I’m taking Historic Christian Belief this J-term, and we just took our midterms today. It’s deeply interesting, but also deeply confusing a lot of the time. And because it’s J-term, a semester’s worth of information is crammed into three and a half weeks. It’s nice to have the time to think about these things, since I’m only taking one class, but most days I come back to the room wishing I had some good, solid science or math to distract me from the abstract reasoning of theology.

We’ve discussed a lot of fascinating topics, but also many that made me want to rip my hair out: the origin of evil, angels and demons, God’s purpose in creating the world, his method of creation, the origin of human souls, the divinity and humanity of Jesus, the Trinity… you know. Simple stuff. Mostly, it just makes me want to throw things.

Does it matter where we get our souls? Everyone has one. Are angels and demons really active and occasionally visible in our world? Trustworthy people have said so, but I’ve never experienced them. How was Jesus fully God and fully man at the same time? I don’t know, God can do whatever he wants.

Unfortunately, these aren’t the answers our professor is looking for. We have lots of discussion questions in small groups, and my group has a tendency to just sit there and stare. What can we say to questions like, “Was it necessary for our God to become human?” We can speculate, but ultimately we can’t know the truth. Also, we’re juniors in college. What do we know about anything, let alone complex theology?

I’d like to think that these issues don’t really affect my faith, but I wouldn’t be honest if I said they don’t affect my view of God. Sometimes we move through important topics very quickly and never stop to examine the implications of what was just said.

I can’t even really put into written words some of the things I’ve been wondering about lately, because they don’t make much sense when I try to explain them (I tried about four times to write down a couple of questions I had, but then I realized I wasn’t quite managing to say what I meant to say and either sounded trite or heretical).

Mostly, this class just leaves me wondering what kind of God I serve, and why I believe in him. It makes me uncomfortable how little logical sense I can find in my faith, and yet I can’t not believe. Sometimes I shake my head at the strangeness of it all, but when it comes down to it, I have to believe.

Because what else is there?

If there’s one word that describes this summer, it’s degage. My friends and I used this word a lot during our semester in Ireland. Since our program directors were both new that year, we were a sort of test group for the new things they wanted to do with the Irish Studies program. We often didn’t know exactly when we were taking a trip or what we were doing until a couple of days before we were supposed to leave, so we adopted this word as our motto. (“What, our fall break is going to be two weeks before we leave Ireland instead of in October like everyone else? Eh, degage.”)

For me, it always meant the attitude of taking things as they come and enjoying the journey in the meantime. But in the past couple of months, it has come to mean something different.

I had a plan for this summer. For months, almost a year, I thought I knew exactly where I’d be in July and August of 2011: in Asia, visiting my sister for the first time. When people at school asked me what my summer was looking like, that’s what I told them. My family and I would go to Disney World at the end of May, I’d spend a few weeks at home, and then I would pack up and leave to visit Melissa until early August. After that, I was going to stay the remaining weeks until school started with Tara and David. But all of that changed when Melissa and I realized that, due to a long story, for a lot of the time I was supposed to be with her she’d be working in remote villages doing language survey – which is totally cool, except that I would either have to go with her and sit awkwardly, or stay in her apartment by myself. Neither of us cared much for the idea, so we decided next year would be better. And hopefully, she said, she’d be able to take a few weeks off so we could go sightseeing.

The decision made, I found myself sitting in Pennsylvania with absolutely no idea what to do with my summer. I contemplated getting a job, but then I went to the Tennessee/Kentucky border with my parents for 3 weeks for Dad’s work, and I realized that no one would want to hire me for the couple of weeks I had at home. So for the next few weeks, I scanned all the photos Mom could find so we’d have digital copies of them – my equivalent of a summer job. It was nice to relax and hang out with Mom and Dad for a while, but I couldn’t help thinking about what I’d tell the people at school when they asked me, “OMG, how in the world was Asia?!”

What would I say? “Oh, I didn’t go. I hung out at home, scanned things, and played many, many video games.” A nice, relaxing summer, but not exactly good story material.

