Thoughts on Self-Control

Isn't it funny how God speaks to us in our moments of deepest need, especially when we don’t realize we need help from Him?  I have experienced numerous moments like this.  In fact, while I was studying in Canterbury, God spoke to me about something very specific: self-control.  At the time, I didn't really consider myself to be someone lacking self-control.  But God used several different avenues to capture my attention.  Several different people spoke to me about self-control, all in the same day.  This is the spiritual equivalent of grabbing someone by the hair – it hurt, but it literally made me stop and wonder what the heck was going on. 

Although the people who confronted me about my self-control issue are extremely important to me, instead of recognizing them and how they confronted me, I would like to focus on specifically what these people said that helped me understand the issue.

Self-control ≠ self-help

God is not saying, “Get yourself sorted. Pull yourself together and have some control over yourself.”  He’s saying that, because of Christ’s incredible, life-transforming love, we should be seeing the world in a radically different way.  His love prompts us to love others.  This love enables us to cultivate a strong desire to honor God in love, which cannot be done in our selfishness. The issue becomes more about respect and love instead of literally controlling yourself.  It’s imitating Christ, which is precisely what it means to be a Christian.  Ephesians 4:22-24 says “…put off your old self, which belongs to your former manner of life and is corrupt through deceitful desires, and to be renewed in the spirit of your minds, and to put on the new self, created after the likeness of God in true righteousness and holiness” (emphasis mine). 

Self-help by definition relies on one’s own efforts and resources to achieve something – without relying on others.  Let’s be honest, friends.  If I were relying on just myself to have self-control, it would never happen.  Not only do we need God’s help, we need the help of other believers.  And that’s okay.  We are designed for community within the church (see Ephesians 2:19-22).  This cannot be done all by your lonesome. 

Self-control is not about controlling your own destiny.

God does that.  Let Him take care of it.  

If you Google "Self-Control" the results you get are really... well, depressing.  You will mainly see lots of weight loss ads and maybe some hard-core quotes like this one I found:

The world seems to view self-control in terms of  self-improvement.  The ability to determine what goes into one's mouth.  Or the ability to get up early every morning to work out.  Or the ability to starve oneself in order to lose weight.  Having personally dealt with all three of those issues, it is extremely comforting and refreshing for me to read in the Bible that God is 100% in control of my life.  And I am striving to please Him, not the world.  He wants me to improve myself according to His standards, not the world's.  If I possess self-control, it is a true sign that God is present in my life and He is leading my life. So I need to learn to give it up.  Give.  It.  Up.  My life is not my own anyway.  And I’m okay with that. 

Self-control is the heart of all the fruits of the spirit.

Remember those cute little Russian doll sets that all sit neatly inside of one another?  Think of self-control as the smallest doll in the set.  It is at the center of every other doll.  Love is the first fruit of the spirit mentioned, and it is also the biggest doll which holds all other dolls together.  Self-control is the last fruit of the spirit to be mentioned, but it is certainly not the least.  It fits inside all of the other fruits and it comes from the very core of your being.  See Galatians 5:22-24 for the entire list and the specific order Paul mentions them.  Order is key. 

We are going to screw up.  And that’s okay.

Imperfect creatures that we are, it’s okay to acknowledge the fact that we will never live perfectly.  God requires perfection; it’s literally impossible for us to be made right with Him without Jesus’ atoning sacrifice.  So take solace in that.  I am still learning to stop beating myself up over my many mistakes.  However, God’s infinite grace is not an excuse to live frivolously.  For “a person without self-control is like a city broken into and left without walls” (Proverbs 25:28). 

There is much for me to learn in the self-control department.  I've got to be on my guard at all times, yet I must learn that true self-control is born out of an understanding of God’s love, not just a set of rules that say “You can’t do this, this, and this.” 

“Make every effort to add to your faith goodness; and to goodness, knowledge; and to knowledge, self-control; and to self-control, perseverance; and to perseverance, godliness; and to godliness, mutual affection; and to mutual affection, love. For if you possess these qualities in increasing measure, they will keep you from being ineffective and unproductive in your knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ.”  2 Peter 1:5-8.

