Greetings, oft-neglected realm of the blog.
I've been putting this off for too long. To be honest, I've thought about writing a new post nearly every day for a couple of weeks now, but I just haven't made time for it. Not that I've had a lot of time, though. Well, I have had a lot of time, but it's been filled with work at North Toronto Christian School, time with Katrina and family, church commitments, catching up with old friends and trying to stay in touch with new new ones, etc.
Writing this blog feels different now. The incredible blur of growth and experience that was my first year has come and gone. I can't help but wonder if the readers that frequented this page to glean insight into a life unfolding will still stop by for a peek. Will those who loved to "read the sounds of settling" still humour the profound and petty musings of an adolescent mind?
Perhaps. Not to worry, though, because I write here as much for my own enjoyment as anyone else's. As usual, I've had plenty of shockingly insightful thoughts lately but my own selfishness has prevented the world at large from benefiting. Ha.. just kidding, but I do miss writing here, my personal repository of thought. Oh well. Enough of the regretful ramblings.
Life is grand. It was tough to adjust to life back at home at first. After a year of gaining independence and growing spiritually, mentally, emotionally, and a few other "ally's", it was a strange feeling to slip right back into the same routine I left. I drive to "work" with Emily and Sam, spend the day at the same school surrounded by many people I grew up with, come home to the same evening routine and dinner, then go to bed and do it all over again. Obviously there are a few major differences, but I sometimes feel conflicted trying to frantically "prove" to the world that I've changed, I really have! I feel like my perspectives, concerning both my faith and just life in general, have been enriched and widened in so many ways and it's discouraging to feel like it never happened.
That's all for now. Regardless of whether or not anybody reads this, I'll likely write another post soon. I have a lot of thoughts on facebook I've been meaning to "publish." It's fun to organize your thoughts in a public forum like this. It's encouraging to think that people care about your thoughts.
Oh. One thing quick. I changed my major from Communications to Psychology (Bachelor of Science). I'm just way more interested in people and why we do what we do than I ever was in Communication Theory.
Thanks for everything!
jmb
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Tomorrow, Tomorrow
Tomorrow it all ends.
The first year of the craziest adventure of my life comes to a close.
Am I sad? Definitely.
Am I eager to be home and greet all that awaits me there? Absolutely.
Thanks for bearing with me through it all. My time for reflection will be unfortunately brief this summer, but I'm sure I'll have plenty to say at some point.
Necesito estudiar para mi examen final de espanol. (That probably wasn't even correct.)
See you on the other side!
God bless you all,
jmb
The first year of the craziest adventure of my life comes to a close.
Am I sad? Definitely.
Am I eager to be home and greet all that awaits me there? Absolutely.
Thanks for bearing with me through it all. My time for reflection will be unfortunately brief this summer, but I'm sure I'll have plenty to say at some point.
Necesito estudiar para mi examen final de espanol. (That probably wasn't even correct.)
See you on the other side!
God bless you all,
jmb
Friday, May 1, 2009
Divinely Disturbed
It's like God took an eggbeater to my ambition.
What was, only a few days ago, an evolving blueprint for college and beyond has become a disorganized mess of dreams and desires. All my self-guided plans for the next few years were finally starting to make sense, when God reached down with a divine finger and gently disturbed the calm that was finally beginning to settle. The funny thing, though? I'm more certain than ever of what I want.
It's all started with this book, you see. It's called Red Moon Rising, written by Pete Greig, one of the 'founders' of the 24-7 prayer movement that has been sweeping through colleges and churches around the world. It's part memoir, part devotional, part historical, but it's ALL inspiring. He recounts his own meaningless wanderings through Europe, as an ambitious and skeptical university grad -- a trek that finally led him to the cliffs of Portugal at the most southwestern point in Europe. There he encountered God in a way he never thought he would through a vision of thousands of young men and women around the world praying with arms outstretched. The book is the story of the fulfillment of that vision (a process that is far from ending), from the moment it was birthed almost 20 years ago to the present.
I found the book when I impulsively decided to swing by the campus prayer chapel a few weeks ago with a couple friends. We prayed about the issue of conflict diamonds in West Africa and then separated to wander around the room. The dimly lit basement room is sparsely furnished and small, but I love it. To me, it feels alive. It's like an underground cavern where busy college students can retreat from their hectic lives for a moment of quiet before the cross. There are papers for scribbling prayers, a kneeling bench, lamps, chairs, an miniature prayer wall, paintings hung on the walls, and, best of all, a table with a few scattered books and Bibles.
The first time I picked up the book to read, I was transported. I wrote a blog entry, actually, that very same night after reading and praying for nearly an hour. I never published it, though. It reads more like a journal entry, but I might post it sometime in the future when enough time has elapsed that I can look back with the wisdom of age and lightly mock the frantic musings of my youth. Anyways, I've ventured back to the prayer room a few times over the past couple weeks to read more. Drifting out of a group of friends to go read, I feel like a child sneaking to the cookie jar after the lights are off and Mom and Dad are asleep. I'm alone with only time for God to speak to me. And he has. What can I do, but offer this heart, oh God, completely to you?
Recognize those words? Nestled within one of my favorite worship songs, riding on a ponderous melody supported by clever rhymes, these words are finally starting to mean something to me. I can't recall how many times I've sung them, with never more than a passing thought to the signficance. Now, however, they seem to echo my own thoughts with profound clarity.
Honestly, what can I do but offer my heart to God. He is not just a crutch when I'm weak, a chum when I'm lonely or a doctor to heal me, he is quite simply the God of the Universe. Without him there is nothing, absolutely nothing. The Milky Way Galaxy, for all its billions of stars, is a speck in the universe. What am I, then? Physically speaking, I am a sack of flesh with opposable thumbs and inflated ego (as Dr. Schenk would say), but in God's eyes, for whatever unknowable reasons, I am somebody. I am a cherished child of God who finds all my hope and strength and being in him.
