not "saw" but "sold"

"Sarah, where are the missionaries?" It was five minutes before church was supposed to begin. I had walked outside to see if I could spot them walking from either the bus or tram stop. Little Sarah, from Kenya, was outside doing the same. One of the mission team girls had been staying with her all week. "If anything happens to January, you're responsible."

"I saw her this morning."

"Well, that doesn't do us any good now, does it? What about the two guys?"

"I saw them this afternoon. It was John's idea."

I then realized that she wasn't saying "saw" ... but "sold."

Me: "Who did you sell them to?"

Sarah: "I don't know. I didn't ask."

Me: "Well, I hope you kept the receipt."

Sarah: "No, I didn't want to have to pay taxes."

Me: "But you wouldn't have. They were tax exempt ... them being with a not-for-profit organization, and all."

Sarah: "oh ... can I sell you later?"

Me: "No, but that's only because I've lived in Germany a number of years. But you should ask your lawyers. There should be some loophole in the law books concerning the selling and trafficking of missionaries, even those who have lived in the country for a certain period of time."

Sarah: "I should have done that before I sold the others."

Me: "And when you talk to them, ask them about slander."

Sarah: "Slander? Why?"

Me: "Here, I'll show you."

At that moment, Comfort, from Ghana, was walking up to the church. We exchanged kisses and I asked her,

"Did you know I'm getting married in May?"

Comfort: "Oh, how nice. It will be our first HIBC wedding."

Me: "Yes, isn't it great news! I just found out about it this afternoon. Sarah told my father about the wedding last night and he confronted me about it this afternoon after the service in Celle."

Sarah: "Oh ... ha ha ... I told him that it was just a dream ... I dreamt that you had told me that."

(a minor detail that my father left out ... all for the sake of a sermon illustration.)

i am not a fascist feminist

I am terribly distressed by the apparent legacy I have left behind me in Savannah. Am I truly remembered as "The Dating Nazi"?!! God forgive me for leading anyone astray unknowingly! God forgive me for boasting in my independence to the point that young girls reject the blessings that marriage offers. God forgive me for my sarcasm mistaken for cynicism. God teach me to be an example of godly womanhood, full of goodness, kind words, graciousness, and encouragement so that I may not be so terribly misunderstood again. I am grieved by my sin ... Father forgive me ... shape and mold me ... be the Lord of my tongue.

the way i love

There are those out there who are convinced that I don't believe in love ... (where on earth do they get that idea! ) I may not go about it the way that others do ... I like to think that my methods are more like those listed below:

(feel free to add your own)

"When my grandmother got arthritis, she couldn't bend over and paint her toenails anymore. So my grandfather does it for her all the time, even when his hands got arthritis too. That's love."
Rebecca- age 8


"When someone loves you, the way they say your name is different. You just know that your name is safe in their mouth."
Billy - age 4


"Love is when a girl puts on perfume and a boy puts on shaving cologne and they go out and smell each other."
Karl - age 5


"Love is when you go out to eat and give somebody most of your French fries without making them give you any of theirs."
Chrissy - age 6


"Love is what makes you smile when you're tired."
Terri - age 4


"Love is when my mommy makes coffee for my daddy and she takes a sip before giving it to him, to make sure the taste is OK."
Danny - age 7


"Love is when you kiss all the time. Then when you get tired of kissing, you still want to be together and you talk more.
My Mommy and Daddy are like that. They look gross when they kiss"
Emily - age 8


"If you want to learn to love better, you should start with a friend who you hate,"
Nikka - age 6

"Love is when you tell a guy you like his shirt, then he wears it everyday."
Noelle - age 7


"Love is like a little old woman and a little old man who are still friends even after they know each other so well."
Tommy - age 6


"During my piano recital, I was on a stage and I was scared. I looked at all the people watching me and saw my daddy waving and smiling. He was the only one doing that. I wasn't scared anymore."
Cindy - age 8


"Love is when Mommy gives Daddy the best piece of chicken."
Elaine-age 5


"When you love somebody, your eyelashes go up and down and little stars come out of you."
Karen - age 7


And the final one -- Author and lecturer Leo Buscaglia once talked about a contest he was asked to judge. The purpose of the contest was to find the most caring child. The winner was a four year old child whose next door neighbor was an elderly gentleman who had recently lost his wife. Upon seeing the man cry, the little boy went into the old gentleman's yard, climbed onto his lap, and just sat there.

When his Mother asked what he had said to the neighbor, the little boy said, "Nothing, I just helped him cry"



These are my own additions:

"Love is when you are sitting in a crowded room and you immediately recognize your friend on the other side."

