Countdown to Leaving Seminary... Top Ten Favorite Memories: 5

6. Final exam weeks.

Final exams are crazy. I've written 80 pages in six days. I've written a 20-page paper and then immediately scrapped it and started over because I knew it wasn't any good. I've had at least one season of final exams where I had very little to do and ended up watching three entire seasons of America's Next Top Model on YouTube so that I could stay awake and keep Daryl company as he slaved away (sigh... I know, I know). I've gone back and forth between studies of Bonhoeffer, Alzheimer's disease, Ephesians, and Brecht in the same 24-hour period. I've somehow (somehow!) managed to stay sane thanks to Jesus, Daryl, and lots of caffeine (in that order).

Finals make for great memories because they are ridiculous. All of us students do the impossible, surprise ourselves, drive ourselves nutty, and sometimes even learn something along the way.

This finals season I had 70+ pages to write in a week. It would have been 70+ pages to write in two weeks, but I had to fly to Nashville for an interview (yay!). My good friend Katie (who had six pages to write - I tried very hard not to hate her for this reason...) came over to work most nights. It was great to have someone around, to take short breaks, to eat bowls of cereal together.

I'll miss the ridiculous things that happen during finals week - things that, if it were not finals week, would make us all seem pathological, neurotic, or just plain bizarre.

I have one friend who wears the same clothes every day until she finishes a paper. It helps her feel like it's just one long day and not days and days of her life she's devoting to the paper.

Daryl chooses a place to work and will work only there for four or five or six days, and then changes abruptly and cannot stand working there anymore. This season it was Panera every day, and now he can't stand to go back and has found a new spot.

When I was a student at Loyola I instituted the "butt-in-the-chair" policy. After managing to procrastinate with everything under the sun (I should match up those pairless socks! I should clean behind the fridge! I should Christmas shop in May!) I sat myself in a chair in front of my computer and would let myself up for only three things: bathroom, 3 daily meals, and bedtime. Of course, I now know that this is how people get blood clots and die. But at the time, it worked wonders for my grades.

Now I do puzzles during finals. Puzzle after puzzle. I'll work for an hour or two, then spend fifteen minutes on a puzzle. It helps my mind to relax while I can still mull over my paper. I probably did ten puzzles during finals week this year. Doing them puts me into that same relaxed state-of-mind that happens in the shower or before sleep. It helps me come up with great ideas and realize which old ones don't work with the argument of my paper. Daryl's dad has a great explanation for the different type of brainwaves that we have and what this type of thought is called, but I don't remember what it is right now... that's what happens after finals!

As a student, finals is like the Olympics. Have you prepared well? Will you choke? Will you fall apart at the seams? How is your equipment? Will your computer die? Will that big jug of Mountain Dew help or hurt? How much sleep does a human being actually need?

When I was in undergrad a friend and I went to this ridiculous all-night diner on the way to Chicago and drank bad smoothies and wrote and wrote and wrote. When I studied at Loyola I wrote papers with Eliot, my new kitten, in a room overlooking Addison Street and Wrigley Field. I ate handfuls of Oreos and Thai takeout. I hardly slept. I read thousands of pages.

Perhaps the best part about final exams is that they end. Then all students go to sleep. The first restful sleep in weeks - nothing is due, nothing is late, nothing else can go wrong. It is done. We sleep and sleep.

The first thing I always do after that sleep is go to the grocery store and take my time choosing each item. I eat terribly during finals, and my brain is so full and strained it almost feels bruised, so it's a joy to focus on something as simple as food. The week after finals I indulge myself. I get the good mozzarella, the pricey-but-amazing orange juice. I read labels and squeeze melons. I meander through the store knowing that, after a grueling week or two and a long semester, I have nothing else to do. I begin the slow stepping-down off of too much caffeine.

I was a little sad to turn in my final final paper this year. For all I know, I'm done being a student. This could be my last paper... ever. I'll miss the craziness of finals, the Herculean effort it takes to get up early and stay up late for days on end while expending crazy amounts of brain energy. I'll miss the accomplishment of finally emailing off a paper, or watching it print. I'll miss the sense of accomplishment. I'll miss the camaraderie that occurs when every student is in the same boat, struggling to stay afloat on a sea of papers and exams. The student life is a good one indeed - even during finals.

 Image borrowed from here.

Thankful

My friend Nish is a great blogger who does a "Thankful on a Thursday" post each week. I'm not great about doing the same type of post every week (see my attempts at Tuesday Recipes and Sunday Poems for examples of that...), but I want to post my thanks this week.

A wonderful, wonderful professor of mine (Dr. Shane Berg - if you're ever a PTS student, take every class you can with him!) is fond of talking about the cycle between thanksgiving and blessing. When we are thankful for others and express that thanks, they are blessed. When we practice gratitude, we are blessed. When we remember our blessings, we become thankful.

I can be a complainer sometimes. Occasionally I have real things to complain about (my cat was dying! my husband is a thousand miles away! the current job market = abysmal!). More often than not my complaining comes from a lack of expressing gratitude and thankfulness in the things I have, both big things and small. It isn't that I am not thankful, it's that it's easier to grouse than to praise, easier to gripe than to thank. I want to change this, expressing the gratitude that is in my heart more regularly. Hence, today's post.

I'm fighting off some significant weariness right now. It has been a long, hard year, and it will take awhile for the core tiredness to fade. I'm a good finisher. I can always finish and finish fairly strong. Once on a drive across the country, Daryl was fading. He's usually the workhorse when we drive; he can drive for hours and hours with nothing but a Mountain Dew and some hard rock on the radio. I can drive for three hours or so, and then I fade. But it was two in the morning in the middle of Nebraska, and he was beat. I got behind the wheel, steeled myself for a long haul, and brought us to the hotel safe and sound in the early hours of the morning. When we pulled up I drove the car under the hotel awning, laid my head on the steering wheel, told Daryl we were there, and promptly fell asleep. This is how I feel at the close of this long, hard, marathon of a year. I'm in. And now I'm exhausted.

This exhaustion, this realization of all I've been through and all that God has brought me through this year makes me even more thankful. I couldn't have done this on my own strength. I've leaned on the Lord. I've leaned on others. I've asked for help when I've needed it, and help has come. And I'm thankful.

I'm thankful for professors who have helped me develop my theology, shared their lives with me, and taught me more than they'll ever know. Thank you, Drs. Berg, Osmer, Brown, Seow, McCormack, Hutton, Duff, Charry, Lee, Lapsley, Appold, Rorem, and Capps. Thank you for teaching me practical theology, ethics, systematics, Greek, Hebrew, church history, homiletics, and the importance of nurturing my personal faith. Thank you for pouring your lives into your students, for laughing with us, for giving us your time and energy, and for working so very hard.

I'm thankful for friends. I won't list because then I'll forget some, but I'm so thankful for friends this year. Friends from seminary, new and old. Friends from home. Family friends.

I'm thankful for family. Family who understands me, supports me, and always welcomes me with open arms, no matter how grumpy, exhausted, or bedraggled I may be.

I'm thankful for two snuggly cats. Some cats don't show affection; mine are snuggly, snuggly cats. They climb on my lap and purr and purr. Not much makes me feel that appreciated.

I'm thankful for the end of this season.

I'm thankful that I'm heading toward a (much-needed!) vacation.

I'm thankful for the abundance of gluten-free foods out there these days. I had pretzels with my lunch. Pretzels! And they were amazing.

I'm thankful for the Princeton Public library. I walked out of there with eight new novels (I'm going on vacation! Woo hoo!) and three books on tape. Daryl and I get to drive across the country listening to Bill Bryson. I always feel like the richest person on earth when I leave a library. I get all of these!? For free!? Are you sure?

When my parents first took me trick-or-treating as a three year old, they told me that if I knocked on a door and said "trick or treat" the person living there would give me candy. I thought they were crazy and wouldn't do it. So my dad picked me up, knocked on that first door, and... I got candy! I looked down into my bucket, my eyes wide, paused for a second or two, then took off sprinting toward the next house. I had discovered the greatest scam on earth! That's how I feel about the library. What a great country we live in! Free candy AND free books! My two favorite things!

I'm thankful for friends' blogs that encourage me and others.

I'm thankful for the weather during final exams. Cool and breezy - perfect in an un-airconditioned apartment during a tough academic time.

I'm thankful for fresh raspberries in the fridge.

I'm thankful for final meetings with Princeton folk--professors, friends, colleagues.

I'm thankful for a successful class at Rider and a great group of students. I'm thankful for the provision of that job, and all I've learned from teaching through the years.

I'm thankful for the incredible generosity of friends who have housed Daryl and a friend who loaned us her car for the year.

I'm thankful for how their generosity has taught me to be more generous with what I have.