I struggle to really articulate these things, because this is really something developing within me: something that cannot be formulated or defined. All year long, I've been struggling to make sense of what God wants from me. 'Everything,' my upbringing tells me. Fine, but what does that look like?
It starts within, God's been telling me. It starts with a heart so in love with God that prayer is not a chore, it is a joy. Reading the Word of God is not a part of our daily checklist, it is our glorious opportunity to delve into God's heart and hear him speak. How often do we cry out to hear God's voice when we have a book of his own words gathering dust on our bookshelves?
I've felt simultaneously discouraged and encouraged at times this year to hear of the growth and spiritual maturing taking place in some of my friends lives, often in the midst of great hardship, as my own life glides forward and a wonderfully comfortable pace. Where are the results in my own life? I've asked God.
"I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing," he tells me. So I'm a branch and I would like some fruit. God's the vine and he can supply the nutrients for more fruit than I can handle. What does he require? For me to be connected, not by a few dangling threads or periodic devotion, but solid and unmovable.
I hope that you don't think I have all the answers from reading this. On the contrary, even my own writing is challenging me. All I'm really certain of right now is that God is stirring something within me. He used a half-hearted visit to a prayer room and a book I'd only heard of to begin to shake me up.
My peers and friends have challenged me too. The stories and faith of some inspire me, while the apathy and spiritual complacency of others spur me to be more radical. For example, the other day I woke up for chapel that was not required of me. At breakfast, people asked why I was going, and when I told them it was just because I wanted to, I was met with quizzical stares and skepticism: "Oh.. really? Why?"
Personally, I don't see what is so terrible about gathering with other believers to worship and be fed from Scripture and teaching. Sure, it may be boring at times, but if I learn even one thing, or sing one word and mean it, or hear one Bible verse in a different light, is it not worthwhile? I'm not trying to spiritually elevate myself above my peers, but I hope that maybe my own enthusiasm for corporate worship and fellowship might encourage someone else.
If you came to this page looking for a factual update on my activities and are, as of yet, still not satisfied, I partially apologize. I would not and cannot change what has been happening in my heart, and am powerless to prevent such things from overflowing. I will, however, try to update briefly.
School is wrapping up. My first year of college is sighing its last heavy breath before a tidal wave of obligations fills the void. (I hope you enjoy reading my confused metaphors as I enjoy composing them.) This past week has actually been pleasantly light in comparison with the previous few weeks, at least in the homework department. The Spitfire Grill (the musical on campus for which I was playing the in the pit band) ended on Tuesday night amidst many bittersweet tears. I really had a blast participating and I'd love to do it again. However, as disturbed as my plans currently are, I still doubt I will be around for another musical until senior year.
I realized I never really explained myself earlier. Let me try to do so briefly, although I will undoubtedly revisit the topic soon. I've always really longed to travel. Admittedly, I haven't done a lot of it outside North America, but I've always fancied myself to be the fearless travelling type who will someday play with orphans in India before disappearing like Aslan to emerge alongside indigenous tribes in the Amazon. Though this is highly unlikely, it's something I can't really ignore. I feel like many people have a desire to travel and experience other cultures and they do ignore the urge, living the rest of their days in regret.
Well, now more than ever I feel that call, and now more than ever I have the capacity to respond. There's a budding excitement in my heart about one place I've never been and will probably never have the chance to go again: China. Stay tuned.
As you can see, my attempts to explain myself as if from a third-person perspective never work. I've been busy, but not too busy. I've been learning a lot. I've been challenged. And this, as always, is only the beginning.
Love and thanks,
jmb
What was, only a few days ago, an evolving blueprint for college and beyond has become a disorganized mess of dreams and desires. All my self-guided plans for the next few years were finally starting to make sense, when God reached down with a divine finger and gently disturbed the calm that was finally beginning to settle. The funny thing, though? I'm more certain than ever of what I want.
It's all started with this book, you see. It's called Red Moon Rising, written by Pete Greig, one of the 'founders' of the 24-7 prayer movement that has been sweeping through colleges and churches around the world. It's part memoir, part devotional, part historical, but it's ALL inspiring. He recounts his own meaningless wanderings through Europe, as an ambitious and skeptical university grad -- a trek that finally led him to the cliffs of Portugal at the most southwestern point in Europe. There he encountered God in a way he never thought he would through a vision of thousands of young men and women around the world praying with arms outstretched. The book is the story of the fulfillment of that vision (a process that is far from ending), from the moment it was birthed almost 20 years ago to the present.
I found the book when I impulsively decided to swing by the campus prayer chapel a few weeks ago with a couple friends. We prayed about the issue of conflict diamonds in West Africa and then separated to wander around the room. The dimly lit basement room is sparsely furnished and small, but I love it. To me, it feels alive. It's like an underground cavern where busy college students can retreat from their hectic lives for a moment of quiet before the cross. There are papers for scribbling prayers, a kneeling bench, lamps, chairs, an miniature prayer wall, paintings hung on the walls, and, best of all, a table with a few scattered books and Bibles.
The first time I picked up the book to read, I was transported. I wrote a blog entry, actually, that very same night after reading and praying for nearly an hour. I never published it, though. It reads more like a journal entry, but I might post it sometime in the future when enough time has elapsed that I can look back with the wisdom of age and lightly mock the frantic musings of my youth. Anyways, I've ventured back to the prayer room a few times over the past couple weeks to read more. Drifting out of a group of friends to go read, I feel like a child sneaking to the cookie jar after the lights are off and Mom and Dad are asleep. I'm alone with only time for God to speak to me. And he has. What can I do, but offer this heart, oh God, completely to you?