Then we heard about Germany. Dad came home from work one day and said, “You know, there’s a chance they might send me to Germany for several weeks.” Mom and I agreed not to get our hopes up in case things changed (and they always do, with his job), and we waited to hear whether the project was a go or not. To make this really long story shorter, after several answers of “Yes, you can go!” and “No, we were just kidding…” they gave him the go-ahead, but only for two weeks.

And guess what? Mom and I are coming too.

I can’t even express how excited I am about this – all I’ve wanted for a year now is to go to Europe again, and it looks like it’s actually going to happen! We bought our tickets: my parents are flying out tomorrow, and I’ll fly out on Wednesday. We’re hoping to take weekend trips to other countries, possibly Italy or the UK, but even if we don’t, it’s still going to be fantastic.

After this summer is all said and done, I have a feeling I’ll look back and say, “Um, wow… I never could have predicted any of that.” It’s been difficult to deal with the disappointment of not going to see Melissa and the many, many changes of plan, but I suppose it’s all reminded me that I always keep an attitude of degage.

Now, whether I actually manage to do that is another thing entirely.  ;)

This doesn’t have a title yet. Also, it’s not what you think at first.

She sits at her desk, pretending to do homework, alone. I come up beside her, and she turns just enough to look at me out of the corner of her eye.

“Yeah?”

I’m a little surprised by her reaction. I thought she’d be happier to see me, given that she’d spent so much time alone recently. “I-I’m here to visit you,” I say, giving what I hope is a winning smile.

“I can see that.”

She’s so much coarser than I remember. I lick my lips uncertainly, and she turns back to her computer as if I’m not even there.

“I, um, just wanted to see how you’re doing. With, you know… life. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

She shrugs. “I guess so. I hadn’t noticed.”

“Hadn’t you?” My voice is a little higher than I mean it to be, so I clear my throat and try again. “That’s funny. I noticed.”

“Hm.” It’s a noncommittal grunt, and I can feel my temper begin to flare. Settle down.

There’s an awkward silence while she stares at the screen and I fish for a polite way to get her attention. “You, uh, doing something important there?”

“Not really.”

“But you don’t want to stop and talk?”

“Not really.”

“Why not?” It comes out louder and angrier than I intend, but I’m frustrated.

Finally, she turns to look me full in the face. “I don’t want to hear what you have to say.”

Incredulous, I gape at her. “Why not?”

“You broke my heart. You made me believe things, made me want-” Her voice cracks, and she stops.

“I did what? But I thought you knew-”

“Just go away. I’m doing much better without you.”

“But that’s just it- you’re not!” I cry, abandoning all pretense of calmness. “You’re not better! You’re worse- you’re worse and I can’t stand it. Don’t you remember how close we were? We spent so much time together! You used to say I was your favorite, that we were going to do great things together!”

“You took advantage of my naïveté, my desire to see the world, my longing for something else. You took them and fed me wonderful stories and blended them together until I couldn’t tell what was real anymore. I had to end it, before you-”

“Before I what?” I growl.

It’s then I notice there are tears glinting in her eyes. “Before you shattered me completely.”

Silence comes again, but this time it’s louder than ever, heavy with the unspoken.

“Shattered…” I repeat softly, swallowing. “I didn’t- I thought- I just wanted-”

“To help,” she finishes, less ice coating her words. “You thought your stories would help. It wasn’t just you, others thought that too. But they didn’t help. They made things so much worse. I saw how things could be, how I wanted them to be, and it tore at me to know it was all just fiction.”

I open and close my mouth several times, unable to speak. After a minute I manage, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Sure you are.” Her reply isn’t sarcastic at all, only matter-of-fact. “But I can’t handle you anymore- that’s why you’ve got to leave me alone. For a while, anyway,” she adds. I must look as stricken as I feel.

“Okay.” It’s little more than a squeak. I nod, stuff my hands in my pockets, and walk away. As I reach the door I turn to look back, but she’s already buried in her computer again.

A few minutes later, I send her this message:

When you’re ready to use me again, just let me know. I’ll try to be gentler this time.

Love, your imagination.