I'm thankful for laughter. Laughing with friends, funny movies, funny books, and times where I just have to laugh at myself.

I'm thankful for a God who never leaves, never forsakes, and never abandons. I'm thankful for a God whose promises are new every morning. I'm thankful for a God who has confirmed time and time again that Daryl and I are on the right path this year. I'm thankful for a God who is real and alive.

Mostly I'm just thankful.

What are you thankful for today?

My Life After Finals

Awake after noon.

Wonder why I'm so very tired.

Eat something. Usually GF chocolate chip pancakes. Sometimes fruit. Sometimes eggs.

Consider showering. Watch a little TV instead.

Wonder why I'm so ridiculously tired.

Chronicle a list of things I've done this year in my head (this is Mom's version, as posted on my Facebook): "You successfully juggled several jobs, teaching, traveling out of town on weekends, airline trauma, snowstorm closings, a husband living in another state, all household responsibilities, traveling to presbytery meetings in Chicago, a car with a dead battery twice in one day, a kitty on the brink of death, canceling your only vacation with your husband at Thanksgiving and planned for a year, assistant play directing, a lead role in that play, cooking/eating a special GF diet and these are only the things I can think of. Yes, a long post....but a longer year and I think congratulations are in order. Well done Courtney. And I would like to add, don't ever do it again. Love, mom"

Ah, that's why I'm tired. I love my mom.

Look out the window at the sun in the big oak in our front yard. Pet the cats. 


Pray.


Pray for the Lord to provide a pastoral call for me in Nashville. Pray for rejuvenation of spirit at the end of a long year. Pray for Daryl who is still in the midst of a rough season of finals. Pray for my seminary friends who are also searching, searching, searching for calls and jobs.


Finally shower.


Send some emails.


Grade some student papers.


Miss Daryl.

Drive to Lawrenceville and teach at Rider U. Lecture. Answer questions. Laugh with my students.  


Run errands. 

Have some follow-up meeting with professors. Tear up a little when I say goodbye to those wonderful professors.

Come home.


Miss Daryl.


Remember that I will see Daryl very, very soon. For good. For real.


Remember God's faithfulness in the midst of a crazy season.

Thank God for this faithfulness, for a long year that is drawing to a close, for helping me to learn and grow. For getting me through it all.


Still feel tired, but better.

Countdown to Leaving Seminary... Top Ten Favorite Memories: 4

7. Trips to New York City.

I hate New York City. I really do. It's loud and expensive, and though it's only about an hour away, by the time I get there I'm always tired and nearly ready to go home. That doesn't make me sound very cool, I know. The truth is that I'm not, nor will I ever be, cool. So if you were thinking you were reading a cool person's blog, you should probably go elsewhere. Like to Unhappy Hipsters dot com.

Regardless of my inherent dislike for the city of yellow cabs, I've had some very memorable and hilarious experiences in NYC. For example:

The time my sister Caitlyn and I got stuck on a broken subway and then hopelessly lost, after which we speed-walked through Chinatown at dusk and ended up in a really creepy neighbrorhood. One of the highlights of this visit was the crusty old man we passed on our fast walk who was standing at the doorway of a dimly lit alley "store" with a handpainted sign reading "STUFF." When we hurried past him he started cursing loudly at us for not wanting to check out the merchandise. Eep.

The time I was riding the subway with my parents and telling them about this Mariachi band I encountered on the subway months earlier, and just as I mentioned it the SAME Mariachi band came into our subway car (I recognized the lead dude's crazy mustache). What are the odds?

The time Cait and I ran into Jude Law and she chased him down the sidewalk in her sundress and Chacos while holding a leaky jar of pesto sauce from the farmer's market in a bag she sweet-talked out of a lady who worked at the Body Shop.

 The time I stumbled into the MTV music video awards and got some eye rolls from scantily clad teenage girls when I asked what was going on. See? I told you I wasn't cool.

The time Daryl and I walked with our friend Steven through Central Park right before Steven flew overseas to start his new job in Indonesia. We talked about giving up everything to follow the call of God to seminary or Indonesia. Then I ate a snow cone.

The time I went to NYC with my mom, Daryl, and my sister Caroline and it was so utterly freezing cold that we had to snuggle together at every possible opportunity.

The time my friend Katie talked me into seeing a Broadway show because hey, we're so close to NYC and we're both graduating, and even though neither one of us can really afford it, sometimes you just have to do these things. This last one is happening on Sunday. Yay!


Ah, NYC. I say I don't like you, but clearly I do... at least a little.

Countdown to Leaving Seminary... Top Ten Favorite Memories: 3

8. The Christmas tree.

Our first year of seminary, Daryl and I decided not to decorate for Christmas. It was our first married Christmas, so we didn't have any decorations yet, much less any money to buy any. We were madly writing papers (and this was before Princeton changed its curriculum so that finals were before Christmas!), Daryl was taking an overload of credits, I was teaching two classes, and we were just too busy. Besides, we would be leaving on December 21 to travel home to Wisconsin, where we'd visit my family who would have decorated the house like crazy.

After we had mutually decided this, I was inwardly really sad. We didn't have the money for a tree or decorations, really, and it was the wise decision, but I LOVE Christmas. I listen to Christmas music year-round, I love it so much. Still, I was determined to keep a stiff upper lip and not let on that I was sad. After all, we were on a budget. We really didn't have time. Seminary meant sacrifice, and I could do without ornaments or wreaths for a year or two (or three).

One night, a week or so later, Daryl went out to buy groceries. About half an hour later, there was a knock at the door. Odd, since I wasn't expecting anyone. I went to the door and found Daryl, who asked, "Can you help me with this?"

Behind him was an enormous, six-foot tall Christmas tree.

I've hardly ever felt so loved.

Countdown to Leaving Seminary... Top Ten Favorite Memories: 2

9. President Torrance asking me if I'm a professional actor.

To his (great) credit, President Torrance always comes to see the spring play. I'll admit I got a touch more nervous when I saw him sitting there in the top row of the Friday night show.

After the performance he  came up to congratulate the actors, shook my hand, and asked, quite kindly, in his softspoken Scottish way, "Are you a professional, then?"

Ahahaha... No. But thanks for asking - you made my night!

Countdown to Leaving Seminary... Top Ten Favorite Memories: 1

Because I leave seminary in just a few short weeks (!), I've been thinking about my time here, about what I've learned, what I've loved, and what I've experienced. For the next ten days I'm going to post a memory a day from my time at PTS.

In no particular order, we begin...

10. Moving in.
Daryl and his two wonderful, dear friends Steven and Chris loaded up our Penske truck in Wheaton, Illinois, and drove across the country (I had come out early to start work and was already in Princeton living with an air mattress, a cat, and a folding chair. It was cheery). We had NO idea how much work it would be to move, and though we didn’t have much stuff, our truck was filled to the brim with furniture and boxes. It was August in Princeton, and it was at least ninety degrees out. Chris, Daryl, and I went to sleep that night in our empty apartment weary already at the prospect of unloading it all the next morning (Steven had to fly back early).

When we awoke and began to unload, we were met with half a dozen Wheaton alums (and a few spouses) who had heard of our plight and had come to help. Peter, Travis, James, Nicole, and Matt dropped everything to get hot and sweaty carrying our boxes. Our stuff. Peter’s wife Megan was ill and couldn’t come, but sent cookies.

Moving in took only an hour, and when we were done we ate popcicles and talked about the year to come. I couldn’t believe these people—some of whom I had never even met—had given their mornings to us.

Found on a Bethel University professor's office door:

My mom found this.

I had to share.

Reflections as I Plan to Live (Once Again) With My Husband: Part 4

You probably wouldn't expect that there would be a great deal of joy in spending nine months apart from the person you love most in the world. I certainly didn't.

But God surprises, sometimes.

When I flew home to Princeton after helping Daryl settle in to his new Nashvillian digs, I spent a couple hours crying. Then I spent a few thinking of how badly this was going to stink. Then I watched some television. It didn't help. Then I ate some ice cream. That didn't help either. Then I went to bed. When I woke up in the morning there was nothing left to do but pick myself up out of bed with a sigh and go to work. I tried not to notice the empty bookshelf. I shut the door to Daryl's side of the closet that was now empty. Ordinary life went on, even when the one I loved was a thousand miles away.

The joy in this year has constantly surprised me. It's been deep and incredible. It's been welcome and unexpected. It's been a sure companion, even amidst the pain of separation. A line from Marilynne Robinson's Gilead has stuck with me this year. I've quoted this novel in a previous post, but it is so apt I have to do it again. Her main character, John, is reflecting upon the death of his first wife and the decades between her death and his unexpected marriage to a new love:

"I do not remember grief and loneliness so much as I do peace and comfort--grief, but never without comfort; loneliness, but never without peace. Almost never."

