mid-concert wondering, or Robert Washburn is my hero

I am sitting here in a cathedral writing on an old program while the orchestra weaves an oboe concerto around my head. Its a grand way to warm the ears and soul. I wonder if beautiful music is like incense to God, a sweet fragrance of sound that manages to praise Him despite our involvement.

As I look around, I ask myself if we have lost something of the glory of God in our worship; here in St. Andrew's there is beauty and praise everywhere, from the rich, wine-colored carpet under our feet to the vaulted ceiling high above our heads. Every molding and pane of stained glass stands to portray the glory of God to the believers.

I will admit that I have been asking a lot of questions of myself lately, especially as I am going abroad as an SM (don't ask where, I don't know yet). Questions like what I know of God and whether I truly believe in the God that my culture believes in. I know these are fundamental questions. And maybe I shouldn't be asking them. But I don't want to bear false witness--literally. How can I share what I am not sure I believe? How do I articulate that which I don't understand?

Now the orchestra is playing a sinfonietta composed by some modern or postmodern composer. It is a harsh, syncopated field of bows beating on strings with moments of strong, deep melodic lines. As much as I would like my life, especially in spiritual things, to be smooth as an aria, more often it resembles crazy 20th century music: moments of beautiful melodies amidst much friction and harsh bowing of strings.

And this is where it gets difficult. I would love to wrap up this entry with some great parcel of hope. But I am a realist, striving for optimism while occasionally tripping into pessimism. So I'll say this: The God in whom I believe is big enough for doubts and questions just as He is big enough for beauty and glory. So maybe it's more a grain of truth than a parcel of hope. For now, it suffices.

Être capable de chanter les deux pieds dans la merde

I am sitting here in the TLC. I would be French tutoring were there anyone here. But, alas, only my paper and I sit here. Frustratingly so. I am stuck. There happens to be a golden, crinkly Werther's Original wrapper sitting on the table, and somehow, it has become the most interesting thing in the room.

Okay. Enough. If I don't divert this monologue away from academics, I don't think I will be able to hold back the dam of raging, largely self-directed negativity. So, what else to blog about?

[long drawn-out pause]

I'm trying really hard to find something, but the science tutoring people are outside loudly discussing their oh-so-planned and bright futures that involve professional schools.

Aargh!

I give up. Maybe tomorrow. The minute I have something pleasant to post, I will do so. But I'm a realist. [quickly removes hand from keyboard]

Right.

Peas.

apparently i need new cologne, or eureka!

I understand now. It must be my cologne (or lack thereof). I have discovered an amazing talent for repelling people. Take for example my studying in the fishbowl--as in right now. When I came in, there were few people and none that I knew. So I sat down by myself. After a while some people that I do know happened in and, lo and behold, they wave hello and sit elsewhere. This happens not just once but multiple times. Same thing happens in chapel. I have plenty of room next to me, but people just wave and pass me by. And the bus, on tour. And the classroom. I am beginning to develop a complex. Either that or a neurosis. Or is that psychosis? Whatever.

I think I am going crazy. A lonely, embittered crazy. And it certainly doesn't help that I am super hungry and everything in College Place is closed. And I am out of jelly for sandwiches. Unfortunately, peanut butter and jelly has become a major food group. So essentially I am spiraling downward into a deep, dark oblivion of despair. Just kidding. But really. I need some jelly.

I quit.