she's seventeen.

She sits down, pretending to be apathetic - or at least that's what I have to believe. I'm viewed as an upper-class 'adult' figure; she's seventeen and with her peers, so I'm not offended in the least. There's an ACT-prep packet in front of her which serves mostly as a bed for her cellphone, because "it don't make sense anyway".

She pulls open her borrowed laptop and sighs. I hand her the slip with the college website on it. I'm asked to help her apply online. She types in "youtube" instead and begins to search her favorite music artists. I laugh it off and tell her she must've mis-typed something. Then she types in "facebook". I begin to feel frustrated, she knows what she's supposed to do... she's seventeen.

The application page is full of blanks which we can't fill neatly. Parent/Guardian: _____________, Miss Chante*?, A Step-Mom?, An Uncle?. Parent E-mail:______________, "ain't got one". Address: ____________, "we movin'".

Harder still. Volunteer involvement in the past four years: _______________, does taking care of your child count?, how about siblings?. She has a child; she's seventeen. My heart begins to break. "Let's skip this section for now", I say.

Essay. "aw, hell no", she laughs. "Oh c'mon, this is my favorite part" I say, eager to help her embellish her strengths on paper. I offer to leave her alone and come back and help her edit.



I take a breath and begin praying that I don't say anything stupid or naive. I find her staring at the screen minutes later.

Almost ashamedly, she pushes the screen to angle my way. My breaking heart sinks to my stomach. It's all starting to make sense. Her first sentences read something like: "Some people say you got to follow your dream. And I agree with them. You got to keep tryin. I want to follow my dreams to be a nurse and help people deliver babys. I have the career goals and leading..." She's seventeen. No one has cared enough to teach her how to structure a sentence. She's been passed from grade to grade with just enough to graduate. She doesn't understand a lot of words and reading is very difficult.

Filling my lungs I lean away, honestly just wanting to apologize. I can't help but continuously think, 'she's seventeen'.

Instead I realize how beautiful this moment is; for no reason it seems... well, or every reason. She wants what I want. She deserves it just as much as I do. I thought we were so different. No. We're so the same.

For once I don't have answers or an apology. I find myself smiling, nodding, and saying "good, keep going" before I walk away to pull myself together.

change of pace

Yesterday my friend Rachel said, "You know Ashley, I was thinking, and you're a lot like Flash".

I laughed and entertained the thought of radiating lightning and wearing yellow gloves and boots for a moment. I couldn't deny the parallel; I am often there one minute and somewhere else the next. It takes a special kind of person to keep up and a special kind of circumstance to slow me down. I think fast, talk fast, and walk fast. Most of the time my mind, body, and heart are engaged and even multitasking.

Except on Sundays.

*sigh*. You feel that relief? I'm living it.

My favorite Sunday things the past few weeks:

reCREATING.

from book to journal:


from scrap-paper to a valentine:


from ingredients to breakfast:


LEARNING.

The art of baking:




LAUGHING

because as much as I try to hone my home-making skills, I can't say that Martha Stewart ain't got nothing on me. You see, this morning I broke TWO needles...


I think I require some sturdier equipment? :)

and LISTENING.

to the words of narratives by Flannery O'Connor, Alice Munro, and C.S. Lewis.
to the banter of Loralei and Rory Gilmore.
to music. (most recently that of Mat Kearney, Joshua Radin, Parachute, Ben Harper, Tyrone Wells, Matt Nathanson, and Jason Myles Goss- who you just might want to listen to below...)


A practice I thought could be irresponsible, has been restoring. More and more I am convinced that we were created for a six-and-one cycle. At least for this season in my life I will live in that freedom.

Spring Semester Surprises

Professor McDuffee is, and I quote, "the proprietor of a t-shirt shop in Katmandu" in his mind. He went on to explain that he takes his controversial opinions and loaded thoughts and puts them on a t-shirt inside his head - sometimes "selling" them, (again this is all within the boundary of his brain), to those who could benefit from their advertised truths. "They're not hurting any one's feelings" he shrugged. HAHA! I'm reminded, at least three times a week, how uniquely brilliant the people I get to learn from really are. If we're all a little crazy, this man is my kind of crazy.

My former professor, current employer, and dear respected mentor, Dr. Sauer, has cancer. This might seem like a stark transition from the previous light-hearted surprise; however he is anything but heavy in spirit. This may not have been this 64year-old man's prediction or wish, but he is unshaken and challengingly hopeful. As someone who has taken to calling me "Ann" and greeting me with: "Are you persevering, my child?", I am encouraged even in one of his weakest hours. I prayerfully look forward to the ways this will deepen his dependence and grow our relationship.

I get the opportunity to have a second interview for a 2011-2012 RA position. This has been an unexpectedly exciting process. The application and first interview have already challenged me to look into a metaphorical mirror. Who do people see me as vs who do I want to be? Who am I presently vs. who am I created to be? How do I react to circumstances X, Y, and Z vs. how should I react? What do I like? What makes me angry? Why do I bother? It has provoked some discovery and I'm hopeful of what's to come.

bugs, butts, and bathrooms

Young boys are funny things.

Ivan, for instance, has a bug phobia. His mind has tricked him into thinking that anything small and black is an ant, and anything small and white is a "mosk" - by which I assume he means moth. I guess he could mean mosque; but judging by the things he shrieks at, it would have to be (as Derek Zoolander put it) "AT LEAST THREE TIMES THE SIZE" for people to fit in!

Ethan is convinced the word "butt" is an obscenity. He is also convinced that screaming, writing, or casually slipping the word into every sentence will make him look cool or something. I'm just not the right person to correct this type of behavior. Call me childish, but try not to crack a smile when you overhear " I do like Magic School Butt, especially the one about Mrs. Frizzle-Butt in the body... Hey Ryan, pass me the butt - I mean red marker". I kid you not ladies and gentlemen!!

and then there's Myles. I haven't quite figured out yet if he's obsessed with the bathroom or with paper-towel. Either way he constantly asks if he can go wipe his hands. Now that I think of it, maybe he just has unusually sweaty hands? Sometimes I humor him and say yes, but I might have to start bringing a towel or planting trees.

a suggestion

http://matthew1316.blogspot.com/

Click it. Read it.
I dare you.