really we’re all just as weird as the person next to us. Of all the people I met that year, perhaps the most important was the man who next month will become my husband.

The whirlwind of freshman year passed, and the following three dissolved away as I learned more, grew more, and spent more time thinking about my life after Campbell. For so long Campbell was my entire life. For four years Buies Creek was my final destination. My time revolved around classes, extracurriculars, traveling back and forth between Massachusetts, and developing my relationship with my fiancé. Beyond that, I had been a student in some capacity for almost two decades. I was good at being a student, and quite frankly I wasn’t sure if I could do anything else. Like I said, change wasn’t on my list of favorite activities.

I stuck with journalism and made writing my niche. I had finally learned how to craft a story. But really I had accomplished a goal I didn’t know I had until recently—I had learned how to tell the stories of others; those who can’t speak for themselves. Sure, I could cover a house fire or election, but my passion lived in the projects, behind convenience store counters, and in shelters. I didn’t want to interview the policy makers to get their side of the propaganda. I wanted to be the voice of the citizens who live those policies or die because of them.

After Christmas break of senior year I decided to start the job hunt. The doom and gloom forecast of the print media, also known as newspapers and magazines, didn’t deter me from finding a writing job. If I had to write obituaries and wedding announcements for three years, I was going to do it. I didn’t spend four years writing story after story to sit at home until something better came long. Resume after resume and e-mail after e-mail went out. I was shocked, in a good way, to get an interview, then another, and at one point I had four interviews in a week, and two call-back interviews lined up. I was pretty sure a job offer was coming down the pike, just in time for graduation.

Me being an awesome reporter.

But, even if I had a job eventually… where would I live after graduation? Would I be close to my fiancé? Could I afford to live on my own? All these questions lingered in my mind, invading all my thoughts until the weekend of Operation Inasmuch 2010, when hanging outside in the heat and among the bugs was never worth it so much as that day.

I was helping the university’s public relations office cover the projects at Erwin River Park when I spotted Faithe Beam. I knew Faithe somewhat from previous mission trips through her office and I wanted see how she had been the last few months. She told me about a new position her office was looking to fill, something brand new. They needed a recent graduate with good communication skills to, according to my memory at the time, do something or other with community service and the migrant community. She asked me to keep that job in mind among my interviews with local newspaper. I put the thought on the back burner, fully expecting to steam through to a job offer in the coming days and leave Campbell as a gainfully employed newspaper reporter, living the dream.

Later that day, to Google I went, again, just to read up a tiny bit on the job Faithe had mentioned. I read a tiny bit, some more, a little bit here and there... and before I knew it, I couldn’t read enough about joining the AmeriCorps VISTA program. Despite not being a reporting job, it was right up my alley. I wouldn’t be a reporter of course, but it was a way for me to speak up for the invisibles around us who can’t speak for themselves. I came to the conclusion that I could be a reporter later in life. This was a unique opportunity.

So, after graduation I joined AmeriCorps, bought some “grown up” clothes, and moved into a new apartment on the edge of campus. After years of transition and decision making, I ended up exactly where I needed to be—telling the stories of others, all of whom are part of the story of my journey.

More old school Campbell memories.

If I'm stressed it's because I'm blessed.

I like to rhyme the words
 "bless" and "stress."

Let me tell you something.

Nothing makes you want a glass of fermented fruit juice more than planning your long distance wedding that's two months out while starting your first job.

I'd also like to tell you that nothing electrifies my life more than planning my long distance wedding that's two months out while starting my first job. Talk about blessings.

The third week of my job at Campbell is on the brink, and I'm realizing how time flies post-grad. I'm not napping between bouts of cafeteria food and doodling during class. My days start with spacing-out at my awful 80s floral valance for a few minutes, daydreaming about flying through Harnett County in a tiara and cape while Outlook loads and cyberspace delivers reality one pixel at a time.

Each day is a small adventure, sometimes involving a golf cart with nine lives or donuts no human pancreas is prepared for.

The pace will only pick up once students move in next weekend. It'll be strange to not only be a professional at Campbell, but to be seen as one. No more wearing yoga pants just because I didn't' feel like washing my jeans that week. But hey, now I have an excuse to go skirt hunting! 