"Love is when you hear footsteps and you know whose they are."
Christine - age 4 (and twenty)

Crashing Duck

My first memory of a bonfire and hayride is when I was three. We were stationed in Killeen, Texas, and our church was having a fall festival of sorts. The only reason I remember this event is because there is a photograph of me bundled up with the multi-storey blaze on one side and the awaiting wagons of hay on the other. All pictures following that age up until I reached eighteen have either been secretly discarded or burned.

Tonight I decided to engage in this American tradition one more time. I arrived at Elk Creek Baptist Church around 7:30 this evening just in time to roast a couple of marshmallows and find a seat in the hay along with a couple of the college girls. I have been assisting in the college group at this church since I arrived in Kentucky. My valuable input ranges from explaining the historical manipulations of the Roman Catholic Church to the brainwashing of the young female minds to my way of thinking concerning America's flawed dating rituals and traditions. They mainly pretend to listen in rapt attention as I spew forth my stories, but I'm sure they're just endulging me, certain that I must be "verrueckt" (translation: a crazy historian overly zealous in meddling in the anthrolpological courtship habits of particular people groups.) But I appreciated their hugs and cries of how glad they were to see me when I arrived.

So there we sat together rumbling through the dark roads of rural Kentucky. The children in the back were singing various songs of Americana ranging from Take Me Out to the Ball Game ... to Rudolph the Red-Nosed Raindeer. Up front, the youth minister was recounting the prank he pulled last year on their former pastor. He and a couple of the seniors had strategically placed multitudes of plastic forks, prongs down, all over his yard. In the front, he placed potted flowers in an old toilet and urinal he had brought, upon which he proudly displayed the pastor's family name. To top it all off, he and the others wrapped the preacher's porch and garage in a wall of seran wrap.

Sigh. It was wonderful. The air whirled around us in the cool, crisp starless night. That's it ... that's one thing what would have made the night better. A clear view of a star-studded Kentucky night sky.

When we returned to the church, the bonfire was still blazing in the empty field. I grabbed one of the college girl's hands and began to run.

The distant blaze of the solitary fire in the darkness called to me. I became a warrior Indian princess. I rushed towards the flame whooping and hollering. All at once my Indian maiden form took flight, and I became a sparrow soaring through the night over the bare trees beneath.

Just as I reached my zenith, the earth's force reached out and struck me out of my flight. Limp, I came spiralling down to the earth, crashing, lying on the ground humbled in my earthbound form.

I turned on my back and gazed up at the sky from whence I had come and asked "why?". I turned on my side and saw the hands that had plucked me from the sky. The trees. They had reached out their arms, taking hold of my ankle and slammed me to the earth, jealous because their roots did not allow them to take flight.

"Christine! Christine! What happened!" the college girls rushed toward me in concern.

I turned on my back in a fit of giggles.

"We saw your shaddow running toward the bonfire and then you were gone!"

Wiping tears of hysterical laughter with one hand, I pointed with the other at the pile of logs that had been invisible to me in the night.

Just call me Crashing Duck.

When I returned to the dorm I told some of the girls who were gathered in the hallway. "Christine, even if you end up marrying a man with the personality of a rock, your children will be the most creative, imaginative creatures on earth!" exclaimed Heather from Iowa.

I can just hear him now ... "Honey, don't encourage them." or maybe it would be the other way around. "Kids, try not to get your mother worked up."

art and community

ckhnat 2002

"Art is at once exhaustively personal and inescapably social."
Conductor Robert Shaw

Two weeks ago a friend approached me with a proposition: the creation of an artist community among Southern Seminary students. Until now I had been attending festivals and artistic cultural events on my own or with one or two friends. But this proposition brings to light entirely new possibilities. What if together, as artists, we represented the artistic face of Southern Seminary to the community around us?! How much more effective could our witness be together?

But there are other implications. In such a community we could encourage and support each other's artistic endeavors. Musicians, writers, photographers, actors, designers, painters could collaborate together and exhort one another in our individual endeavors to achieve artistic excellence that glorifies God.

David Giardiniere describes artistic community this way:

"We seek out others who share similar experiences and align ourselves with them. It's in our nature to "belong," so we form communities--groups of people that have something in common. As we function within them we develop friendships, enrich our lives, and find a source of personal satisfaction.

"In a sense, every human community on earth can be considered an artistic community. Art is so infused with the human spirit that our lives themselves are a work of art--a living drama carried out over time. Paul describes it as 'a letter from Christ, written not on tablets of stone but on tablets of human hearts.' There are times though, when a group of people will come together to create a specific work of art. In these settings, the community is not merely those who perceive and appreciate. The community becomes the instrument of expression that brings a work to life. These are the performers, the craftsmen, composers, screenwriters, technicians, actors--the architects of sound and light over time. Their act of purpose and their collective spirit generate works of power and impact. (The whole is greater than the sum of its parts.) They assemble and embrace creative process to pursue a mutual goal."