Recognize those words? Nestled within one of my favorite worship songs, riding on a ponderous melody supported by clever rhymes, these words are finally starting to mean something to me. I can't recall how many times I've sung them, with never more than a passing thought to the signficance. Now, however, they seem to echo my own thoughts with profound clarity.
Honestly, what can I do but offer my heart to God. He is not just a crutch when I'm weak, a chum when I'm lonely or a doctor to heal me, he is quite simply the God of the Universe. Without him there is nothing, absolutely nothing. The Milky Way Galaxy, for all its billions of stars, is a speck in the universe. What am I, then? Physically speaking, I am a sack of flesh with opposable thumbs and inflated ego (as Dr. Schenk would say), but in God's eyes, for whatever unknowable reasons, I am somebody. I am a cherished child of God who finds all my hope and strength and being in him.
I struggle to really articulate these things, because this is really something developing within me: something that cannot be formulated or defined. All year long, I've been struggling to make sense of what God wants from me. 'Everything,' my upbringing tells me. Fine, but what does that look like?
It starts within, God's been telling me. It starts with a heart so in love with God that prayer is not a chore, it is a joy. Reading the Word of God is not a part of our daily checklist, it is our glorious opportunity to delve into God's heart and hear him speak. How often do we cry out to hear God's voice when we have a book of his own words gathering dust on our bookshelves?
I've felt simultaneously discouraged and encouraged at times this year to hear of the growth and spiritual maturing taking place in some of my friends lives, often in the midst of great hardship, as my own life glides forward and a wonderfully comfortable pace. Where are the results in my own life? I've asked God.
"I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing," he tells me. So I'm a branch and I would like some fruit. God's the vine and he can supply the nutrients for more fruit than I can handle. What does he require? For me to be connected, not by a few dangling threads or periodic devotion, but solid and unmovable.
I hope that you don't think I have all the answers from reading this. On the contrary, even my own writing is challenging me. All I'm really certain of right now is that God is stirring something within me. He used a half-hearted visit to a prayer room and a book I'd only heard of to begin to shake me up.
My peers and friends have challenged me too. The stories and faith of some inspire me, while the apathy and spiritual complacency of others spur me to be more radical. For example, the other day I woke up for chapel that was not required of me. At breakfast, people asked why I was going, and when I told them it was just because I wanted to, I was met with quizzical stares and skepticism: "Oh.. really? Why?"
Personally, I don't see what is so terrible about gathering with other believers to worship and be fed from Scripture and teaching. Sure, it may be boring at times, but if I learn even one thing, or sing one word and mean it, or hear one Bible verse in a different light, is it not worthwhile? I'm not trying to spiritually elevate myself above my peers, but I hope that maybe my own enthusiasm for corporate worship and fellowship might encourage someone else.
If you came to this page looking for a factual update on my activities and are, as of yet, still not satisfied, I partially apologize. I would not and cannot change what has been happening in my heart, and am powerless to prevent such things from overflowing. I will, however, try to update briefly.
School is wrapping up. My first year of college is sighing its last heavy breath before a tidal wave of obligations fills the void. (I hope you enjoy reading my confused metaphors as I enjoy composing them.) This past week has actually been pleasantly light in comparison with the previous few weeks, at least in the homework department. The Spitfire Grill (the musical on campus for which I was playing the in the pit band) ended on Tuesday night amidst many bittersweet tears. I really had a blast participating and I'd love to do it again. However, as disturbed as my plans currently are, I still doubt I will be around for another musical until senior year.
I realized I never really explained myself earlier. Let me try to do so briefly, although I will undoubtedly revisit the topic soon. I've always really longed to travel. Admittedly, I haven't done a lot of it outside North America, but I've always fancied myself to be the fearless travelling type who will someday play with orphans in India before disappearing like Aslan to emerge alongside indigenous tribes in the Amazon. Though this is highly unlikely, it's something I can't really ignore. I feel like many people have a desire to travel and experience other cultures and they do ignore the urge, living the rest of their days in regret.
Well, now more than ever I feel that call, and now more than ever I have the capacity to respond. There's a budding excitement in my heart about one place I've never been and will probably never have the chance to go again: China. Stay tuned.
As you can see, my attempts to explain myself as if from a third-person perspective never work. I've been busy, but not too busy. I've been learning a lot. I've been challenged. And this, as always, is only the beginning.
Love and thanks,
jmb
Sunday, April 19, 2009
A Brief Report
An update...
Today was Messiah's annual Service Day. There are no classes, and students are encouraged to join an on- or off-campus service project. I helped out with the Special Olympics, hosted here at Messiah. I was "buddied" with a little boy named Byron. He was a bundle of energy and a lot of fun to be with all day. His parents were around too and were incredibly nice. If I get a chance, I'd love to write more.
Tonight is also the opening night for the Messiah Spring Musical, The Spitfire Grill. I am playing acoustic guitar in the pit band. We've had three dress rehearsals this week and there are six performances ahead, every day until Tuesday.
The day after our closing performance is the night of the Men's Ensemble concert. This afternoon will be our last practice, right before my call time for the show at 7.
Going in the other direction, Friday night was the Relay for Life here at Messiah. It was 12 hours (7 pm - 7 am) of walking and deteriorating coherency. By morning, even the notion of breakfast got us into furious fits of giggles. Thank you so much to all of you that donated. I raised over $100 dollars!