Musical Mentor

The stage is dimly lit.  Although the concert hall is full, the audience is silent with anticipation.  I sit among the crowd, captivated by the commanding presence seated at the grand piano, center stage.  All is quiet, and suddenly he starts to play.  As his fingers wander across the keys, the piano produces the sweetest, loneliest melody. I am instantly lost in Beethoven’s Pathetique.

Like any skilled musician, he is supremely aware of his talent.  He has an air of confidence when he plays.  Despite the crowd of people spread out before him, he is comfortable on the stage.  The piano is an extension of his spirit.  His fingers delicately brush the keys and they respond with lovely harmonies.  As a musician myself, it is obvious to me that he knows the piano by familiar love and touch - like a person.  All  my thoughts of stressful meetings and homework melt away as the music washes over me.  Suddenly, the mood changes and Chopin’s rousing Revolutionary Etude No. 2 bursts forth from the piano.  He expertly controls the dramatic tension in the hall with swelling crescendos and heavy accents, like punctuation marks in the middle of a beautiful, never-ending line of poetry.  And he moves; he dances with the piano, he sways back and forth, his body jerks up and down, he gains energy as the roaring refrain persists.  For a moment, I think he might explode off the piano bench in his passion.  This extraordinary performance propels me to another world, a world where my ears are my only asset, and my only purpose is to listen.    

It all ends with Brahms’ Intermezzo No. 2 in A major.  He finishes, the poem ends, the music decrescendos to silence, and the audience is holding its breath.  I vaguely remember that I am sitting in a concert hall surrounded by people.  The sudden thunderous applause brings me back to the present, and I jump to my feet to join the standing ovation.  I went home that night with his performance on my mind.  How could I not?  It was as if he had weighed the meaning of every note, studied every phrase, and shaped each piece of music himself.  His performance was a self-portrait.  Listening to his music, I felt as if I had known this stranger for years.  Every purposeful pause, every resounding chord, every intricate detail in the music was a personal reflection of this great artist’s heart.  I was happy to let my thoughts linger on the performance. 

Months passed, but I did not forget his brilliant recital.  We never spoke, and the very sight of him intimidated me.  I assumed his superior musical abilities put him in a category far-removed from my own social circle.  I never dared to approach him and congratulate him on his flawless performance.  However, one day I was thrust into a situation which gave me the opportunity to overcome my fear of this skilled virtuoso.  My piano instructor informed me that I was to play a duet with him for an upcoming recital.  I immediately panicked.  How could I possibly be expected to perform with someone so accomplished?  As an amateur pianist, I could picture myself ruining the entire duet and shaming this prodigy.  But the following week, there I was, music in hand: fingers shaking, hands sweating. 

In spite of my irrational fear of him, the duet came together in record time.  At first, when we played together, I felt clumsy and awkward at the piano next to him.  My fingers fumbled around on the keys, while his danced and maneuvered their way through difficult passages.  More than anything, I wanted to defend myself: “I actually play a lot better than this.  Your insane talent makes me nervous.”  Eventually, we grew increasingly comfortable around each other, and his confidence seemed to overflow onto me.  It helped me immensely to perform with a pianist who exuded such self-assurance.  As our friendship developed, the powerful, commanding persona I associated with him disappeared, and instead I discovered a friendly, wonderfully witty, and complex individual. 

The night of the recital, the stage is dimly lit and the piano is center stage.  It all feels oddly familiar, and I know that if the duet is played half as well as his interpretation of the Beethoven Pathetique, our performance will be a success.  I am sitting in the hall, waiting, like a witness awaiting the call to the stand.  My heart is beating rapidly and my hands are shaking.  I cast a sideways glance over at him as he looks over his music with a faint smile on his face.  Silently willing myself to relax, I sit on my jittering fingers and exhale loudly.  He looks at me and smiles, and somehow I feel encouraged by his friendly and familiar presence. 