The wedding planning process has reached the point where the women around me tell me it's all going to be okay, that it'll come together, and that I'll live through it. Similar reactions to a diagnosis of pneumonia or heart break... in some ways wedding planning can be equally traumatic.

Nonetheless, I'm working on reminding myself that the purpose of the day is to marry Elliot, not to make sure the card stock of the escort cards and invitations are the same shade of white. I never thought I'd be considering details beyond matching my socks, but alas, this is the one time I can choose my card stock and its varying shades of white... or ivory... or bright white? The options are endless.

If I'm stressed it's because I'm blessed.

Hotlanta is really hot

I doubt if anyone actually tracks my blog, so I won't apologize for not writing in almost a month. But I've missed writing, so here goes.


The last month has been a whirlwind of small steps leading up to two big milestones: beginning my AmeriCorps VISTA job at Campbell (July 26) and marrying Elliot (October 16).


In the arena of marriage/wedding preparation, Elliot moved into a new two bedroom apartment in Raleigh that will be ours come October. We spent a weekend with some helpful friends moving furniture and boxes of odds and ends. Our biggest adventure so far was painting the master bedroom... which turned out great except we also painted part of the ceiling. But we're proud nonetheless.


I just returned from spending a few days in Atlanta (properly nicknamed "Hotlanta") participating in Pre-Service Orientation for my AmeriCorps position. The entire Southern Cluster of new VISTA volunteers met in Atlanta to learn about what we do and why we do it. It was great to meet so many other people from so many places in life and all over the world with have similar aspirations.


If your assumptions of AmeriCorps volunteers are anything like mine were before last week, you probably think it's a bunch of hippy college grads who don't want a corporate job. Well, like me, you'd be totally wrong. I met a lot of recent college grads, a few hippies, and a lot more parents and married people than I thought I would. More surprising was that a lot of the married volunteers are my age. Most of the volunteers have left great paying jobs to serve.


(Fun fact: AmeriCorps volunteers make $10,000 a year.)


I'm still processing everything I learned at PSO. It was information overload with lots of good food and great people. If I came away with anything from my time in Atlanta, it was that the projects we accomplish as VISTAs have a huge impact on our respective communities. (If you want to read more about my AmeriCorps project, check out whereserviceexcels.blogspot.com)


Summer 2010 is turning out to be one of preparation, a kind of spring board for the next few years of my life. The events of these hot and humid days give me excitement, anticipation, and joy for my future.

Orange colored lens

Ladies and gentlemen, it's official. I graduated from college.

Now, of course, May 15 was the day I received my diploma and took 10,876 pictures in my sweat-soaked polyester graduation gown.

But I haven't really "felt" like a graduate until today.

I lived today in a new role that not only changed how I see myself, but also how I see other people. My professors and other Campbell faculty are now colleagues. Incoming freshman seem so young and so babyfaced-- me only four years ago. I've jumped to the next lillypad in life.

And it's weird.

Usually at Campbell events I don't need to know where to go or what to do because someone else makes the plans and herds us around. Today I was one of the the ones answering questions (sometimes with the wrong answer) and appearing to students and parents as the where the information buck stops.

As unusual as the day was, it was enlightening and enjoyable. I grew to know better my Campus Ministry colleagues. I saw a lot of puzzled looks from other Campbell staff who were wondering why this "I've never seen you before" girl has an official name tag (by the way, it's magnetic and awesome).

I spent a few minutes observing the incoming freshman. The girls wore their favorite clothes and their shiniest lip gloss. The guys put on airs of nonchalance, of course. We had preppy kids, tech geeks, jocks, shy kids, and your average Joes and Josephines who are okay with collecting at least 15 orange shirts over the next four years.

I guess I was a little sad I was no longer one of them. I became very comfortable with college life. I was good at it. Now I have a new life that I'm 85% unfamiliar with, and sometimes it's overwhelming, but really-- what do I have to fear? My dream job, a community I've grown to love, or awesome colleagues? I'm the weakest part of that equation because of the doubts I lay on myself.

This summer I have a different and new purpose at Campbell, and I'm embracing it once crooked brick at a time.

Mis amigos nuevos

I've been hanging out with one of the best kept secrets around: the immigrant families of Angier, North Carolina.

Of course it's no secret Angier is home to many immigrant and migrant worker families. The secret, however, is that they matter and that they contribute to grace more than any other sub-culture I've come in contact with.