Let me explain. The past few months (years, really) I’ve been searching desperately for my life’s direction. Where do I want to be, what do I want to study, what career do I want to pursue? But most importantly, what does God want me to do with my life? Through this semester, I find myself becoming more and more acutely aware that if I want to graduate from college in four years, I am running out of time to decide on a major. I thought I had it right… twice. I was wrong.

First, it was Creative Writing/Systems. I thought for sure that was what I should do. After all, people I love have been telling me I’m a good writer since I was in middle school. And I thought Systems would be a useful addition to my degree, especially since adding that to her degree was what got Tara started in her career. I never asked what the program was about. It never occurred to me.

I took one class in Creative Writing and decided it wasn’t for me. It was fluffy, I thought, packed full of sighing emotion and people who were far more artistic than I am. People who had ambition, talent, and books already written or in the process. I was afraid of them. I still am. How could I read my silly little pieces in front of them?

So I changed to Media Writing/Systems. I figured it would be more up my alley; I thought I could write straight facts. I figured a lot of the classes would deal with online writing, and perhaps some scriptwriting as well. What I got this semester was journalism, something I’d never dealt with before. A few awkward interviews later, I decided the class (and the major) were not for me. I needed to change, but perhaps I would keep the Systems part as before.

Then came Introduction to Systems. It didn’t take long for me to find out that the Systems curriculum is three parts business and one part computers, exactly the inverse of what I thought it would be. I should have done my research; if I had, I would have known that. I want no part of business: there are few things I find duller than cross-functional process maps and quality control techniques. Systems was not for me.

I met with my advisor a few days ago for the first time. She was lovely – helpful, friendly, and nice as could be. I was almost sorry to be switching majors. We discussed possibilities, and I told her I wanted to change my concentration to Film Production. After a bit of scheduling and looking up classes, she informed me that it was indeed possible to get through the major, but it would definitely take some doing. She referred me to my would-be production advisor, whose office I went to straight after.

My would-be advisor asked me why I wanted to switch, because frankly I was in for some painful semesters unless I was dead-set on this major. I love movies, I told her. I love everything about them: the story itself, the characters, the little nuances you only catch on your second or third time through, the deleted scenes, the interviews and how-tos of set design and special effects. I just want to be a part of the process, I said, probably as a writer, but really I’d be happy bringing the producers their water bottles and mopping the floors.

But the workload I’d have to endure to make it through that concentration – it would be brutal, she said. Projects all due at the same time, long hours of filming and editing. Could I do it? Was I willing to work ridiculously hard for it?

At this point, I looked down, playing with my rings. If I knew without a doubt that production was where I wanted to be, the answer would have been Absolutely. But I didn’t. The whole plan was shallow and badly thought out. It was a desperate attempt to grab on to something, anything that might help me decide what I wanted to do with my life.

The next day was the day I had to register for classes. I had a panicked chat with Mom about it – what would I register for if I couldn’t decide on a major? What if I chose later and all the classes I wanted or needed were taken already? She gave me the best advice I’d gotten from anyone yet: “Go with your gut, Gibbs.”

Did I have a gut reaction to all this? At first, I couldn’t tell. I really like the idea of production, but I’ve never held a camera fancier than our little digital recorder.  When it all came down to it, any time I’ve thought of a major, writing has always come up. It’s the one skill I’ve got, the one thing I can do well. But what could I do with it? The one thing I’d really love (or I think I’d really love – quite honestly, I don’t know anymore) would be screenwriting. I’m sort of practicing for it already… with fanfiction. (There, I’ve said it. I used to be embarrassed, but I’ve recently decided not to care. I like exploring themes and characters and motives in a good story, especially since I’m terrible at coming up with my own, and fanfiction is a way to do that.)

But suppose that the screenwriting thing doesn’t work out. As I’ve heard, it’s difficult to find a job as a screenwriter anymore, or as a writer in general. What could I do? Perhaps I could minor in Computer Science – I enjoyed my programming classes for the most part, even though my current class is… well, painful. But doable, with enough effort. So why shouldn’t I try for a minor and put those credits to good use? If I can survive it, that is.

