december rain

rain falls outside
i curl up on my window seat
knees to my chest
hair in a ponytail
snapple in hand
book by my side


rain evokes emotion
washes over me
it tells me
rest, it is finished
it washes away the worry
like turpentine removes paint from a brush
like acetone strips nails of their polish


away it goes
away it all goes
with the rain


the rain, it rushes down the hill
down the sidestreets and mainstreets and sidewalks
it leaves the plateaued mountain
and reaches the gulley


to the river it flows
into the ocean it bleeds
the clouds, they pick it up
and drop it off again
against my window


rain falls outside

study tips from your most ardent studier

"The dream."
College: where we come to learn. To study. To catapult ourselves from dependence and obscurity to independence, academic and professional greatness.

I had enormous hopes for myself when I envisioned my college life. I would study between classes and write papers in timely fashion during the weekdays, leaving my weekends wide open for amusing adventures. How wise.
I'd do great research, delving deep into interesting scholarly things, with time to spare. How noble.
And I'd use all my other time for what I imagined my social life would be: important, but a mere second to academic pursuits. How quaint.

"The reality."
College: where I came to realize that in high school I was the biggest nerd on the planet.

College is nothing like I imagined.
I go here to learn, but I don't go here to study. I go here to catapult myself and others into a life worth living, a Purpose bigger than ourselves.

What do I do in college?
Well, I spend way too much time with people, and when I'm not with people, I am… well, I'm pretty much always with people.
I don't do work between classes; instead I get coffee with a friend or buy plane tickets or go on hikes or drive or make art or watch Hulu. I don't finish my papers in timely fashion; instead I #clublibs. I master the art of procrastination by living and breathing social media, taking sub-par photos with my iphone, drinking Snapple, researching South Africa, going to concerts, staring at the moon, signing up for pottery classes, watching inspirational dog movies like Homeward Bound, drooling over National Geographic, eating black beans, listening to Noah and the Whale, and calling my mom.
For me, the social and the academic spheres flip-flopped right after my high school graduation day. I did so well in high school. Sigh. But I dropped the books, started running, and I never looked back. Smile.

So why are you writing a blog on study tips, ignats? you might ask.
I'll tell you why. There's a method to my madness.
You see, here's my philosophy: studying isn't that important!
Buuuuuuuut important and necessary aren't synonymous, so don't you let that smile get too large. Ya still gots to study, kid. But just 'cause you're studying don't mean it ain't fun.

mbd's glorious, enviable, and fool-proof study tips for success:

1. break out the eye glasses if you've got them. don't sacrifice your eye sight for style. wear them loud and wear them proud; finals week hits one, hits all. and it ain't pretty.

2. wear flannel. and sweatpants. wear them separate, wear them together-- any combination will do.

3. check Facebook a lot. hey, it's a good distraction.

4. bring your computer charger with you wherever you go. don't be stoopid like me and forget it at your apartment (or dorm room or house, it you are so lucky as to have a house).

5. drink caffeine. but don't get addicted. addictions are bad.

6. the best study places on campus: SIS balcony, and especially Battelle atrium & Katzen. …you heard it here first. but keep it a secret; I want Battelle and Katzen to remain underpopulated and free of people who actually support the wonk campaign. crazies. i like the Battelle and Katzen demographics as they are.

7. get sleep. my bed is my best friend, it's true. the question is, is your bed YOUR best friend?

8. don't stay up late doing things that could be finished tomorrow.
case in point: me, writing this blog right now at 2.02am. is this really necessary? no. will i continue writing? without question.

9. "get a grip."
i've heard this line more times than i could ever try to count in my lifetime. it's my dad's favorite phrase, kind of the same as "no pain, no gain" or "no guts, no glory" or "suck it up." maybe you're lucky enough to be familiar with some of those beautiful lines. inspirational, amirite?

prime examples:

(when i was a little kid, sick and throwing up in the toilet)
kid: Daddy, I need a towel, I'm throwing up!
dad: Get a grip, Mere! You're fine!