There were times where I felt lonely without peace, but almost never. The missing ached, but there was still life in the living.

So, with joy, I'll end this series of reflections with nine joys I've experienced in the past nine months of living apart--far, far apart--from my dear husband. There were many, many more.

1. Reunions.
These were the best. Whether it'd been only two weeks or nearly a month, running into Daryl's arms in a Nashville or Philly (or Chicago or Denver, once) airport was amazing. We always tried to do our schoolwork ahead of time so that when we were reunited we would have two or three days together to just reconnect. We'd take walks, sleep in on Saturdays, go to church, cook leisurely dinners. After talking on the phone for weeks we were often talked out. We just wanted to be in the same room together, to tease the cats, to laugh, to hug. Each visit reconfirmed that our falling in love had been no accident.

Daryl developed a love for sneaking up behind me in airports and grabbing me in a big bear hug from behind. He's lucky my self-defense training is a little rusty, or he might have gotten an elbow to the stomach before I caught on...

2. Identity.
Prior to getting married in 2007 I understood myself pretty well as a single person. After getting married I learned to understand myself as a married person. Now I feel that I've begun to learn how to bridge these two worlds--to be independent but still part of a unit, to explore my interests but still care for my spouse. In my first couple years of marriage I had stopped doing various things I previously enjoyed (blogging being one of these) for lack of time and because learning to be married took time and energy.

I've recaptured something of myself this year. I've remembered who I am apart from "Courtney-and-Daryl." Now I look forward to remembering who I am within "Courtney-and-Daryl" in the coming months, and bringing the two together. I am both, and I love both.

3. Time.
Before I got married I hated the cliché that single people have "more time." "I'm a busy person!" I would say. "I don't have more time! I have little time! And it's precious time! So stop trying to get me to lead the youth group retreat/Bible study/school project because I'm the single one, okay?"

Well, it's true. Even though I've been working two part-time jobs while going to school this year, I find that I have a lot more time to devote to other things and people when I'm on my own. I've developed some wonderful friendships that I may not have had the opportunity to without these months on my own. I participated in the spring play and volunteered for some night on-call shifts at the hospital in Summit. I've read more, including more of my Bible. I've also watched more television than usual, but that wasn't a joy, it was a coping mechanism...

4. Being alone.
At my friend Bethany's wedding shower a couple of years ago, we were all asked to write down something she would gain and something she would lose when she got married. Her (hilarious) friend Alisha wrote: "You're losing the ability to ever sleep in a bed alone without people worrying about your marriage unless you're sick or in the hospital."

I didn't realize until this year on my own how much I really do enjoy being alone sometimes. During my first year of teaching I would come home plain talked-out. Daryl, who had spent his day working quietly in his cubicle, would be bubbling over with conversation. I simply wanted to eat dinner and not talk. On my own, I do lots of not talking. I've learned to embrace silence. Rather than racing to turn on music or the television when I get home, I love listening to the quiet for a little bit. The click of the cats' nails on the floor, the hum of the refrigerator, the thump-thump of a basketball near the hoops in my backyard. It is not, mostly, good to be alone. But sometimes, some hours of some days, it is.


5. Meeting Jesus in unexpected ways.
Back in mid-February I was sick. Sore throat, stuffy nose sick. No, it wasn't H1N1, but it was pretty miserable. I felt really alone. I had to drag myself to Whole Foods for Kleenex and cough drops and heat up my own chicken broth. When I'm sick I like to be fawned over. "What do you need? Oh... you poor dear." I love that stuff. But alas, I was alone, and Daryl could do little but empathize over the phone.

Enter my friend Brandi. She heard I was sick and knocked on the door with homemade soup and a warm loaf of gluten-free bread. "I heard you were sick," she said. "Is there anything else you need?" There were tears in my eyes as I hugged her goodbye. She had baked me bread.

There have been moments this year when I've been at the end of my rope. Sick, exhausted, or just lonely. And just when I've been at my lowest, Jesus has met me. Sometimes through his words in Scripture or in poetry. Sometimes in the soft fur of one of the cats (both of whom have a knack for knowing when something has made me sad). Often through people. I have been so incredibly blessed by the outpourings of love from friends and family. My sister Caitlyn visited me in September, and my parents have trekked out to Jersey twice (with a third visit just around the corner for graduation). Friends have schlepped me to and from the airport dozens of times without complaint. Friends have taken care of my cats when I've been away to see Daryl. Just tonight my friend Katie came over to study and brought strawberry-mango smoothie ingredients and a hug. "I read your blog," she said. "You said you needed hugs. So here is one." A few weeks ago my friend Inga made a trip down to see me for less than 24 hours when she returned from Iraq, just so we could have dinner together.

This is my Inga. She rocks.

6. This Tremendous Accomplishment.
I ran the Chicago marathon in 2002. To this day I'm not quite sure why I did it. I'm not really a runner or an adrenaline junkie, and I never did experience anything amounting to a "runner's high" (though I got plenty of "runner's side-stitch" and "runner's leg cramps"). I think the reason I did it was so that other things would seem easier. I would always have it to go back to for reassurance. "Of course I can write this paper! I ran a marathon!" "Certainly I can get through graduate school! I ran a marathon!" At the age of twenty, it helped me define myself as a strong person, someone able to persevere even when things were tough.

This is already how I think of this year in our marriage. If we did this, surely we can do anything. The same skills that helped us through a year of long-distance marriage--relying on the Lord, communicating well, making each other a priority--I hope will translate into the rest of our married life. And when we hit rough patches (as even the best marriages do), we will have this to hold onto and remember.

7. Moving on.
There is great joy in taking a new step. In a month I will be graduating. In a week my final papers will (Lord willing) be just a memory. Watching Daryl start his new PhD program and love it, moving toward my own graduation, and planning our new life in Nashville has been a joy. In many ways this is the first place we've chosen to live together, our first real grown-up place. When we were first married we lived in Chicago because that's where we had gone to school and that's where we had found our first jobs. After that we moved to Jersey because Princeton was the only seminary we wanted to attend.

Moving to Tennessee has been our first real grown-up "us" choice. We had the choice to stay in Jersey or, possibly, move to Chicago. We had the choice to say no to a PhD and move anywhere in the world.  So we prayed--together and separately. We sought the Lord's heart and our own. And with a bit of trepidation (we've never been southerners! we don't know anyone in Tennessee!), we chose Nashville and Vanderbilt. It was exciting to make the decision together, and it's been exciting to begin seeing it through. An adventure. Together.

8. Surprises
One of the things you lose after marriage is the ability to easily surprise the one you love. When you're living together and sharing a bank account, you have to be very crafty to create a surprise. Last year, a few weeks before Daryl's birthday, I told him not to check our bank statements. He does this pretty religiously to check our budget and guard against identity theft. Anyway, he remembered not to check it for about three days. Then he checked it. He came to me sheepishly, admitting that he now knew I'd been to Kenneth Cole... Grrr...

I love surprises. Love them, love them, love them. And it's been easier to create them (and to receive them!) being so far away. Just last weekend Daryl surprised me by taking me to the gluten-free bakery in Nashville. I still don't know Nashville very well, so by the time I realized we were on the other end of town--not headed home, as he had told me we were--we were practically at the bakery.

For Christmas I was able to plan a visit to a Laker's game in April. I was on the phone with my dad four or five times asking him questions about tickets (where should we sit? how far away was too far? is mid-court better than end-court?) while sitting in the living room - something I certainly could not have done with Daryl hanging around. 

Sometimes we surprise each other with love notes in the mail. Corny, I know, but I love those notes (ha! pun!) and have saved every single one.

9. The Pain of this Year.
How is pain a joy, you may ask? For this simple reason: it hurt to be away from Daryl. Sometimes to the point where it felt like actual physical pain. And each time it hurt, each time I hung up the phone with him and fell asleep alone, I was reminded of how blessed I am to have him. The missing has been painful, but it's been infinitely sweet as well. We have each other to miss. We've been faithful to one another in the missing. And with each painful day we came a day closer to being done.

I haven't had a baby yet, but people have told me that the only things that help you through the pain are knowing that the pain has an end, and knowing that you get a baby when you're done. There is no way around it - you must go through. And there is tremendous joy and accomplishment in getting through. You've done it. It's over. And now you can go home with your dear little one.

That's where I am today. We've nearly done it. It's nearly over. And in seventeen days, I can go home with my dear one. Seventeen days. Hallelujah.

Sunday poems - "Let Evening Come"

I haven't kept up with my Sunday poems, but I'm determined to do better. I love running across a new poem or poet.