Saturday night The Curious Case of Benjamin Button was playing on campus. It was a vast departure from F. Scott Fitzgerald's original short story of the same title. A highly romanticized tale as much about the emergence and decline of Brad's beauty as the tragic story of a man utterly alone, it definitely worked wonders on me. Cate Blanchett is amazing.
Classes are going well. I was really busy with schoolwork the past two weeks, but this week, finally, is not too bad.
What I have been missing, however, is sleep. I'm practically dozing at the screen right now, so I'm going to hop in bed and have a quick nap before my busy evening. Opening night, here we come!
Thanks for reading. Sorry for the irregularity.
jmb
Today was Messiah's annual Service Day. There are no classes, and students are encouraged to join an on- or off-campus service project. I helped out with the Special Olympics, hosted here at Messiah. I was "buddied" with a little boy named Byron. He was a bundle of energy and a lot of fun to be with all day. His parents were around too and were incredibly nice. If I get a chance, I'd love to write more.
Tonight is also the opening night for the Messiah Spring Musical, The Spitfire Grill. I am playing acoustic guitar in the pit band. We've had three dress rehearsals this week and there are six performances ahead, every day until Tuesday.
The day after our closing performance is the night of the Men's Ensemble concert. This afternoon will be our last practice, right before my call time for the show at 7.
Going in the other direction, Friday night was the Relay for Life here at Messiah. It was 12 hours (7 pm - 7 am) of walking and deteriorating coherency. By morning, even the notion of breakfast got us into furious fits of giggles. Thank you so much to all of you that donated. I raised over $100 dollars!
Saturday night The Curious Case of Benjamin Button was playing on campus. It was a vast departure from F. Scott Fitzgerald's original short story of the same title. A highly romanticized tale as much about the emergence and decline of Brad's beauty as the tragic story of a man utterly alone, it definitely worked wonders on me. Cate Blanchett is amazing.
Classes are going well. I was really busy with schoolwork the past two weeks, but this week, finally, is not too bad.
What I have been missing, however, is sleep. I'm practically dozing at the screen right now, so I'm going to hop in bed and have a quick nap before my busy evening. Opening night, here we come!
Thanks for reading. Sorry for the irregularity.
jmb
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
April Showers...
I used to think that April showers brought May flowers. Then I moved to Central Pennsylvania. Here, showers and flowers appear simultaneously. What do you know!?
Anyways, the rain is pattering on the window, birds are chirping gleefully, and some malfunctioning alarm is screaming across the parking lot. I'm writing, in part, to give myself a break from the unfortunate amount of schoolwork I've been subjected to this week. I was about to write a post on Sunday, but I made a list of upcoming assignments/tests instead. As the list grew longer, the Sunday blog faded further into oblivion. Since then I've been chiseling away at the list little-by-little, and I finally have a moment to relax a little.
If your interested in seeing the fruits of my labour, check this out. I've been working on this website for the past few weeks, but it was due on Tuesday.
Music In Toronto -- A Website Designed by Josh Boden
Modest, I know, but I don't profess to be gifted technologically or artistically. I also had a short Magazine piece due Tuesday, an essay and a large Spanish assignment due this morning, another Computers assignment for tomorrow, and lastly, like icing on the cake, I have two major tests on Friday.
Why do I write all this? Why, so you will shake your heads and click your tongues in sympathy, of course! Actually, I'll confess that I really don't have much else to write about this time around.
*(Hold on. I'm running down to put my laundry in the dryer.)
Life is tough sometimes... especially when you're on your own. Moms help. Everything is better with moms. They're free too. Around here you have to do things yourself and pay for them. God bless mothers.
Work at Phonathon is going pretty well. To be honest, I don't much look forward to going to work, but every time I get there I enjoy myself. When I'm not cordially coercing alumni and parents into donating, I'm chatting with the other callers over the repetitive drone of rings and answering machines. There are some calls that can be quite unsettling, though.
Last night I called a gentlman by the name of Bruce Hoyer. He picked up sounding tired and disinterested, immediately causing me to assume he was either going to politely decline my first ask or just hang up before I got there. As it turns out, his wife was on her deathbed in the next room. She'd been suffering from severe esophageal cancer and her throat was closing up. The man was one of the most kind and sincere people I've talked to, but his heart was just broken. He politefully answered all my questions and explained his situation as I stammered condolences and affirming sighs. Near the end of the call he actually started praying: for his wife, his daughter, and me. Suffice it to say that when it came time to ask for a donation, I asked quickly for any possible support and then hastily explained that he shouldn't feel obligated. Surprisingly, he said he'd think about it and asked me to call him back tonight. I told him I'd pray for his wife; by all means, you can pray too. Her name is Shirley Hoyer. I'll let you know what happens.
Ahem.. so, shifting gears here:
On Saturday I went to New York City again on an honors trip. Why is it significant that it was an honors trip? It's not, actually.
Tangent:
In fact, I find this whole "honors" label to be problematic. There's this silent distinction between 'honors' kids and everyone else. At honors meetings, you run into people who will say things like, "I had no idea that you were an honors student! Wow!" I have yet to figure out what that means, but in the meantime I've felt like the label can produce some form of intellectual snobbery. In reality, I know many people who work harder and arguably seem more intelligent than an "honors" student. I've even heard a few honors kids saying things like, "I know I'm more intelligent than most of my class, so I'm not too worried about this test." Give me a break. Many people asked me why I was going to New York and why they hadn't heard about the trip. Gingerly I explained that the trip was for honors students only, soliciting responses as diverse as a soft sigh and look of admiration or a bold, 'So you're one of them, huh?' The only distinction, as far as I can tell, is a slightly higher SAT score and much more pressure to succeed.