I’m currently registered for a hodge-podge of classes I thought might fill up quickly: two computer science, two writing, and one literature. I tried my best to pick classes that would count toward my major, whatever it might be. One is a necessary class for Media Writing that is only offered in the fall of odd years, so I figured I should take it just in case I decided to switch back again. You never know with me anymore.

No matter how much I fight it, no matter how much I wish it were otherwise, I am a writer and nothing else. I’m not a journalist, a producer, a doctor, an artist, a teacher, a musician, an actress, a physicist, a secret agent, or a criminal investigator.

And someday, I might just learn to live with that.

I’ll probably end up writing something about 2010 around New Year’s Day, so I won’t address that today.  But this semester…

I’ve been saying for weeks that I don’t want this semester to end, but I found with a good amount of surprise today just how much I wish it wasn’t over.  The first part was the hardest; socially, it was miserable.  But I loved my classes, and that made it worthwhile.  And then things got better when I realized I should stop worrying so much, do what I needed to do, and then live and let live.  Unfortunately, that point came near the end, so only now has it really hit me how much I enjoy being here.  Things aren’t even close to perfect, but the opportunities available to me as a student here are phenomenal.  And sometimes even the social opportunities are wonderful, too.

I’m really going to miss my classes.  Next semester, I think, will probably not be nearly as fun as this one.  I lucked out this semester; I’m well aware.  Three of my classes were amazing, and the two I didn’t like were easy enough that I didn’t have to spend much time on them.  Not everyone gets that experience, and certainly not twice in a row.  But I do get to look forward to still meeting with my Ethics and Technology class next semester—we like discussing and hanging out with each other so much that we all agreed to keep getting together regularly in the spring (Dr. Cramer included).  I’m excited about having a group of friends again who make me think deeper about life instead of distracting me from it.  And while I’m on the subject, let me just say that Ethics and Technology is quite possibly the best class I’ve ever taken.  It made me think more about the way I live my life than just about any other thing I’ve ever done, and it equipped me with new ways of critiquing technology, presenting arguments, and approaching classes.  Also, our final will consist of a Q&A session about what could be changed next year, followed by potato soup and Inception.  Have I mentioned that I love that class?

Programming was a great class too; I love Dr. White, and I really wish he would teach more classes I need to take.  I learned a ton from him, and he is one of the most outstanding professors I’ve ever had.  Earlier in the semester, he would hold two-hour help sessions for us in the Dungeon—at night, when he could have been at home—and then he’d thank us for letting him come and help.  At first I couldn’t believe it, but then as the weeks went by, I understood.  He just cares that much about his students.  And there were a couple of really fun game nights, too, where he invited us to his house for homemade apple dumplings and Dutch Blitz.  Wonderful.  =)

I’m glad I’ll get to have Greek again in the spring with Dr. Heth.  I think if anyone else taught it, I might not have chosen to continue.  I like Greek a lot, but I’m certain most of the reason for that is because Dr. Heth is such a great professor.  He—much like Drs. White and Cramer—really cares about his students and goes out of his way to help us.  Not only that—he’s hilarious.  The memory tricks he teaches us are so bizarre and funny that they work like magic to help us remembers the things he teaches us.  I’m really looking forward to Greek II (and halfway through the semester, we can get a fantastic t-shirt about learning Greek, too).

Fall 2010 has been an incredible semester.  Even though it had a rough beginning, I wouldn’t trade it for anything.  Now I just have to survive my Greek and programming finals.  =)

But then, I have to stop and think about it a little more. Missing sleep means short-circuiting my brain. Classes become harder, and even conversations are difficult to follow when I haven’t slept enough. Although, I’m usually not good at carrying a conversation even on a good day, so at least when I’m exhausted I have a legitimate excuse.

Clearly, I’m trying to justify my poor sleeping habits and keep them going at the same time (it’s almost midnight now, and I need to wake up early tomorrow morning).

There’s not really much of a point to this post. Basically, I’m tired and for some reason I decided it would be a good idea to blog about it, since I haven’t blogged in almost two months. Maybe over the weekend I’ll write a real post… but for now, I think I’m going to follow my conscience and go to sleep.