About halfway through the program, the agonizing wait is over.  As we walk on stage, I stick out my chin and put on what I hope is a convincing smile.  Despite my nerves, his company has a miraculously calming effect.  Composed and poised to play, we sit at the piano and pause for a moment.  Then, fingers positioned, we breathe together and launch into action.  We are soaring through the music. We are a team.  I am not thinking about the many pairs of eyes staring at me as I play.  Instead, I am thinking about the music, and about him.  I realize that my confidence is an extension of his.  And suddenly, in what seems like no time at all, the piece is over.  

Me Two Months Ago

This is by no means an exaggeration of my reaction to arriving in London last September...

5 Weeks Left

Guess what, world? In less than 5 weeks, this girl is going back to the US of A!!!!  That's right - the land of the french fries and home of the pedestrians who get the right-of-way.  All I can think of right now is my family and how much I want to be with them and... and real peanut butter. And deep dish pizza.  And my bed.  And my dog.  And my clarinet.  And my piano.  And Kashi.  And bread that doesn't expire in three days.  Okay.  I'm sounding pretty pathetic now.  But I really do miss my family.  

How I feel about leaving England: 

Half of me is like

And the other half of me is like

(Yes, both halves of me are equally insane... and black, as Kaitlyn pointed out)

What am I going to do when I leave all of this behind? So many mixed feelings right now.  This morning I was making a mental list of all the things I am thankful for.  So many of the items on this list are related to this trip and the lessons I've learned, people I've met, and places I've visited in my time here.  This is going to be a bittersweet time for me.  

Without getting too mushy, here is my list of the top 10 things I will miss the most about England:

1.  Easy travel to the rest of the UK and Europe

2.  Castles!!

 Windsor Castle

 Caernafron Castle in Wales

 Conwy Castle in Wales

3.  Cathedrals

 Canterbury Cathedral

Rochester Cathedral

Notre Dame

Bath Abbey

4.  Lectures only happen once a week

5.  Pubs 

 My first time at a pub!

 We're poor so we buy appetizers and split them amongst ourselves...

This is the pub where C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien met every Tuesday to discuss each other's work.  The conversations that took place in this pub profoundly impacted the course of 20th century literature.

6.  London

7.  Walking everywhere

8.  Not buying textbooks

9.  Some English foods and TEA

YORKSHIRE PUDDING, PEOPLE.

Biscuits... so many biscuits.

Tea and scones.  Scones with clotted cream... sigh.

Takes two years off of your life, but oh so worth it.

Tea at the sea side!

Tea time makes you feel like a proper Jane Austen character.

10.  The PEOPLE

 Georgia, Sarah, and I walking to Whitstable!

 Eating cupcakes with Georgia at Whitstable!

Jumping for joy with new friends at the beach!

Josephine, Crystal, Amanda, Dora, Kaitlyn, Tessa, and myself having a proper girls' night in :)

The Phantom of the Opera: An Analysis

The Phantom of the Opera will always be among my favourite musicals of all time.  The musical and the original novel by Gaston Leroux explore themes of unrequited love, jealousy, innocence, horror, appearance versus reality, and the social outcast.  Above all, the novel-turned-musical explores the power of music and its potential to unite.  For reasons unknown to me, I have always been fascinated by this show.  Perhaps this is because many of the underlying themes are extremely significant in my life.  

Although the novel is much darker than the musical, the general plot intrigues me.  I was fortunate enough to see the show in London, produced by Andrew Lloyd Webber’s The Really Useful Theatre Company.  And I cried.  So, while I’m feeling sentimental and overly-emotional, I would like to indulge in a brief analysis of the musical while shamelessly admitting my unhealthy obsession for the Phantom (this is by no means a comprehensive analysis of the entire novel!).  Please don’t judge me until you've actually seen the show.  You might fall in love yourself.

“Music oft hath such a charm

To make bad good, and good provoke to harm.”

~ Measure for Measure (Act IV, sc. 1)     

The power of inspiration is invaluable to any artist.  Painters, writers, poets, and musicians all rely on inspiration to fuel their work.   Here, one might consider the significance of the word “muse.”

Muse

(verb) to reflect deeply on a subject.

(noun) the source of an artist’s inspiration.