Resuming post:
So this trip was really fun. I spent the day with a few guys that I don't often hang out with, but they're all really great guys. We wandered through Times Square and surrounding area, ate in Little Italy, bought sunglasses in Chinatown, wandered through Soho and NYU, strolled through Central Park, browsed the massive gift shop at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and ate at Applebees in Midtown Manhattan. Yours truly was the trip guide. Beats my why you would trust a Canadian for directions in New York City, but I sure enjoyed it!
Friday, after my two tests, is the big spring dance (aka. Spring Fling). On Saturday our floor is hosting a big party (just for the heck of it) open to all students. We're not sure how we'll fit 200 people (or more) in our lounge, but if you're planning on making an appearance (yes, all of you are invited), dress lightly and remember it's "A Black and White Affair."
Okay, it's time to get back to work. I'm sorry if you found this sort of dull, but my striking brilliance and witty charm will only go so far when the fodder for my post is bland. You can really only write well about things you experience, so when you're experiences are limited to computer labs and textbooks, your writing takes the hit.
Alright, take care everyone.
Love you all dearly.
jmb
p.s. I'm growing quite fond of my personal following of nitpicky copy-editors. I didn't look over a single word of this post. Happy pickings!
Anyways, the rain is pattering on the window, birds are chirping gleefully, and some malfunctioning alarm is screaming across the parking lot. I'm writing, in part, to give myself a break from the unfortunate amount of schoolwork I've been subjected to this week. I was about to write a post on Sunday, but I made a list of upcoming assignments/tests instead. As the list grew longer, the Sunday blog faded further into oblivion. Since then I've been chiseling away at the list little-by-little, and I finally have a moment to relax a little.
If your interested in seeing the fruits of my labour, check this out. I've been working on this website for the past few weeks, but it was due on Tuesday.
Music In Toronto -- A Website Designed by Josh Boden
Modest, I know, but I don't profess to be gifted technologically or artistically. I also had a short Magazine piece due Tuesday, an essay and a large Spanish assignment due this morning, another Computers assignment for tomorrow, and lastly, like icing on the cake, I have two major tests on Friday.
Why do I write all this? Why, so you will shake your heads and click your tongues in sympathy, of course! Actually, I'll confess that I really don't have much else to write about this time around.
*(Hold on. I'm running down to put my laundry in the dryer.)
Life is tough sometimes... especially when you're on your own. Moms help. Everything is better with moms. They're free too. Around here you have to do things yourself and pay for them. God bless mothers.
Work at Phonathon is going pretty well. To be honest, I don't much look forward to going to work, but every time I get there I enjoy myself. When I'm not cordially coercing alumni and parents into donating, I'm chatting with the other callers over the repetitive drone of rings and answering machines. There are some calls that can be quite unsettling, though.
Last night I called a gentlman by the name of Bruce Hoyer. He picked up sounding tired and disinterested, immediately causing me to assume he was either going to politely decline my first ask or just hang up before I got there. As it turns out, his wife was on her deathbed in the next room. She'd been suffering from severe esophageal cancer and her throat was closing up. The man was one of the most kind and sincere people I've talked to, but his heart was just broken. He politefully answered all my questions and explained his situation as I stammered condolences and affirming sighs. Near the end of the call he actually started praying: for his wife, his daughter, and me. Suffice it to say that when it came time to ask for a donation, I asked quickly for any possible support and then hastily explained that he shouldn't feel obligated. Surprisingly, he said he'd think about it and asked me to call him back tonight. I told him I'd pray for his wife; by all means, you can pray too. Her name is Shirley Hoyer. I'll let you know what happens.
Ahem.. so, shifting gears here:
On Saturday I went to New York City again on an honors trip. Why is it significant that it was an honors trip? It's not, actually.
Tangent:
In fact, I find this whole "honors" label to be problematic. There's this silent distinction between 'honors' kids and everyone else. At honors meetings, you run into people who will say things like, "I had no idea that you were an honors student! Wow!" I have yet to figure out what that means, but in the meantime I've felt like the label can produce some form of intellectual snobbery. In reality, I know many people who work harder and arguably seem more intelligent than an "honors" student. I've even heard a few honors kids saying things like, "I know I'm more intelligent than most of my class, so I'm not too worried about this test." Give me a break. Many people asked me why I was going to New York and why they hadn't heard about the trip. Gingerly I explained that the trip was for honors students only, soliciting responses as diverse as a soft sigh and look of admiration or a bold, 'So you're one of them, huh?' The only distinction, as far as I can tell, is a slightly higher SAT score and much more pressure to succeed.
Resuming post:
So this trip was really fun. I spent the day with a few guys that I don't often hang out with, but they're all really great guys. We wandered through Times Square and surrounding area, ate in Little Italy, bought sunglasses in Chinatown, wandered through Soho and NYU, strolled through Central Park, browsed the massive gift shop at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and ate at Applebees in Midtown Manhattan. Yours truly was the trip guide. Beats my why you would trust a Canadian for directions in New York City, but I sure enjoyed it!
Friday, after my two tests, is the big spring dance (aka. Spring Fling). On Saturday our floor is hosting a big party (just for the heck of it) open to all students. We're not sure how we'll fit 200 people (or more) in our lounge, but if you're planning on making an appearance (yes, all of you are invited), dress lightly and remember it's "A Black and White Affair."
Okay, it's time to get back to work. I'm sorry if you found this sort of dull, but my striking brilliance and witty charm will only go so far when the fodder for my post is bland. You can really only write well about things you experience, so when you're experiences are limited to computer labs and textbooks, your writing takes the hit.
Alright, take care everyone.
Love you all dearly.
jmb
p.s. I'm growing quite fond of my personal following of nitpicky copy-editors. I didn't look over a single word of this post. Happy pickings!
