The Frustrations of Being Human

Romans 7:15,18 says "I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do (follow that?)...I know that nothing good lives in me, that is, in my sinful nature. For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out." I guess recently I have fully felt the frustrations of being human--of messing up, of embarassing myself, of miscommunication, of other people's shortcomings, of setting a standard in your life that you could never reach on your own--on my own. Again and again this struggle arises, and again and again I seem to stumble and fall over it. Situations I have not properly dealt with in the past pop up again--and again I realize how much my heart and actions seem to conflict. So much recent stuff reminds me of struggles and fights with my parents and so my reaction wants to be eerily similar. It cannot be, and it terrifies me how it reverts back there so easily--I feel almost like a trapped 16 year-old, and fight or flight takes over.
In recent times my religious beliefs have been slandered by others who wanted to incite something in me (it worked), and only in hindsight did I realize what a testament that was--they knew it was important enough to me in my life and was big enough to bother them that they verbalized that! wow! that's almost awesome! It caused an ephiany--thoughout college I've felt pressured to be as complacent and quiet about what I believed, for fear that I may offend others with my personal expressions (by this I do not mean soapbox tirades, but small expressions like verses in my AIM profile...minor things here) so they have laid dormant for the sake of acceptance and peace. And that dormacy is not quietly standing for something but in a way it's claiming to stand for nothing. It's fear. And I've realized that if I will stand up when my God is mocked outright, why will I not speak up when he is belittled in daily conversation? I dunno. I am human, and that pisses the heck out of me more often than not. "But for the grace of God I am what I am, and his grace in me was not without effect." -1 Cor. 15:10

Integral Integrity?

Webster's dictionary describes integrity as, "fidelity to moral principles; honesty." It essentially has its ties in honor, which is the idea that there is fidelity tied to principles or obligations, or being noble, upright and truthful. So again, its based in honesty.In high school history all of our assignments had to be completed with a complete honor pledge on them, stating that by us signing it we we had done our own work and had not cheated--our signature was a symbol of our honor. And that meant something. I guess I've just assumed that most people have a high level of personal integrity, at least the people that I know, but have recently discovered there to be many who view integrity or honesty as optional qualities that should only present themselves in those situations of personal betterment, and that is not integrity at all. But what is someone if they have no integrity? How do they have any self-worth if they prove countless times that they do not have personal standards of self? It's downright pathetic; a person is worth very little to others if they have not integrity. They are a shell, a body for actions and not for compassion, they are the ability to speak but not communicate, the mind to think but not to feel; a cold and hopeless form. I pray I may always retain my integrity--I may lose my temper, may regret many things, but yet I still may have my honor, for I was honest about it all. And for me, that makes me ok. What about you? Have you your honor, or do you think that an ancient relic of another time when "my name is my honor" meant something? If your name--your word, your signature, whatever you like--if that is not held to your own standard, what are you held by? Nothing. You are full of nothing if you are not secure in that.

"...to the Whorehouse!"

I know I know that sounds bad, but it's not what you think! Today was a loooooooong-A day: covered a shift at the Gallery from 7:30-11:30, worked in the writing center from 11:30-1:30, committee meeting from 2-4:30, then to the library to study till 6:30 or so, when Caroline walked in and sat down. I welcomed the distraction from the excitement of the innerworkings of the National Environmental Poilicy Act and we talked a bit and determined both of us had one of those mediocre days. At that moment we decided we needed an emergency trip to the Spaghetti Whorehouse (Warehouse, but who wants to be normal?) for some spinach and artichoke dip, a bottle o' wine and lots and lots of good food. So that's what we did. I am in pain from eating so much! We split a bottle of red wine, two loaves of bread and the dip, and I myself had a large salad, a bowl of seafood pasta, a slice of cheesecake and a large water as well. It was beautiful. Just another night with a good friend and a good conversation at the Whorehouse.