I always seem to write one of these when I should really be doing something else. Right now I’m avoiding studying for a Greek quiz tomorrow- we have to know every form of the article in Greek, and it’s a little terrifying. I only know half of the singular articles, and barely any of the plurals. Why am I writing about this? I should be staring my flashcards down until the images are burned into my memory. Instead, I’m writing about how nervous I am. I should also be having coffee with a friend, but I’m sort of putting that off too. I never liked being the one to instigate things- I always feel like I’m bothering people when I text them asking to get together. I would much rather be asked, because then I know it’s not just an obligation on their part. Or maybe it is, but I don’t feel bad because they didn’t have to ask.

Anyway. I’m back at Taylor: land of the Pick-A-Date (going on my first since Ireland on Sunday with a total stranger), Airband, awkward couples, and coffee dates. It’s also the land of quality classes and awesome professors, both of which I’m lucky to have. Just for the sake of it, here’s what I’m taking: Basics of Biblical Greek, Introduction to Computational Problem Solving, Intrapersonal Psychology, Creative Writing, and Ethics and Technology.

I love all my classes. But the really ironic thing is, out of all of them, I enjoy  my only major class the least. I’m majoring in English/Systems with a concentration in Creative Writing, and the Creative Writing class is my least favorite so far. As it turns out, I’m not all that great at writing on command- at least, not writing creatively. I can pump out a fairly decent paper with the best of them, but give me an assignment where I need to ‘have my own voice’ and make people laugh, and I crumple and fail. It’s a little depressing how bad I am at this. I’m not so sure about my major after all. As far as usefulness goes, I’ve heard English is good for a lot of areas, but I don’t know if that still applies if that English degree is concentrated in creative writing. The reason I tacked on the “Systems” part was so that people will take me more seriously. (And honestly, I did think it would be cool to be one of the only girls hanging around The Baum’s dungeon and programming like a fiend.)

There are so many more things I could write about, but all of a sudden I’m starting to feel the weight of that quiz bearing down on me. Time to quell that by spending time with a friend instead of studying… for now. Cramming will most certainly happen later- that’s college, right?

I’ve made a lot of important decisions in the last week – well, in the last day. And really, they’re only important to me. But I made them, dang it. First of all, I’ve decided to be an English major. Secondly, I’ve decided to live in Swallow next year. Thirdly, I’ve decided to stop caring what other people think about me. And lastly, as you may have already guessed, I’ve decided to be more decisive. No more standing around and considering every little angle of things before I make a decision. I don’t know where this major will take me, I don’t know what I want to do with my life, but I do know that I need a direction or I will drive myself crazy thinking about it – even if it ends up being the wrong direction. I don’t really care. I’m taking control of my life. I am nineteen years old, and for goodness’ sake, I need to start acting like it.

So, if you would, please pray for me in these last few weeks of this semester. I have a lot of big assignments coming up, and I really need to stay on top of everything, or someone might have to come dig me out of a pile of homework. I need to be smart with my time, and I also need to see a lot of people before all of this ends. I also need to make a few more decisions eventually, but I suppose those can wait for a little while longer. For now, it’s off to homework for a couple more hours, then bed early – tomorrow is going to be a long day.

I have heard other people say this very thing so many times that it almost annoys me to hear it again, even from myself. But I cannot deny it any longer, for it is the truth.

I am small. Infinitesimally small, in fact. Just a speck of dust on a pale blue dot floating in space.

I amazed at my own capacity to consider my life as vital to the existence of the universe. My brain tells me I am nothing, and yet my actions say that I am the most important part of this world. My heart says that my life must mean something, that surely I will leave a legacy that will be remembered, but that is not so. I will die someday, and I will be forgotten. I am frail, I am nothing- nothing at all.

And yet God…

YHWH, the Creator of the universe, has made my existence possible. This planet – and indeed, this entire solar system – seems to be tailor-made for my species. We exist through a series of astronomically improbable circumstances, any of which, if changed, would obliterate us all. And yet, we are still here. We have not become extinct, though undoubtedly this is through no doing of our own – we have done our best to wipe each other out since the day we burst out of the Garden into the unsuspecting world. A divinely caused flood nearly exterminated us.