"Singing in Unison" in It was Good--Making Art to the Glory of God

Thoughts? Anyone else interested?

a chapter closed

“For someone like you it’s good to travel now ... but if you’re Christine, it doesn’t matter, because you’ll be doing it for the rest of your life.” ~ c.b.

I am a modern nomad. It is nothing for me to pack up my bags and move on a whim. I have no roots. No ropes tieing me down. The world is my tent. Wherever the Lord is, there my home will be.

The Lord directs my steps in different ways--anywhere from gripping my heart and assuring me this is my destiny or the deliverance of a desire into a reality. Two and a half years ago the Lord gripped my heart by telling me that He had a purpose for me in Savannah, Georgia. Now He has fulfilled a desire by leading me to Louisville, Kentucky, to study His Word at Southern Seminary.

This weekend I removed all of my worldly possessions from Savannah. I have nothing left there but the pieces of my heart that are planted in the hearts of those I have come to love.

Will it be two or three years till I am brought somewhere else? And what was that purpose? Why was I in Savannah? Was I sent there to be transformed into the image of God’s Son? Did I somehow affect someone’s life in a way that I will never know this side of heaven? Did I meet someone while there that I will one day later encounter in a life-changing experience?

God’s ways are wonderful, marvellous, too high for me to comprehend.

What's in Your Fanny Pack?

Recently, I was fashionably-inspired by a man that I respect. His sense of style is absolutely fearless. It caused me to wonder ... am I being hypocrytical when I urge others that they can pull of anything as long as they wear it with confidence, when I myself tremble at the thought of revisiting the 80s and strapping on a fanny pack?

His black leather fanny pack caused me to remember my own neon orange pack. Ah, those were the days! I remember when I was 9 or 10 having a yard sale where I was getting rid of most of my toys. At one point during the day, I had over $300 dollars strapped around my skinny, little waiste. I wonder what was in his? ... a calculator? ... a protractor? ... an unfinished manuscript for his next publication?

So I put the following questions to you.

1. What did your fanny pack look like? (notice that I did not ask if you had one. I know that you did!)

2. What was the most interesting thing you remember keeping in it?

3. What do you think is in [insert a favorite professor/mentor's name]'s fanny pack?

For those interested in a comprehensive history of the fanny pack, click on this link.

a little known fact

I, Christine Hnat, have not used a stapler at all this semester. Oh yes, I have plenty of staples ... and I've handed all of my papers in with staples at a nice 45 degree angle in the top left corner when they required one. But I never used a stapler ... I don't have one. I wonder if I can go the entire rest of the semester just sticking them in by hand?

lost my socks

I don't know where they are. I walked into Target with them on ... but when I left ... my socks were nowhere to be seen.

I was walking around getting a few "un"necessities when I sat down to try on a pair of shoes that I knew would probably be too small for me. Then ... out of nowhere he appeared ... the Sprite of Awkward Handwringing.

"Excuse me, miss. My buddies and I are on a scavenger hunt ... would you mind if I took your socks?"

"You want my socks?"

"Yes."

"For good?"

"um, Yes."

"I'm warning you ... they don't smell sweet and fresh anymore."

"That's alright."

I handed them over and *poof* he disappeared as quickly as he came.

So, there I sat ... sockless. "Well, I guess I'll go see what sort of cool, fun socks Target has to offer today."

And wouldn't you know it ... they had green/blue striped knee-high socks!

"Spiritual" Pickup Lines

I haven't been here long. But I've been here long enough to know that guys at Seminary have found a way to even make pickup lines sound spiritual. I haven't been subjected to any of them (but one); however, I've certainly witnessed a few. The easiest one is to lean over and ask the girl, "Hmm, what version are you using?" Or ... this one comes from a friend of mine: "So ... what church do you go to? Yeah, I'm still looking. Mind if I go with you sometime?" Thankfully, none but the first have been directed towards me ... but I have an idea that there are more out there.

The other nuns thought that I should take a blog survey on this. What are some of the cheesiest "spiritual" pickup lines that you've heard?

Here's a few to get you started.

"I just don't feel called to celibacy."

"Did I tell you that my great-uncle was a personal friend of Billy Graham?"

"What do you think Paul meant when he said, 'Greet everyone with a holy kiss'?"

"I'm pretty flexible--I don't think a woman should be submissive on the first date."

"Before tonight, I never believed in predestination..." (this guy probably wasn't a H.C.G.)

"I hear there's going to be a love offering tonight."

