The End

"...not with a bang but a whimper."

It is not without a touch of emotion that I at last arrive at the final day of this blog. But I'm ready. There is little to be said by way of a conclusion that has not already been said several times over. I was not very consistent. But I learned a thing or two about myself as a writer along the way.

A new blog will be starting soon. It is called Centaur and there's nothing on it now but there will be something on it soon. Not tomorrow (our originally planned start date has been postponed); but soon.

I could drag this out a bit longer, reminisce, pontificate, but it would only be delaying the inevitable. This blog has officially served its purpose. I'm ready to say goodbye.

Au revoir.

Do I get to make a wish on the candles if it's not really my birthday yet?

I often hear older people say that they still feel like a teenager. I wonder at what point in my progression through life will I stop feeling my age and begin to feel like I'm sixteen? The acknowledgment that my body doesn't seem to want to hold its former shape without a little extra coaxing on my part--that I have to actually work to keep the cellulite at bay--has come as an unpleasant shock, yet I definitely don't feel like I'm me ten years ago; I feel like I'm me now. I'm perfectly content to be at the stage of life I'm in and have no wish to have back anything I had in the past.

It's only in one aspect of my life that I approach the number twenty-six with some trepidation, and to elaborate requires that I touch on a subject I have traditionally and deliberately shied away from on this blog. But, since we are now approaching the end and the character of this blog has been developed to a point where slight deviations don't threaten to carry it off in an undesirable direction, I will be candid: I'm talking about love. Romance, to be more specific. I haven't been in a serious relationship in the last decade, and, though I really don't have the slightest interest in going on dates and assertively searching out a partner, I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel a bit uneasy about this prolonged state of singleness. Especially at my age.

Today was not my birthday, but tonight I celebrated with my family, with enchiladas and presents and cake. They sang "Happy Birthday" to me and and I blew out the candles. No, I didn't wish for a boyfriend. But, okay, I did take it under at least flighting consideration before settling on something more altruistic. I don't know what the next year will hold as far as relationships are concerned. And, honestly, I'm not very open to responding positively to any opportunities that may arise. I know myself and know that I will anxiously resist anything and anyone that threatens my ideal for how romance ought to develop. But I do hope that, when the time comes for me to take a chance and make a change, I won't hold back on account of fear.

"The Best Twenty-five of twenty-five," part V

21. The best soul-searching experience

The last few days of my last week in France--the weekend I spent in silence at the international monastic community in Taizé, France--changed me. Since then, I have a very different attitude toward prayer, which, resultantly, reforms my entire outlook on life. In the oversight of one of the sisters in residence, I and seven other women decided to spend two and a half days in silence, committing ourselves to devoting three specific hours a day for listening to God through the reading of Scripture. At one point midway through, I broke my silence in order to speak privately with one of the sisters and receive her guidance in processing several of the thoughts and concerns I had been wrestling with both before and throughout the weekend of silence. She was very hard on me, and asked me to examine my decisions and reasons for making them from an approach I had never been willing to consider before. I felt exposed, and yet safe; a bit frightened by what I had learned, yet confident that God's loving faithfulness would guide me through. The entire weekend left me with a powerful sense of the freedom that exists within God's love. I entered silence with so many questions, only to find that the Holy Spirit was already speaking the answers within me.

22. The best personal purchase

My San Diego Zoological Society membership has proven a very valuable asset. Since I purchased it in January, it has provided me with countless hours of entertainment and pleasurable walks. Now that my savings has run out and I can't generally afford to go out, the zoo is a welcome escape from the humdrum patterns of home. Also, with the free guest passes that came with my membership, I've been able to entertain visitors at no extra cost!

23. The best new game

Cork stacking. Look out: it's gonna be big.

24. The best reunion

This summer, Ashley Jones came home to America. After spending two years living in Indonesia, she has returned to us once again and, in July, came down to Southern California for a full month. I got to surprise her at the airport and spend a couple of days with her and it was wonderful: In-N-Out, Taco King, the works. She has since moved back up to Oregon, which is very sad but still much better than Indonesia, because now at least we are in the same time zone. I still secretly hope that we will one day live in the same city again and have so much fun.