I fell in love with this poet my first year of seminary. I took a class with Dr. Donald Capps called "Poetry and the Care of Souls," about the place of poetry in pastoral care. It was incredible, and there I fell in love with several poets who were new to me - Billy Collins, Donald Hall, and Louise Gluck, to name just a few. A poet who Daryl and I both immediately fell in love with in that class was Jane Kenyon. In fact, we named our second kitty after her (though the kitty's a boy) because we've started a habit of naming our cats after poets. Cats are quite poetical animals, if you think about it.

Jane Kenyon's poetry is simple and beautiful, full of images of nature and ordinary life. She struggled with depression throughout her life, so I'm reconnecting with her poetry as I write my final paper for my second class with Dr. Capps - "Ministry and Mental Illness." It seems right, somehow, to begin and end my time in seminary with such a wonderful professor and with such a wonderful poet.

This is the poem I'm citing in the final paper I'm writing on pastoral care and Alzheimer's disease. It comes back to me when I'm at the end of something - an internship, a summer, a graduate school program. In times of transition, even if that transition is hard sad, God does not leave us.

"Let Evening Come"

by Jane Kenyon

Let the light of late afternoon
shine through chinks in the barn, moving
up the bales as the sun moves down.

Let the cricket take up chafing
as a woman takes up her needles
and her yarn. Let evening come.

Let dew collect on the hoe abandoned
in long grass. Let the stars appear
and the moon disclose her silver horn.

Let the fox go back to its sandy den.
Let the wind die down. Let the shed
go black inside. Let evening come.

To the bottle in the ditch, to the scoop
in the oats, to air in the lung
let evening come.

Let it come, as it will, and don't
be afraid. God does not leave us
comfortless, so let evening come.

Reflections as I Plan to Live (Once Again) with my Husband: Part 3

This was us in August, saying goodbye.

The difficulties. Ah, the difficulties.

I'm not in the mood to whine and rant (and, really, that's not all that Christian when it comes right down to it). It has been a difficult year, yes. But I'm not going to write a long post about how hard and miserable it's been to be apart. Those who have done it know that it is both hard and miserable at times. Those who haven't had to do it I hope never will.

What I am going to share are a few short examples of moments when we both realized how much we need and value each other, and how much easier life is when we're together.

Thus: Part III - the difficulties of spending nine months apart from my husband.

1. The car battery incident.
I had forgotten what it was like to not have someone you could depend on to drop everything and help out at a moment's notice. There have been rare occasions when Daryl and I have pulled one another out of meetings or left work to care for one another in an emergency. The time I stepped on a glass lantern (long story, that one) and he had to carry me to the car and then into the urgent care to have my foot stitched up. The times he left his packed lunch on the counter and I brought it to him at school. This year, with a faraway husband, I just had to make do. He would help if he could, certainly, but from a thousand miles away he couldn't always do much.


One chilly winter day my car battery died in our parking lot. No big deal, I thought. I'll just jump it! I called a friend who happened to be home and she came out and we jumped it. Yup, two women jumped a car with no problem. We felt pretty proud of ourselves.

I let it run for awhile, and then drove to the grocery store a few miles away. You probably know where the story goes from here, but the battery died again. If you know me, you know that I know next to nothing about cars. Put gas in, change the oil, and it should work fine, right? Now I wasn't sure what to do. What if I got stranded? What if that friend wasn't home? It was the middle of the day and almost everyone I knew was at work or in class. It was cold. Should I hang out in the grocery store, wandering the aisles for hours? Should I walk home on the shoulder of the highway in the cold? I panicked. Called Daryl - no answer. He was in class. Even if I had gotten through, what could he have done? Called my Dad (an equally unhelpful idea, as he lives in Wisconsin, but in the moment it seemed like the next best option). He told me to go to the Pep Boys to get the battery looked at when I could get it jumped.

It surprised me how frazzled I felt. There was no significant crisis - I wasn't lost in the wilderness in sub-zero temperatures. I was at the grocery store. Worst case scenario I could buy myself a bottle of juice and read the magazines until my rescue came. Or I could be brave and ask a random person for a jump. But the fact that my usual knight-in-shining-armor was far away was unsettling. Sure, this was just a car battery. But what if I broke my leg? Would I crawl to the neighbor's apartment for help? Things weren't disastrous, certainly, but they were suddenly darned inconvenient.

After a few moments of these new thoughts swirling in my brain, I finally got smart and called the same friend who had jumped me half an hour before. She was home. She jumped the car and I drove it straight to the Pep Boys and walked home. 

2. The (lack of) laundry folding.
Daryl hates folding laundry. Hates it. With a burning passion. This year Daryl just wears wrinkly shirts. He misses me. One of his favorite things to hear when I visit is, "Do you want me to fold that pile of clean laundry?" For that question I always get a hug and a shy, "Well... I wouldn't mind it..."

You see, I have to fold and put away the laundry right away at our Princeton apartment, or you-know-who finds it...

3. The painters coming early.
There were several instances this year where I longed for a husband at home to take care of an awkward situation. One was when our ceiling developed a serious leak and needed to be fixed and repainted. The painters stopped by the afternoon before and told me they'd be there between 9:00am and noon.

I am NOT a morning person. Most of my classes start at ten in the morning or later. Still, no matter. If they might arrive at nine, I would certainly be out by ten till. I got up early in order to leave the house before the painters might arrive. At 8:30, there was a knock on the door. I was in a towel with dripping wet hair. I looked through the peep hole only to see three workmen with painting equipment standing in the hallway. Boy, would I have liked Daryl to field that one... Instead I shouted an awkward - "I'll be ready in a minute!" and frantically dressed and ran out the door five minutes later, dripping wet hair and all.

4. He's my husband and yes, I'm being selfish with him.
One of the things we knew would be tough this year was that people like Daryl. Specifically, his Princeton friends like him. He has a wonderful cadre of friends at the seminary. The trouble was that he was usually only in town for two or three days a month. Sometimes I had to learn to share those precious hours. Sometimes we had to politely decline invitations. It was interesting to learn the balance between caring for our marriage (we need us time!) and loving our friends and letting them love us.

Once Daryl's friends John and Matt had picked him up at the airport and driven him to Princeton while I was at play practice. They spent a couple of hours together, and Daryl had a really wonderful time. On our return trip to the airport that Sunday, Daryl reflected on their time.

"I'm so glad I came to town this weekend," he said. "I had such a great visit with John and Matt." There was a moment's pause, and then he looked over at me sheepishly. "And with you, of course."

No worries, love. I know you enjoy your man-friends.

5. The "we're separated" conversations.
This was how I often mistakenly described our situation. Then I got looks of sympathy/disapproval/sadness/confusion/judgment/disappointment. Then I would quickly correct myself: "Oh, no, our marriage is fine! Really! It's fine! We're geographically separated..." Awkward, awkward, awkward.

6. Daryl's serious addiction to the West Wing.
We've both found that creating and sticking to routines have helped us this year. When I get stressed, I do puzzles (doesn't make a lot of sense, but it really helps). When Daryl has trouble falling asleep, he watches an episode of The West Wing as he nods off. This has become part of his routine. We've both been through the series a couple of times, but now he quotes lines in conversations regularly. Without being able to fall asleep next to me, he's taken to falling asleep with Josh (Bradley Whitford), Toby (Richard Schiff), Leo (John Spencer), CJ (Allison Janney), Donna (Janelle Moloney), and Sam (Rob Lowe). This isn't a difficulty, per say, though I'm committed to not sharing our bed with the entire Hollywood cast come May...

7. The sick-and-dying cat.
Oh, Eliot, how we love you. Thank you for not dying. No thanks for giving me a couple weeks of utter hell. But it was worth it to keep you alive, silly silly cat.

8. I forgot...
I spent a summer during high school working for a Christian camp in Jackson, Wyoming. At the end of camp, the friends I'd worked with wrote notes in the back of my journal as a keepsake. Several of them mentioned what had become my catchphrase over the summer: "Where's my [fill in the blank]?"

I have lost things this year. I lose things. I'm not disorganized, per se, I just forget to double check sometimes. Daryl is my double-checker. He actually gets down on his hands and knees and looks under hotel beds. He looks in drawers. He checks underneath restaurant tables. I do not do these things. When we're together, I'm golden. When we're not, I'm in a bit of trouble.

Even this past weekend, which I spent in Nashville with Daryl, I was reminded of how much God must love me to find me a man who double-checks. Daryl took me to "Fiddlecakes," a gf bakery in Nashville. There I bought a cinnamon roll (a cinnamon roll! I have been craving these for NINE MONTHS!!!) which I devoured immediately, and a chocolate cupcake. At most gf bakeries there are no prices listed (Fiddlecakes was no exception). The reason for this is that us gf-ers will pay pretty much anything for a decent and safe pastry that we didn't have to bake ourselves. So this chocolate cupcake was like gold - not because it was exorbitantly priced, but because it was so terribly exciting.

