GopherBrane's Xanga

Old Stories

Thu, 24 Dec 2009 20:06:34 GMT

I've been digging through a lot of older stories I wrote. I started a new blog for some, especially the Lonya ones (as I rewrite them at the pace of a snail!). Check it out at The Lonya Chronicles. I have some of the Lord Peter mystery on there too. (And I'd like to add that I'm still really pleased with that one, although there isn't nearly enough of it.)

However.

Most of the others are, sadly enough, on the level of deserving to be taken out and shot.

Yet...

There are a few parts which made me grin, at least, so I thought I'd share them all.

From The Catacombs
...Augusta loved to order all the slaves around. Just thinking about her high-handed manner made Demas so angry that he scrubbed the floor harder, although the marble tiles sparkled already.

He did have one hope for the party that night. Demas hoped that Augusta would meet a man. And get married. Her father allowed her entirely too much freedom – he even allowed her to choose who she would marry!

Augusta was in less than no hurry to choose, because there were plenty of male slaves around the house for her to flirt with. Demas had been receiving her flirtations for some time now. It was not flattering. It was disgusting.

Which reminded him: he had better get back to work. If he didn’t get back to work, there wouldn’t be a party. If there wasn’t a party, Augusta wouldn’t meet any charming men. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t get married, and if Augusta didn’t get married, she wouldn’t leave the house. Demas thought that once she was out of the house, surely she wouldn’t be able to flirt with him any longer...

“I am looking for a slave-girl for Augusta,” he confided. “She must speak Greek, for I wish Augusta to learn conversational Greek.”

Demas stifled the laugh that was creeping up and nodded solemnly. He was perfectly aware that Augusta was quite familiar with any Greek words which could be used to flirt, but he couldn’t tell that to Aquilla. So he held his tongue.

From one of the gazillion beginnings of the Peter Brandt Mystery...

They had collided next to the salad bar.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I’m an awful klutz,” she laughed.

He had nodded, and then grinned. “It would probably help if I was looking where I was going. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Lovely,” she said.

That was their complete encounter, much to the dismay of the older ladies who had been staring at this budding romance unabashedly.

From some Star Wars fanfic...

“Look,” said Jaina, sounding just like her mother. “There it is.”

Jacen shivered. “Jaya, did you tell anyone where we were going?”

She purposefully misunderstood him. “Don’t be silly, Jas, I didn’t let on to any indiscreet operatives.”

“Operators,” corrected Jacen. “Seriously, Jaya, did you tell Dad where we were going?”

“Dad’s on Corusant, ’member?”

“Jaya.” Even Jacen’s everlasting patience was wearing thin.

“I told Chewie.”

He nodded. “Mmkay. Good enough.”

“We can handle it on our own!” Jaina protested. “We’re Jedi-in-training!”

Jacen yanked the steering control away from his sister just in time to keep them from colliding with a freighter. “Uh, sure. Jaya, we’re PADAWANS. Just like everyone else.”

“Well, it’s not like everyone else is related to Luke Skywalker,” she replied sulkily.

“Thank goodness,” muttered Jacen.

...

“Kela Rendar, where is your brother?”

“My brother?”

NK listened intently.

“Don’t act like an idiot. Your brother. The smuggler. Dash Rendar.”

She looked down at her hands, pushing the tips of her fingers together until they went white.

“Answer the question, young Jedi.”

“I don’t know,” said Kela sadly. 
“That is not an acceptable answer,” buzzed one of the droids.

Exile, NK, and Kela all shot it a murderous glance.

“Roger roger,” it continued, in its own little cyber-world.

Kela bit her tongue to keep from laughing and tightened the laces on her boots.

From the Vampire/Werewolf story (and I could hear Abby ALL OVER this story. So weird!)

Meinae was darning a sock, albeit not very expertly. After a few minutes, she flung it on to the floor. “Darn it,” she exclaimed, and went out to the kitchen. “Cameron did leave?” she asked for the eighteenth time.

...

A young man swaggered into the tavern and plunked himself down at the bar. “Heyyyy,” he drawled, looking Meinae over.

She felt herself blushing. “What can I get for you?”

“Well…” he said slowly, “I want a…” he leaned a little closer and dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “ a water with some lemon in it.”