25. The best thing I didn't do but will do soon

I started this blog off with a few concrete goals for the year: to write more (check), to get a job (check), and to either start graduate school or set the wheels in motion for me to do so (...um...I'll get back to you on that one). It is still undetermined whether I will be able to attend Fuller Theological Seminary this fall, but, even if I can't afford to do it now, the experience of finally getting my act together and applying has been immensely encouraging in reminding me that, indeed, I can continue my education. Yes, perhaps I've been out of school long enough now that it doesn't feel like the most natural thing in the world, but I can adjust. I can change my life. I can keep moving forward. The possibilities are innumerable.

"The Best Twenty-five of twenty-five," part IV

16. The best book

No new additions were made in the last year to my list of all-time favorite books. I read some good stuff, just nothing that wowed me to an exceptional extent. Still, of all the books I read for the first time this year, I enjoyed A Moveable Feast, by Ernest Hemingway, the most. What caused it to stand out was a combination of the excellent narrative style and the insightful reflections on the process of writing and observing life in Paris in the 1920's. The fact that I was in Paris while I was reading it didn't hurt, either.

17. The best beat

If it weren't for the new song, "Maracas," by Mates of State, available to listen to on their website as a preview to their upcoming new album, I might have had to have gone with final track on Sufjan Stevens' latest LP, released in October. But now I'm giddy with anticipation of the other new tunes that Mates of State has created. Mates of State is just so good.

18. The best beet

This one:

Dad's "proud" face.

19. The best tomato

The verdict is unanimous: of the six varieties of heirloom tomatoes I grew in the garden this year, the Yellow Brandywine's seeds are the ones most worth saving. A bountiful producer, this monster of a plant outgrew its tomato cage while its neighbor plants were still reaching only about a foot high. The fruit is proportionately gargantuan, attractive in shape and color, and delicious.

20. The best baked goods

I frequently dabble, with mixed results, in creating my own recipes. This year, my greatest triumph was my recipe for strawberry-lavender muffins (muffins aux fraises et lavande), which I made several times throughout the hight of the strawberry season with consistently superb results. I am confident that these muffins will become a late-spring/early-summer staple in years to come.

"The Best Twenty-five of twenty-five," part III

After another late night at work, I'm grateful for this opportunity to assertively focus my attention on positive thoughts, specifically, the most positive things that have happened to me this year.

11. The best decision (possibly ever)

Going to France.

12. Best vacation spot

The South of France.

Is it logical that a place could make me want to have children, just so that I could bring them there and share it with them? In any case, I fully intend to return to the South of France, and the affordable, easy-to-use transit system, vibrant countryside, and warm-spirited people ensure me that, even if I have a family in tow, it would be an ideal travel destination.

13. The best language

French.

14. The best new addition to my culinary repertoire

For some reason, I always assumed that quiche was exceptionally complicated and the method of preparation elusive to my present food-preparatory capabilities. After witnessing it made a few times in the kitchen of the family whose farm I was WWOOFing on, however, I was happy to learn that, with the help of a few eggs, some cream, some good cheese and chopped veggies, and a fresh pie crust, I could whip up the delectable dish and have it out of the oven in less than an hour. If it weren't for the sky-high calorie content, I'd make quiches nearly every day.

15. The best online community

I had heard from several friends who had tried it in the past that CouchSurfing was great, but I never got around to looking into it for myself until right before leaving for France. Though I was, admittedly, a bit concerned over the prospect of staying with complete strangers in their homes--generally, worried more about awkwardness than safety issues--I had nothing but positive experiences with my French hosts. And, since returning to San Diego, each opportunity I've had to welcome CSers into my and my parents' home has been fun, inspiring, and educational. I will never stay in another youth hostel again, if I can help it.

Recent CouchSurfers from Barcelona, Spain

"The Best Twenty-five of twenty-five," part II

Tonight I continue my itemization of the the twenty-five best "bests" of my twenty-fifth year. Beginning with...