(when my little twin brothers wrestled each other to the ground and possibly hit each other with golf clubs)
kid: AHHH!! DAD!!! Chad just hit me with a golf club!! (starts crying)
dad: You're fine, boy. Get a grip! Shake it off. (walks away)

you get the picture.
finals week is almost over as soon as it begins, trust me. so get a grip!

10. don't be blind to beauty.

"When one enters the portals of learning, one leaves the dearest pleasures-- solitude, books, and imagination-- outside with the whispering pines." -Helen Keller in The Story of My Life

all Helen Keller jokes aside, don't be blind to beauty. whether it's free finals week snacks in the windowless dungeon--errr i mean basement--of Kay Spiritual Center; whether it's climbing a tree or jumping in rain puddles or watching five seasons of Bones; whether it's writing a poem or buying a Street Sense issue or painting like Bob Ross or reading your favorite book for the 12,923,482th time, or checking on a friend-- don't be blind to beauty. invite beauty, embrace beauty.

there will still be time for studying, i promise. that's what college is for.


yours sincerely,
meredith

a variation of "rain on my face"

i don't have to move to listen
i'm close enough, as it were
i don't have to sing well to praise You
Your angels do that better already
i don't have to work for Your goodness
i don't have to chase down Your love
i don't have to move to listen
You are wherever i am
You call me to obey,
  to submit and to honor
so here i am
  humbled, dry.
fill me up with Your glory,
fill me up till i drown.




i wrote this during the last TNW, when the honorable blane young refreshed my perspective on ephesians 5.21 and 6.1.

living and dying, or really just something in between.

i offer up questions.
what does it MEAN to live, to live fully conscious of life and of death?
what is death, if i'm alive? or am i not really alive at all, but dying?

what value lies in seeing the sun from here, if i've never seen the earth from there?

i offer no answers. God is, was, will be The Answer. The Answer does not come in words alone, but in actions: of mercy, of sacrifice, of love.

none of us lives
for ourselves alone
and none of us dies
for ourselves alone
Romans 14.7

if seeing the sun from here, as it streams between tree branches, exposing rugged bare branches swaying like arms in a restless crowd-- if this is all it takes to glimpse unadulterated beauty, if for just a second-- i am content.
if this state of ignorance yields some semblance of Life and Life more abundant, and if dying to myself means coming alive in Someone Else, then i find joy in this restful sincerity of heart.
yes, rest.
maybe this moment of rest is all i needed.

all systems go

i'm drinking coffee out of a mug i glazed myself. it's large, about half the size of a dodgeball. its disproportionately large compared to the tiny handle on the side. i splattered paint all over it and included some Santa Fe flair on the handle, and ran some arrows going from the bottom rim all the way up the side and into the hollow innards. but what's most important is what i penned right beside some planets and the moon: set the world on fire.

i made this mug about a year ago, on the heels of an amazing weekend with my brother, rich. he came to visit in DC and we did all sorts of DCist things. but most importantly we sat in my apartment with my friends and did nothing. (and by nothing i mean we broke out the 96 count Crayola crayons and coloring books, and maybe some xbox Geometry Wars.)

we did nothing. until the inflatable AU Abroad globe caught on fire. it brushed against a candle and that's all she wrote. flames raged, smoke billowed in the air and hit the 8 ft ceilings faster than you can say Mississippi.
there's now a spot in the carpet where the drama went down; it's all black and charred, forever marking that auspicious occasion.

set the world on fire.