We went to Panera to work on our final papers, and sat in the outside patio area in the beautiful Nashville sun. I put the golden cupcake under the table (it was in a box) to avoid having the frosting melt in the sun. And promptly left it there. Until Daryl double-checked.

I love that man.

9. Church.
I have a new appreciation for what it's like to be single and mid-20s in the church. It can be lonely to sit by myself in a pew when I don't run into someone I know. It can be difficult to summon the courage to sit with someone new, to meet someone new, week after week. It can be tempting to sleep in, to not bother (and I love church! I'm on my way to pastor-hood, after all!). After these months I'm more committed than ever to making sure there aren't any forgotten demographics in the church - that all are included in worship, events, and retreats.

Not that my church has excluded me in any way (I love, love, love my church, and it hasn't at all), but I do have a new appreciation for the extra strength and courage it takes to go to church alone week after week, and a new focus on reaching out to others around me in the pews who are alone - both those who remain single and those who are newly alone because of a military deployment, an empty nest, or the death of a spouse.

Next, the joys of nine months apart from my husband (and - this may surprise you - there were many).

GF Recipes: Peanut Butter Cookies

This recipe is courtesy of my bro-in-law Jared. He made these cookies just because they're (ridiculously, super) easy and tasty, and when he heard of my malady, he was happy to offer me a recipe that he had been baking for years that is naturally gluten free! Enjoy!

This is Jared deciding whether or not he can eat one of these pizzas in 30 minutes and get it for free when we visited Ocean City.

Jared's Peanut Butter Cookies
Preheat oven to 350 degrees
Ingredients: 
1 c. peanut butter (smooth or chunky - most are naturally gf)
1 c. white sugar
1 egg
Directions:
Mix ingredients together. Roll heaping tablespoons of dough into balls. Press them down with a fork. Bake for 10-12 minutes. Makes 18-24 cookies.
Additional ideas:
Adding 1 t. of vanilla (make sure it's gf! most varieties aren't, though Costco's store brand is) and/or 1/2 c. chocolate chips.

Easy, fast, yum.

Reflections as I Plan to Live (Once Again) With My Husband: Part 2

This is my little tribute to the past nine months: the craziness, reflections, difficulties, and joys of the past months my husband and I have spent apart. Installment #2 is dedicated to reflections - what I've learned about myself, my husband, and my marriage after nine months of living far, far apart.

1. I really love my husband.
Living apart has taught me how much Daryl and I just "get" each other. Of all the people in the world, he's the one who knows me best, understands me best, and often knows what I'm feeling before I even speak. I love him, and when he's gone, part of me feels like it's gone, too.

2. No, I really love him.
Seriously.

3. I married a good man.
 We've both been insanely busy this year, Daryl with his first year of PhD studies and traveling to conferences, me finishing my MDiv while working a couple of part-time jobs and participating in a spring play. Yet every few days Daryl will pause to remind me that I am his priority and that he'd drop everything for me in an instant. In November when Eliot got so sick, he proved it.

Daryl has great ambitions and great skill. He is working incredibly hard in his program. Yet I know that, above all, Jesus is his first priority. After that, I am. Even with the prestige of his program, the responsibilities he has taken on, and the name he is building for himself in academia, his priorities are in line. He goes to church every Sunday. He carves out an hour or so to talk to me every day. He sends me sweet emails and notes to remind me that he loves me. He Skypes with his mom and keeps in touch with his dad and brother. He runs tech support for my family when their Macs break down. He occasionally drops everything to help me edit a paper or a job application.

I married a good man, and this year has only reconfirmed how lucky I am.

4. I'm stronger than I thought.
During the past couple of weeks I've done a couple of things without batting an eye that I never, ever did while we were married. I picked up a giant, dead cockroach (I know, right? My apartment building is fifty-ish years old and in quite a state of disrepair...) and threw it away. I cleaned kitty poo off of the rug in the bathroom. I cleaned out a scary, scary tupperware full of month-old soup in the fridge. I scheduled a doctor and a dentist appointment without Daryl reminding me. Little things, I know, but I did them without even thinking. Without balking or hesitating. I just did them, because they needed doing. I'm much more ready to have kids than I was months ago. Living alone has helped me to grow up a bit.

5. I'm weaker than I knew.
Some days I cannot pry myself out of bed with a crowbar. Daryl is good at getting me up on those days. He'll kiss me on the forehead, then talk to me, then shake me a little (if I really, really need it). His last resort is usually, "Well, I'm getting in the shower and you're going to be late..." That usually does it. When it's just me in a comfy, warm bed with two snuggly cats I can easily talk myself out of whatever I had planned for the morning. Early reading? Why? Getting ahead on school? But I can snuggle into my blankets for another hour! Some days I need an extra hand, and without it, I really struggle.

6. Touching is good.
When Daryl and I were first dating we hit a rough patch. We fought about a lot of little things as we worked to deepen our relationship, and I wasn't always sure how to love him in the midst of these arguments. Once, after arguing back and forth for awhile, I put a hand gently on his arm. Then I quickly removed it and apologized. "Sorry," I said. "Is it okay to touch you when we're fighting? Does it bother you?"

"Not at all," he responded. "Touching is good." This became a theme of our relationship. Not that we were overly touchy (we both subscribed to the abstinence-before-marriage program wholeheartedly), but we were free with our affection - an arm around the shoulder, a squeeze of the hand, a hug, a kiss.

The reassuring and healing power of touch is quite an incredible thing. I've read news pieces on third-world orphanages where babies actually die from lack of touch. A close friend of mine recently confided that she's frustrated with being single because no one ever touches her. In our society you touch family and significant others - all other touch is limited to a handshake or perhaps, rarely, a hug from someone of the same sex. Touching has become taboo outside of romantic relationships, driving people toward relationships they may not want or be ready for simply because they are aching to be touched or hugged.

In many other countries, this isn't the case. In much of Spain, friends of the same sex will walk around holding hands or with their arms around one another. In France it's common to get kissed on both cheeks when you're greeted. In Italy hugs come with handshakes. In America we tend to keep to ourselves and touch only our family. During a time where most of us live hundreds (if not thousands) of miles from our families, there is not much human contact.

A professor of mine lost her husband years ago. I sat in front of her at a lecture where the speaker mentioned how rare it is to experience any human contact if you live alone, "particularly if you have lost a spouse." I could hear the professor sigh heavily behind me. This rang true for her. But because of my student status, what could I do? I couldn't offer her a hug; I was her student, she my teacher. But my heart ached for her.

I've found this lack of human contact to be very true this year. By the time it's been two or three weeks apart from Daryl I am positively aching for a hug. Sometimes I go the entire two or three weeks without touching another human being. Sometimes the only human contact I have is handing a paper back to a student, accidentally bumping into someone at the seminary post office, or shaking the hand of a colleague. I realize that I'm lucky - this season will end for me soon. But what about those who go weeks and months between family visits and don't experience any human touch?

Touching is not only good, it's necessary. I don't know the solution - how to encourage more (appropriate) touch in our hyper-sexualized society. But it's worth considering.

7. I'm not doing this again.
I'm glad we did it. We were following the Lord's call and (as Scripture clearly shows), ignoring that is only done at our own peril. But barring another act of God, we are done living apart. Done. Fin. Fo' real.

8. I'm more adventurous when I'm alone.
Marriage has made me a little bit more safe. I take fewer risks when I'm happy and comfortable. This year, on my own, I've rediscovered a more adventurous side of myself. I dress more fashionably, I go out more, I hang out with people more. I'm home less often because there are more fun things to do out in the world than in my little apartment. I've also had time to make some incredible new friends - friends who have made this year not only bearable but full of joy, laughter, insightful conversations, and great fun.

I also got to be in a rockin' play. :)

9. Dietrich Bonhoeffer nailed this idea of what it feels like to be separated, and what we, as Christians, must do to survive it.

For my Ethics and Dietrich Bonhoeffer course I'm currently reading Bonhoeffer's Letters and Papers in Prison. I'm about halfway through it, and on the plane to visit Daryl in Nashville this weekend, I came across this passage. It was so akin to my own experience this year it was almost eerie...

Bonhoeffer was writing to his good friends Renate Wind and Eberhard Bethge. They were newly married and facing a time of separation as Bethge was sent abroad. At this point Bonhoeffer had been in prison for many months, separated from his fiancé, Maria.

"I should like to say something to help you in the time of separation that lies ahead. There is no need to say how hard any such separation is for us; but as I've now been separated for nine months from all the people that I'm devoted to, I should like to pass on to you something of what I have learnt...

"First: nothing can make up for the absence of someone whom we love, and it would be wrong to try to find a substitute; we must simply hold out and see it through. That sounds very hard at first, but at the same time it is a great consolation, for the gap, as long as it rem,ains unfilled, preserves the bonds between us. It is nonsense to say that God fills the gap; he doesn't fill it, but on the contrary, he keeps it empty and so helps us keep alive our former communion with each other, even at the cost of pain.