6. The best concert

Sufjan Stevens at the Wiltern in Los Angeles, October 23, 2010. It was unequivocally the greatest combined celebration of outer space and dancing I have ever witnessed. My experience was actually incredibly similar to that of my friend, Casey. She saw him perform in Phoenix the night before and shared her thoughts about it on her blog, here

After the concert, I joined several of my friends in enjoying some good eats from a local Korean taco truck. That's right: Korean tacos. You can get anything in L.A.

7. The best wedding

I attended four in the last year. All were good, but Mike and Lindsay's was exceptional. The ceremony, which took place on the cliffs of Point Loma, was simple, picturesque, beautiful. The reception, which took place at our home, was intimate, lively, and one of the best parties I've been to in my life.

8. The best feminine hygiene product

For a considerable time I had been interested in finding a more eco-friendly alternative to tampons and maxi pads. After researching several brands of organic cotton tampons, cloth pads, sea sponges, and menstrual cups, I decided to order the Diva Cup. Excellent decision. Though it's a bit pricey, the fact that it can be reused for over a year indicates that, in the long run, it's a more economical option than disposable menstrual products. As an added bonus, I've noticed a significant decrease in the severity of my menstrual cramps since I switched to the Diva Cup. I'll never go back to tampons, and I would be remiss if I didn't share this revelation with any friends who are looking for a means of dealing with their lady times that is gentler on the environment and, ultimately, on the wallet.

9. The best new skill

Skills Month was a bust, but I still managed to pick up some helpful new knowledge and abilities this year. My favorite by far, however, is my newfound ability to milk a goat. During the week and a half that I spent WWOOFing on a goat farm in France, I went from barely being able to eke out a few drops from the poor goat's utter to filling a whole bucket with frothy milk in ten minutes flat. Though I took great pleasure and satisfaction in several of the tasks I was asked to carry out while on the farm, milking the goats was, without a doubt, my favorite chore.

10. The best Eastern European cuisine

It was so good. Since the evening that I visited Pomegranite Russian-Georgian Restaurant with Mike and Lindsay, I've been dreaming of going back. I've made several attempts at replicating their amazing borscht in my home kitchen, but I've yet to concoct anything remotely as delectable.

"The Best Twenty-five of twenty-five," part I

For this last week of twenty-five, I would like to take some time to highlight some events or discoveries that might not have gotten much--if any--mention on this blog, but nevertheless played a formative or otherwise interesting role my last year of life. Each day, for the next five days, I will highlight five "Best Ofs" from my twenty-fifth year, comprising, altogether, "The Best Twenty-five of twenty-five."

Here goes:

1. The best birthday gift

This is way hard to choose, actually, because I had so many amazing birthday presents last year! Ashley Jones gave me a skirt that I love and the best key cover ever. I got a beautiful sweater and some great books from my sisters. And Josiah, in his usual custom, gave a hand-made greeting card, complete with personalized coupons to be redeemed for special outings and fun activities. In the end, I guess I have to say that Josiah's present would be the best, because there's no greater gift than time.

2. The best (and by "best," I mean worst) near-death experience

I'm not exaggerating. I really could have died. Back in September, when Josiah, Jared, and I took a two-night backpacking trip in the Ansel Adams Wilderness, the weather was less than kind to us. The first morning, it started to drizzle. With hopes of climbing nearby Madera Peak, we eyed the sky hopefully all day, casting furtive glances at the southern horizon, where dark clouds persistently loomed over the mountain tops.

Finally, at mid afternoon, the clouds in the south still showing no immediate intention to move our direction, we decided to just go for it. Armed with water and snacks, we began to scale the steep, granite slope. Once we cleared the tree line, the going became especially difficult, with loose rock shards slipping out from under us as we climbed higher and higher, our gaze remaining cautiously on the clouds in the south, ready to detect the slightest hint of threat.

A clap of thunder sounded so loud and so close you could feel it in the ground. Immediately, we realized our folly: we had been watching the clouds in the south so intently, we had entirely failed to notice the storm advancing on us rapidly from the north! We were absolutely exposed and standing on the side of one of the tallest mountain peaks in the vicinity, nothing but loose granite beneath our feet.