Meinae suppressed a giggle and brought it to him. “Here you go.”

“Thanks,” he said with a wink, and gulped it down.

As she wiped off some tables, Meinae inspected the flirtatious stranger. He was fairly good-looking, she decided. She also decided that Cameron would probably kill him for flirting so with her.

Just then Siofra entered at a run and bashed into Mr. Flirt, who had just gotten to his feet. He fell back onto the stool with Siofra on top of him.

“I saw your horse outside,” she said by way of explanation. “Seonac-Aidan, where’ve you been?”

“Around…”

“Oh, Mei, this is Seonac-Aidan, my half brother.”

Mei nodded, somewhat dumbfounded.

“Has he been flirting with you?” Siofra had seen the effect Seonac-Aidan had on girls and was sure of the answer. Without waiting for Meinae’s response, she rounded on him. “Seandan, don’t do that! This is Cameron’s faithful lassie.”

“Oh!” Seonac-Aidan stood up again and made a sweeping bow. “So you are the Mei of great renown?”

“Er…” said Meinae. “Um, how do you guys know so much about me?”

From Kiltboi, which is probably lame if you aren't part of it and inherently hilarious if you are.

They went up the crumbling concrete stairs and emerged into the rainy , gloomy, foggy daylight. Kip pulled his hat down over his eyes, and began walking briskly along the busy streets. Corbani grabbed him by the elbow.

“What?” asked Kip in a hurried whisper.

“We’re here,” she said noncommittally.

“We’re where?” asked Kip, who couldn’t see a thing, because his hat was literally pulled down over his eyes.

“Subway,” hissed Corbani.

“Oh,” said Kip, walking into the frame of the doorway.

....

A lone Sandwich Artist stood surveying his medium with a baleful eye.
In other words, Kip was glaring at the lettuce as if he wished to strangle it.
The problem was, he couldn’t for the life of him figure out how to strangle lettuce.

Good times. :)

Sanctification and Vacuums

Thu, 24 Dec 2009 04:42:39 GMT

I have decided that sanctification is quite a bit like a vacuum cleaner.

You know. If you are shopping for a vacuum cleaner, you should never be taken in by the salesman who impressively points out that his can suck up huge objects. Not to be rude, but honestly, who needs a vacuum cleaner which sucks up huge objects? Pretty much anyone can just pick those sorts of things up by hand without too much trouble.

What you want to look for is a vacuum which is powerful enough to get all the tiny little pieces of junk which seem to have developed a symbiotic relationship with your carpet.

Sanctification is rather similar. Even those who see no need for Christ often manage to keep their lives impressively clean of huge, noticeable sins. They don't murder, they take good care of their families... etc.

Or, to make the issue rather closer to home, it's incredibly easy for me to feel arrogant about how I'm doing spiritually.

And then along came Sunday, when we were making gingerbread houses, and my one sister flat out refused to share the tube of icing that we were supposed to be sharing. There was no reason that I knew of for her not to share, other than she didn't feel like it. Ridiculous, eh?

The more ridiculous thing was that I got quite genuinely irritated over it.

I mean, really. I was getting annoyed because she wouldn't share ICING.

My sanctification has a good way to go.

Adios, Finals, Until Next Semester!

Sat, 19 Dec 2009 03:31:54 GMT

Now my third finals week is behind me, and I can honestly say that it’s one of my favorite weeks of the semester. While it is an absolutely horrendous week for engineers, it’s pretty lovely if you’re a Biblical Languages major. Translation: I end up with less work to do than most other weeks!

Add to that all the tension of tests (my own and those of over a thousand students all around me!), a semester’s worth of generally not-enough-sleep and multiply this by an exponential amount of general insanity and figure that it’s not just me, but all the students... well, it makes for some great stories. Sorry that I don’t have pictures for any of it.

I noticed that my brain was beginning its happy serotonin dump the end of first week in December. Suddenly, the girls at my table and I were laughing at anything. I prepared myself for the onslaught of adventures.

It was probably a pretty good tip-off to the week when, intending to stick my tongue out at Isaac, the man who walked between us received this expression. Worse still: realizing that he’s an OPC pastor. Epic fail on my part.

These adventures may only be mildly interesting, or in fact quite boring, if you weren’t there for it. If you were, though, you’ll know what I was talking about. If you ask questions, I may answer them.