Now to Him who is able to strengthen you according to my Gospel and the preaching of Jesus Christ,
according to the revelation of the mystery that was kept secret for long ages but now has been disclosed and through the prophetic writings has been made known to all nations,
according to the command of the eternal God, to bring about the obedience of faith--
to the only wise God be glory forevermore through Jesus Christ! Amen.

authority- Greek "exousia"- (n): the ability or strength with which one is endued, and the right to exercise that power
command- Greek "epitagé"- (n): an injunction, the authoritativeness of a command

Paul really brings it in Romans 16.26. kind of brings me to my knees. why this authority? why this command? why are these related? i struggle with authority. i don't like obeying it, and i don't like exhibiting it. it's not natural for me. authority of the law? pish posh. i like jwalking and speeding and illegally downloading too much; authority's just holding me back. i'm an accommodater, an avoider. why should i confront, collaborate, compete, or call out when i can sit back and let life take its course?

i'm learning that sometimes i'm that piece of life that directs that course, ultimately directed and breathed into existence like a breath on a snowy winter day by a God of mystery, of strength, beauty, glory and truth.
i'm learning sometimes i can't run from authority, because it is a command.
i'm learning that i'm not exempt-- not by my busy schedule, and not by my very nature. the nature that screams of everything within me to run and scream in the opposite direction, help! somebody with vision, humility, and undying fortitude, come quickly! people need you here! 
somewhere along the line, God raised me up.

somewhere between the time i came to AU, the times my freshman self called my mom homesick at 3am and the times i would go on solo hikes and climb trees just to get away from people and "city noise"... somewhere between that time and now, God's been working.
so for now, all i can do is listen to Painting Pictures of Egypt and praise a God that's directed me into places i never woulda gone on my own, had my back not been turned.



set the world on fire.

hickory smoked ham

the apartment reeks of rotting hickory smoked ham. raw ham that's been left in an open Tupperware under the sun, exposed to the elements and maggots.
i just raided our fridge again.
something smells.
we can't seem to find the culprit. it's stinking up the whole place, but no one wants to wipe out the fridge. 
who has the time? we say.
i do more work around here than the two of them combined, each of us mutter under our breaths.

and so it goes.

the apartment reeks of rotting hickory smoked ham.

what jesus, his disciples, and rob bell have taught me about my former major-- public relations.

I started reading Movement 7 of Rob Bell's Velvet Elvis tonight.It's the last movement of his book, and so far it's talked about how God's going to restore our world. How He made it good (not perfect, mind you) and how one day He will bring heaven down to earth and THEN it will be perfect.
He talks about how Caesar Augustus, in Jesus's day, claimed to be a god. Advent was the period of 12 days leading up to Caesar's birth!! AHAHA. The guy even had people bring him offerings of frankincense and myrrh to get rid of their guilt.
And, he coined the slogan "Caesar is Lord."

Tonight I realized that Jesus and his disciples are the best Public Relation specialists in history, even before the practice of real PR began.

Think about it-- taking the most popular phrases and rituals of the day and tweaking them to fit your own campaign? GENIUS. (I know Jesus as the Messiah wasn't really a campaign, but see this thing through.)
Bell talks about how it was commonplace to claim you've been raised from the dead back then; even Caesar claimed he had been resurrected.
So the challenge then, for the disciples and for the risen Lord, was in what they did AFTER the resurrection. The claim that Jesus was the Messiah wasn't enough. They needed more than that. Christians, not the government, served the people.
And it was through THIS that they proved the love of Christ and the sacrifice He made, and the sacrifice he calls us all to make.
Daily.
They loved people. Took them in, befriended them, laughed with them and created inside jokes.
They got to know their families and their passions.
They lived.

So here's the deal. 
I sometimes forget why I serve. 
Sometimes I lose track, get burnt out, and trick myself into thinking that the fuzzy warm feeling I get inside when I spend time with someone or help someone out with some thing in some way is enough. That it's what it's all about.
But it isn't.
We serve and love and glorify His name because that's the example Jesus set.
Because He loved us so much that it's all He could do.
Paul referred to Jesus as a "firstfruit" in 1 Corinthians 15.20. Which meant that after Jesus, there would be more of us to model-- and even extend-- Jesus's love after Jesus returned to heaven.