Fully aware that a scraped knee or even a twisted ankle would be preferable to being struck by lightning, we began to descend as quickly as possible, running and sometimes sliding down hillsides of sharp stones. As incautiously as we hurried, however, we were no match for the rolling black clouds, which advanced on us rapidly, releasing terrifying cracks of lightning. I moved as fast as I could, but both Jared and Josiah were far ahead of me. The clouds were finally right overhead. And then I was passing trees and shrubs and, as the rain began to fall, my hiking boots touched soft dirt, and I knew I was probably going to live.

3. The best thing I got in the mail

A letter from a student in Japan.

4. The best job

I genuinely loved working for UPS in December. I never thought it would be possible to love a job and occasionally, specifically on the days that it rained, it could be a little bit miserable. But I loved the feeling of working hard and doing something physically exerting while being outdoors and interacting with lots of different people in a positive setting all day. What was there not to love?

5. The best thing I crocheted

In late 2010 and early 2011, I crocheted several fun little things of which I was quite proud, but my favorite would have to be this guy right here.

He's an iPod sleeve.

Post-twenty-five blogging prospects

It's probably not such a wise idea that I (nearly) always reserve my blogging duties as my final activity of the day. Late in the evening, as I'm preparing to go to bed, my mood is pretty much always the same--tired--and this is almost unwaveringly expressed in the tone of my writing. My writing also just isn't quite as good when my body and mind are totally worn out and ready for sleep.

Happily, the lingering question of whether I will continue to blog after I turn twenty-six is now ready to be answered: Yes, I will continue to blog. But, no, it won't be every day. This blog and the daily discipline of adding something to it have been immensely helpful and I feel as though I've grown and learned quite a bit from the experience. But I'm ready to graduate.

This new blog, scheduled to launch--unintentionally but quite fittingly--on my twenty-sixth birthday, will be a collaborative effort between me and my dear, talented, imaginative, brilliant friend Ashley. Together, we will focus on separate but related weekly assignments, our goal being to post updates every weekend. Perhaps I've already given too much away, but I'm really looking forward to taking some of the unpredictability out of my daily writing and allowing myself the time to plan, reconsider, and revise. And, of course, I'm excited to be working alongside Ashley to receive even greater motivation and inspiration. Alright: I had better not say anything else about it for now. More information will be coming your way soon.

After ten hours of travel...

Today I went to Pasadena to pick up my freshly repaired car. The trip, which by car would normally take about two and a half hours from my parents' house in San Diego, took a round seven hours by public transport. Not that I'm complaining. Well, okay, I'm complaining a little, but, apart from the drastic difference in commuting time, I really do prefer traveling by train to driving. Generally, it's much more relaxing and you occasionally have the opportunity to interact with interesting people. Aboard the trolley in San Diego, I met a friendly woman from Sitka who pretty much convinced me that I belong in Alaska. And I spent the entire trip from San Diego's Santa Fe Station to Los Angeles Union Station absorbed in a book. After disembarking the Gold Line in Pasadena, I enjoyed a pleasant stroll through a pleasant neighborhood and felt a sense of reassurance that, if I do end up attending Fuller, I will definitely enjoy living in that area. But still, with today marking exactly one month until the start of the fall quarter, the question lingers...

Money

I must commend the Amissions and Financial Aid offices at Fuller Theological Seminary for the rapidity with which they have been processing all the forms I have submitted to them in the last week. However, having received my acceptance notification this morning, and with my decision hinged on the amount of scholarship aid I can still be awarded on such short notice, I can't help feeling a bit anxious. I know that my current job pays too little for me to stay. I need to start looking for new employment; but the question is, should I search in San Diego, or around Pasadena?

I need, I need, I need.

Amazingly, I already have everything I need.

There was once a time when I genuinely believed that my highest calling in life was to learn as much as possible, no matter what the cost. Then I graduated from college and a few years went by and, somehow along the way, I started to buy into the notion that my goal should instead be to become debt-free and financially secure. At last, I'm beginning to defect to my former viewpoint. It's exciting.