The First Intentional Adventure: my dear roommate and I went to get coffee thingies/slushies and see if the coffee shop had puppy chow. They did. We ate it. Lots of it.

Then there was the silly-stringing of the second floor. Kat got it in her hair. Hannah the El-Ed woke up from her nap to answer her door... and got silly-stringed. Molly and Martie’s door sported a foamy smiley face, while another door on that hall received a heart. This didn’t actually start with second floor, you understand. It began with my roommate spraying our suitemates. And bathroom, which sort of looked like Spiderman had a bad day. Did I mention that our one suitemates may not have been very awake when first silly-stringed. (Should that be silly-strung?) Good news: silly string cleans up pretty easily.

The Isaac episode wasn’t the only one of its sort. In an attempt to hit Luke D with a sodden napkin ball, I ended up landing it on the tray of some girl whom I do not know. She was startled. Luke was in danger of dying from laughter. Jordan hit him with broccoli, twice. Score.

Nicole is going to make her husband eat mud and raise their children. Poor guy.

Rebekah decided to flip upside down on the railing outside of the dining hall. She said that it was fun and she was in no danger of hitting her head. Jia ni, Rivkah! But I’m not sure that I endorse trying it.

I learned that if you’re paid by direct-deposit, it’s a waste of time to check your mailbox... duh...

Various RAs with headlamps may interrogate you when you come to pull your laundry out of the dryer. If this should happen, attempt to make sure that it’s dry, no matter how confused you are, rather than taking a basket of rather damp laundry the whole way up to your room. Yeah.

Freshmen are pretty excellent at eating your leftover ice cream. It beats throwing it out, as far as I’m concerned.

Molly+Martie+Jordan+me(in a bookstore)= much time drooling over books. We’d rather do that than say goodbye.

So what wonderful things did I forget, people?

Prayer

Sun, 06 Dec 2009 01:00:32 GMT

This is how fast my world can fall apart. I got a text from my roommate saying “you might wanna pray, it’s super icy”. She and the girl who I call my third roommate are in a car together, and it’s been five minutes since I’ve sent a question that she didn’t answer. Yet.

I’m not really worried yet. I know her... she probably was distracted from the phone and my messages, she’s probably helping navigate. I remind myself of these things and pray. Father, keep them safe. I tell myself that my Hebrew homework, which has been crankily staring at me all day, while I helped act for a movie, and wrote a ten page paper, and ate meals, and talked to people, needs to be done, and I would rather put a huge dent in it tonight than get up at seven on Monday morning.

And I pray some more. There really isn’t anything else to say. God knows where they are, and the amount of friction between their wheels and the road, and every hair on their head.

So I straighten my desk, and notice that my mittens are there, and think of how thankful I am for mittens, and the fact that it actually snowed today, enough to make some snowballs. And I eat some of the jellybeans on my desk, and straighten a few more things, and decided to write.

And I pray still more. There is nothing new to say, besides asking Him to keep them safe. But since it’s what I can do, and He’s said to ask, it’s what I do.

I remember that I haven’t opened my Bible all day. It’s a shame when it takes me being scared to go to God’s Word, but it’s absolute shame to me if I think it so vital to prove my own self-sufficiency that I refuse to look at it even when I know that things are out of my hands. The wiles of a still-fallen heart. Gross.

I read II Thessalonians 2. But we ought always to give thanks to God for you, brothers beloved by the Lord, because God chose you from the beginning to be saved, through sanctification by the Spirit and belief in the truth.

They are sisters, but the principle is obviously the same. So now, mixed with my prayers for their safety, are prayers of thanks. Because I know both of them, and they are beloved by the Lord.

I will keep praying. And I will do my Hebrew. And if I make reasonable progress, I will probably go watch Bye Bye Birdie with Nicole and Raeann and Janie.

Because, you see, my world can fall apart this fast. But just because it can doesn’t mean that it will. I know the One who holds the entire world together. And I can talk to Him whenever I have need of it.

Edit: They're there safely. God is so very good.

One of my Favorite Things...

Fri, 27 Nov 2009 17:33:15 GMT

So, I think that I have figured out what one of my favorite things to do is.

Talk about what it will be like when all things are renewed.

