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Share the gospel – and then tell them about us!
I rarely pause on Christian radio, primarily because I’ve become something of a music snob. But as I pulled into my apartment complex this morning, I sang along with “It Is Well with My Soul.” This was the first time I’d heard a hymn on that station, and it was nice.
The song ended, and I gathered my things to go inside. The commercial on the radio caught my attention:
“Share the gospel – and then tell them about 93.7!”
WHAT?
The first thing on my mind after someone begins to walk with Jesus certainly is not to get them plugged in to the local Christian radio station.
“I’m so happy that you’ve made this decision! Now, before you do read your Bible or anything else, you’ll want to be sure to treat yourself to a heavy dose of the crappiest music on radio….”
Memories #2
October 25, 2002
“I know that I’ve acted as though I’m interested in more than just a friendship… I wanted to let you know that I’m not going to pursue that.”
A general air of icky-ness had surrounded me all evening. Those words settled around me, carrying with them an unwelcome but expected wave of nauseau.
I had been uneasy all evening. After a potluck dinner with my Bible study, I met several old buddies of mine for a night of line dancing. I was quiet that evening, observing the interactions of those around me instead of contributing my thoughts to the conversation. So much had changed in the past months, leaving me isolated from this group that I once called “friends.”
Bring on the dancing, I thought to myself. It was a night where losing myself in music and motion would be therapeutic.
I drove to Stetson’s separate from the group and listened to country radio as I waited. Carolyn Dawn Johnson’s “Complicated” hit home more strongly that night than ever before, and I sobbed as I listened. Something was about to change, and I could feel it coming on.
Hours later the aforementioned blow struck. Through tears, I wrote in my journal, “Reasons Why” on repeat in the background.
God, thank You for the freedom this brings.
Freedom, indeed.
I’m paying $400 an hour for this?!
Twenty-two years of experience have taught me at least one thing: life doesn’t always happen as you expect.
I’m bored – not because I’m doing homework, and not because I’ve been home most of the day. I’m just restless – again. I’m tired of school, and I want to live my life, not study the lives of others.
Maybe this is a problem that never really goes away.
Graduate school isn’t shaping up to be what I thought it would. I came here because I wanted to sharpen my writing skills. That has happened, but that’s been secondary to my coursework. Most of my time is spent learning how to research, studying communication theories, and poring over history books.
That’s not how I planned to spend my money.
I suppose that’s poor planning on my part. I’ve had the program description handy for more than a year and a half. I knew that these core classes were part of the deal.
But no – read these course descriptions. This is the sort of stuff I thought I was signing up to study – but none of these courses have been offered in the past two or three semesters, nor are they available this spring.
JN 512 Editorial Writing and Function. Three hours. Study of the role, function, and construction of editorials and practice in editorial writing.
JN 515 Magazine Writing and Editing. Three hours. Writing and marketing of magazine articles. Study of technical, industrial, employee, and general-circulation magazines.
JN 520 Advanced Editing and Design of Publications. Three hours. Lecture and laboratory. Study, research, applications, and production of traditional and online newspapers, magazines, and related media, including managing and organizing newsrooms, graphics departments, and production departments. Demographics and research of audiences for different news and information products; formulation of policy.
JN 525 Literary Journalism I. Three hours. Studies in nonfiction. Includes extensive writing in this genre.
JN 526 Literary Journalism II. Three hours. Studies in nonfiction. Includes extensive writing in this genre.
The only “professional” classes offered during the year I intend to spend in this program are Creative Non-Fiction (which I’ll take next semester!) and Depth Reporting (which didn’t fit into my schedule this semester.) I feel cheated.
I didn’t come here for an “academic” education – I don’t want to be a professor. I want to be a journalist. This program offered me that opportunity, but now that I’m halfway through a semester, I’ve realized that it isn’t here.
I’m not planning to drop out – this time! I’m just disappointed. Within the next year or so, this program is making a change that promises to transform it into everything I had hoped for in graduate study.
Meanwhile, I got the raw end of the deal.
Memories #1
This post will be the first in a series that I’ll simply call “Memories”. Hey – it’s not my job to write headlines!
December 31, 1993
After a year as the reigning national champions, the Alabama Crimson Tide found themselves relegated to the 1993 Gator Bowl. Some fans would be disappointed by their team being shoved into this “fake” bowl game. Oh, but one twelve year old football fan was delighted by her team’s plight. Though I would continue to refer to the Gator Bowl as “not a real bowl game” for years afterward, on that December night it was the next best thing to heaven.
This little girl lived over five hundred miles from the stadium that her favorite team called home. I had only gained enthusiasm for the sport that my father watched religiously during the previous season. In retrospect, I was fortunate to attend my first college football game so soon after becoming a fan.
