There's Just Something About...

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...The Sun.

A sunrise gives energy and joy at 6:30am. It makes walking in freezing weather pleasant. It sprinkles melting diamonds on barren trees. It helps me ignore my shivering fingers as I snap pictures of bits of waking Earth. I would call sunrises a "praise weakness".

No matter if I'm angry at, frustrated with, or distant from God, my soul crumbles with a sigh and sings notes equal to the praise of the perfect light gracing the horizon.

...The Weekend.

If I could fly, Warrensburg would be far behind me right now. Not because I dislike it, but because I'm so...relieved it's the weekend. I feel light. I'm not always thrilled about these classless days--they can be very lonely, they can be very long, and sometimes (because of my own wastefulness) they can be very empty. This week, I love the weekend because I have time and I need time. Time to work out some arguments with God. Time to organize my inner and outer turmoil. Time to take a deep breath.

...Music.

The chapel on campus holds two pianos. I sneak in there (even when it's locked). God unlocks it for me. He always does, because He understands that sometimes my soul needs to cry, and music is the perfect handkerchief. There is an hour and a half break between my last class and clinic--the perfect moment when the sun shouts its rays through the stained glass windows onto the piano keys I ache to touch and the wooden pews polished with heartfelt prayers. It's like a hymn from the sky.

...Answered Prayer.

Yesterday, my head lay heavy on my pillow because of the answer-less thoughts playing badminton in my brain. God and I have had multiple discussions lately, which usually consist of me talking nonstop, asking questions, jotting annoyances, and arguing about verses I don't understand. He just leans back in the spiritual rocking chair, patient and silent.
Last night, I prayed in irritation. I can't even say it was a prayer, it was more like a demand:

"Lord, I would really love to sleep well tonight."

What I mean by "sleep" is rest. Sure, I sleep every night, but rest doesn't necessarily come--it skips like a gnome on the windowsill and laughs in a squeaky voice when I try to catch it. My gnome-catching butterfly net has a hole in it. Thankfully, God's doesn't. Today, He woke me with a dose of energized dawn and a song in my head--the first thing I heard when I returned to consciousness.

"How can I stand here with You,
and not be moved by You?
Would you tell me,
How could it be any better than this?
'Cause You're all I want. You're all I need. You're everything. Everything."

I've only heard Everything by Lifehouse once in my life--I played drums to it in a worship band and thought, What an interesting song. That was about 5 years ago, yet here I was, waking rested at 6:30am with the perfect lyrics and melody slow-dancing with the sandman.

Only yesterday, I wrote out a prayer. "...could You touch my heart? Just come and touch it in a clear way?"
The request sounds quirky to anyone but me and God, but He knew what I meant. He even knew I doubted He would do it. But today...even with my exhaustion, frustration, trials, and complaining, He came through. He touched my eyes with sunrise, my mind with lyrics of praise, my fingers with stained glass, my fatigue with hopeful rest, and my heart...my heart with His arms in a glorious hug.

"Give heed to the voice of my cry, my King and my God,
For to You I will pray.
My voice You shall hear in the morning, O Lord;
In the morning I will direct it to You,
AND I WILL LOOK UP."

Psalm 5:2-3

I still don't have answers to my questions. I still look at Him with confusion every time we talk. But, there's just something about the way He works. The way He talks. There's just something about...

...God.
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Passionless Professors

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Dearest professors, where is your passion?

I cannot imagine pursuing a life career without passion. Perhaps I have an extra dose of passion or perhaps my professors only received an Oliver-Twist-serving.


No matter the 'perhaps', passion is lacking in the classrooms of my profession. What must it feel like, waking at 5am only to scrape false motivation off the floorboards and dump it in your day-old coffee on the way to work? What does the heart feel, knowing that 24 hours of life are ticking away with bitterness never to be retrieved?

Nearly all my professors at UCM have tied PhD's to their names with sparkling ribbons. I admire their perseverance. I admire their drive. But in the classroom I only see frowns and pursed lips, I only hear monotone lecturing, I only touch the weight of bland printed powerpoints, and I taste nothing but despair and sympathy toward them.
My PhD-less professors at Biola University inserted a syringe of joy and zeal into my speech-therapy veins. They were miracle-doctors, accomplishing the impossible in Nadine-the-Titanic.





"Even God can't sink this ship!" people said about the mighty Titanic, yet it sank with tragedy.




"Nothing can make me like speech therapy!" I said to my friends, yet now I drool over terms like dysphagia, perseveration, and aphasia.