Seriously. Jordana was cranking out questions a million a minute last week while the Ninja Girl and I were, erhem, trying to work on homework. Jordan and I were at one table, where I was writing my humanities paper, and NG was a table over doing some homework of death. (Pretty much all of her homework is Homework of Death.) Anyway. I digress. Questions were all over the place. Will we be able to make our skin change color at will? Can we have fuzzy skin? Will everyone be the same age? Will people have children? What about if I die before you, will I have to wait for you? Will I even notice that I’m waiting for you if there isn’t any time there? Will we just get to wander around and see everyone? Will there be lines to see some people, like Paul? Will waiting in line even matter, if you have an eternity? Finally, Ninja Girl (so much for being focused on her homework) cracked up.

The questions were quite funny, but I was loving them. So many things to think about and look forward to, so far from the idea that one girl in my youth group at EV has of heaven. And, mind you, she is a well-churched girl. “I don’t want to go,” she complained. “It seems so boring.” I tried to give her some words that would hit her with a glimpse of what makes me so excited about it. It didn’t work. I hope that she figures it out. She knows there must be more, but she’s not getting it.

Of course we don’t get it yet. But I want everyone to at least be excited.

It came up again tonight after family devotions, in a long train of thought connected to if animals disobey or not. And I love it. We sound like little kids getting ready to go on a vacation to somewhere they’ve never been. We don’t know the specific features, but we know it will be amazingly incredible.

I remember at the end of my tenth grade year, when a rather traumatic choice lay before me. Was I going to go to Quizzing Districts, or the youth retreat for my presbytery? Both were good options. And I was utterly torn. Mom assured me that in the long run, it probably wouldn’t matter that much, and that at other points in my life, I’d have much more difficult choices to make, such as where to go to college and who to marry. (To be honest, I doubted her. Deciding who to marry HAD to be more clear cut, right? ...I think tenth graders just don’t understand everything that they think they do... at least... I didn’t... College, on the other hand, was no harder of a choice. ANYWAY!) Antion was helpful, as he would be at various other times when I needed to make decisions. “I don’t know about the rally,” he said. “But I promise you that you won’t regret coming to districts. It will be amazing.”

I did end up going to districts. That wasn’t the only factor in my decision, but it’s one that has stuck in my mind. Because that districts was thoroughly amazing, a two day period packed with adventures, laughter, friendship, fellowship, hard work, and a lack of sleep. It was far beyond what I had envisioned.

So my reasoning goes like this. If Antion could be that spot-on on something that wasn’t even in his control, my confidence is all the greater in the promises of God for what He is preparing for me. The memory of my first districts is precious.

How much more excited can I get about the full feast that districts was only a taste of? Something beyond all of our most glorious and fantastic imaginations?

How can I live a single moment without being in utter awe at this great thing sure to be? And yet I forget the rapture and grandiosity of it all the time.

Right now, I am thankful. And praying to remain ever conscious of that, so that I may remain ever thankful to the Giver of these good gifts.

Snapshots of a Sunday in my Life

Mon, 16 Nov 2009 01:16:46 GMT

A young child in his mother’s arms as she stands at the back of the church. he was a baby last year, and to my shame I cannot remember his name. His fine, blond hair has grown long enough to be cut. His bare toes curl and uncurl happily as he is held, secure in the hushed sanctuary. It’s full of people and light against the darkness outside the windows. As two of the elders walk past, they smile at him, place a hand on his head. Then they move on.

Learn the love, little one. All too soon you will be too old to be so easily held in the light. So learn the love now, and may it be used of God so that you will always be safe against a dark world, that your eyes may always remain so open and full of light.

.........................................................................................................................................................................

I tell her when I first knew, and she looks at me with confusion in her happiness. “But we weren’t then --” she protests. I laugh. I knew then, because they looked at each other with a delight and enjoyment that was both shy and bold.

She laughs too. May you always laugh, dear sister-friend. We have spoken of brokenness. You know that too. But you still hope and converse and listen and laugh. May you always be willing to do so.

.........................................................................................................................................................................

He sits across from me at dinner. He drove me crazy at first, but unknowingly I came to recognize his care and friendship for what it is, and to miss him when he was gone. Funny how that works.