And yet God…

He rescued enough of us from the flood to begin again. Through history He cared for His special creations, and now we are far enough along that even though we study God’s universe and understand it more than we ever have in the past, we feel as if we can get along without Him.

And yet God…

He has the patience to deal with our arrogance, our childish insistence that we are the most important part of the universe. He has the wisdom to show us we are wrong. He has the compassion to save us from ourselves. He has the restraint to stay His hand when I am sure He would rather strike us down in our pride and folly.

And yet God…

He allows us the freedom to choose to follow Him and His ways, even though we were created specifically for that very thing and should do it by default. He allows us to question Him, even though He is always right. He speaks through other people, willing or not, and shows Himself to us in ways we sometimes don’t expect.

In light of all that I have learned about God’s omnipotence, majesty, and unfathomable power, you would think I could not possibly doubt, could not possibly want to follow my own selfish ways anymore.

You would think, wouldn’t you?

And yet God…

In His infinite wisdom, God allows me to go my own way. He has arranged this life so that it must be a choice to follow Him, once that I must make every moment of every day. He has made it a difficult thing to turn away from myself, forget my own life, and seek His plan for me. I cannot begin to understand why He would make it so hard to trust Him. But then again, let’s be honest: I cannot begin to understand Him. For all my talk of studying astronomy and beginning to know the mind of God, for all my pretentious ramblings, I am only dust in a massive universe.

And yet, God.

It was so easy to push the trip out of my mind these past few weeks; after a while, it began more and more to seem like something I had dreamed up myself. The only tangible reminders I had were a few items of clothing I had picked up there, the multitude of new Facebook friends (and wall posts, and notifications, and emails that came along with them), and a certain photo that I have kept near me. Every now and then, I find myself glancing at it, then almost involuntarily picking it up from its place on the shelf under the coffee table (I’ve been sleeping on my sister’s couch since I got back- it’s a long story that I don’t necessarily feel like explaining just now) and staring for a good couple of minutes. It has gotten to the point where I can’t help it anymore; somehow, the photo finds its way into my hands and I feel a need to look at each face within the frame. Only three months ago it would have been a photo of 32 complete strangers (and myself). But now – and sometimes this is the only thing that reminds me that this trip actually happened, that I really didn’t dream it all up – every face is not only familiar, but each brings up a name, memories, and a deep feeling of affection and love.

And to think, I have only known them for one fourth of a year. To put that into perspective, that’s 1.3% of my life. If you only count the years I can remember, it’s 1.7% (and that’s generous- that’s supposing that my memories started at four years of age).

So, it should be easy to see why I was able to almost forget about everything. I returned to my normal routines and habits with almost alarming rapidity. But there was always something nagging at me, always a small feeling in the back of my mind that things weren’t right. I woke up in the mornings, expecting to see my roommates Megan and Erin (also known as Meggles and Rinny- lovely, lovely people that I have grown to love as sisters), and feeling a sense of profound disappointment when I looked around and saw that it was only me in the room. I walked around the house, almost expecting to jump as a FISPer (as we termed ourselves, derived from ‘Freshman Irish Studies Program’) would pop out from a corner and yell, “Surprise!” and the house would be full of noise and laughter and chaos again. When none of this happened, I suppose the only way I could cope with the sudden change was to forget that it ever happened, that things were ever different.

But I couldn’t forget.

It’s always there, always pushing at my mind, always seeping through in my conversations and in my thoughts. I am different. Still the same person in many ways, but different in ways that aren’t so readily noticeable. Even I can’t fully explain it, but the differences are there, are real, and are affecting everything I am.

I don’t think Tara or Dave have noticed, or anyone from the church here in Indy. I don’t think they realize how much I have changed, because I haven’t shown it and I can’t explain it. How can you show someone something you aren’t even sure of yourself?

I can’t wait to get back to Taylor. I love my family deeply – they know I do – but now I feel this great need, this driving desire to go to a place where I can have my own identity, completely unique from my life before. I want to find my own strengths and weaknesses and my own identity in Christ, apart from the things that have influenced me all my life. I want to spend time getting to know my friends better and making new friends. I want to be in a place where people can love me for who I am, not who I have been. I want to start being my own person.

…Again.