Monday, March 23, 2009
Here It Goes Again
Not too long ago, I was sitting here responding to some emails and laboring through some homework when I was suddenly overcome with nagging guilt. I really need to update that blog, I thought to myself, but I'll do it... later.
I began to mentally revisit all my experiences of the past month, burying myself deeper beneath heaps of shame. I thought remorsefully of you, my loyal loved ones, eagerly checking the page for a new post, but as the days turned to weeks, your fingers seldom brought you back. My life has blasted onwards, but nothing of it has remained for you to read. I regret that the days of my blogging bliss are long gone, when I could write two posts in a week on even the most mundane things!
As with all my hobbies, such feverish devotion cannot last. You, however, mean more to me than any pastime. So here it goes again.
Okay. Enough rambling. Here's what you came for.
The month of March has been marvelous. As with all of you, I'm sure, there has been plenty to keep me busy. Friends have been friendly, teachers have been teaching, and schoolwork has been steady but not overwhelming. I've played in a few chapels (more on that later) and been challenged in a number of ways.
I went to an alternate chapel a few weeks ago in which we watched a movie entitled, The Day My God Died. Depressing, you think? Pretty much. The movie was an International Justice Mission production documenting the stories of girls trapped in brothels in Bombay (Mumbai), India. In essence, it was the same terrible story I've heard many times -- young girls kidnapped by family friends, sold to traffickers in Bombay, housed in unbearable conditions separated from all friends and family, beaten into submission, and forced to "serve" dozens of men a day. The girls in these brothels (there are thousands of them) refer to the day they were abducted as 'the day my god died.'
After the movie and short discussion, I waited until the auditorium had emptied and approached the man who had been leading it. I didn't really have anything to say to him, but I just couldn't bring myself to enter into the lives of these girls, talk about the hopeless existence of millions of women, and then saunter back outside to my friends and comfortable bed. I feel like now, more than ever, I have the opportunity to do something or get involved somehow. So I did, to an extent. Right now I'm on another mailing list, waiting for more information. But what else can I do?
I mean, is it wrong to live as I always have when I am very much aware of the conditions that others are trapped in? I don't know. Probably not. But I do think it's wrong to pretend that everything is okay. These girls are abducted as young as 8 years old, raped until they agree to cooperate, and cannot escape because they have nowhere to go. If they get pregnant, they endure hasty and unsanitary abortions and head right back to work for the next customer. They either die in captivity or are rescued and ostracized by their former communities.
And I get upset when I'm out of laundry detergent...
I have no conclusions to draw from all of this. I'm pretty convinced that God doesn't want these girls to be living like that, but he has yet to extend his mighty hand from the heavens to alleviate their pain. That, I believe, is where we come in. Somehow.
Oh boy. Everything else I was going to write now seems trivial and trite. Bear with me.
Well, on March 8, I went to New York City with a few friends on a school-sponsored trip. It was a college kid's dream excursion: we paid only $15 to get there, ate bagels stolen from the school cafeteria, and entertained ourselves feeding ducks in Central Park. Who says you have to spend money to have fun!?
As previously mentioned, I've been asked to play in chapels more frequently as of late. Any of you familiar with the Contemporary Christian Music scene might know the name Charlie Peacock. He's a producer and artist who has worked with everyone from Switchfoot to Amy Grant to DC Talk. He came to Messiah as a guest speaker/worship leader and yours truly got to play with him! Here's the best part: my favorite DC Talk song is In The Light, Charlie Peacock wrote the song back in the 90s, and he performed it at a Messiah chapel service with me on guitar! Thank you, thank you very much.
In other news, I just returned from Spring Break in Florida with my lovely family. We spent 5 days at Disney World doing everything the park has to offer and a few days at Grandma and Grandpa Goodman's house. We ate copious amounts of delicious food, walked many miles, and even kayaked 7 miles down the Weeki Wachee River. Anyone interested in more information should talk to Mama or Papa. They were there too... and they have lots of pictures!
My favorite part was, oddly enough, doing my homework. Now, before you gasp in shock (or swell with pride), let me explain. My final article for Magazine Writing is supposed to be 2000 words on something completely unrelated to Messiah. When I told Dr. Larry Lake that I wouldn't be going home until Easter and had absolutely no leads in Grantham, PA, he asked me what I was doing over Spring Break. From there, I developed a proposal for an article on the "faces behind the magic." At Epcot's World Pavilion, I interviewed four international employees to explore what it's like to work for America's largest theme park, and how/why they travel around the world to represent their countries to tourists in Florida. I talked to a Canadian, Norwegian, Japanese, and Morrocan. I left with an incredible appreciation for the diversity and culture found in this corner of a theme park, eager to write my article. I'll keep you posted on how it turns out.
There was more I wanted to say, but I have to head to an "All Callers Meeting" for Phonathon. I have no idea what it will be about, but it's absolutely mandatory. I'll keep thinking of things and add to this post as I remember.
Thanks for everything.
Out of time to edit.
jmb
I began to mentally revisit all my experiences of the past month, burying myself deeper beneath heaps of shame. I thought remorsefully of you, my loyal loved ones, eagerly checking the page for a new post, but as the days turned to weeks, your fingers seldom brought you back. My life has blasted onwards, but nothing of it has remained for you to read. I regret that the days of my blogging bliss are long gone, when I could write two posts in a week on even the most mundane things!
As with all my hobbies, such feverish devotion cannot last. You, however, mean more to me than any pastime. So here it goes again.
Okay. Enough rambling. Here's what you came for.