"Secondly: the dearer and richer our memories, the more difficult the separation. But gratitude changes the pangs of memory into a tranquil joy. The beauties of the past are borne, not as a thorn in the flesh, but as a precious gift in themselves. We must take care not to wallow in our memories or hand ourselves over to them, just as we do not gaze all the time at a valuable present, but only at special times, and apart from these keep it simply as a hidden treasure that is ours for certain. In this way the past gives us lasting joy and strength.

"Thirdly: times of separation are not a total loss or unprofitable for our companionship, or at any rate they need not be so. In spite of all the difficulties that they bring, they can be the means of strengthening fellowship quite remarkably.

"Fourthly: I've learnt here especially that the facts can always be mastered, and that difficulties are magnified out of all proportion simply by fear and anxiety. From the moment we wake until we fall asleep we must commend other people wholly and unreservedly to God and leave them in his hands, and transform our anxiety for them into prayers on their behalf." -Letters and Papers from Prison, 176-7.

Amen, brother. Amen.

Let. It. Go.

I went to PTS's senior banquet on Wednesday. After getting ridiculously sick earlier in the week from an accidental gluten-ingestion incident at a restaurant, I didn't want to risk getting sick again so close to final exams. The last bout took two days of my life, and when you have 70 pages to write in 9 days, it's good to use all of those days to the fullest and not spend them in bed. In addition to the usual risks, the banquet was being held in Princeton's dining hall where the likelihood of cross-contamination is incredibly high. I can get sick from a single bread crumb, so hoping for the best just wasn't going to cut it.

Anyway, I ate before the banquet but went to hang out with my fellow seniors, see old friends, and chat over dinner. Faculty, students, and staff are the servers at the banquet, which is really cool. It's fun to see a New Testament professor or a Pastoral Care staff member serving dinner as a gesture of kindness and goodwill to us all at the end of seminary. Anyway, this is where my story takes an odd turn.

A well-dressed, elderly woman came to give me my salad. Not wanting it to go to waste, I turned to her and said, kindly but firmly:

"I have severe food allergies, so I'm just going to have water, thank you." The following conversation then ensued.

Her: (grumpily) Well, what is it you're allergic to?
Me: I'm just not going to eat. Really, I'm fine. I ate before I came tonight.
Her: Well, what about salad? (the salad was covered in dressing - something that often contains gluten)
Me: No, I'm afraid not.
Her: Are you sure?
Me: Yes, I am. I'm sorry. I'm just here for the fellowship.
Her: (suspiciously) What is it you're allergic to, exactly?
Me: I just - I'm just not eating. (explaining gluten is always difficult, and if you just say "wheat," people think they can avoid handing you a loaf of bread and you'll be fine, when, in reality, gluten lurks in everything from spices to fillers to flavorings)
Her: (firmly) Well, can we make you something special?
Me: No, I just - I can't. I'm sorry. I'm sure it's all very good.
Her: Do you want dessert? Can you have chocolate? (at this point I feel like we're starting to cause a scene. people at other tables are glancing up at us with raised eyebrows)
Me: No. Really, I'm fine.
Her: Well, I 'm going to give you a place-setting and a napkin. Is that okay? (said in a tone of disbelief, as if I'm faking no appetite but will certainly give in soon)
Me: Um, sure. That's fine. Thank you. (this is all just so weird, and she will not stop!)
Her: Are you sure I can't get you anything at all?
Me: No, really. Thank you.
Her: Anything at all?
Me: No, really. I'm fine. I got really sick this Monday and I don't want to risk getting sick again.
Her: Oh, right. Especially from here.

Aaaaand... scene.

The worst part was, after she left the people around the table told me who she was. I won't reveal it here for privacy reasons, but she was a pretty high up person at the seminary who apparently takes hospitality really seriously. What's a girl to do when the choice is between potentially getting really sick (during final exams, no less) and offending a really important person who thinks you're just being rude? Ugh.

I hate that I can't just eat normal food.

But I'd rather be perceived as rude then spend the next two days in bed...

Cats

"Cats are intended to teach us that not everything in nature has a function."

--Garrison Keillor

Reflections as I Plan to Live (Once Again) With My Husband: Part 1

We've (nearly) done it! After nine months (nine months!) of living in different states, different zip codes, and different time zones, my husband and I are only a couple of weeks away from being reunited permanently. In the same state, zip code, time zone, and the very same home! We will once again get to fall asleep together, wake up together, cook dinners together, and go through daily life together each and every day. Praise the Lord.

For those of you who don't know the reasons behind this temporary arrangement, see this November post.

As I look forward to this joyous reunion, I'm thinking about all the craziness, reflection, difficulty, and joy that has come for both of us this year because of our time apart. It's been hard, for sure. In honor of the nine months, I'm going to reflect on nine things in each of these categories over the next few days. First, the crazy:

Nine Forms of Craziness in a Year of Geographical Separation:

1.  Travel. Ah, travel. In our flights from Philadelphia to Nashville (and Philly/Nashville to Chicago and L.A.) we've gotten delayed, canceled, bumped, lied to (thanks, United), given seats in first class, and gotten snowed in for a whole day. We drove to the Nashville airport once during the storm of the century and passed at least a dozen cars in the ditch. We've become road-and-air warriors, patient airport waiters, and experts at packing for a 2-3 day visit. I now have proper toiletries, including mousse, in two states. I've fallen asleep on the shoulders of strangers (sorry, guy on Southwest flight to Nashville in December...), made new friends because of airport-suffering solidarity (I had to talk some guy down after finding out it was his third - THIRD! - day stuck at O'Hare. He was about to snap...), watched some really dumb movies that I wouldn't normally watch, and read that stupid in-flight catalogue at least a dozen times. Speaking of which, my remote-controlled tarantula and automatic litter box should be arriving soon...

2. Scheduling. Ah, scheduling. iCal has saved our lives and our sanity many a time. We synched our respective calendars early on in the fall to avoid the dreaded "Where-is-my-spouse?" at an odd hour of the day.

But even with the help of iCal, scheduling can sometimes be tricky. Recently Daryl flew out for Easter and then to see me in the play a week later. We usually see each other every 2-3 weeks, so this presented a dilemma. Do we see each other again during the finals season, or wait 3 1/2 weeks before reuniting again? After three weeks I start to feel less like a wife and more like a best friend/therapist who talks to the same guy on the phone every day. We've learned it's best not to go that long. Still, visiting during finals season isn't fun for either of us. "I've missed you, sweetie! Now I'm going to write a paper, so be quiet."

In the end I landed a CPE interview for the following week, so I'll be trekking to Nashville anyway. But still, the scheduling gets ridiculous at points. And crazy.

3. Phone troubles. One evening around 7pm I had great intentions to read my Bible for awhile. I was also ridiculously exhausted from a long day of class and work. I turned off my phone (just for a few moments, you know, so that Jesus wouldn't be interrupted), opened the Bible, and promptly fell asleep. For three hours. I was awakened to my friends Sam and Brandi pounding on my door. I groggily went over and opened it, thinking I had just drifted off for a moment or two. The following dialogue ensued:

Brandi: "Hi, Courtney. Um... here's your dish back that we borrowed."
Me: (sleepily) "Yeah, sure. No problem." Starting to  close the door...
Sam: "And, um... can you call your husband?"
Me: (a bit incredulously) "Seriously? He  called you? He can be a bit of a worrier sometimes. I just turned my phone off to read my Bible for a minute..."
Brandi: "Oh, okay. He just called us because he was worried."
Me: "Seriously? I just turned the phone off a minute ago!"
Sam: "You do know it's 11pm, right?"
Me: "11pm! Oh, shoot!" I ran to my phone only to see six missed calls over a period of four hours... Oops...

4. Lost things. Occasionally I've felt how I imagine a young child of divorced parents must feel. After looking for something I need for a long, long time, I realize I left it at Daryl's. In Nashville. Boo.

This is also troublesome when Daryl notices an article of clothing I've left with him accidentally in Nashville and he calls me to ask if I want it. Have you ever tried to describe clothing to someone over the phone? This is not helped by the fact that I'm a girl and he's a guy (have you ever asked a guy to describe a friend's wedding dress when you can't make the wedding? it  goes like this: well, it was white... it didn't have sleeves... it was kind of shiny... You might as well not even bother). I never have any idea what he's talking about. A pink shirt? What pink shirt? Do I even own a pink shirt? Baaaaaahhhh...

5. Eating in airports. In airports I can eat the following things: Cheetos (believe it or not, they're gf), Snickers bars, Cool Ranch Doritos, McDonald's milkshakes, Starburst, and Skittles. If I forget to pack my own stuff and I get delayed at all, I arrive to visit Daryl shaky, hungry, and hyper like a sleep-deprived five-year old. Not a good combination.