Despite his life of isolation and recluse, the phantom is a creative genius.  He is a composer, playwright, architect, magician, and poet.  Christine is his muse, in the oldest sense of the word.  In Greek mythology, a muse was one of the nine daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne (dictionary.com).  The Muses inspired and presided over the creative arts. 

Under the guise of “The Angel of Music,” the phantom trains Christine to become a great opera singer.  All the while, Christine thinks of him as the angelic visitor her father promised to send after his death.  In her innocence, the phantom falls in love with her.  She is the sole source of beauty that inspires his creative genius.  His jealous love for her touches everything he creates.  Indeed, Christine is intoxicated by Don Juan Triumphant, claiming it “expressed every emotion, every suffering of which mankind is capable” (Leroux).  It is through the power of music that the phantom carefully builds a relationship with his beloved Christine.  His training makes her an accomplished opera star; her beauty stimulates his creative genius.  It seems like a perfect balance.  Yet, the phantom wants more than just inspiration from Christine – he wants her to be completely his.  His jealousy of Raoul, Christine’s childhood sweetheart, puts him into a rage. 

What are we, the readers/audience, supposed to take from all of this? Do we rationalize the phantom’s jealousy because of his exclusion? Do we justify his madness because he has been treated like a monster his entire life and Christine is the only person to show him kindness? Are we to excuse his lie to Christine (“I am your angel of music!”) simply because we feel bad for the poor guy with the misshapen face and really bad social skills? It seems impossible to suspend any judgment of this cold-hearted killer. How can he claim to love Christine, but be so demented as to kill with abandon? All of these questions cloud my mind.

Despite his cruelty, I cannot stop myself from feeling compassion for the phantom.  And Christine, in her innocence, does the same.  Her conflicting feelings eventually give way to the sincerest form of love at the climax of the novel/show.  Her pure heart resolves to show kindness and sympathy to the very creature that tormented her for many months.  Truly, the ending speaks to the triumph of good over evil, and certainly reinforces the idea that music creates the most powerful connection of all.  Christine cannot ignore the musical power of “the unseen genius.”   She also realizes that, in his anguish, the phantom suffers for something he cannot change about himself: his disfigured face. 

“This face – the infection which poisons our love…” ~The Phantom of the Opera

I would also like to critique Christine’s behaviour and examine her motives for staying with Raoul.  Throughout the story, we watch Christine grow up.  She matures from an insignificant chorus girl to a rising opera star, with the help of the phantom.  Her talent is natural and the progression seems inevitable, but if it weren't for the phantom, the opportunity to perform the lead would never be hers.  Indeed, Christine has grown up with the phantom’s instruction and essentially owes the development of her talent to him.  For a good portion of the novel/musical, she remains convinced that the phantom’s voice is actually an angel of music sent to watch over her after her father’s death.  It is obvious that Christine was very close to her father in the reverent way she obeys “The Angel of Music.” 

Although Christine is torn between three significant men in her life (Raoul, her father, and the phantom), she ultimately chooses to be with Raoul.  Given the circumstances, what else could she possibly do but accept Raoul’s proposal?  He is kind, gentle, and demonstrates his love in a tender way.  But his love is not passionate like the phantom’s love.  Raoul practically forces Christine to sing in Don Juan Triumphant, using her as prey to lure the phantom into the hands of the police!  Yet she trusts Raoul enough to do this... to help capture the man who loves her so violently. 

Because the majority of novel/musical is set in an opera house, appearance versus reality is certainly the most obvious theme of all.  An opera house is similar to a playhouse in that it attempts to represent real life, but never actually achieves the status of reality. An actor or vocalist can convince the audience that he is sad, but is he truly sad?  Of course not.  It only appears this way because he or she is acting.  Props, scenery, and costumes all contribute to the false reality that is created onstage.  The phantom personifies this theme because of his masked face.  Although he is hideous and disfigured, he is capable of creating great beauty. The music he writes, his own voice, his architecture, and above all, his love for Christine, prove that he is capable of more than just bitterness and resentment.  The culmination of the phantom’s beauty is realised when he finally sets Christine free and allows her to be with Raoul.   He demonstrates that he is not at all what he appears.  He allows love to overcome the bitterness in his heart. 

