1-6-14
Today I learned or had affirmed that what I'm learning in graduate school is IMMEDIATELY applicable to the real world.
Today I sat in a history conference at the General Conference (yes, that General Conference, those of you who might be wondering) and listened to great papers and interesting ideas from historians and teachers and theologians, all the while getting ideas on how I could apply what I have already learned in one semester to the current situations and try to improve what already exists.
Today I saw displays and immediately thought about light levels affecting the items and the books, asked questions about the climate around the White family library (it's ambient because they have so many daily tours) and learned about the fire suppression system. I saw the backlog in the archives and learned that the powers-that-were didn't listen to the first appointed archivist who requested a vault twice the size of the one that was built--and I saw the tiny scanners that they're using to digitize material with. I learned that the first Adventist to gain a Phd. in English (in literature, to boot) did so at the University of Michigan, the university at which I'm currently studying.
I had a discussion with a current archivist about the overwhelming fact that born-digital materials (like early emails) are already disappearing because the creators didn't think they were important, and how not many people know what to do to keep and preserves records before they reach an archives.
I'm finally in the right field and it's a great feeling.
Showing posts with label learning moment. Show all posts
Showing posts with label learning moment. Show all posts
Monday, January 6, 2014
Sunday, March 25, 2012
Sundown
3-25-12
Fiction-y, I suppose.
____________
His voice rumbled as he read.
She supposed she should be listening to the words instead of being lost in thought. However, she couldn't help thinking about how great this moment was.
Sure, she'd been through Saturday night worships before--Hallowed Moments in high school, Evensong in college, campfire at camp. Even when she'd stayed at her ex-roommate's house. But she'd never had family worship before--the family gatherings she was used to were not of such quality.
But this place and this time and these people were different. Something in the atmosphere, the presence of those surrounding her. Something she couldn't quite name but liked just the same.
Something warm and welcoming and wonderful.
To have chosen one's friends and ended up with a family was entirely the gift of God, it would seem.
______
Entirely recognizable, in my opinion. But who knows?
Fiction-y, I suppose.
____________
His voice rumbled as he read.
She supposed she should be listening to the words instead of being lost in thought. However, she couldn't help thinking about how great this moment was.
Sure, she'd been through Saturday night worships before--Hallowed Moments in high school, Evensong in college, campfire at camp. Even when she'd stayed at her ex-roommate's house. But she'd never had family worship before--the family gatherings she was used to were not of such quality.
But this place and this time and these people were different. Something in the atmosphere, the presence of those surrounding her. Something she couldn't quite name but liked just the same.
Something warm and welcoming and wonderful.
To have chosen one's friends and ended up with a family was entirely the gift of God, it would seem.
______
Entirely recognizable, in my opinion. But who knows?
Friday, October 14, 2011
Misunderstandings and Understandings
10-14-11
Fiction-y thing. It's sort of long, but yeah, all the parts are necessary. Also, a few posts ago, some of you asked me a question, and all I can say is, "Have a look at this and see if you can get an answer out of it."
________________________
Why did the letter say what it said? Why had he written that? She didn't understand. Sure, she'd asked him to Sadie Hawkins, but that wasn't because she had a crush on him; it was because he'd say yes, and she'd been told no too many times already. He was one of the first real friends she'd had, and now...now it was gone.
But why was he going to blatantly ignore her now? And inform her that he was going to do it? It's not like the school was huge; people would quickly notice that he was ignoring her. And why? Why couldn't she know? Why would knowing "plunge her into the depths of hell," as the letter had said? What was so wrong with her that someone would just stop wanting to be her friend?
She wiped her eyes and refolded the letter and tucked it into her bag. Time to head to Sabbath lunch. Alumni weekend and all, couldn't let anyone see her crying. Couldn't let them know that she was hurt. Not with all the people around, anyway. Maybe not even when they were gone. And maybe she would just never let anyone know what was deep inside. Maybe she'd just lock it away.
--
Because her parents were having to move, she found the letter in the stacks of paper she was sorting through. Why had she kept it for all these years? The letter was just a painful reminder of the stupid, insensitive thing he had done, the thing that her mind always reverted to whenever she had seen him on campus, when she had ended up sitting next to him in one of her first college classes. A stupid thing to remember, really.
