Beatniks unite!

It's been awhile since I posted and I want people to know I'm still alive, but I don't have much to say just now (at least, nothing blog-appropriate). So in lieu of a legitimate entry, I'm just posting a couple of my old poems. The first one is in memory of my dead pet lobster, and the second one is pretty self-explanatory. Enjoy.

Pinchy’s Lament

I awoke this lovely morning and I hastened to your side
‘Twas there I saw with anguished heart: Alas! Alack! You’d died!
Pinchy, dearest Pinchy, my most chitinous of friends,
What could it be that brought you down to such a bitter end?

Did I overfeed you, underfeed you, fail to meet your needs?
Was it holy retribution for unspeakable misdeeds?
Did you suffer indigestion from the latest fish you ate?
Did you die of broken heart because you lacked a lobster mate?

Did you find yourself the victim of aquatic homicide?
Was it accident or illness? Did your will to live subside?
Whether act of God or twist of fate or malice unpoliced,
The fact remains, sad though it be: our Pinchy is deceased.

No more shall exoskeletons be found amongst the mail;
No more crustacean exploits shall I narrate in detail.
No more shall your conundrums be a tax on my reserves;
No more shall neon tetras serve as luminous hors d'oeuvres.

The time has come, my lobster pal, for me to say adieu
(Although I must confess I thought of making Pinchy stew).
With heavy heart and misty eyes, I bid farewell to thee
And hope you’re catching lots of fish, up there in heaven’s sea.
--fin--


Prayer of Innocence and Experience

I confess that I’m too proud to call your name
Even as my heart sails toward the cliffs.
And at the urging of my self-sought flesh,
I claim as trophies things you gave as gifts.

I know I get in bed with worldly lies.
I know I’m ill-prepared to run your race.
Though I faint amid a desert of despair,
I wake upon the ocean of your grace.

O Father, in whose hands the heavens lie!
Jesus, starlit, glorious, and true!
Holy Spirit, fire that melts my heart!
In brokenness I lift this prayer to you:

Make foolish everything I think I know.
Make harmless every empty threat I fear.
Make silent every voice that drowns out yours.
Make trivial the world that I hold dear.

I pray that with a humble heart I’d heed
The firm correction of your shepherd’s crook
I pray that I may see your glory shine
In places I would never think to look.

Make fruitless any other source of hope
Than Blessed Hope, which flows from you in streams.
May love for you pervade my every thought,
That I would praise you even in my dreams.

Thanks for playing, kiddos. Maybe more soon.
Soli Deo Gloria,
Liz

"For the wages of sleep is pretzel ..."

Seriously, people, you can't fall asleep in a public lounge with a two-pound bag of pretzels lying on the table and not expect something like this to happen. I love you guys, but you really should have seen this one coming.

All In Good Fun,
Liz

Abra

Monika

Eddie #2

Eddie #1

Photographic Evidence of Productivity

The two pictures below prove that I do, from time to time, actually lift a finger. I even vacuumed. By the way, does anyone know how to put two pictures in a single post? I'd be much obliged for some technical advice.

Before

After

Vignettes of a Typical Monday

I. In Which our Heroine Occasions to Lose a Small Dead Frog Amongst her Possessions.

After taking the picture of the dead frog in its little quarentine container (see previous post), I accidentally knocked it of the desk and spilled the dead frog and dead frog's water all over the pile of stuff surrounding my desk. I then proceeded to spend about five minutes crawling on my hands and knees sifting through piles of homework and other things, looking for a tiny frog corpse. I finally found it stuck fast to a wooden box, and pretty much had to scrape it back into the container. I think I almost retched. Also, the water went all over everything -- my homework, some textbooks, and yes, on my bed. The same bed I'm sitting in now and the same bed that I will (hopefully) sleep in tonight. I'm just trying not to think about it. Denial is a whole lot easier than washing sheets at 11:30 at night.

II. In Which our Heroine is Chased by her Theory Professor and Narrowly Evades Capture.

Another funny thing happened a little later, at the music building. I have Theory at 10:00, and then Studio at 11:00 in the same room (but with a different prof). I definitely skipped Theory this morning, but decided that I couldn't afford to miss Studio, so I got to the music building at about 10:50, just as classes were getting out. I didn't want to see my Theory prof and have him ask why I hadn't just been in class, so being the mature young woman that I am, I hid around a corner and spied on the classroom until he left for his office. Well, either I did a terrible job of hiding or Dr. Metz has some freakish intuition, because as soon as he walked out of the classroom he looked directly at me. I saw about a half-second's worth of realization on his face as he thought something along the lines of, "Hey! Isn't that Liz? Shouldn't she have been in class?" An odd mix of panic and rebellion took over me, and I did the thing that any self-respecting class-ditcher would do: I bolted. I took off down the nearest hallway, and when I turned to see if I had been tailed I saw at the end of the hall my friend Loren, talking to someone I couldn't see but who I was pretty sure was Metz. I heard Loren say something like, "Yeah, actually, she just ran down this hall" and saw him point in my direction (the traitor!). So I turned on my heel and took off again, this time down a back stairwell and into the basement. I don't know if Metz followed me down the stairs or not, but either way I definitely gave him the slip because I didn't see him again and made it safely to Studio class. Retrospectively, it was pretty surreal and also pretty awesome. Seriously -- how often do you get the chance to run away, James Bond-style, from one of your professors? I guess I'll find out Wednesday if I'm in big trouble or not.