The importance of outward appearance is present in most societies.  Although the superficiality of human nature continues to be painfully obvious, the phantom reminds us that true beauty is found on the inside.  As cliché as this may seem, the qualities of an individual that extend beyond the physical prove to be the most important. 

At first, in an effort to hide his true appearance, the phantom masks his imperfections from the world.  I think many of us have “masked” ourselves in order to hide so-called embarrassing, shameful, or less-than-perfect aspects of our appearance (whether it be physical or emotional).  Specifically, in Music of the Night, the phantom sings very openly about his shelter of eternal darkness.  He hides himself in the shadowy labyrinth below the opera house, where he finds the ever present darkness to be safe and comforting. 

Like Beauty and the Beast, Frankenstein, King Kong, The Hunchback of Notre Dame, and others, The Phantom of the Opera aims to teach readers/audiences that an isolated, ostracized, and lonely creature can give and receive love, if he is given the chance.  At the same time, the phantom is still a dark character because he murders freely and terrorizes the opera house.  Although she is incredibly naïve, Christine is able to see past the phantom’s twisted face and point out the true problem:

“This haunted face holds no horror for me now. 

It’s in your soul that the true distortion lies.” ~ Christine

Christine fills the void inside the phantom’s empty heart.  It is Christine who realises that the phantom’s wretched appearance does not determine his capacity to love.  Think of the hope of such a message!  I love this.  The world needs to learn this.   

The Phantom is overcome with true, selfless love for Christine... and he releases her.
The music here is so powerful.  It certainly speaks to the main theme of the show.

I’m supposed to be writing an essay (write) now

On this rainy Thursday evening in England, I am feeling really helpless because my piano is not around (couldn’t fit it in my luggage) and I want to make music more than anything in the world right this instant.  Alas, I live in a dismal apartment without so much as a radio.  And I don’t really feel like walking to campus in the rain to search for a practice room.  So I am doing my second most favourite thing – writing. 

This weather is quite perfect for snuggling up with a good book, which is what I’ve been doing for the past hour or so.  The book I’m currently reading is for my Ethnic American Literature class and it’s called My Antonia.  It’s turned out to be more enjoyable than I expected.  I love when that happens.  Reading for class can be such a pain.  Take, for example, Thoreau’s Walden.  Pretty sure I would rather pick up pieces of crushed cereal from off of the carpet than read Thoreau’s detailed reflection on what it means to be alive.  Yawn.

The point of this blog post is to keep me distracted and help me avoid writing my essay.  So far, this is working quite nicely.  Actually, there are two (2) essays that I need to write for next week.  But I’m using this time to let my brain catch up with the rest of my body.  This has been an uneventful week, yet somehow I’m still behind in terms of mental organization.  I’ve never been so scatter-brained in all my life.  On the other hand, it’s sort of freeing to just sit here and let my thoughts flow in whatever random direction they decide to wander.  I can almost hear each word in my head before it comes out through my fingers onto the page.  This probably sounds like I’m on some sort of drug.  And maybe I am.  Maybe it’s the Living in England drug that I’ve been OD-ing on… sorry-not-sorry.  I can do whatever I want here.  I can be whoever I want to be.  Nobody knows me here.  I’m not Kristin; I’m just some random student among thousands.  It’s all so refreshing. 

This song reminds me of my mom.  When it plays, I can hear her at the creaking piano bench; I can see her fingers expertly gliding across the keys.  Her music would fill the house and seep into every corner of the building before fading away into the air.  She would play this back when I was a youngster still trying to wrap my mind around the idea of a piano.  In those days, I would stare in awe as she improvised soft interludes and picked out her favourite tunes by ear.  Back then, she would usually play before and after dinner.  That’s when the family was always home together.  It warms my heart to think of those days.  As I grew older, she taught me to play duets with her.  We still break out those old duets sometimes when I’m home from school.  What a privilege to grow up in a musical household.  I will always treasure those days. 

