Maybe It's Ok

I think it is safe to say I have been sucking at life for the past few weeks. A couple days ago I was thinking about how selfish I am and beating myself up in general, when I had a neat thought. God knows how much I suck right now. What if He isn't shaking His Holy head at me, but rather doing something in my life that I can't see. I remember this one year I sucked at life all 365 days. I know you are thinking, "Surely not, Ashley must be exaggerating again." But it's true. It was the year I worked at the Bank doing Mortgage loans and going to night school while living with my parents. My times with the Lord weren't consistent, my prayer life had gone to pot, every friend my age had gone to college in distant lands like Mississippi, and I was living for everyone else's approval. I would have never believed you if you'd told me, but God was very present in my life and utter sucky-ness that year. I think there are eternal ramifications of those tweleve months I may never understand this side eternity, but I know in a vauge and cloudy sort of way that God used that time to change my character. So I'm hopeful. Maybe this is another one of those times.

Nice Stationary

Today a friend told me I had nice stationary. And I do, indeed. It was a gift. I got a lot of stationary, coffee, and books for my birthday. It was so nice, and not just because they are things I like and will use, but because they made me feel known. Have you ever gotten a gift and thought, "Do they even know me at all?" I have. When I get a few gifts like that in a row I start to feel like no one knows me. So this birthday when I got two pounds of really good coffee, two sets of stationary, a bag of my favorite Cliff bar, and a journal among other things, I felt really loved (and sort of predictable. But I think that is just me over analyzing.)

Today I was doing some reading for my Fiction Writing class, whining to myself at how much reading I have to do, and trying to remember why I decided to be an English major. Then I came across this quote by Vincent Van Gogh in a chapter about how writer's block is a crock. "If you hear a voice within you saying: you are no painter, then paint by all means, lad, and that voice will be silenced, but only by working." It reminded me of Something Oswalt Chambers said in My Utmost for His Highest. I can't quote it, but basicly he said that if you are experiening spiritual confusion, the only way to gain understanding is through obedience. Chambers said that one cannot reason through spiritual confusion, but only after stepping forward in obedience to Christ, will God grant understading. I think this is what Van Gogh, as well as the author of my fiction writing text was saying. In writing it is much the same. If I try to figure out why I have "writer's block" or look for ways to fix it, I will only sink further. I see this in every writing class I take, the similarity to Christian sprituality and writing. I took my first writing class around the same time God began to show me my need for community. Much of the interaction of my writing group was like a small group bible study. We shared our stuff with each other, being honest about what was good and bad. Pointing out things the writer could not see in their own story and offering help, not judging their work as not good enough. Writing workshops require vulnerability. I remember the first time I read a personal essay aloud to a class of twenty students. I felt naked. When I was finished no one was allowed to say anything, they just thanked me for sharing. No one tried to "fix" my essay, they just accepted my writing. Ah..acceptance. Today's reading brought me back to the place of loving writing, not because I'm good at it, but because the writing community (which can sometimes be so dark) can also be a beautiful picture of what I think Christ desires for His church.

Happy Birthday Ashlet

After arriving home Saturday, I was starving, so I went to the freezer in search of something for a late lunch, when to my suprise I saw a TCBY cake box. My mom had got me a frozen yogurt cake for my Birthday. I yelled something high pitch and unintelligible to show my excitement about the cake, and shut the freezer door. Later over coffee, Mom told me not to have high expectations for the cake. When she got to TCBY to pick it up, the Indian gentleman who owned the store greeted her by saying, "I did it! It look good. It was good practice for me, I will be very good next time," talking about the writing on the cake. When Mom ordered it earlier that morning he told her that his wife was out at a birthday party, but would be back to do it because he wasn't good at decorating the cakes. His wife didn't make it back in time so he went ahead and did it himself. Reaching into the freezer he retrieved and presented to my mother the white chocolate mousse cake which read, "Happy Birthday Ashlet"

Mom swallowed hard. "You did a good job. Thank you." A woman eating a chocolate cone across the room said, "He asked me if I could decorate it. I told him I could bake cakes but I couldn't decorate them." So Happy Birthday to me, or to Ashlet, whoever that is...

Sex in the Classroom

This semester I have found that not only does sex sell, but it also educates. My roommate was telling me over a sub sandwich the other night that her AG professor sets all his power point presentations to the background of male and female swim suit models. He used to only have women in bikinis but then someone complained so he had to find some backgrounds that would be appealing for the ladies as well. He says it's much harder to find pictures of half naked men than women. (Just go to mall, Abercrombie and Fitch has plenty I would say to him were I in his class.) Her professor says the slides help to keep the class's attention. As an isolated event I didn't think very much of this. But today in my Spanish 115 class my sweet Latina Professora throws a Victoria's Secret magazine on the projector to teach the class ropas(clothing) and colores (colors). So today in Spanish I learned that all Victoria Secret models have pelo largo (long hair) and are degaldo and bonita (thin and pretty). I think I threw up a little in my mouth.

Ham and Cheese

I am taking twenty hours this semester. (every time I tell people that I feel like a martyr.) But I really am busier than I have ever been, sometimes too busy to eat, which for anyone knows me, is unheard of. Today I woke and began typing up and preparing for a presentation for my public relations class. After finishing, already late to meet my friend Sam to explicate poetry, I grabbed a Slim fast out of the fridge for lunch instead of making a sandwich. About eleven I popped the top on the slim fast, and was quickly reminded why I never went on the slim fast diet. I couldn't finish a fourth of the can before I tossed it in the garbage, thinking I would grab something for lunch between classes. As a presented my case study about Wal-Mart's new public relations campaign my hands shook, not from nerves, but from low blood sugar. (I didnt have the time between my spanish lab I thought I would.) As if my hypoglycemic episode wasn't enough I know the frat boy half asleep on the back row heard my stomach growling from the podium. I'm not the kind of person that can function without food. I looked at my watch and knew I didn't have time between classes to go back to my room for a bite, I don't carry my wallet to class, and I didn't put money on my school ID this year. I decided my only hope was to find someone in the hall I was close enough friends with to borrow some change for the vending machine. On a campus as small as mine I knew I would see someone...but I didn't. In a last desperate attempt I called my Friend Sam to see if he was still at the BCM. He was! "Sam, can you bring me something to eat? I don't think I can make it through literary style without something to eat. Anything will do, a teaspoon a peanut butter would be fine." He said he would bring me something. Three minutes before class began I started to get nervous. Sam was always early so the only reason he would be late would be because he was bringing me something to eat. I felt the guilt rising up in me. But the pangs in my stomach were stronger. 3:30 on the dot and Sam walked through the door. What was that in his hand? He thrust a tortilla at me. Studying it I saw what looked like Ham, cheese and mustard. "I got creative." he said. Sam walked over half a mile from the BCM with a tortilla in his hand, no napkin or zip lock bag to contain it. Just the flour tortilla flat against his hand on a hot September day. What a guy thing to do. What a sweet guy.