Immigrants and migrant familes easily become invisible to those of an outside culture. They blend in as "just another Mexican" and as part of the Southeast's skyrocketing Hispanic population.

Someone needs to speak for these personas, people, and tell their story. Someone needs to be their representative against the unspoken, cyclical forces that imprison them in poverty and poor health.

I don't know the details of the life of any one student, but I've gethered some general information about most of the students. They have siblings they love and fight with, friends they miss in a far-away land, and parents who work too much for too little money.

Sound familiar?

It's the story of so many Americans from every color in the rainbow and every generation since the American Revolution. The only difference is that for most of us, red tape, cultural hurdles, and ignorance didn't prevent us from learning how to read, getting a job, or having our kids vaccinated.

These children are happy to have a summer free of teachers and homework. They love to play in the water and watch movies with their friends. They like hugs and the little boys blush when the college girls smile at them.

What will happen if we ignore an entire generation of children because of paperwork and owed taxes? Hopefully we won't have to find out.

All things new

For those of you who just graduated from college, you understand how this summer is so different from all others in my life. No summer reading, no tuition payments, no moving back to student housing. This summer arrived with a new purpose-- to mark the beginning of my life as an adult.

And if you want to hear a story about blessings, you've come to the right place. I left Campbell with a degree in Communication Studies, but my concentration was in print journalism. Since high school I knew my future lied in a news room. I wanted to use writing to tell the stories of the invisible layers of society-- those who couldn't tell their own story.

The job hunt begin in January. Elliot and I hunted the Web for openings at community newspapers from the North Carolina mountains up to Washington, D.C. I had interview after interview, raise hopes after raised hopes. Some openings proved promising in the last week of April when I had four interviews. Needless to say, I was surprised to be getting so many bites in a time when not only are jobs scarce, but newspapers are a casualty of the technology war.

The end of April also brought Operation Inasmuch, which I was helping the university to cover as part of the media team. At a park in Erwin I saw our campus minister, Faithe Beam. Conversations with Faithe are typically enlightening, but little did I know how much our chat that day would change my life (and Elliot's life).

I updated Faithe on my promising job leads. I was prepared to graduate and take a reporting position, no questions asked. It's what I had wanted for a long time and I had worked hard to prepare for a life as a journalist.

As it turned out, God had been preparing me for the last four years-- but not to become a journalist (at least not right away). He had been honing my communication, writing, speaking and Spanish skills in order to make sure I would be ready for the job He basically dropped in my lap the day I spoke with Faithe.

In the last three months or so, God has given me a fantastic job, a new place to live, time to see family, and the excitement of my upcoming marriage to Elliot. He has given me a new life to make my own with what He has given me.

He makes all things new.

Sunset

I walked into a grungy and damp classroom, soon to discover I was the only freshman and the only one without a clue.


Pretty typical of my first few weeks of college.


It was mid-way through my first semester that I found myself in a Campbell Times meeting. I was ready to conquer the world with witty banter and Pulitzer photography.


Ha.


I gleaned the first issue of the paper at the meeting. That summer was so hot that I wasn't the only thing sweating profusely -- my desk was perspiring into the newspaper's low grade paper. 


Through smudged words and spotty photos I knew I had found my niche. I found a venue to test my writing, to learn the craft... to screw up enough times that a byline was extremely humbling.


My time on the school newspaper has in many ways defined my career at Campbell. In the news room I encountered some of the most landmark personalities of the last four years of  my life. 


I grew up in the Communication Studies Department and the Campbell Times was my playground. I made friends, tested my skills, skinned my knees, swung the highest on the swings, and gossiped a lot with other girls.


I won't go in to all the ways a student paper is vital to a university, especially a private one. I will, however, tell you what a trial, tribulation, pain in the butt, and how totally awesome it is to be a part of the few pieces of paper that frames student culture and represents thousands of people.


The school paper taught me thousands of lessons, most of which I won't realize for years to come. 


Tonight's Campbell Times banquet marked the end of my time with the paper. In a month my name will be in the archives. No more bylines, no more copy editing, no more drama  with the administration. 


Cue the cheesy closing line....


All good things must come to an end.

Perspective

I grew up in a middle-class town with middle-class friends. I go to school in a middle-class town with middle-class friends.