Just for the record, I'm only doing this because it brings a laugh. It's not intended make fun of anybody. I think they're funny ... so just be aware that if you use one on one of us ... I hope your purpose is to make us laugh.

festival of mullets, exploding frogs, and ugly dogs (horses?)

(Strictly Bluegrass Festival)

If your life had a theme song, what would it be? "Man of Constant Sorrows"? or "Oops, I Did It Again!" ha ha ... I'm sure at some point in your life you've heard a song and you realized that they were singing about you. The opening song to the movie of my life would be "You Alone" by Late Tuesday. The song begins like this:

"Well, I've been so independent
I've roamed the streets of Europe
And I have crossed the oceans on my own
And I've never felt the burning need
To chat with people endlessly
In fact, my favorite company was me."

--"You Alone" by Late Tuesday

I can only pray that one day the rest of my life will play out like the rest of the song, but up until now the first stanza has been very accurate. However, I have found much pleasure recently in the enjoyment of good company. Enjoy the pictures from this weekend's festivities.



Strictly
Bluegrass
Festival










Water on the Waterfront


All you L'villan couples, take note of the romantic possibilities of this place: sunset, bench swing, watching the boats pass under the bridges. You take out your Altoid box and pass it to your girlfriend. Gasp! What is that?! It's not an Altoid ... It's a diamond ring! .... ha ha ... no PLEASE, I was just joking! ... please don't get any ideas about using an Altoid box ... unless you're determined to harassed about it for the rest of your life.




Corn Island Storytelling Festival.
Braer Possom and
The Exploding Frog












Original Highlands Festival

Ha Ha ... "Keep Your Distance" is the name of a new movie that was filmed here in Louisville. It seems a bit ironic however ...


Makeup Doesn't Cure Ugly Dogs Either!


Derek Webb Concert

nuns can have fun, too

A recent visitor of my blog posted this comment: “your blog is funny. and you're cute. too bad you're a nun, or something.”

How charming ...

So, I’m a nun, huh? I thought I had a good three more years to go before I officially entered the yet-to-be-founded order of Baptist Artist Nuns (BAN, for short). My girlfriends and I in college formulated this idea in the midst of seemingly hopeless lack of marital prospects. Some were willing to begin it right away, while others, like myself, had set a condition. For instance, I would enter the order upon the condition that when I turn twenty-seven and find myself to still be single, then I would willingly commit myself to the Lord through my art and service by entering the order of BAN.

We would design our own habits and encourage the wearing of hats rather than those wretched wimples. We would spend our days studying the Word, sitting in our studio painting and designing whatever the Spirit inspired us to create, and bringing cheer to those in distress with our helpful spirits and our ridiculous antics. You could be assured that much giggling and foolishness would season our days of mercy and service.

All of us are still single (does one having a boyfriend count?) ... but very few of us still give any thought to the possibility of establishing our order. I still have three years; and I intend to enjoy them to the fullest. And who knows, but God, that my condition may not be met and that I may find myself blissfully wedded within the set time.

However, if attending seminary makes me a nun ... let it be known that nuns can still have fun. Like having Biblical Hermeneutics outside while enjoying a picnic with new friends.

(Dr. Plummer being fooled into thinking that we have been very diligent about our work.)

Waffles and Spaghetti

What do you think about these lists? Do you think they're fair? Would you add to them?

"The Things Women Want"

by Cheryl Lavin

printed in The Chicago Tribune, May 7, 2000

1. Don't ever lie to us; we always find out.

2. If you're in a bad mood, we're going to assume it's our fault. So, tell us what's bothering you.

3. Quit complaining about your boss. Find another job.

4. Sunday is usually the only day we can relax. Be flexible about the all-day sports rule.

5. Buy yourself some decent clothes.

6. Pay attention. We like to give clues. "Susie and Bob tried a great new resteraunt" means "Why don't you ever take us anywhere nice?"

7. Yes, it's true. Sometimes we like to call up and talk about nothing. Get used to it.

8. We are self-conscious by nature; we can't help it.

9. The kissing must never stop.

10. If you ask us what's wrong and we say nothing, as us again. And this time, look sincere.

11. When we say something, it's necessary for you to respond. At the very minimum, nod your head.

12. Real men run dishwashers and dust funiture.

13. If you only knew how much a tender word, a thoughtful act, or an unexpected gift means to us, you would do it, and your life would improve expotentially.

14. When no one's home, stand in front of the mirror and practice this until you can say it in public: "I was wrong."

15. After you've mastered that, work on "I'm sorry."

"Rules Guys Wish Girls Played By"

by Cheryl Lavin

printed in the Chicago Tribune, April 23, 200

1. If you ask a question you don't really want an answer to, expect an answer you didn't want to hear.

2. Sometimes, we're not thinking about you. Live with it.

3. Don't ask us what we're thinking about unless you are prepared to discuss topics such as navel lint, the shotgun formation, and monster trucks.