But, alas: I still need money.

Southbound Train

It’ been such a weird week. And it’s not over yet.

Saturday evening, on the drive up to Azusa, my GTI started displaying a check-engine light and seemed to have gone into some electronically triggered emergency mode, where it would only go into reverse and fourth gear. Assuming it was not conceivable to get my car into a mechanic on Sunday, I resolved to have it looked at by a professional first thing Monday morning. Josiah, whom I had given a ride on my way up to Azusa, needed to be back home in time to go to work Monday morning. So, Jared and I drove Josiah half way home; Josiah’s brother, Micah, drove the other half way to pick him up. Thanking my lucky stars I had just happened to pack an extra pair of underwear, I decided to stay one more night at Jared and Laura’s place.

First thing Monday morning, I took my car to a mechanic in Azusa. Two hours later, he called me back, explaining that the problem was something internal that he was not equipped to handle, and advising that I take it to the dealer. The Volkswagen dealership in Pasadena was crowded and it was estimated that it would be a couple of hours before they could determine the problem. Though I was scheduled to work that evening, I called my manager and explained the situation, and she agreed to find someone to cover my shift.

I stayed at the dealership all day. They ran a diagnostic test on my vehicle, which identified several malfunctions in the electrical system. A new battery was put in, and this cleared up all of the codes except one: a lingering electrical error in the transmission. It wasn’t until several hours later that I at last received a detailed account of exactly what the problem was and which pieces of my transmission needed to be replaced. Parts would have to be ordered, but the repairs could be completed by Wednesday morning.

My dilemma, now, was whether to take the train down to San Diego so that I could work my shift Tuesday night, or simply remain in Azusa with Jared and Laura until Wednesday. With my friends encouraging me to accept their hospitality a little longer, and a sympathetic assistant manager agreeing to find someone to cover my shift for one more night, I decided to stay up in the L.A. area.

This morning, just as I was already reaching for my phone to call the dealership and inquire as to the current situation with my vehicle, I received a call from the service department. Bad news. Volkswagen had sent them the wrong parts. Right order; wrong parts. They best they could do was reorder and have my car ready for me by Friday.

Friday.

Feeling helpless, I saw I had no option but to acquiesce. I hung up the phone, feeling miserable. Then I called them back, and asked whether it would be possible for me to just drive my car down to San Diego and have the repairs done at the dealership down there. No, I was told, That would not be possible. My transmission had already been taken apart to get it ready for the new parts. It had no fluids in it. It was not drivable.

So here I am now, aboard the Amtrak heading for San Diego. We just passed San Juan Capistrano and I now have a refreshing view of blue ocean and white waves crashing on a white beach. Children running. White seagulls. A simple, carefree scene. Friday, or maybe Monday morning, I will take the train back up to Pasadena to retrieve my car and pay massive amounts of money I don’t have for the repairs that have been done on it. I’ll wonder whether I should have just tried to drive it back down to San Diego in the first place and taken it to my mechanic down there. But there’s no point dwelling on what might have been, especially if it’s going to interfere with me enjoying such a nice view of the sea.

Considering

The day was not in fact the retreat I had so optimistically envisioned. Though I had plenty of down time, it became uncontrollably dominated by anxious brain chatter, ruminating involuntarily on the great, unresolved dilemma, “What am I going to do?”

A shift in events calls former certainties into question. I’m exhausted with being a person who can’t make up her mind about anything. I see my attitudes reflecting that of my society, where we are constantly bombarded with information about the next new greatest thing. Within such a lifestyle, peace is hard to come by.

Mini Retreat

Calling to explain that I wouldn't be able to come into work the next two days induced surprisingly less guilt than I would have anticipated. With my car in the shop and the wages I would make from working tomorrow night not worth the cost of the train tickets that would take me down to San Diego and back to pick up my car on Wednesday, I've opted to camp out here in Azusa for the next two nights.