I’m going to bed now. 

Semi-Serious Post

Have you ever found yourself on the outskirts of the life of a friend who was once very close to you?  This has happened to me a few different times, and with different people that I hold close to my heart.  Social media sites like Facebook and Twitter make it hard for me to escape the memories of a lost friend.  Pictures, videos, and status updates offer bits and pieces of a life with which I was once involved.  Severing ties with a dear friend always involves lots of hurt and confusion.  Sometimes, this lost friend becomes a mere acquaintance; sometimes this lost friend simply fades into the past and becomes a stranger. 

Because I’m so far away, I feel disconnected from one of my friends back home who needs me.  This friend may or may not miss me while I’m here, but I feel obligated to check up on this friend and make sure this person is doing okay.  Maybe I’m exaggerating my own importance; this person is probably doing just fine without me.  But that won’t stop me from worrying and praying for her.

Why am I so sentimental?  I suppose living in a foreign country has made me especially reflective.  There are the really high moments when I feel like I’m walking on air.  Then there are the lower moments when I feel homesick or just sad for no good reason.  It’s a strange set of emotions.  Once I settle into a schedule, perhaps I’ll get back to normal old me.  At least these dramatic mood swings make for interesting blog posts!

On a significantly less emotional note, I am adjusting to life in Canterbury fairly well.  It still feels like a vacation, even though school has started up.  I wonder if I’ll ever come back here after my term is finished.  This would be a lovely place to live.  Can’t say I haven’t considered it for my future…

Life is not the same without my family and friends from back home.  I miss them dearly.  However, the homesickness comes in tiny bursts and then suddenly disappears again.  It’s not like a terrible, constant pain that I have to live with every day.  It’s more of a “oh, I wish so-and-so were here to experience this with me!”  Obviously, I miss my family, but somehow, I am oddly comfortable with being away from home.  I expected it to be much worse for me.  Homebody that I am, I figured I would be crying and eating my weight in chocolate by the two-week marker.  Thankfully, this has not happened yet (I don’t think all of the UK combined would not have enough to chocolate to satisfy my cravings, haha). 

Believe it or not, I am finding it difficult to imagine myself ever leaving this place.  The university here is absolutely brilliant.  CCCU makes NCC look like a community college from rural Illinois.  It’s kind of sad, actually.  The library here is state-of-the-art.  The music facilities are about equal to what I have back home (in terms of practice and performance space at NCC).  And so far my tutors are all very intelligent and interesting.  The only major difference (and it is a MAJOR difference) is the class size and overall student population.  CCCU’s student population is about 27,000, which is greater than the actual resident population of Canterbury.  NCC’s student body is roughly 3,000.  So you can imagine how intimidating that was and continues to be for me and my fellow Americans! 

Anyway, I’ve rattled on enough about my life.  I promised myself I would update this blog instead of just my travel blog (see previous post… yes, it’s supposed to be a joke).  The travel blog is mainly for recording day to day activities and adventures, posting pictures for those who don’t have Facebook, etc.  This blog is more of a personal blog and I prefer to keep it that way.  Like I mentioned, I don’t want to feel like I have to write about a certain topic when I’m posting here.  The travel blog is for professors, teachers, family, and friends back home.  I’m not gonna lie, its main purpose is to keep me from having to answer the same questions about my travels over and over again.  Don’t get me wrong, I love retelling my stories and adventures!  But I don’t plan on doing that often.  The general rule is: If you want to Skype me, read my blog post first so I don’t have to answer unnecessary questions.  Sounds really cold, but Skyping people from home is surprisingly draining, both emotionally and mentally. 

Okay, now I’m really gonna stop.  Until next time!

Here’s what I've been listening to while writing this post:

The Civil Wars - To Whom it May Concern

Cheers!

An Open Letter of Apology to My First Blog

Dear First Blog,

I am sorry that I have been neglecting you lately.  I didn’t mean to ignore you; I didn’t forget you!  Honestly, I just need to tell you the truth about what’s going on.  So, here goes…

I started another blog.  This has nothing to do with you.  Don’t think you’re inadequate or anything like that.  I just… I needed some space.  Moving to another country and all, I felt very strongly that I needed to branch out and do my own thing.  So, I started a travel blog. 