For the sake of explaining my thought process, I'm going to loosely define "middle-class" as having everything you need to live comfortably, and nothing more. You pay the bills, feed your kids, grow your savings and go to bed at night on sheets you got on sale at K-Mart (a small victory).

Never in life have I felt I didn't have the basics: food, clothes and my health. Until recently.

(This is going to sound like some big dramatic story, but it's not supposed to be. Bare with me.)

I recently had to see a doctor for chronic fatigue and a misbehaving heart. My seemingly imminent cure came in the form of a slew of appointments-- cardiologist, neurologist and a follow-up with the first doctor. I was so relieved that someone was going to be able to tell my why I had to sleep 12 hours every day in order to barely function.

And then my bouquet of balloons popped.

Of course I had to call Blue Cross New England to notify them of all this new medical stuff. After a web of phone calls between the insurance company, my mom and myself, turns out Blue Cross New England won't cover anything but an emergency room visit because the doctors here are outside the New England network.

So, tomorrow I'm canceling all those appointments. My parents had to pay the office visit fee of $170 up-front because my insurance would have nothing to do with it.

I can't do anything about my health problems until I'm on Elliot's health insurance in October.

I'm an American citizen who sought health care in the United States and I got the door shut in my face because I'm a full-time college student outside my insurance's network and I don't have thousands of dollars to get my heart and brain checked out. You can imagine how crappy my day was.

But I'm not writing a sob story about myself. If I'm pissed I can't do anything for six months, I can hardly imagine the lives of real-life, actually poor Americans who have never had insurance, health or dental. I felt like the rug had been pulled out from under me after my relatively not-a-big-deal experience, and there are millions of other people in these 50 states who wouldn't even be able to afford that one office visit.

The recent health legislation apparently is going to cost a bunch of money. And apparently everyone is going to be taxed, and apparently it's going to help a lot of people and improve their quality of life.

People will be pissed for a few weeks and find something else to complain about. Probably something related to reality television. In the mean time, people across the country are rejoicing because finally, finally... their kids can have an annual check-up, they can get a mammogram, they can get their mom's diabetes checked. All without cringing as they hand over the cash, as they sign the check and without working overtime to barely be able to pay for it.

Pride and Prejudice

The wind cut through my North Face knock-off and stung my bare toes (earlier the day struck me as one for flip-flops) while I waited outside the library to meet up with a stranger.

Don't worry, I was meeting him for the first time to tutor him, not to take free candy.

A few minutes passed, and naturally, and selfishly, I hoped I would get an "I can't come" text so I could trudge back to my apartment and return the circulation to my toes.

My position near the front door allowed me to observe every person approaching the library. With each new face my mind would whisper a wish, "Please not him..." or "Hopefully it's that guy?"

My inner thoughts seemed automatic until an especially drab and awkward looking student came on his merry way to pursue his education via the rented reference. By "drab and awkward" I mean he was very pale and not exactly dressed the the nines. I interpreted his skin tone as malnutrition and wardrobe choice (it may not have been a choice) as poverty.

If I had a thought bubble over my head, any anglophone near me would have witnessed the judgments and assumptions forming so erroneously in my head. I classified each person's worth according to what I perceived to be their socioeconomic class, based on their clothes and otherwise appearance.

In those dark moments of selfishness I didn't want to have to tutor a smelly student or someone with a lisp. I didn't want this new person to be a creeper or extremely fat. Those characteristics make someone abnormal and weird, which typically leaves them at the back of the social line.

But Jesus healed the weirdos. He had supper with hookers and his best friends were outcasts. So who am I to not want to help a smelly kid with a little Spanish?

As soon as my thoughts about the pale person dissolved, I realized what I was doing and immediately reset my attitude. First of all, I was being hypocritical. I was wearing a too-short jacket from Wal-Mart and flip-flops in February. Who looks more poor? On a more serious note, I know better than to judge anyone on any basis, let alone one I basically fabricated via appearances.

Definitely not one of my finest mental moments.

What's the morale of the story? I consider myself to be a relatively well-rounded person with few vices outside ice ream and babies. Despite a lifetime of education, sermons and the occasional History Channel special, at age 21 I'm still bucking a very basic teaching of Jesus: don't let your pride get in the way of your ministry.