On a completely separate note...one of my ex-boyfriends and I have kept in pretty good contact since thanksgiving or so, and it's been benefical b/c he's had some family problems. We were friends for a long time before we dated, so I was kind of privy to all the background of situations that still exist--just kind of the history that exists between people. Well I sway as to whether exes can be close friends--is it possible? I don't know. We tried once and it failed terribly. But now? Who knows, I hope so. We do care deeply for each other as people, and I value his input. I may go out to see him for a day or so this spring, i just need to make sure those lines are definite the whole time. I am resolutely single this spring--it's not a validation for being single, rather it's a chosen lifestyle right now. Too many other things happening/changing/growing/ending that to try and get involved in anything seems utterly pointless. I already have too much on my plate! Either way, this situation with my ex boils down to the premise of the wonderful movie "When Harry Met Sally": is it possible for men and women to be just friends? My question is is it possible to go back to being friends?

Behind Closed Doors

On a much more childish and selfish level....my five housemates and I had a 'house meeting' tonight, our third in the four semesters we've been living together--we tend to get along fine, with no real reason to meet. However, this time four of my housemates were calling the meeting because they had already decided we were having a party, set a date and started inviting people well before they felt inclined to let the other two of us know about it, because they knew that Katie and I were opposed to the notion. In fact, two years ago when we signed the lease, we signed on the condition that there be no big parties in the house--we wanted a nice house that didn't reak of beer, a notion that the other housemates echoed. Jump to two years later and there we were, sitting in the living room, making an agreement about what could and could not happen at said party, which was already happening being that people were already invited. I was livid about them going behind our backs--I'd had a higher opinion of them than that; it was surprising and disappointing. And I admit, I definately started to lose my temper with one of my housemates, but hardly got bad about it. So the compromises were set, the meeting was over and we went to respective rooms, until the four party-throwers were suddenly all in one room, behind a closed door speaking in hushed tones. I did not desire to listen in, but what I heard in passing was enough to know that I was happy I didn't hear the rest. Personal attacks just seem to come in waves, don't they? And I struggle with my reaction to it--maturity says, "Don't let it get to you, just watch what you say, who you say it to and wait it out--you'll be out of the house in 90-some odd days. Till then, keep to yourself, don't put yourself out there for them, don't trust 'em, just ride it out." but my more childish side wants to go out, start a fight and play mean, drag it out, etc. Be snappy, sassy, bitchy and generally very much the angry female. I have a terrible ability to rip people apart with words, a talent I struggle to control. The bridges are there for the burning, ya know?
I guess I'm more hurt and surprised--it's a wound to the pride for sure, a wound to friendships and a wound to trust. It's these times when I remembering the "honor one another above yourselves' and the "better to be a nobody and have a servant than pretend to be a somebody and have no food." but where the rubber meets the road I struggle to put them into practice. I guess that's my prayer this week--that I will be able to approach this in a more mature way than it's being presented from the other side. Whew. A daunting task.

Not Again

On January 28th, 1986 I was a few months shy of my fifth birthday, being babysat by my friend Timmy's mom. This is the only real memory I have of my stay at Timmy's or of his mom, or even who Timmy even was. We were watching the Space Shuttle launch, the great and powerful Challenger lift off the platform with the two booster rockets and the huge Orange fuel tank attached. Then it suddenly was gone. Like that. Gone. And even at four years old I understood what that meant, what had happened, who was gone. It was the pretty teacher with the brown hair and big smile. It's seventeen years later and it is one of my earliest and most vivid memories. Then yesterday, it seemed repeated. Columbia, the flagship, the old reliable shuttle, was gone. It went from the majestic black and white space traveler I've watched in awe my whole life to a cloud of multicolored dust particles on a NOAA radar screen. How?
In elementary school it was drilled into our heads just how special and amazing the space shuttles were. The space shuttle program was started a year before I was born, so in a way we grew up together. I remember watching Discovery take off in 1988, the next launch after the Challenger disaster of two years prior. I remember when NASA had the "name the shuttle contest" for students all over the US (I did submit a name but I don't remember what it was) and thus Endeavor was born. I remember watching the "the training of an astronaut" movie reel in school. I had the patches, I had the space suit, I had the models, the Lego kit, everything. I never wanted to be an astronaut but I sure did want to know one. It was idealistic, it was pride, it was adventure, it was wonder, it was beyond comprehension--and it was a part of what made me who I am. It was saying not only wonders about the US or about science, but wonders about humans in general that we could send these explorers into the heavens and have them touch down again.
But Columbia, 39 miles over Texas? Where did it go? How did they let it happen again?