This travel blog is NOT meant to replace you.  You will always be my first blog.  For that reason, you hold a special place in my heart.  Don’t ever forget it!

Lately, I’ve been plagued with guilt.  I keep thinking about you and how I should write a new post to fill your empty webpages, but I haven’t had the time.  The travel blog is so needy – he takes up all of my time!  Documenting my daily adventures is a long and sometimes difficult process.  I remember when I used to write new posts for you; those posts were always fun to dream up.  I wasn’t confined to any certain topic or genre.  Now, with this travel blog, I have to write specifically about my travels and classes abroad.  How annoying is that?  Seriously.  It’s almost like he’s using me for my adventures.

Anyway, the point of this letter is to ask for your forgiveness.  I was wrong to abandon you for so long.  Please, can you find it in your programmed, electronic heart to forgive me?  Will you take me back?  I’d love to write for you again.  I’ll write about anything you want.  The good, the bad, the ugly.  Just say you want me back, and I’ll be here for you.

Yours always,

Kristin 

When Your Parents Try to Set You up with Someone You’ve Just Met

Do I look desperate?  Is my dating life really that pathetic?  These are the questions I asked myself after a particularly embarrassing encounter at my little brother’s college… 

Let me set the scene:  It’s pouring rain, the skies are grey, and my brother is moving in as a freshman at his college.  I came along for the ride, and to make sure everything gets properly set up and organized in his new room.  Despite my efforts to look like a normal human being, I have frizzy hair from the rain, my clothes are soaked, and I am tired from the long, early morning drive.  My family and I are waiting at the admissions building for a few umbrellas, when this random guy walks up from nowhere.  Apparently, he was the tour guide on my brother’s initial campus tour, because my parents recognize him and start greeting him like he is their long-lost son.

This is awkward for several reasons.  First, why do they care about him so much?  Like, they met him once.  Took a tour with him for probably less than an hour.  They are excitedly greeting him like he is the prodigal returned home.  I can’t understand why all this familiarity is happening.  Second, he is kind of cute (not like d-bag cute, but clean-cut cute.  This distinction is important).  Third, I am looking pretty wretched at this point.  So I’m not exactly stunning as I walk into the admissions building in my wet clothes. 

After this slightly uncomfortable meeting happens and I am introduced to this semi-cute stranger, said stranger generously offers to give us a tour of the recreation center since it is raining outside.  And how could we ever say no? Says my overly-excited father. 

Instead of taking the golf cart over, my father offers to drive us all there.  He fails to take into account the fact that we have a small, five-person car.  Can you picture it?  Mother and father in the front seat.  And in the back, my brother, me, and semi-cute stranger, who decides to sit right in the middle.  So it’s a semi-cute stranger sandwich.   

Semi-cute stranger (we’ll call him SCS for short) then asks me a series of questions, including “where do you go to school? What’s your major?  What year are you?”  And so on.  All of this would be perfectly normal, except for the fact that we are squished together in a tiny car and are mere inches away from each other’s face.  Good thing I flossed today, I think to myself.  My obnoxious father then asks SCS about his summer and SCS tells us about his mission trip to Canada where he helped inner city kids learn about Jesus and oh, he definitely feels called to pastor a church in the inner city, no doubt about that.  You better believe my father is just beaming like crazy and giving me the eye through the rearview mirror.  SERIOUSLY?

Later, after the recreation center tour, we are about to leave when my father starts talking about my trip to England like it’s his job.  He makes sure to tell SCS that I am leaving soon and would he please pray for my safe travels?  YEAH, LET ME JUST ASK FOR YOUR MOST HEARTFELT PRAYERS SINCE WE MET APPROXIMATELY TWO MINUTES AGO. 

Thank you, father, for making me feel desperate and sufficiently awkward.  I appreciate your earnest interest in my love life, but you just ruined it.  Besides, I won’t date and/or marry an aspiring pastor.  I’m not spiritual enough for that…