III. In Which our Heroine Avoids, by Means of a Blog Entry, the Same Takehome Test which she Avoided Last Night (by the Same Means) and Upon Which she is Now Convicted to Work Diligently Until its Completion.

'Nuff said ... time to hit the books. I just wish the books didn't still have yucky frog water all over them.

Found in Him,
Liz

Only the good die young, they say.

... And I hoped for things unseen

I believed in what I hoped for,
And I hoped for things unseen.
I had wings and dreams could soar;
I just don't feel like flying any more.

I think I'll start this weblog* off with a confession. It seems fitting, seeing as how journals are supposed to be a safehaven of vulnerability and soul-baring and other touchy-feely things. Well, the confession is this: I've created this log for two reasons, and both of them are terrible ones. The first reason is that I have a rather sizable take-home test that I really, really should be working on now. The more important an assignment is and the nearer it is to the due date, the greater lengths I will go to in order to avoid doing it. The second reason is that everyone else is doing it. Yep, I'm just that lemming-esque; everyone else has a blog, and I've been feeling technologically inadequate. Well, I'm glad to have gotten that out in the open! On to the tedious introspection.

*(Contrary to popular belief, this word is actually pronounced with a heavy emphasis on the second syllable, sort of like weh-BLOG. Consult Eddie or Chris for a more detailed explanation.)

Verse to ponder: Lamentations 3:22-24
Because of the LORD's great love we are not consumed,
for his compassions never fail.
They are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.
I say to myself, "The LORD is my portion;
therefore I will wait for him."

I believe, in a far-off and detached sort of manner, that God is a Renewer: of my soul, of the world, of that wayward flock called humanity. But, to follow in the theme of confession, I admit that I struggle to connect my heart with this truth. I have a suspicion as to why this is. It's because renewal necessarily entails change, and in my flesh, change is the last thing I want. Change is frightening because it brings with it all sorts of unseemly possibilities like struggle, sacrifice, and uncomfortability. And so it is that I resist change, in my life and in my heart -- even at the expense of my own renewal. Is it any wonder, then, that I feel tired and dissatisfied? The unadorned truth of the matter is that change isn't comfortable, nor safe. There is no guarantee that struggle and sacrifice won't follow close on its heels. But then, the Spirit guides me to think on the life of Christ, on Him who was changed from the subject of ceaseless praise to the object mockery and derision, and whose glorious dwellingplace was changed into a lowly manger. Such a somber precedent makes it harder than ever for me to deny that change can bring pain, but it also shows me the full extent of the measures God takes to redeem those whom he loves. It also gives me hope that a willingness to endure change in my own life will be met with gracious rewards that exceed my comprehension. So, what's the hangup? Why am I still here engaging in self-gratifying rationalization and that ageless art of fence-sitting? It's not insecurity. It's not prudence, nor even hesitence. It's a lack of faith, masquerading itself as a fear of change.

"Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen." -Hebrews 11:1

The faithlessness of my heart is revealed to me when, as I dwell upon my eternal citizenship and my hope in Christ, I am neither assured nor convicted. I have ideas of heaven, and notions of fellowship with God, but they are tentative and fragile, and they seem all too good to be true. A heart that has been burned by disillusionment and frozen by apathy is naturally slow to accept such untainted notions as grace, paradise, and the sovereignty of a boundless God who knows and yet loves me. After all, such things fly in the face of everything the world has taught me. I'm simultaneously clinging to conventional wisdom and straining toward a reckless trust in God -- and only now am I coming to terms with the fact that I can't have both. When God calls me to change, he also calls me to choose. I'm faced with a choice between the comfort, reliability, mediocrity and placidness of the status quo, or the danger, hardship, glory, and freshness of the life he's laid before me. There comes a time for throwing caution to the wind, and all indications are that now is that time. I feel called to cast my hope on an unsafe God and to put my trust in an invisible glory. Will it be easy? I have no such illusions. Will it be comfortable? I hope not. Will it be glorious beyond all reckoning? Undoubtedly ... undoubtedly.

By the strength of the Lion's heart, by the grace of Him who makes all things new, I draw a breath and take the plunge. And so my life begins ... I'm going in.