She had forgiven him (well, at least, she had tried to give the whole situation to God, but that didn't really always make things better), but he really didn't see that he had done something wrong. Had never seemed like he thought that he had done something wrong. Somehow it was because of her. Somehow, since there didn't seem to be any reason for it whatsoever, not even after all the years that had passed.
But keeping the letter, well, that was just keeping a reminder of the hurt and the pain and the anger, something that she really wasn't anymore. Keeping the letter just meant that his action still held sway over her. Well, not anymore. She'd grown enough in the past ten and a half months that she didn't need to be told that she was holding onto something that was hurting her. She wiped her eyes and ripped the letter into tiny strips and threw it in the garbage bag.
--
She hadn't realized that it was joking banter. Leave it to her to ruin a pleasant texting conversation by taking things too seriously. That happened way too often. And why had she reacted in fear? Because that feeling--the sick-in-the-stomach, slightly panicky feeling--was fear. She learned a lot in the last few years, and that was the name to that feeling. Why had she reacted that way to joking banter? Why had she only felt better when her friend had texted that it wasn't a serious conversation? Why did she always overreact to things like that? What was wrong with her?
You've been asking the wrong question, came the answer one morning when she was getting ready for school. You've been asking what's wrong with you. That isn't the question. Then what was the question? If she'd been asking the wrong question, it made sense that she hadn't been getting any answers to some questions--not to the questions about relationships, not to the questions about her future, not to the questions about what was wrong with her. The real question is, What caused you to think that there was something wrong with you? Yes, you're sinful, but you're Mine. There's nothing wrong with you that I can't fix. There's nothing wrong with you in the way that you've been thinking for so long.
And her thoughts flitted back to the first time that she could remember thinking that there was something wrong with her. The Enemy had worked through that boy and whatever his reasons were to hurt her. The boy probably not on purpose, of course, but the hurt had been the effect all the same. She'd spent eight years thinking that there was something fundamentally wrong with her, leading her to hide behind baggy clothes and homework instead of pursuing relationships and friendships. Eight years. And now...now it was gone. Yes, she'd still have to work on having the correct thoughts, but the misunderstanding had been replaced with an understanding: There wasn't anything wrong with her, not in the way that she had thought for so very very long, and it was so very very freeing. She wiped her eyes and picked up her backpack, ready to head out the door, and smiled.
___________________________________
More later.
Fiction-y thing. It's sort of long, but yeah, all the parts are necessary. Also, a few posts ago, some of you asked me a question, and all I can say is, "Have a look at this and see if you can get an answer out of it."
________________________
Why did the letter say what it said? Why had he written that? She didn't understand. Sure, she'd asked him to Sadie Hawkins, but that wasn't because she had a crush on him; it was because he'd say yes, and she'd been told no too many times already. He was one of the first real friends she'd had, and now...now it was gone.
But why was he going to blatantly ignore her now? And inform her that he was going to do it? It's not like the school was huge; people would quickly notice that he was ignoring her. And why? Why couldn't she know? Why would knowing "plunge her into the depths of hell," as the letter had said? What was so wrong with her that someone would just stop wanting to be her friend?
She wiped her eyes and refolded the letter and tucked it into her bag. Time to head to Sabbath lunch. Alumni weekend and all, couldn't let anyone see her crying. Couldn't let them know that she was hurt. Not with all the people around, anyway. Maybe not even when they were gone. And maybe she would just never let anyone know what was deep inside. Maybe she'd just lock it away.
--
Because her parents were having to move, she found the letter in the stacks of paper she was sorting through. Why had she kept it for all these years? The letter was just a painful reminder of the stupid, insensitive thing he had done, the thing that her mind always reverted to whenever she had seen him on campus, when she had ended up sitting next to him in one of her first college classes. A stupid thing to remember, really.
She had forgiven him (well, at least, she had tried to give the whole situation to God, but that didn't really always make things better), but he really didn't see that he had done something wrong. Had never seemed like he thought that he had done something wrong. Somehow it was because of her. Somehow, since there didn't seem to be any reason for it whatsoever, not even after all the years that had passed.
But keeping the letter, well, that was just keeping a reminder of the hurt and the pain and the anger, something that she really wasn't anymore. Keeping the letter just meant that his action still held sway over her. Well, not anymore. She'd grown enough in the past ten and a half months that she didn't need to be told that she was holding onto something that was hurting her. She wiped her eyes and ripped the letter into tiny strips and threw it in the garbage bag.