Maybe having these few days where I have nothing to do and no means of being "productive" is a good thing. It comes at an opportune time. It's almost like a little retreat, offering the time and space for me to reflect upon certain aspects of my life that I might not otherwise be able to make room for.

Could it be that my car breaking down is--for lack of a less corny term--a blessing in disguise?

When life hands you a broke-down car...

What was intended to be a one-night excursion up to Azusa to visit with friends from my semester at Oxford has, on account of vehicle troubles, turned into a full two-night trip. And yet, despite the stress of not knowing how much it will cost to repair my car, I am grateful for the excuse to spend just a little more time with my dear friends, Jared and Laura, who have so generously offered me a bed for the night and a lift to and from the auto mechanic tomorrow morning.

I know I've expressed this sentiment several times before, but I still haven't ceased to find it delightfully surprising each time the realization strikes: friends help. With everything. Just being around them somehow makes it possible for situations that have previously seemed dauntingly grim or confusing to become a little bit clearer and more manageable. Such is the power of community.

Oh, and Taco King helps, too. Always.

Un-twenty-five-ication

With only two weeks left until my twenty-sixth birthday, I find myself considering, with increasing anxiety, what direction my public writing will take in the near future. Though I feel that the process of being twenty-five and blogging about it has matured me in several ways, evidence abounds that I still have a long way to go.

"Any poet, if he is to survive beyond his 25th year, must alter; he must seek new literary influences; he will have different emotions to express."
--T. S. Eliot

My twenty-fifth year, in case you haven't noticed, has been largely characterized by spontaneity: a road trip through California, working for UPS, two months in France, and, most recently, my application to the Master of Divinity program and Fuller Theological Seminary. Perhaps the mold and mission of my next blog (for, having kept a blog for the last four years, it is difficult to imagine divorcing myself entirely from the practice), in keeping with the rest of my big decisions of the year, will have to wait until the last minute.

Waiting

About two and a half months ago I put six tomato plants in the ground. For several weeks now, the plants, which have long outgrown their cages, have been heavy with fruit. And yet, not a single tomato has reached ripeness. Each morning I go out to the garden and sit with my tomato plants, carefully examining the dozens of green orbs hanging heavily from their vines, paying especial attention to the monstrosities that now number well into the twenties on the Yellow Brandywine plant, gently checking the green varieties for firmness and scrutinizing the striped and yellow varieties for shifts in hue. And I might venture to predict that, by the end of next week, I will be eating my very own homegrown heirloom tomatoes. Hopefully. In the mean time, however, I wait.

Having accomplished the remarkable feat of getting all my grad school application documents in by the posted deadline, I'm now beset with the rather undesirable task of checking my email inbox obsessively for updates from the Office of Admissions. With only a little more than a month until classes begin for the fall quarter, I dislike having to be kept...waiting. Unlike my situation with the tomato plants, it is not altogether assured that my efforts to get accepted into my desired program will come to fruition. And yet, like the mysterious chemical processes by which a plant absorbs light and nutrients and produces fruit, it's out of my hands. I am bemusedly grateful that, in less than a week, I managed to get this far.

Reflecting on the Experience Thusfar

Writing essays for graduate school admission was tough. But it was kind of great. It stretched me. I couldn't just write anything I felt like (...ahem...like I do for this blog...); I had to write something good.

It was the first time in a long time that my writing had to follow any sort of assignment. The prompts were exceptionally challenging to properly address within the allotted word count. Initially I approached the task a similar way as I approach most blog entries: just sort of choose an idea and run with it, freestyle. But I quickly became aware that this method would not be sufficient if I was going to produce anything suitable for submission to the office of admissions. If I wanted two eloquent essays that faithfully encapsulated my personality and my scholastic aptitude, I was going to have to work for them. I would have to labor over the theme and the structure, and I would have to make multiple drafts. It was mentally exhausting work, but it felt excellent to be doing it.

I'm ready to be a student again. Though I've learned a lot in my experiences since completing my undergraduate studies and would not trade them for anything, I think that much of what I've been up to in the last four-and-a-half years has distracted me from the vocation that I have long perceived to be intrinsic to my identity: academics.