My undergraduate professors did that. They subjected themselves as tools into the hands of the most skillful Mechanic and He tweaked me into this disco ball of speech-therapy passion. So what is missing in my professors here in Missouri? Why do they seem so incapable of enthusiasm? Why do I want to jump from my seat, snatch the laser pointer from their limp hands, and scream to my classmates, "This is interesting! This is fascinating! They're just not showing it to you!"
These same classes that changed my life in undergrad are leaving my poor graduate classmates (deprived of these topics in undergrad) hanging from the rope of discouragement. How can my speech therapy girls fall in love with a topic that's being presented as if it's a dead bug stuck to the wall?

Now that I look, now that I despair, it's not so hard to see why my undergraduate professors were so much more impacting. The world said they were unqualified because they had no PhD's, but God...God said differently.

Please pray for my professors here at UCM--that their lives find the meaning that they so desperately want. That fulfillment will crawl into their alarm clocks and that early sunrises will turn to joy instead of wake-up calls. So much could be different. So much could be learned...

"Yuck"-Brain Dominant

My experimental juices leaked out of my imagination this morning as I contemplated my breakfast victim.

I wasn't sure what to eat, but I knew I wanted something fresh...something fruity. As I take you through this breakfast process, I wish to inform all males reading this that they are going to take a dangerous ride through the female's mental process.
Don't expect it to make sense.
And don't expect to like it.

I had raspberries in the freezer. Raspberries and milk sounded perfect. So I poured some into a bowl and popped them into the microwave for a few seconds to defrost. When I opened the fridge for the milk, my tiny carton of cream (used mostly for tea) caught my eye and a heavenly mental picture of raspberries and cream shoved the milk out of the way.
Cream is beautiful.
I thought those exact words while pouring it onto my raspberries (thus eliminating the "fresh" aspect). I wanted to take a picture of the cream. Maybe I'm just slightly obsessed with cream....
I sprinkled a little sugar (as if it needed it), added a few less-thawed raspberries to the bowl, and took a bite. Too thick.
On a whim, I thought it might be fun to toss in a drop of extra flavor. Maybe...Irish Cream? Feel free to judge me. I like Irish Cream (maybe because it has the word "cream" in it). I put the tiniest schlook in the bowl, mixed it around, and surveyed the food-kaleidoscope. It looks nothing like breakfast and suddenly I can't imagine myself eating it. Part of me thinks, "Yuck!" and the other part thinks, "Well, you can't waste it and any decent experimenter doesn't ditch a project so near the end."
So in an attempt to make it look more appetizing (and hoping to trick my inner "yuck"-brain into thinking it's still semi-healthy) I add some Honey Bunches of Oats. Stir, stir, stir.
I take a bite.
First impression: "Hm...not horrible."
Second impression: "The raspberries are soggy."
Third impression: "It's still too thick." I add a little water.
Fourth impression: "Yuck."

The "yuck"-brain dominates and I toss it out, sorely disappointed in my experimental side and no longer in the mood for breakfast at all.

And that, dear friends, is how to thoroughly ruin a fresh breakfast. I took no pictures so as not to inhibit you from having breakfast (or lunch or dinner or any food for that matter) after you read this. I thought it only fair to share some of my cooking failures as well as successes. Just in case you are in danger of thinking I'm perfect. ;)

Favorite God

I have returned to Missouri.
I can't say I was excited to step foot onto the un-snowy ground. I can't say that I wanted to be here. I can't say I was optimistic or positive. And I certainly can't say that Missouri noticed my return.
But God did.
He stood on the airport tarmac in the biting wind, the humid cold, and the grey air, waving a bouquet of yellow roses, lace, and cheer. He reminded me that Missouri is my home away from home and that having a 'home away from home' is okay. After all, He picked it for me last March and then He found me an apartment. He showed me good churches and introduced me to wonderful friends.
Yes, I can call Missouri home, and that makes all the difference in the world to my attitude.

Suddenly, with my Jesus-bouquet in hand, positives charged around every corner with bursts of confetti and surprise: I was picked up by one of my favorite people. We laughed about some of our favorite memories. He gave me Christmas/birthday presents from one of my favorite stores.

The presents were two of my favorite things. Then we chatted over one of my favorite hot drinks. Then to add a cherry to my sundae of encouragement, God gave me my favorite weather...snow.

All of these favorites crammed themselves into a few late-night hours when I was flying with numb toes, a sore throat, a lost voice, grouchy flight attendants, and I had just bid farewell to my family. The result?

It felt good to be back.

I'm ready. I'm ready to tackle the new semester. I can't help but think how lucky I am. How lucky that, when there's only one real God in existence, He just happens to make first place on my 'favorites' list. Good thing our world didn't get stuck with a grouchy, black-flowered, pessimistic God. Otherwise, this journey back to Missouri would have gone so differently and I wouldn't have had Someone to wave to on the tarmac when my plane landed....