Turn, turn, turn...

I've had a few great realizations over the last few years. Most of them involve miniature foods and ridiculous cakes.

Today, however, I had a realization that doesn't involve preheating to 350. Student government elections are right around the corner, which means the big wigs already elected into student government are campaigning for next year. One of the guys in my Spanish class is a candidate and was handing out persuasive, free pens with his name and tag line on them.

While I appreciated his gesture and the time he took to speak to us, at the end of the conversation I still felt pretty unconnected and quite frankly, I felt indifferent.

Oh, how much has changed in a year.

Campbell's student government used to piss me off a lot. I allowed myself to become entrapped in the web of pride and ego that student government (on any campus) weaves. I cared so much because school was my life. Also, at one time I was editor of the school paper and had to keep a close eye on events like elections, so I was especially aware of the wheeling and dealing.

Okay, back to my point. This year I have no interest in student government. I have no interest in most, if any, campus activities. My lack of curiosity and passion isn't a result of boredom or ill will for anything... it's just that my life has a different epicenter these days.

My college life doesn't revolve around social activities and cafeteria food anymore. It's about making the best of these last couple months, graduating with good grades, finding a job and preparing for newlywed life with Elliot.

I've come to realize that every day of college doesn't have to involve silly pranks, staying up late despite homework and getting by on Raman Noodles. There comes a point where you have to begin turning the page to the next chapter. Just to take a peek.

The Byrds got it right with their song, and King Solomon (or whoever) got it right in the Bible:

Ecclesiastes 3 (NIV)

A Time for Everything

¹ There is a time for everything,
and a season for every activity under heaven:

² a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,

³ a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,

⁴ a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,

⁵ a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain,

⁶ a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,

⁷ a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,

⁸ a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace.

And now is my time to uproot.

To Infinity, and Beyond!

Today is February 15. Graduation is May 15. In exactly three months my college career will be complete. Kaput. El fin.

In August of 2006 I arrived in Buies Creek blindly confident and unaware of, well, everything. My step-dad parked our family minivan behind Hedgpeth Hall, and my first steps onto campus were in that faded parking lot. My last steps as a student will take place across the stage in the new Convocation Center.

Hopefully I don't trip.

Graduating doesn't really scare me. I'm excited about moving to the next chapter in my life. I can finally realize my dream of becoming a legit journalist, not just a summer intern or campus newspaper writer. Not to mention a life with Elliot lies on the other side of graduation. I'll find a place to live and I'll find a job.

Optimistic? Yes. Just as much as I was my first days at Campbell, when I arrived with no friends and too many Red Sox t-shirts.

I've noticed a pattern in my life. I think about long-term changes, get scared, experience more life, and on the way God prepares me for the next step-- the same step I was so scared of only a few months prior. In December the thought of graduating and having to become "a real grown up" festered uncertainty and fear within me. Job, apartment, blah, blah.

I'm scared of the dark for the same reason I was scared of finishing school-- I don't like the unknown. I don't like not having control over my life.

Alas, the big man upstairs works out the knots of pride within in my heart, takes my hand once again and continues to lead me.

Old Blogs

If you want to check out my old blog, I would recommend the following posts. I like them, they're relevant and they give you a better idea of my writing and who I am. The Campbell posts are interesting if you have enough energy to care about the topics.

Is the U.S. a Christian Nation?

NUMB3RS

God's a Financial Planner, Too.

Round Two

I created my first blog as a medium to express my views on Campbell-related issues after completing two semesters as Editor-in-Chief of The Campbell Times. It was a place for a cathartic release of thoughts after catching wind of a lot of information I couldn't publish in the paper but felt the student body needed to know and/or understand.

After not posting anything on that blog since July, not only have I forgotten the password and can't log in, but many things in my life have changed that make the blog moot. Not only have I emotionally severed myself from university matters (aka I don't give a crap), but college will be over soon and I'll have more interesting things to write about. For example, getting married, moving permanently to North Carolina, and hopefully starting a job soon.

The main reason I have a blog, however, is to keep writing. A post may be about a hot button issue, or maybe just how much I love wide-leg pants. I'll also record the adventures I share with Elliot throughout our upcoming marriage. I don't expect anyone to care. I just like to write and share my thoughts with the world via blogging, the new form of global conversation.