It was cold that New Year’s Eve, as it often is to this little Florida gal during the final months of the year. My sisters had passed on the opportunity to go to the game in favor of a lock in at Discovery Kids Zone. I jumped at the opportunity, and I proudly sat beside my father in the upper deck of what is now Alltel Stadium, shivering as I watched Alabama dominate North Carolina.
The scene that night was reminiscint of many to come, though I didn’t know that then. I was surrounded by men, their beers in hand and their voices loud. (The stadiums at both of the colleges I have attended are dry, but that doesn’t save me from being surrounded by drunks.) I knew only enough about the game to understand what was going on, but I loved every moment.
The Crimson Tide stood victorious as the final seconds counted off the clock. Since my daddy had consumed a beer or two, I tried to persuade him to let me drive home. I think he considered it, but he decided that the twelve year old should probably remain in the passenger seat.
The magic of that night lingers in my mind. My first college football game, my first sip of champagne, and the joy that a little girl has from spending time with her daddy are memories not quickly forgotten. I think there’s no better way to enjoy football than shivering alongside someone you love.
Assuming I am able to acquire a ticket, this Saturday will hold the third college football game that my father and I have attended together. It promises to be the best match up yet (Alabama vs. Tennessee should be far more thrilling than Alabama vs. UNC or Florida State vs. Duke!)
Friends come in the least-expected forms
I miss having regular conversations with Heather, who I consider one of my very best friends. Now that we both have cable modems, we keep in touch fairly regularly in spite of the five hundred miles between us. I love reading her blog to see what random thoughts are on her mind, but it’s only a weak substitute for the late night conversations (and early morning conversations, and over-BBQ-at-Sonny’s conversations, and in-front-of-the-TV conversations, and driving-in-the-little-red-pickup conversations…) we used to have so often.
Hebs is just one example of the friendships that play such an important role in my life – although she’s surely one of the best examples. I’ve always counted the people who are close to me among my greatest blessings, sometimes to a fault. I’m a perfectionist, you must know. Growing up, I also demanded that same perfection out of my friends, and I was let down when they (inevitably) failed. When Christ got ahold of my life, I found that I could rely on Him for that. Subsequently, my friendships have radically changed.
Those friends come from unexpected places. Heather and I lived across the hall from one another in the dorm at FSU. God is good – had we met in high school, we may never have become the friends we are today. 🙂 (Heather was a basketball player and I was a cheerleader – if that doesn’t say it all, you know nothing about our high schools. 😉 ) Alison is a vegan and a Gator fan. Jesse is a political enthusiast. Andy knows everyone on campus and is a laugh a minute. Sarah is a year and a half younger than me and from Virginia. Chrissy is a drama queen in Texas.
Wait a minute – how did those last two get in there? I’ve never lived in Virginia or Texas… in fact, I’ve spent no more than one week combined in those two states!
That’s the surprise, my friends. I’ve crossed into territory I never expected to grace. I have internet friends.
When my sister started lurking in an IRC chat room that centered around Lois & Clark in the mid-nineties, I teased her mercilessly. When my parents allowed her to fly to Colorado to meet a friend from this chatroom, I questioned their parental judgment. When I decided to live with a girl I met on the internet, I realized I owed Cristin an apology.
What my barely-younger sister learned in seventh grade, I have discovered post-college: not everyone on the internet is scary. This has become yet another place where I’ve formed unlikely friendships.
Had you told me ten months ago that I would have as many of these long-distance friendships as I do, I would’ve run in the other direction. When I first stumbled across the site that did it to me, I was looking for lyrics to a Caedmon’s Call song. I spotted the message board that the site hosted and poked around a bit, but refrained from posting. Everyone seemed to already know one another, and the conversations were just too much to jump into. (Little did I know!)
A month or two later, I came across the board again. I had moved to Jacksonville and needed a new hobby or two to keep me occupied. The board had recently crashed and restarted, so I jumped into the fray. I posted under a pseudonym, “Jeanie”, and I freaked out the first time someone asked if they could call me. (You people are weird, I thought.)
But little by little, I found these people to be trustworthy. After running into a couple of posters at a concert, I decided it would be okay to go to one of the “fan club” get togethers.
Slowly, those friendships grew to the point where I realized I was a part of a community of believers… on the internet. It’s not about the “fan club” where we met, but instead about the friendships that have developed. Nothing can replace “real life” friendships – it’s vital to have people in your daily life who hold you accountable and point you toward the Lord. But these friendships have been not only a supplement, they’ve been a blessing.
I hesitate to call many of these people “internet friends” anymore. Our friendships have thrived after meeting face-to-face, even though the world wide web if where they found their start. If I never signed on to that message board again, there are at least a handful of friends who would continue to IM me and ask what is happening in my life, who would e-mail me about their days, who would call to voice concerns about the struggles I’ve been having.