--
She hadn't realized that it was joking banter. Leave it to her to ruin a pleasant texting conversation by taking things too seriously. That happened way too often. And why had she reacted in fear? Because that feeling--the sick-in-the-stomach, slightly panicky feeling--was fear. She learned a lot in the last few years, and that was the name to that feeling. Why had she reacted that way to joking banter? Why had she only felt better when her friend had texted that it wasn't a serious conversation? Why did she always overreact to things like that? What was wrong with her?
You've been asking the wrong question, came the answer one morning when she was getting ready for school. You've been asking what's wrong with you. That isn't the question. Then what was the question? If she'd been asking the wrong question, it made sense that she hadn't been getting any answers to some questions--not to the questions about relationships, not to the questions about her future, not to the questions about what was wrong with her. The real question is, What caused you to think that there was something wrong with you? Yes, you're sinful, but you're Mine. There's nothing wrong with you that I can't fix. There's nothing wrong with you in the way that you've been thinking for so long.
And her thoughts flitted back to the first time that she could remember thinking that there was something wrong with her. The Enemy had worked through that boy and whatever his reasons were to hurt her. The boy probably not on purpose, of course, but the hurt had been the effect all the same. She'd spent eight years thinking that there was something fundamentally wrong with her, leading her to hide behind baggy clothes and homework instead of pursuing relationships and friendships. Eight years. And now...now it was gone. Yes, she'd still have to work on having the correct thoughts, but the misunderstanding had been replaced with an understanding: There wasn't anything wrong with her, not in the way that she had thought for so very very long, and it was so very very freeing. She wiped her eyes and picked up her backpack, ready to head out the door, and smiled.
___________________________________
More later.
Monday, September 21, 2009
A Moment of Grace
9-21-09
Last Tuesday I received grace.
An example of it, anyway. I arrived at my Christian Beliefs class early, ready for the day's lecture and probing questions, only to discover that I had forgotten to do part of the homework (because I had not remembered to transfer it from my class notebook to my assignment sheet I make up every week). I thought, "Well, I have fifteen minutes before class starts, I could run to the library or back to my room and do it and be a little late. It's not hard." So I picked up my backpack and headed out of Daniells Hall.
In my slightly panicked walking, I ran into (not literally) my teacher for the class, Dr. Jacobs. I told him what I was doing, and he said, "No, you're not. Go back into the classroom and turn it into me after class. You have a free period then, right?" I assented to this and went back to class, still feeling stupid that I'd forgotten the homework in the first place. Then I did the homework and turned it in. What relief I felt!
It's not a perfect metaphor, granted. But it was still a moment where I didn't deserve what I got. I deserved a zero on the assignment; instead, I got a second chance. It was grace, unmerited, and after I'd thought about it, I realized that it was pretty awesome for Dr. Jacobs to have done that--but even more awesome that God gave us something we totally did not deserve: He died for us.
That's just the thought I had last week. More later.
Last Tuesday I received grace.
An example of it, anyway. I arrived at my Christian Beliefs class early, ready for the day's lecture and probing questions, only to discover that I had forgotten to do part of the homework (because I had not remembered to transfer it from my class notebook to my assignment sheet I make up every week). I thought, "Well, I have fifteen minutes before class starts, I could run to the library or back to my room and do it and be a little late. It's not hard." So I picked up my backpack and headed out of Daniells Hall.
In my slightly panicked walking, I ran into (not literally) my teacher for the class, Dr. Jacobs. I told him what I was doing, and he said, "No, you're not. Go back into the classroom and turn it into me after class. You have a free period then, right?" I assented to this and went back to class, still feeling stupid that I'd forgotten the homework in the first place. Then I did the homework and turned it in. What relief I felt!
It's not a perfect metaphor, granted. But it was still a moment where I didn't deserve what I got. I deserved a zero on the assignment; instead, I got a second chance. It was grace, unmerited, and after I'd thought about it, I realized that it was pretty awesome for Dr. Jacobs to have done that--but even more awesome that God gave us something we totally did not deserve: He died for us.
That's just the thought I had last week. More later.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)