4. When we have to go somewhere, absolutely anything you wear is fine. Really.

5. Crying is blackmail.

6. Ask for what you want. Let's be clear on this one: Subtle hints don't work. Strong hints don't work. Really obvious hints don't work. Just say it!

7. No, we don't know what day it is. We never will. Mark anniversaries on a calendar you know we check.

8. We're not mind readers and we never will be. Our lack of mind-reading ability is not proof of how little we care about you.

9. Yes and no are perfectly acceptable answers to almost every question.

10. Come to us with a problem only if you want help solving it. That's what we do. Sympathy is what your girlfriends are for.

11. It's neither in your best interest nor ours to take any quiz together.

12. Anything we said six months ago is inadmissible in an argument. All comments become null and void after seven days.

13. If something we said can be interpreted two ways, and one of the ways makes you sad or angry, we meant the other one.

14. You can either ask us to do something or tell us how you want it done, not both.

15. Whenever possible, please say whatever you have to say during commercials.

16. Our relationship is never going to be like it was the first two months we were going out.

17. If we ask what's wrong and you say "nothing," we will act like nothing's wrong. We know you're lying, but it's just not worth the hassle.

i don't want to be a princess anymore ... sniff sniff

I admit it. I'm a closet romantic cracking the door open to see if it's safe to come out. I'm not convinced yet. But movies like Roman Holiday don't help much.

I remember it was about three years ago that I saw Roman Holiday for the first time. It was just before Dolly and I would take our own "Roman Holiday."

There we sat ... two young woman with the worst reputations of extreme independence ever known to Pensacola Christian College. Guys knew that the only chance of making our acquaintance was if they had very good credentials and references. And only then were they allowed to be friends ... never more. We had a certain distrust for their gender, having been witnesses of too many examples of stupidity and blatant disregard for decency. She and I were self-sufficient, content in our little worlds in which there was no room for men (except, of course, our jolly art comrads).

Rarely would you see us stand by and wait for a guy to open a door for us ... as if we had the time! No date for the next cultural event ? ... who cared! Our girlfriends were good enough for us.

"No, that's okay. I don't need help carrying my bookbag, canvas, art box, and portfolio. I'm certainly capable of managing on my own."

We didn't hate men ... we just had very little patience for them.

So, there we sat, she and I, the spokeswomen for "anything he can do, I can do better," ... wide-eyed ... leaning forward ... lips quivering ... then *gasp*

"She didn't come back!" we sobbed.

Here, both of us had fallen in love with Gregory Peck and with the story of a princess who would leave it all behind for a man she'd only known for twenty-four hours. But when the press conference ended, and the princess, Audrey Hepburn, left the room ... there he stood ... waiting ... knowing that she would come back out just to see him. He waited ... then he turned and walked slowly away, but still with a slight smile, as if knowing ... she'll be out soon. But she didn't ... she didn't come ...

"I don't want to be a princess anymore ... whaaaa!" we wailed.

That's not the way it was supposed to end. Wasn't she supposed to forsake her duties to her country, leaving behind her parents, the king and queen, disregarding the good faith of her people, and run into the arms of this rugged, poor newspaper reporter ... all for the sake of LOVE?!! Well, of course she made the right decision. But Dolly and I realized that we never want to be in the place where we would have make such a choice ... which meant giving up our hopes of one day being restored to our true positions as royal highnesses in some obscure European nation.

ha ha. Now there's a glimpse of us that VERY FEW ever got to see. Christine Hnat ... a romantic? Please. You're joking, right?

I wonder how it all happened that I decided to let people think that I was beyond the need for love. When did I begin convincing others that i believed that logic was enough to sustain a healthy lifestyle, ignoring the need for vulnerability? But a life of logic is a very lonely one, indeed.

My attitude towards men still needs adjustment. I struggle with allowing men to open doors for me. A part of me still thinks that it's silly ... I can open it myself ... it would be just as easy for me to open it. But my inner romanitc screams for me to step aside, enjoy this expression of chivalry, let men be MEN.

This concepts shakes me to the core.

Let men be men. It's an interesting idea for an experiment. Oh, not on the men ... but for myself. Can I do it? And can I allow myself to be a woman who embraces her romantic, vulnerable side? Why do I fear this? Why does it shake me so?

the courtship of logic and vulnerability

I'm SUCH an idiot! Why do I let myself do this? Why do I persist in maintaining this facade?! Ugh! I'm such a freak! What will it take?!