Apparently I’m not alone in these thoughts. Although I’ve been thinking about these words for over a week, it may seem that I’m merely jumping on the latest blogging bandwagon. On Oct. 14, David wrote, “It really is amazing how certain things can draw us together, even over great distances, and a true bond can be forged.” So true, my friend – so true.
(For what it’s worth, David is one of many people that I’ve met at these fan club meetings. Everyone who is listed on my links list is someone who I’ve hung out with, regardless of how I met them.)
Geof speculated on this subject after dinner at my apartment this weekend. His final words require little explanation: I would have never expected this, never sought this – but I’m certainly happy with the blessing.
I’ve never spoken to Tim, much less met him, but on Oct. 18 he made a point that I think is crucial.
The more I think about it, the more I am convinced that the whole internet thing is not that different to real life. Sometimes you meet people who pretend to be something they are not, and sometimes you get surprised by the fact that there is a lot more to them than you would have guessed. When it comes down to it, only time will tell. Secrets & idiosyncracies come out in the wash & people show their true colours sooner or later.
Indeed, these people have added themselves to my ever-growing circle of friends. Although they are still as far away (or farther) than “my girls” who have been so important to me over the past several years, knowing that there are that many more people who care is undeniably special. I don’t pretend to understand why God has provided me with so many long-distance friendships, but I am grateful nonetheless.
(Me and the “internet friend” who lives across the apartment from me – who knew that the web was the newest way to find a roommate?)
I get the Friday fever and the Monday morning blues
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Strange how hard it rains now
In case you were wondering – and I know you probably were – there is no better time to listen to “Rain” than during a thunderstorm.
I’ve been awake for an hour and a half. The thunder woke me at a time when my alarm otherwise might have – were the alarm not turned off and the power not out. I remained in bed for several minutes, confused. I glanced at my clock – nothing. Lying still, I waited for the breeze generated by my ceiling fan to hit me. Nothing.
“Ah, the power must be out,” I concluded. (I’m a quick one.)
The power cut back on just before I crawled out of bed and peered through the blinds that cover my bedroom window. “Is it that early, or is it about to start storming?” I wondered. I picked up my cell phone – 8:11 A.M. Sure enough, the weather was that gnarly.
“But it was gorgeous yesterday…” I lamented, alone in my bedroom. “All of our plans for the day revolved around the outdoors. Now what?”
I still haven’t answered that question, but my would-be partners in crime are still asleep. (Must be nice!) While they’ve been visiting dreamland, I’ve already read one chapter for a class and composed a rather dull blog entry.
This, my friends, is evidence that I am not a morning person.
So answer me this – how would you spend a rainy day with three of your friends?
What’s your excuse?
A blog is a form of exteriorized psychology. It’s a part of you, or of your pscyhe; while a titanium hip joint or a pacemaker might bring technology inside the corporeal you, a weblog uses technology to bring the pscyhological you outside of it. Your weblog acts as a new limb, a new mouth, and a new hemisphere of the brain. Once those new organs come into being, you’re no more likely to remove or amputate them than the original organic equipment they augment. I continue to write weblogs – not for money, not for renown, not for anyone but myself.
–Joe Clark, “Deconstructing ‘You’ve Got Blog’” January 25, 2002
I read those words over breakfast on my front porch ten days ago. Despite Clark’s later retraction of the final sentence, what he wrote resonated with me. As I poured myself into that day’s post, I asked myself, “Why do I blog?” Those words have reverberated in my mind for days now.
I discovered at the tender age of ten that pen and paper were my preferred form of self expression. Back in those days, I was painfully shy. (People change.) With my notebook in hand, I could express the opinions that I wasn’t always willing to expose to the public.
It was cathartic then, and it remains so today, twelve years later. In my closet there sits a stack of journals, catalouging my most intimate thoughts of the past four years. The latest in that series is tucked inside the top drawer of my nightstand, along with several spiral notebooks of thoughts then undeveloped. Even during classes, I find myself doodling along the edges of my notes. My heart finds its way out through my pen, sometimes to my detriment.
But not all of my thoughts are private. There are pieces that I write that lend themselves to input from others. Sometimes I want help critiquing a piece of fiction. (Yeah, that’s rare.) It allows me a forum for feedback, as does the newspaper for which I write. But more often than not, the thoughts on my mind reveal a bit about what is on my heart. This piece of the world wide web allows me to share my heart with you, my friends.
As it happens, most of my close friends live many hundreds of miles from my little apartment in Alabama. Many of you I met at our dear alma mater; others I have befriended online; still others of you travel here through someone else’s internet home. Whatever the case, this little publishing tool that Meg and Ev created allows me to share with you pieces of me that you otherwise might not receive.
Besides, I told you – it’s cathartic. What’s your excuse?
en route to Monroeville
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