Even if I don't get accepted, this experience will not be a loss.

My Day of Writing Essays

As it turns out, a good night's rest, a well-balanced breakfast, prayer, and little bit of yoga was exactly what I needed to get me into essay-writing mode this morning. With the day off from work and the whole house to myself, I utilized the time to the fullest, stopping only for a tiny lunch (I didn't want digestion to interfere with cognition) and to occasionally pace back and forth, attempting to work through my thoughts orally before transcribing them to paper.

Okay, in all honesty, I was not quite that dedicated. It's amazing how, in a time crunch, activities that normally slip under my radar--things like peeling dead skin off of my sunburned legs or finally getting around to figuring out how to use Twitter--suddenly seem to be of the most urgent importance. But nevertheless, with perseverance and the help of a very smart friend who knows me well and is good at proofreading papers, I completed my application and submitted it, two days before the deadline.

Now all I have to do is wait for the wonderful people who have agreed to serve as references for me to submit their online recommendations.

Though I was happy with the way that both of the essays came together, I was especially pleased with the form in which my thoughts found expression in the first essay. I'm happy to share it below:

Traveling—my experiences living, working, serving, and visiting abroad—has had a profound influence on shaping my spiritual life. It is impossible to imagine what my relationship with God would look like today if I had never gone on a short-term missions trip to Kenya, studied abroad in England, or taught English for two years in Japan. My experiences overseas, varied and uniquely meaningful as they may be, have corporately pointed me toward the awareness that God is present and at work in every culture and corner of the world. They have alerted me repeatedly to the fact that God is beyond the limits of my personal worldview, which, incidentally, has been expanded greatly on account of all that I have witnessed and participated in in other countries.

Of all the people I have met, the one who impressed me as best exemplifying the teachings of Jesus was a Muslim woman living in a Nairobi slum. Her cramped little house, smaller than my own bedroom back in the U.S., was home not only to her and her two children, but also to five orphans, unrelated to her, whom she had taken it upon herself to provide for. Though this woman had almost nothing, she gave freely, joyfully, and without fear to those in greater need than she. The impact of her example made Christ’s words in Matthew 25:35-40, “For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat…” more relevant to me than ever before. This encounter continues to influence me in my job, in my volunteer activities, and in my relationships, as I am reminded to choose love rather than fear and generosity before self-interest.

While living in Japan, I was blessed with a situation that led me to a deeper love and appreciation for the Church. Though I mostly grew up going to church, I later became disheartened by the constantly conflicting personalities and opinions in my congregation. I felt compelled to participate in church leadership, but my frustration at fellow members for not sharing my passions and perspectives often drove me away from attending church for a month or longer. In Japan, however, without the close presence of a supportive group of fellow believers, I became aware of just how vital community is to Christian life. I began to attend a small Japanese church and, despite linguistic barriers, was comforted by the communion of saints who, like me, loved Jesus and were trying to discern what it means to live as a Christian. Now that I am back in the U.S., I have a renewed sense of purpose and gratitude for attending my church. The former frustrations still arise, but I know that our love and togetherness will always be, in the words of Thomas Merton, “the resetting of a Body of broken bones.” With confidence that God’s grace is sufficient for all situations, I am grateful to bring my creativity and the unique worldview my experiences have given me into my role of service within that Body.

One Last Hurdle

Writing essays for admission to graduate studies is, like, really hard.

The prompts that they've given are unfathomably complicated to break apart. I've been spending the evening grasping madly for a way to structure my responses tidily into the demanded length of 250 to 500 words each. I'm beginning to doubt whether it's possible.

No doubt, fatigue is rendering the task even more seemingly insurmountable. Though I feel the pressure of a looming deadline, perhaps my best option is to get some rest and hope that I will wake refreshed, inspired, and ready to pound out two stellar personal statements.

It's Happening

I feel too excited/nervous to sleep. So instead I'll work on outlining my personal statement. Heck, I may even write the whole thing. That's the kind of excited I feel right now.