The month of March has been marvelous. As with all of you, I'm sure, there has been plenty to keep me busy. Friends have been friendly, teachers have been teaching, and schoolwork has been steady but not overwhelming. I've played in a few chapels (more on that later) and been challenged in a number of ways.
I went to an alternate chapel a few weeks ago in which we watched a movie entitled, The Day My God Died. Depressing, you think? Pretty much. The movie was an International Justice Mission production documenting the stories of girls trapped in brothels in Bombay (Mumbai), India. In essence, it was the same terrible story I've heard many times -- young girls kidnapped by family friends, sold to traffickers in Bombay, housed in unbearable conditions separated from all friends and family, beaten into submission, and forced to "serve" dozens of men a day. The girls in these brothels (there are thousands of them) refer to the day they were abducted as 'the day my god died.'
After the movie and short discussion, I waited until the auditorium had emptied and approached the man who had been leading it. I didn't really have anything to say to him, but I just couldn't bring myself to enter into the lives of these girls, talk about the hopeless existence of millions of women, and then saunter back outside to my friends and comfortable bed. I feel like now, more than ever, I have the opportunity to do something or get involved somehow. So I did, to an extent. Right now I'm on another mailing list, waiting for more information. But what else can I do?
I mean, is it wrong to live as I always have when I am very much aware of the conditions that others are trapped in? I don't know. Probably not. But I do think it's wrong to pretend that everything is okay. These girls are abducted as young as 8 years old, raped until they agree to cooperate, and cannot escape because they have nowhere to go. If they get pregnant, they endure hasty and unsanitary abortions and head right back to work for the next customer. They either die in captivity or are rescued and ostracized by their former communities.
And I get upset when I'm out of laundry detergent...
I have no conclusions to draw from all of this. I'm pretty convinced that God doesn't want these girls to be living like that, but he has yet to extend his mighty hand from the heavens to alleviate their pain. That, I believe, is where we come in. Somehow.
Oh boy. Everything else I was going to write now seems trivial and trite. Bear with me.
Well, on March 8, I went to New York City with a few friends on a school-sponsored trip. It was a college kid's dream excursion: we paid only $15 to get there, ate bagels stolen from the school cafeteria, and entertained ourselves feeding ducks in Central Park. Who says you have to spend money to have fun!?
As previously mentioned, I've been asked to play in chapels more frequently as of late. Any of you familiar with the Contemporary Christian Music scene might know the name Charlie Peacock. He's a producer and artist who has worked with everyone from Switchfoot to Amy Grant to DC Talk. He came to Messiah as a guest speaker/worship leader and yours truly got to play with him! Here's the best part: my favorite DC Talk song is In The Light, Charlie Peacock wrote the song back in the 90s, and he performed it at a Messiah chapel service with me on guitar! Thank you, thank you very much.
In other news, I just returned from Spring Break in Florida with my lovely family. We spent 5 days at Disney World doing everything the park has to offer and a few days at Grandma and Grandpa Goodman's house. We ate copious amounts of delicious food, walked many miles, and even kayaked 7 miles down the Weeki Wachee River. Anyone interested in more information should talk to Mama or Papa. They were there too... and they have lots of pictures!
My favorite part was, oddly enough, doing my homework. Now, before you gasp in shock (or swell with pride), let me explain. My final article for Magazine Writing is supposed to be 2000 words on something completely unrelated to Messiah. When I told Dr. Larry Lake that I wouldn't be going home until Easter and had absolutely no leads in Grantham, PA, he asked me what I was doing over Spring Break. From there, I developed a proposal for an article on the "faces behind the magic." At Epcot's World Pavilion, I interviewed four international employees to explore what it's like to work for America's largest theme park, and how/why they travel around the world to represent their countries to tourists in Florida. I talked to a Canadian, Norwegian, Japanese, and Morrocan. I left with an incredible appreciation for the diversity and culture found in this corner of a theme park, eager to write my article. I'll keep you posted on how it turns out.
There was more I wanted to say, but I have to head to an "All Callers Meeting" for Phonathon. I have no idea what it will be about, but it's absolutely mandatory. I'll keep thinking of things and add to this post as I remember.
Thanks for everything.
Out of time to edit.
jmb
Monday, March 2, 2009
Spell check?
I am a Martin Scholar.
I am a recipient of the Lloyd and Lois Martin Multicultural Scholarship, awarded to those who exhibit significant leadership and service in their communities and who promote ethnic diversity and reconciliation.
The requirements for those who receive this helpful financial support are somewhat ambiguous. I have heard next to nothing about the status of this scholarship since I arrived on campus, and I have, on occasion, felt slightly anxious that dear Mr. and Mrs. Martin had forgotten me.
Thankfully, the dreadful silence was finally broken when I was invited to visit a nondescript boardroom to write and sign a Thank You card for the Martins this afternoon. After classes and a hearty lunch (no use writing a card on an empty stomach), I descended into the depths of Eisenhower Campus Center to locate the appreciation party.
Upon entering the room, a jolly middle-aged woman approached me and asked me my name. She then handed me large envelope and explained its contents. "These are the instructions for writing the card and some information on the scholarship. This is a reminder about the Martin Scholarship Dinner in April. This is the card itself, and this is a blank piece of paper."
Before I had a chance to inquire about the presence of scrap paper in such a neatly organized packet, she winked at me and laughed, "Spelling counts!"
Needless to say, I was somewhat surprised with her lack of faith in my writing skills. Where did she expect me to err? "Um, excuse me, Miss. How do you spell 'thank you' again?"
Nevertheless, I took my seat next to a number of fellow "Scholars" already in progress and began to write. Admittedly, I actually found the scrap paper quite useful as I painstakingly crafted what I hoped would be the most eloquent expression of gratitude Mr. and Mrs. Martin would ever receive.