6. The bizarre things we fight about when we're not living in the same place. The following is an actual conversation we had a few months ago in the middle of the afternoon on a Tuesday:

Me: When do you want to talk tonight?
Daryl: What about nine?
Me: Lost is on at nine.
Daryl: Well, I'm going to bed at nine my time. I have an early morning.
Me: Then let's talk at eight your time.
Daryl: That's when Lost is on.
Me: Oh, right. Let's talk at seven then.
Daryl: I have a meeting at seven.
Me: Can't you stay up a little past nine your time?
Daryl: I'd rather not. Can you watch Lost online tomorrow instead?
Me: I'd rather not. Well, when can we talk?
Daryl: I don't know. The rest of my day is really busy.
Me: Shoot. Maybe we should just talk tomorrow morning?
Daryl: Wait, what are you doing now?
Me: Nothing.
Daryl: Well, we're talking now...
Me: Oh, right. Let's talk now!

This happens all the time.

7. The real value of money. We've spent money on things this year that we wouldn't have dreamed of purchasing in past years. We once paid $150 for Daryl to have an additional 24 hours in Princeton when something came up last minute (and it was worth every penny). We've purchased at least two plane tickets a month for the past nine months (and usually three or four). Honestly, how do you put a price tag on time with your spouse when you only see them every couple of weeks? You can't. This means, of course, that we've had to be careful in other areas. Fewer new shirts and jeans, creative meals. Daryl's become the master of making delicious Sunday soup or chili that lasts for dinner all week.

8. How emotion can be triggered by odd things. The first time Daryl flew in to Philadelphia this year we had been apart for only ten days. We decided to start with a short amount of separation, knowing that we had a long year ahead of us. He flew into Terminal F (aka, Philadelphia's "this-terminal-is-kind-of-an-afterthought-and-thus-VERY-hard-to-find-terminal"). I assumed he'd be in Terminal C where the rest of the US Air flights came in. I parked there and ran into the terminal baggage claim to find him. His flight ended up being about 20-minutes late. My huge I-love-Daryl smile started to get a little droopy. I sat there in the baggage claim, waiting for him to call and feeling like US Air was stealing my husband-time, moment by moment. By the time he landed my smile was droopy indeed. We had 48 hours together, and now we only had 47 1/2!

We then went through a fun game of Terminal C/Terminal F hide and seek where we managed to miss each other three times. Three times! I ran by random passengers and their luggage time after time looking more and more frantic and annoyed. Now I had 46 1/2 hours with my husband, on top of NINE MONTHS apart from him! When we finally saw one another, instead of a joyful reunion Daryl was greeted with a teary, angry, frustrated wife. I wasn't angry at him, but at the seeming injustice of the whole airport system and the whole lonely year ahead of me. How unfair for us to have to spend the year apart! How terrible to waste an hour and a half of our precious time chasing one another through an ugly airport? He had to calm me down, and I had to learn that he wasn't gone forever and that counting each moment made things worse, not better. It took time.

Plus, look how happy he was on his first day of PhD school. It helped to remember this, too.

9. How crazy it can feel to live alone. I've never lived alone. I've lived with my family, with roommates in college and after, and with Daryl. I have never in my life had an apartment to myself. It can be lonely. It can be relaxing. In its worst moments, it can be crazy-making. Sometimes I explain things to the cats like they can help me. "Eliot! Seriously, I can't figure out how to describe this concept in my sermon! You don't have any ideas, do you?"

Living alone definitely affects my cooking. I just don't. Or I make very boring and unbalanced meals. GF fish sticks and a bowl of cereal, anyone? A pear and a cookie for breakfast? Sigh... I'm a person who needs people around. I'm a girl who needs my Daryl.

In other news...
We're looking for a way to celebrate our reunion. My best idea so far is a day long hike in the Smokies when we finally settle in to Tennessee. Any other ideas for us to try out?

Ten on Tuesday (Take Nine)

Welcome back, friends! The play was a smashing success, despite some bumps in the road (one cast member ended up in the E.R., I lost my voice for a day, and we had to fight tooth and nail to get the A/C turned on in the performance hall despite temps of 90 degrees...). It was incredible amounts of fun, and I'll post pictures soon. For now, I'm fighting off a gluten-attack, so all I can muster is a simple "Ten on Tuesday."

Again, courtesy of Roots & Rings.

1.  What book, movie or song has made you want to travel to a particular place?
I've always been intrigued by Italy after reading The Agony and the Ecstasy. Yes, I know Michelangelo no longer lives there, but still... Steinbeck's East of Eden made me curious about California's Salinas Valley, which I'd still love to visit. When Daryl starts getting homesick he listens to Randy Newman's "I Love L.A.," which makes me long for the palm-tree-strewn streets of SoCal. As a grade schooler I was proud to live in Wisconsin because of Laura Ingalls Wilder's The Little House in the Big Woods. I rarely don't fall in love with places I read about.

2. Aside from your significant other, who would you want to take with you on a dream trip?
I have very, very fond memories of traveling through England with my friend Sharece. She was a great travel partner - laid-back, funny, up for anything, and was equally happy chatting and journaling. I love traveling with people who aren't afraid of asking odd questions or making special requests. When we got stranded because the trains in England are, well, unreliable would be a kind way of describing it, she just shrugged and we went to a pub and drank copious amounts of tea and ate fish and chips and laughed about England's England-ness. When we got stranded in another train station, Sharece grabbed a station attendant and sweet-talked her way into a free 2-person sleeping car complete with tea and breakfast. And when we (eventually) made it home, we had a great story to tell.

I love traveling with my parents and sisters, too, and I've had some great trips with Daryl's former DSG (Discipleship Small Group) guys Chris and Steven and Chris's wife Stephanie. We make a fun fivesome, and enjoy equal parts heavy conversation (our last big conversation topic was baptism - infant or adult or both? - and we went at it for hours), laughter, and cooking great food.

3. Where would said dream trip be to?
Is it wrong that what bothers me most about this question is that it ends the question with a preposition? Ugh. What times these are in which we live! I gave my students a mini-lecture the other day about not ending sentences with a preposition and I got 29 blank stares. One student actually knew what I was talking about, and even listed off about 30 prepositions for the class. I don't know who her high school English teacher was, but he/she deserves a medal. And a raise.

The place to which I would travel would probably be Europe. I haven't been back since 2004 and I miss all of the cathedrals and museums and amazing food and cafés. I'd love to take Daryl to Germany and Austria (he's never been and he's been learning German for years), to travel back to Britain or France, or to explore new places I haven't visited like Italy and Spain.

4. If you were hosting guests or providing tips, what three things would you show visitors to your hometown? (be it where you live now or where you grew up)
In Princeton the three best things to see are 1) Grounds for Sculpture (an outdoor sculpture garden/museum in Hamilton, NJ), 2) Einstein's house (sadly, you can't go in it - it's always occupied with a professor + family because the University uses it to lure in new faculty), and 3) Nassau Street. On Nassau you have the glorious Thomas Sweet's (ice cream! mmm...), the Bent Spoon (amazing gelato for all you non-gf-ers), and Halo Pub (locally made ice cream! mmm...). Can you see that my life has a theme? It's a good thing I'm not allergic to dairy, too...

5. If you had a long weekend ahead of you, where you head – beach, city or country/mountains?
I'm currently at the tail end of a nasty gluten-attack (it's poison! pooooiiiissssoooonnn!!!!), so all I can think of right now is going to sleep. And then maybe waking up and eating some fruit. Then, more sleep.

6. Do you have a passport? If so, did you get it for a particular trip or just to have, in case?
I do indeed. I first got a passport when I was in junior high and our family traveled to Europe (yes, it was awesome, and yes, that makes me sound a little bit hoity-toity, but do remember that the dollar was really strong back then, so all of Europe was pretty much a half-off sale). I had blonde hair down to the middle of my back and a silly pink sweater from Old Navy on in the photo. I was pretty happy when it expired and I had to get a new one.

7. Are there any travel souvenirs you collect? If not, is there something else you collect?
No, I'm not really a collector. I have lots of great novels, but I usually don't have them for long  because I give them away to people who I know would love them. I sent my mom home this weekend with The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time. If I didn't like the book, I won't pass it on.

Example: I just read the highly rated novel The Elegance of the Hedgehog. It had potential, and occasionally brilliant moments, but on the whole it was really fussy. I don't like fussy books. You don't have to impress me by constantly proving to me how smart you are and how many words you know - just tell a brilliant story.

8. If you could name a paint color, what color would it be and what would you call it?
It would be a soft gray and I would call it "Eliot Kitty Whiskers."

Ask a silly question, get a silly answer.