It makes me think a lot about AU and all the people that go here. Everyone wants to make a difference. In politics, in international service, in whatever. And the alternative break program? i'm starting to spend a lot of time around Alt Break leaders in preparation for South Africa and am flabbergasted by how idealistic and passionate these people are. They feel so deeply the pain of others. Why don't all Christians feel this way? Why don't I? What went wrong?

And so these first Christians passed on the faith to the next generation who passed it on to the next generation who passed it on to the next generation until it got to...us. Here. Today. Those who follow Jesus and belong to his church. And now it's our turn. It is our turn to step up and take responsibility for who the church is going to be for a new generation. It is our turn to redefine and shape and dream it up all again.. It is our turn to rediscover the beautiful, dangerous, compelling idea that a group of people, surrendered to God and to each other, really can change the world. (Rob Bell, Velvet Elvis p164)

I just switched out of my major, Public Communication (aka Public Relations) this week.
'Cause MAN I H8-ed IT. 
But the good thing is, PR is kinda intuitive. Look at what the disciples did-- taking ownership of the "Caesar is Lord" campaign that Caesar Augustus and his minions had goin' on, and putting their own spin on it. Reclaiming pop culture. Not ignoring it and denying its existence, but instead capitalizing on its popularity and relatability and reaching people THROUGH it.
I might hate PR, but that's a durn good approach that even I can appreciate.


Two things. One, I sure am gonna look at my Advent calendar different this Christmas. IDK about you, but I never knew until now that Advent was originally the time that marked up to Caesar Augustus's birthday. I guess I didn't pay attention in Sunday School. Typical.

And two, it's time to reclaim. Together. "It is our turn to rediscover the beautiful, dangerous, compelling idea that a group of people, surrendered to God and to each other, really can change the world."

Cheers.

neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night

the rain falls
it is a hollow sound, filled with joy
i don't know how it sounds of joy
an emotion, a state of being, a whim?
but joy, it sounds

it lightnings
illuminating show for all the world to see
where do the lights come from? we wonder
electricity
friction
the flow of energy
back and forth, back and forth

the reason
the reason we live and breathe and wonder and create and are
the reason for it all
the reason we long and pine and seek and find
the reason for it all

in the seeking comes the finding
now faith is the assurance of things hoped for
the assurance of things not seen

what is it i have yet to see? it will come
am i brave enough to hope?

be still and know.



" The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world's deephunger meet." -Frederick Buechner

it's been a while since i looked at the stars.

i haven't posted in a while. i've been too busy counterblogging, you see.
but i read this on symphony chau's blog today, entitled THE VISION. and it really moved me. read it for yourself.

The Vision – By Pete Greig

So this guy comes up to me and says:
“What’s the vision? What’s the big idea?”
I open my mouth and words come out like this:
The vision?
The vision is JESUS – obsessively, dangerously, undeniably Jesus.

The vision is an army of young people.You see bones? I see an army.
And they are FREE from materialism.

They laugh at 9-5 little prisons.
They could eat caviar on Monday and crusts on Tuesday.
They wouldn’t even notice.
They know the meaning of the Matrix, the way the west was won.

They are mobile like the wind, they belong to the nations.
They need no passport.
People write their addresses in pencil and wonder at their strange existence.They are free yet they are slaves of the hurting and dirty and dying.

What is the vision ?

The vision is holiness that hurts the eyes.
It makes children laugh and adults angry.
It gave up the game of minimum integrity long ago to reach for the stars.
It scorns the good and strains for the best.
It is dangerously pure.

Light flickers from every secret motive, every private conversation.It loves people away from their suicide leaps, their Satan games.This is an army that will lay down its life for the cause.
A million times a day its soldiers choose to loose,
that they might one day win
the great ‘Well done’ of faithful sons and daughters.

Such heroes are as radical on Monday morning as Sunday night. They don’t need fame from names. Instead they grin quietly upwards and hear the crowds chanting again and again: “COME ON!”