You know what friends are for? ... pointing out that you're a MORON! (in the kindest way possible ... "um, by the way, did you know that you ...") oh, it's nothing that you don't already know yourself. It's just comforting that someone else knows. You know it sort of solidifies the fact ... just in case you were wondering!

It's going to take an entire revamping of my logic and an embracing of my vulnerability.

Oh God! Help Me! I am undone. Here I stand shaking before you, finally able to admit ... I cannot do it.

the bursting of my bubble

It's a habit I've had since college. I would wander around campus gazing intently at the pages of my book depending on my peripheral vision to not walk into a palm tree. You can blame my love of books on my father who once told me, "If you'll read, I'll buy the books." You can believe that I took advantage of such a promise.

"But isn't that rather unsociable to walk around with your nose in a book?" you ask.

Absolutely. But here's why I started doing it ...

1. It appeared a waste of time to just walk when I could both read AND walk at the same time.

and

2. I was shy about looking people in the eye.

You can blame that one on northern Germany. When walking down the street, it's just not done to look someone in the eye. It makes people wonder why your looking at them. And heaven forbid you should smile! Why, the other person might think that you were laughing at them. This is the culture I was coming from ... which fit nicely with my already shy demeanor.

But I fear I've nurtured this habit for too long.

Today I was walking from the cafeteria to the Founders Cafe with my nose in an exciting new book (The Oxford Book of Story Poems)! Class must have just gotten out because there were a lot of people on their way to lunch. Then all of a sudden, someone touched me.

Remember the woman in the crowd that touched the hem of Jesus' garment? Remember how Jesus reacted? I whipped around to see who had touched me.

What's the big deal?! Ha! This reflex also hails from my college days. Remember that certain Christian college in Pensacola, Florida, that I mentioned earlier? Well, all the stories you've heard are true ... and worse. One of the rules I discovered by breaking was that it is not permitted for male and female students to touch each other ... even indirect contact is punishable by demerits. Four years of this rigid lifestyle takes it's toll on an individual, and it has left me paranoid when I am touched, especially in a crowd.

Anyway ... I was whipping around, wasn't I ...

"Hey, Chrisssstiiiiiiinnnnnnnnne ...."

Everything had gone into slow motion. Bruce's voice became deep and slow as I first felt something behind my legs. The world around me began to rotate till I could only see the ceiling in front of me as my body became lodged in the janitor's trash can that had just been rolled out of the bathroom behind me when I turned to see Bruce. So there I was ... lunchtime rush-hour in the hallway with my legs sticking up out of the garbage.

Well, not really. But it could have happened! It almost did. Just ask Bruce and J. Ro. How cool would it have been if it actually had! Oh man! What a good laugh that would have been! Ha ha! But that's me ... I'm always on the look for a good laugh ... especially if it makes a good story.

sensory override that makes you go limp

I remember when I first experienced it. It was at the World's Fair in 2000 in Hannover, Germany (my home). Whoa! The memory just sends shivers down my spine ...

It had been a long day for Jeanna (the youth intern at Faith Baptist in Kaiserslautern) and I supervising a handful of the American teenagers who had come up from southern Germany to our fair town of nearby Celle. They were there to help us conduct a week long Bible Club for the British military children. I had heard stories of the wonders to be experienced at World Fairs of years gone by. But so far I had been thoroughly unimpressed and disappointed. That's Hungary's pavilion?! It looks like a giant wooden bowl! Why is there nothing but rocks in Ireland's pavilion? What is this line for again?

Finally when we had seen all that a human individual could possibly stand in one day, we made the mistake of sitting down. Exhaustion that I had suppressed for hours overtook my being. Meeting up with the rest of our group in fifteen minutes to leave the park was very low on my priority list ... I was preparing myself to inform them that I know the way home. I'll just take a train. I need to just lay here for an hour or two.

"Turn around," said Jeanna.

"Huh? Why?"

"Just do it!"

Doubtful, I turned my back to her.

Then the sensations began. After it was all over, I felt like I had no skeletal system anymore, nor did I care. The world was at peace and all was good. I was a new person.

Her secret remains with me, but occasionally I'll share the skill passed onto me to some weary, worn, frustrated soul. There's very little that a session of digging my "spiderfingers" into one's back can't heal. Okay, maybe not heal. But you'll definitely forget about everything else in the world. Who cares about the rising price of gas?!