9. If you were heading away for a weekend break solo, where would you go? (forget about practicality here and flight times, assume you can get to any city in the world for the weekend)
I would love to go somewhere with a sandy beach and that ridiculous teal-aqua-turquoise colored water to nap, read, and drink cherry cokes with those little umbrellas. This is my finals-week self talking. Ask me again when I'm rested and my answer will be more adventurous.

10. Is there a song or a smell or something that you strongly associate with a particular holiday/place/time, such that it always takes you back?
The Jars of Clay song "Liquid" always reminds me of the beginning of high school (specifically sitting in a car with my friends Amy and Jeff on the way to some youth group activity in the late spring).

The smell of certain soap reminds me of Honey Rock Camp, since they use that to wipe down the tables in the dining hall.

The smell of Gillette shaving cream reminds me of Daryl. Sometimes when I really miss him, I'll use that to shave my legs so that I smell like him all day.

The taste of maple syrup (the real stuff!) reminds me of boiling sap at my friend Tonia's family's home in Wisconsin. The air gets so sugary you can practically eat it. It's amazing.

The Play's the Thing

The show opens tonight!

The seminary's performance of Brecht's "The Caucasian Chalk Circle" begins this evening, and I am super excited. I'll post pictures of the cast from the dress rehearsal after Sunday's show, but for those who are coming to the performances, I don't want to spoil the surprise of the costumes!

It's a great story. If you can't see it because you aren't in the area, it's a great read. Brecht was a complicated man, but he had some great insights into power, sacrifice, and the "terrible temptation to do good."

I'll be away from blogging until Tuesday or Wednesday. With the show, my parents in town, and Daryl visiting, I'm going to be one busy (and happy) girl.

Blessings to all! If anyone needs ticket information, drop me a line and I'll hook you up.

I'll Have the Croissant Sandwich, with Noodles and Croutons.

Food allergies are annoying. This is embarrassing to admit, but I've always felt a touch of dislike for people who have food allergies. Not their fault, I know, but it sure does complicate a dinner when you have to avoid dairy, tree nuts, random produce, or (worse yet) gluten. Food allergies can be irritating, inconvenient, or even, in their worst moments, truly dangerous (nooooo! I forgot that cookie has peanut butter!!!!).

God must have a sense of humor, because at the beginning of this academic year I discovered that I am gluten-intolerant. Not only that, but many of the health problems that had sent me to the doctor over the past five years (anemia, exhaustion, and severe stomach cramps, to name a few) were caused by eating my favorite food: bread. With that discovery, thanks to the help of gf/gf-knowledgeable friends (love you, Heather, Brandi, Kris, and Nancy!) I began my gluten-free journey.

When I say I'm "gluten-free" I don't mean "I-generally-avoid-wheat" or even "this seems like a fun diet trick to try." I mean hard-core, very serious gluten-free. I read ingredients, Google restaurant menus, seek out gluten-free restaurants and baking supplies, and can tell within half an hour if I've accidentally ingested that which poisons my system. I have "cheated" only four times, two of which were at church communion when I forgot to bring my own gf bread and prayed that Jesus would protect me from communion-bread gluten (he didn't, and for the record, I don't think eating the wheat communion bread, gluten-intolerance be damned, is a very theologically sound idea). Once was when Daryl and I ate dinner at Outback Steakhouse and that dark brown molasses-y bread they brought out was just too tempting. I took a bite. One little bite. I soon regretted it.

The other time was at Carlos' Bakery in Hoboken when my little sister was in town. Because, I mean, come on, it's Carlos' Bakery! From Cake Boss! And you can't walk through a bakery like this and not be desperate for a cupcake. I ate one. Just one. And again, soon regretted it (but boy, was it tasty!).

Except for those slip-ups (all of which happened early on in the fall) I've now been gluten-free for eight solid months. In many ways it seems longer than this. I (mercifully) hardly remember feeling sick and exhausted almost all the time. When people give me the "awww... too bad" face when I mention my dietary state, I gently and quickly correct them. "Don't feel bad for me - I feel better than I've felt in years!" Giving up gluten was a small price to pay to not go again and again to the doctor where I'm told any number of things ranging from "it's just stress" to "are you sure you're really sick?" to (and this is my favorite) "eat more whole wheat!" It's a small price to pay for a hugely improved quality of life. The longer gluten is out of my system, the more even a tiny accidental bit knocks me out. Needless to say, my "cheating" days are long over.

I've adapted fairly well to the challenges of a gluten-free lifestyle. I know the lengthy list of ingredients I have to avoid, and I've gotten creative in the kitchen to fill in the gaps. I bake my own bread once a week, and I know by heart the list of "safe" candy when my sweet tooth gets the best of me. For an Easter lunch with friends I even baked my first apple pie. As it cooled, I ran from the kitchen to the living room where Daryl was sitting, jumped on his lap, and proclaimed with glee, "I made a PIE!" This would have been a feat even if it was a normal pie, but with the added challenge of being gluten-free, I felt like a rock star. Sure, I have 70-pages worth of final papers to write and no job for the coming year, but I made a pie!

There are only two things that I still struggle with when it comes to being gluten-free.

1. Favorite family or traditional foods that full of gluten. My family bakes. When I went home for Christmas my parents were incredibly kind about changing recipes so that I could eat with the family. Mom made me an amazing clementine cake and changed the recipe for the gravy so I could partake. Aside from the basket of rolls on Christmas day, I could eat almost everything. But there are some select family favorites that are very glutinous that I just can't share anymore. Cinnamon rolls. Almond-sugar cookies. Bisquick biscuits. At parties with friends I have to stay away from the birthday cake. It's always a little bit of a bummer. Yet, I don't want people to have to cook around me. After all, at a big enough gathering there will be people who are allergic to nearly everything, and that gets tricky. So what do I do? Bring my own little piece of cake? Pretend I'm not craving that sugar cookie? I went to a wonderful Christmas party at the seminary where I could eat two things: chicken and Hershey kisses. It was a great party but a long, hungry night.

I've learned to offer to bring gf things to gatherings, and I often bake on my own to fill in the gaps. I brought pie to Easter lunch (have I told you that I made a PIE?!?!), baked peanut-butter cookies from my brother-in-law's gf recipes for Christmas, and begged my little sis to bring me things from the Cooqi bakery near her home in Minneapolis (oddly enough there's no gf bakery in or near Princeton). I've learned to do without, to make do, and to fill in the gaps. But sometimes walking past that tray of cinnamon rolls or going an entire night with only meat and chocolate in my stomach can be tough.

What do the rest of you do?

2. Restaurants. Ah, restaurants... Occasionally this goes well. A handful of restaurants "get" the gf thing and are very accommodating. Those that get my halo of praise include PF Changs (they put the gf menu on the back of the real one! like gluten-intolerant folks are just like normal people!), Outback, and Maggianos Italian. Good fast food options are In n' Out (if only we had some east of the Mississippi!) and Chipotle. However, these are the exceptions, unless I want to survive solely on salads and soda.

I've learned the food-allergy manners. Don't go during a rush (it's hard to take a special order when the restaurant is overflowing with customers). Explain things clearly and politely, but don't back down. Explain that even a crumb or two can make you sick. Be willing to compromise on your order if they can't make it safely. Be willing to leave hungry if absolutely necessary.

Still, in the past eight months I've mentioned to a server or waiter that I am gluten-intolerant (I have yet to discover a good way to explain this quickly - if you say "I have a wheat allergy" it doesn't cover all problematic ingredients, but if you mention gluten often people don't know what you mean... It's not as straightforward as a dairy allergy.) and have gotten the following responses:

1. I don't have any idea what that is. ("Well, ask me, silly!")

2. I'm sure everything's fine. ("Liar. Now I'm going to get sick and your tip is going down.")

3. That will be perfect for you! It comes on a croissant! ("Um... and croissants are made out of what now?")

4. Eye roll. ("Now your tip is definitely going down.")

5. The salads come pre-made, but I can take off the croutons. ("Sigh...")

A good restaurant experience assures that Daryl and I will be back, while a bad one usually means I spend at least part of that day in bed--not a good risk to take. Usually it's easier just to stay home. Money is tight, so the risk of eating out and spending money when it may end in disaster is hard to muster sometimes. Still, every once in awhile the risk is necessary. We get stir-crazy or have a long week and need a little break. And then we venture forth into the world of restaurants with hope and fear. Sometimes it goes well. Sometimes not. I'm still learning.

Are any of you struggling with food issues or allergies? Does anyone have insight into how to make these restaurant/favorite food struggles a little easier?

I've not posted a good gf recipe in awhile, but I'll get back to that soon. My success test continues to be Daryl: if he'll eat what I've made and proclaim it "just as good!" or even, occasionally "even better!" than the regular gluten-y version, I consider it a success.