And this is the sound of the underground
The whisper of history in the making
Foundations shaking
Revolutionaries dreaming once againMystery is scheming in whispers
Conspiracy is breathing…
This is the sound of the underground

And the army is discipl(in)ed.
Young people who beat their bodies into submission.
Every soldier would take a bullet for his comrade at arms.The tattoo on their back boasts “for me to live is Christ and to die is gain”.

Sacrifice fuels the fire of victory in their upward eyes.
Winners. Martyrs.
Who can stop them?
Can hormones hold them back?
Can failure succeed?
Can fear scare them or death kill them?

And the generation prays

like a dying man
with groans beyond talking,
with warrior cries, sulphuric tears and
with great barrow loads of laughter!
Waiting. Watching: 24 – 7 – 365.

Whatever it takes they will give: Breaking the rules. Shaking mediocrity from its cosy little hide. Laying down their rights and their precious little wrongs, laughing at labels, fasting essentials. The advertisers cannot mould them. Hollywood cannot hold them. Peer-pressure is powerless to shake their resolve at late night parties before the cockerel cries.

They are incredibly cool, dangerously attractive

Inside.

On the outside? They hardly care.
They wear clothes like costumes to communicate and celebrate but never to hide.Would they surrender their image or their popularity?
They would lay down their very lives – swap seats with the man on death row – guilty as hell. A throne for an electric chair.

With blood and sweat and many tears, with sleepless nights and fruitless days,
they pray as if it all depends on God and live as if it all depends on them.

Their DNA chooses JESUS. (He breathes out, they breathe in.)
Their subconscious sings. They had a blood transfusion with Jesus.
Their words make demons scream in shopping centres.

Don’t you hear them coming?

Herald the weirdos! Summon the losers and the freaks.
Here come the frightened and forgotten with fire in their eyes.
They walk tall and trees applaud, skyscrapers bow, mountains are dwarfed by these children of another dimension.
Their prayers summon the hounds of heaven and invoke the ancient dream of Eden.

And this vision will be.
It will come to pass;
it will come easily;
it will come soon.

How do I know?

Because this is the longing of creation itself,
the groaning of the Spirit,
the very dream of God.

My tomorrow is his today.
My distant hope is his 3D.
And my feeble, whispered, faithless prayer invokes a thunderous, resounding, bone-shaking great ‘Amen!’ from countless angels, from heroes of the faith, from Christ himself. And he is the original dreamer, the ultimate winner.

Guaranteed.

i can't stop thinking lately about prayer. about our generation, about God moving. it's been on my heart. and it's in the world aroundme. he's moving, on my campus. in my families, in the power of forgiveness, and in the pursuit of his daughters and sons.
and this poem pretty much sums it all up.

i'm not gonna state

obvious observations everybody makes

but baby, be prepared to be surprised

sondre lerche, "to be surprised"

Today in my Major Social Theorists class, I learned about Georg Simmel and his theory of modernity and our blasé attitude.

bla·sé

adj.

1. Uninterested because of frequent exposure or indulgence.

2. Unconcerned; nonchalant 

Last weekend my mom visited, and we went to see the Washington National Cathedral. The first time we went, at 6.30p on a sunny Sunday evening, we didn't plan ahead. We stopped serendipitously on our way back to my apartment, because I realized as we were driving past it that my mom had never seen the Cathedral up close. She's only been to the District two or three times since I've gone to school here, and we've always been pushed for time. But this time, we stopped. 

And it was closed to the public. 

So we went the next day, after a relaxing morning-- during which we talked about the sexualization of middle school girls over our cups of coffee...charming, I know-- and this time the Cathedral's doors were open to us.

We walked in, and toured around. We didn't have the time to invest in a legitimate tour by robed Episcopalian tour guides, so I shared with Mom what trivia I could remember from my tour of the Cathedral during freshman year. I showed her the large marble caveat where the honorable President Woodrow Wilson resided, and how his wife Edith was only recognized with a plaque that says something like "Edith is buried way under this vault."