The Worshipping Church

Imagine sitting in a filled auditorium with a six thousand person capacity. Now imagine the sound of the flipping pages of hymnals mingled with groans as thousands of college students and faculty prepare to sing “There’s Honey in the Rock My Brother;” or the snickers that flicker here and there as you recognize the prelude to the ensemble’s special music number, “One More Night With the Stinkin’ Frogs.” And then there was the unforgettable three page hymn with notes ranging from the highest to the lowest that you were sure to sing at least two times a semester. I actually had it down to a science and could predict which Sunday we would sing it. Is it possible for a church to hold such high standards of musical talent that they much prefer hearing themselves sing than worship? That is what I wondered as I neared the end of my time at a certain Christian college in Pensacola, Florida.

In contrast, imagine how refreshed I felt returning to my home in Germany as I worshipped with my international brothers and sisters in Christ during Winter and Summer breaks. What a joy it is standing in the midst of representatives of all corners of the earth together worshipping our Holy Father. Were they examples of musical excellence like the Campus Church required? No. But as Buyong from Indonesia pounded on his drum, as Sarah from Kenya plucked away at the bass, as Sholah from Ethiopia sang praise to God, as Phillip and Sarah, both from Germany, worshipped on the guitar and piano, and as Mag from Malaysia raised her sweet voice leading the congregation in glorifying God, one had a true sense of being in the midst of the throne room of the Holy One. As one, the body of Christ would kneel, presenting themselves before the King of kings; their hearts eager to embrace the message God had for them that day. As Scripture was read, the reader would begin by proclaiming, “Hear the Word of the King!” and the congregation would respond to the Word by saying, “Thanks be to the King!” The fellowship among these brothers and sisters is like none other. While so many of their family members are oceans away, this small church understood what it meant to be a member of the family of God. The study of the Scriptures was a vital aspect of church life. It was there that my father expounded on the meat of God’s Word to these believers, revealing truths that they had never been taught before. Many have come to Hannover International Bible Church as mere babes in Christ, but they return to their home countries as leaders of the faith.

free green tea frap and no "hairy eyeball"

Even though I had three quarters of my tank filled with gas, I rushed over to the Circle K and filled up. Supposedly the latest hurricane in the Gulf is going to shoot the price of gas to a whopping $5 a gallon. Can America possibly handle a reality that Germany has lived with for years?! But anyway, I thought it would be wise to save a few bucks.

On my way back to the seminary I stopped by Starbucks to visit a friend who works there. It wasn't exceptionally busy so I talked to her and some of the other employees there about the "gas scare." But as business picked up I stood to the side. Hmm, while I was there how could I possibly pass up the opportunity to get my new favorite green treat? So I waited ... and waited as everyone went about making drinks for the on-the-way-home-from-work-crowd.

"Oh, Did you want something?"

"Actually, yeah, I'll take a Tall Green Tea Frapaccino." I held my card out but the cashier waved it away. He wouldn't take it!

"Nah, don't worry about it. Sorry you had to wait. It's on the house."

Wow, and I didn't even have to throw the "hairy eyeball" around. (Not that I ever would!)

"What's the 'hairy eyeball'?" you ask.

Well, this has become part of my vocabulary since my dear friend Ginger used it to describe how her friend Susan used it to get her current boyfriend.

What?!

You know ... when you flutter your eyelashes!

Ha Ha! I love it!

So Chris and I have been using it to describe flirtatious girls. Once we used the phrase in front of a couple of friends at lunch.

"What's a hairy eyeball?"

"Well, it's kind of hard to explain ..." Somehow it seemed that it needed to be demonstrated. Ha! I knew Chris wouldn't demonstrate it. So I let my eyelashes fly.

Ugh! I felt so dirty afterwards. Bleh! Next time I'll let him demonstrate.

I used to think that I didn't have the ability to flirt. But once I was dared to by a friend who had never seen me dabble in the subtle art of womanly manipulation. I thought back to all the girls I had seen partake in the ritual. I raised one eyebrow, tilted my head, lowered my voice and asked, "How's this?"

By his reaction, I believe I passed the test. But I determined that I would never behave in that way again ... unless it was in EXTREME jest! Which I have been known to do.

"After Ever Happily"

Like the title suggests this isn't your ordinary Fairy Tale. See if you can figure out the story correctly. Were they laughing at the squashed chamberlain or the woodcutters 'ands? Who splashed in the puddles? The King, Queen, and Chamberlain?