A short time later, I heard some whispering to my right. I looked up to see one girl leaning over asking another, "Umm... is "truly" spelled "t-r-u-e-l-y" or "t-r-u-l-y?"
As the first girl stammered between nervous laughing that she is a "really bad speller" I listened for the correct answer. To my dismay, the second girl paused for a moment and leaned back in her chair to think. "Um, no. Yeah I think it's the second one. Right?"
I mean, I can understand that some people are naturally bad spellers, but "truly"?
Oh, wait. There's more.
After resolving the first great dilemma, the second girl smiled meekly and said, "I'm really bad too!" A pause, and then, "Um, does completely end in 'e-y' or just 'y'?"
At this point, I was staring shamelessly; though, I doubt they would have noticed, so intently were they thinking. Of course, the other girl didn't know either, so the two of them, relieved to have found a friend with similar 'disabilities', began to chuckle softly. The girl who asked stared into space, clearly trying to picture the word with all possible spellings and evidently getting nowhere. Her partner-in-literacy-crime was scratching away furiously on her (now essential) scrap paper, but also gaining no ground.
Finally, I could take no more. Out of the goodness of my heart, I reached out and rescued them from their soon-to-be spelling purgatory. For all I knew, they might sit there for eternity, guided only by whatever modest and rudimentary spelling education they had received. I could not let them suffer so.
"It ends in a 'y'." They both looked up, their expressions a mixture of shame and intense gratitude.
"Ha ha. Is it? Alright, thanks!"
I finished my card shortly after and went on my way. I guess the skeptical assistant-lady really knew what she was talking about after all. Who am I to think that college-educated Americans should be able to spell with nothing but a pen and paper? Stripped of our self-correcting word processors and online dictionaries, can we really be held accountable for whatever atrocious spelling errors we commit?
I don't mean to sound too negative. I'm sure those two girls are wonderful people, and, for all I know, they could be excellent writers. I just think something is wrong when we become functionally illiterate in the absence of our gadgets.
Somehow, I don't think Lloyd and Lois would be impressed.
I am a recipient of the Lloyd and Lois Martin Multicultural Scholarship, awarded to those who exhibit significant leadership and service in their communities and who promote ethnic diversity and reconciliation.
The requirements for those who receive this helpful financial support are somewhat ambiguous. I have heard next to nothing about the status of this scholarship since I arrived on campus, and I have, on occasion, felt slightly anxious that dear Mr. and Mrs. Martin had forgotten me.
Thankfully, the dreadful silence was finally broken when I was invited to visit a nondescript boardroom to write and sign a Thank You card for the Martins this afternoon. After classes and a hearty lunch (no use writing a card on an empty stomach), I descended into the depths of Eisenhower Campus Center to locate the appreciation party.
Upon entering the room, a jolly middle-aged woman approached me and asked me my name. She then handed me large envelope and explained its contents. "These are the instructions for writing the card and some information on the scholarship. This is a reminder about the Martin Scholarship Dinner in April. This is the card itself, and this is a blank piece of paper."
Before I had a chance to inquire about the presence of scrap paper in such a neatly organized packet, she winked at me and laughed, "Spelling counts!"
Needless to say, I was somewhat surprised with her lack of faith in my writing skills. Where did she expect me to err? "Um, excuse me, Miss. How do you spell 'thank you' again?"
Nevertheless, I took my seat next to a number of fellow "Scholars" already in progress and began to write. Admittedly, I actually found the scrap paper quite useful as I painstakingly crafted what I hoped would be the most eloquent expression of gratitude Mr. and Mrs. Martin would ever receive.
A short time later, I heard some whispering to my right. I looked up to see one girl leaning over asking another, "Umm... is "truly" spelled "t-r-u-e-l-y" or "t-r-u-l-y?"
As the first girl stammered between nervous laughing that she is a "really bad speller" I listened for the correct answer. To my dismay, the second girl paused for a moment and leaned back in her chair to think. "Um, no. Yeah I think it's the second one. Right?"
I mean, I can understand that some people are naturally bad spellers, but "truly"?
Oh, wait. There's more.
After resolving the first great dilemma, the second girl smiled meekly and said, "I'm really bad too!" A pause, and then, "Um, does completely end in 'e-y' or just 'y'?"
At this point, I was staring shamelessly; though, I doubt they would have noticed, so intently were they thinking. Of course, the other girl didn't know either, so the two of them, relieved to have found a friend with similar 'disabilities', began to chuckle softly. The girl who asked stared into space, clearly trying to picture the word with all possible spellings and evidently getting nowhere. Her partner-in-literacy-crime was scratching away furiously on her (now essential) scrap paper, but also gaining no ground.
Finally, I could take no more. Out of the goodness of my heart, I reached out and rescued them from their soon-to-be spelling purgatory. For all I knew, they might sit there for eternity, guided only by whatever modest and rudimentary spelling education they had received. I could not let them suffer so.
"It ends in a 'y'." They both looked up, their expressions a mixture of shame and intense gratitude.
"Ha ha. Is it? Alright, thanks!"
I finished my card shortly after and went on my way. I guess the skeptical assistant-lady really knew what she was talking about after all. Who am I to think that college-educated Americans should be able to spell with nothing but a pen and paper? Stripped of our self-correcting word processors and online dictionaries, can we really be held accountable for whatever atrocious spelling errors we commit?
I don't mean to sound too negative. I'm sure those two girls are wonderful people, and, for all I know, they could be excellent writers. I just think something is wrong when we become functionally illiterate in the absence of our gadgets.
Somehow, I don't think Lloyd and Lois would be impressed.
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