I told her about the stained-glass windows, and how they tell the stories of the Bible through their designs. I pointed out the largest and most impressive stained glass on the North, South, East, and West sides of the Cathedral and tried to remember their names and all that good stuff. We also got into a discussion of whether some Episcopal churches hold special blessing services for their domesticated animals.

Mom had her camera out and ready, but she was taking horrible pictures. I knew this would, inevitably, be the case. 

Why? 

First of all, her camera is older than I am. Secondly, she has no eye for or tendency to pursue such aesthetic things. And thirdly, after all this time she still doesn't understand the nuances of the camera flash. (Not understanding the workings of a point-and-shoot is my mother's only flaw, let it be known.)

So I took some pictures for her with my camera and we skittadled out of there and on to lunch. 

It was all a very typical tour experience:

Arrive at Cathedral.

Marvel at its enormous size with visitor.

Share trivia and other random facts, like the fact that Tenleytown is the highest point in D.C., thereby making the National Cathedral the tallest point but not the tallest building.

Enter house of worship, scoff at the donation boxes and secretly wonder why tax dollars aren't enough to cover tourism efforts.

Saunter into sanctuary, begin the loop around the place.

Take photos, if so inclined.

Exit through the gift shop.

It was typical, at least, until we got into the car. 

   "Wow," Mom said under her breath as she sat down in the passenger seat of my beloved Honda Civic, the same car she and I traveled to Oregon in over the last summer.

   "I know, right?" I responded, as I shifted it into Drive.

   "The whole time we were there, I wanted to cry because it was so beautiful," she said. "I had no idea it would be so spiritual. I expected it to be cold. But I just had this overwhelming sense of peace in there."

This stopped me in my tracks, and I began to evaluate my own reactions. When did I check out? When did that huge building, the second largest cathedral in the U.S. and seventh largest in the world, cease to amaze me? 

I've gone blasé.

And it's not okay.

Yes, I have gone blasé. Simmel predicted my reaction. He says it happens in metropolitan situations especially, or places in which we're so bombarded with stimuli and information and opportunities that we cease to react strongly to any of them. It applies to anything-- how we react to the trials of others, even something so "everyday" as how we react to a traffic accident on the interstate. (When's the last time I was more concerned for the accident victim(s) than the bumper-to-bumper deal I'm stuck in?)

When did something like a deadly wreck stop phasing me?

When did the Washington National Cathedral stop inspiring me?

When did God become so small?

The opposite of blasé:

concerned; responsive

I'm trying it out this week. Join me if you dare. 

I will seek to see things as for the first time. 

To see things like my mom did-- spiritual, relevant, awe-inspiring. The opposite of the expected. The comfortable. The cold. The distant. The indifferent.

[10] Create in me a clean heart, O God,

and renew a right spirit within me.

[11] Cast me not away from your presence,

and take not your Holy Spirit from me.

[12] Restore to me the joy of your salvation,

and uphold me with a willing spirit.

(Psalm 51:10-12 ESV)

my beautiful mother basking in the general splendor at the Cathedral

el fin.

confession?


blogs scare me.

i've written so many more posts than the ones seen by you. twenty-four, actually. but how many can you see? oh, i don't know-- ten, perhaps.
honesty frightens me. it freezes me. it makes me feel like whatever honest thing i have to say needs to be said well. eloquently. accurately.

but it doesn't.

i don't know why i'm scared of messiness. of disorder.
i myself am messy, and disorderly.
maybe i just don't look in the mirror enough. maybe i don't want to face the fact that this is true.
that this is honest.
that this is life.



i began this blog as an outlet for self-expression, but it's not a soundboard. it's an exhibit.
and i'm done.

hello, humanity.
welcome to the mess.
don't worry about taking your shoes off. you're fine as you are.

...and ya know, so am i.

houston, we've got a problem

oops, no more haikus
gone, like frank sinatra, gone
once upon a time