"After Ever Happily"
or The Princess and the Woodcutter


And they both lived happily ever after...
The wedding was held in the palace. Laughter
rang to the roof as a loosened rafter
Crashed down and squashed the chamberlain flat--
And how the wedding guests laughed at that!
"You with your horny indelicate hands,
Who drop your haitches and call them 'ands,
Who cannot afford to buy her a dress,
How dare you presume to pinch our princess--
Miserable woodcutter, uncombed, unwashed!"
Were the chamberlains last words (before he was squashed).
"Take her", said the Queen, who had a soft spot
For wood cutters. "He's strong and he's handsome. Why not?"
"What rot", said the King, but he dare not object;
The Queen wore the trousers -- that's as you'd expect.
Said the chamberlain, usually meek and inscrutable,
"A princess and a woodcutter? The match is unsuitable."
Her dog barked its welcome again and again,
As they splashed to the palace through puddles of rain.
And the princess sighed, "Till the end of my life!"
"Darling", said the woodcutter, "Will you be my wife?"
He knew all his days he could love no other
So he nursed her to health with some help from his mother,
And lifted her horribly hurt, from her tumble.
A woodcutter, watching saw the horse stumble.
As she rode through the woods, a princess in her prime
On a dapple-grey horse...Now, to finish my rhyme,
I'll start it properly: Once upon a time--

by Ian Serraillier
From the Oxford Book Of Story Poems

a feeble attempt

Annie

Bruce and I hung back watching as Chris approached the merchandise table. Bruce had jokingly dared Chris to go up and tell Annie, "If I buy one of these CDs, will you go on a date with me?"

Neither Bruce or Chris had been to an Annie Moses Band concert before. They soon found out that I wasn't lying ... about the good music or about the beautiful Annie.

I never believed he would actually do it. He really did just want one of the CDs.

But Bruce and I had nothing better to do, so we couldn't help making commentary on Chris' "attempt" to woo this lovely, accomplished musician. We watched as he started to talk to the father.

"Good technique. Get in good with Dad before going for his daughter," I whispered to Bruce.

"Oh look, now he's joking with the brother who played the cello. Nice," commented Bruce.

The crowd had died down, and I noticed Annie was keeping one ear on their conversation. Then he said the magic word, "Bosson."

"Did you say your last name was 'Bosson'? Are you from Savannah?!" She seemed so excited to meet the son of the Pastor from New Zealand. She and her family had performed at Southside Baptist Church in Savannah last year.

"Bruce, look! She's talking to him but she's NOT looking him in the eye. She likes him. She's trying to pull herself together till she can get up the courage to talk to him AND look at him at the same time."

Finally, she lifted up her head and was ready to meet his eyes. She had herself under control now. But he wasn't looking at her anymore or even really listening to what she was saying. He was filling out a form to get their Christmas CD later this year. He finished filling it out, handed it to the brother, and waved goodbye.

Bruce and I had our jaws dropped open.

When Chris reached us, we gave him an earfull! "What were you thinking?! You had her. You were in. You were part of the family. You even used the magic word 'Bosson'! Why did you do it?! Was that form really so important?!"

Poor Chris was so confused. While Chris was merely purchasing a new CD, Bruce and I were practically marrying him off.

disclaimer: Before publishing the above post I sought Chris' permission. C.B. says "Ok, just for the record, I did acknowledge her (albeit through the corner of my eye) and yes, I believe words actually came out of my mouth that were directed in her direction. Anyway, I suppose I have nothing to lose. Go ahead. Send it. Maybe some lonesome seminary scavenger can use it as a manual on how NOT to impress a girl. In all seriousness, I got a laugh out of it. As long as this isn't the beginning of an endless line of people querying whether or not i'm the clueless idiot who 'blew his chance.' I mean, come on, if it had been ... "the hottest guy at Seminary" ..., he would have known what to do. But then again, his last name isn't 'Bosson.'"

I don't know. Maybe that's up for debate.

christine with a "ch" like Phantom of the Opera?

About an hour ago I walked into my "The Worshipping Church" class and someone whispered, "That's her" as I walked by to my seat. A fellow from my class was pointing out the only female in his class to a student from the previous class. Such is to be expected though, I suppose, when one decides to go to seminary. There's not going to be an overabundance of women in most of the classes. Although I hear if a guy really wants to meet girls here, he takes a counselling course. Lots of girls to be found there!

The first thing Bruce said when he heard that I was in a class with all guys was, "Christine, you're going to get married!"

Please ... a man falls in love with a girl a few states over and he thinks everyone else should be in love. Isn't that right, Bruce?

As I was leaving the building, John David, the accomplished pianist in the class, walked beside me.

"Is this your first year?"

"mhmm. First semester."

"What's your name again?"

"Christine."

"Is that with a "ch" like Christine in Phantom of the Opera?"

leave it to a church musician to associate my name with a musical ...

Then on the way to my dorm I saw Jennifer from Accounting.

"Christine, Hi! You know every time I see you I want to call you Michelle. I don't know why?"

I don't either. Maybe it's the same reason my softball coach in college called me "Michelle" all season. "Okay, and Michelle, go out to left field!"

I never corrected him. It didn't seem important at the time.