Tonight (as ever) we are teasing him. He wants to know why I spoke in the language that I did, what language it was, what I was saying. But it was almost a week ago, and his pronunciation isn’t helping me out. I can picture the words -- coia and dae, but they are just sort of sitting in my brain like cold lumps of ice. They don’t make sense together as far as anything I can remember.

She reaches for a napkin and a pen to write down the words.

“It means life shadow.” Even once I was sure that was the translation of those words, I didn’t want to say it.

She puts the pen back in her pocket. “Yes it does.”

In the shadows that threaten to overwhelm and swallow our lives, may we find shelter in the refuge of of the shadow of God’s wings. Tonight I heard that proclaimed from the pulpit. We do not go through the valley of the shadow of death alone, but protected by the much greater shadow of the One who is Light.

More Thoughts on Growing Up

Tue, 03 Nov 2009 03:18:00 GMT

I've decided that growing up is a pretty weird thing. A lot of things just seem to fade off. Wiggling teeth doesn't really hold the appeal that it once did... in fact, it seems pretty gross (despite the fact that when *I* was at that stage, I was sure I'd always be cool with it!) I can't even remember the names of all the Barbie families that we had.

One example that kind of sunk this home to me was The Rebelution. It's a great forum. I love it, I support it. But... I think at some point last year... I realized, Wow, the kids on here are young. And it's not that they aren't mature, and aren't thoughtful, but it just wasn't my place anymore.

And that's not necessarily bad. It was mostly just strange. And I still check in there, making sure there are no new messages in my inbox. It's still a good place for networking (we used it for Operation Youtube this summer!) and getting ideas. But is no longer somewhere where I belong.

There are plenty of things in life like that. Places where we fit once and don't anymore. People who we once were close to and then... aren't. Nothing horrible or drastic happened.

We just grew up.

It hurts, a little. It's a little bittersweet. But it's not bad. Far better than to try to cling to it forever, as do all the Peter-Pan-wannabes, stuck forever in youth rather than willing to grow in wisdom and maturity. Far better than to never have had anything in your past that it matters that you moved on from.

So... until we all attain to the unity of the faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God, to mature manhood, to the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ, so that we may no longer be children, tossed to and fro by the waves and carried about by every wind of doctrine, by human cunning, by craftiness in deceitful schemes. Rather, speaking the truth in love, we are to grow up in every way into him who is the head, into Christ, from whom the whole body, joined and held together by every joint with which it is equipped, when each part is working properly, makes the body grow so that it builds itself up in love. [Ephesians 4:13-16]

Murnia

Tue, 27 Oct 2009 02:22:25 GMT

Boundless the sky above Murnia
Loosed from constraints of all seeming time
Clouds scud across this steady ocean
Clearly lit blue
Turning thundercloud dark
Broken by the feet of the children who run
Cut off from peace by the blood all around
Murnia, my heart’s tears soak into your ground

I think that Murnia is one of my favorite lands in the vicinity of Lonya. I don't remember if I planned it from the beginning? I don't think that I did... I think it was just Riscon-Morg and Lonya to begin with, and that Gazigway and Murnia followed not too long after. The Murnians tended to give me some of the most surprising elements in the story. They should have been a pretty predictable bunch, but then things happened. Things like the massacre stunned me as much as the characters.

The imagery is vivid in my own mind. Declan Murtagh was the original Murnian, and I don't remember all of his family's names (there were too many. I like Jethi. Hmm... they're somewhere here on Aurens... let's see.)

Jera

Keena

Lorni

Kata

Ani

Jethi

Joca

Joci

Jetha

Vera and Lorni

Veri and Ana

Kati and Joca

Um... yeah. No wonder I didn't remember all of them. But I still remember who some of them were. None of them were particularly based on people I knew, but they all seemed real.

I like writing stories. I'd love to visit Narnia, and Middle-earth... but I would also love to visit the world around Lonya. It's a messed up place in plenty of ways -- Monrag on the loose, trying to take over the world, Nic deserting to serve Monrag, Lee constantly disappearing and reappearing... but I enjoyed it. There were always places to go and adventures to have. Not so different from real life in all of that, but safer in plenty of ways. I could shut my notebook for weeks at a time. I can always rewrite it. Not necessarily who the characters are, but I can make it make more sense to myself, which is an element of control that I don't always have.

I would have run too, from Murnia, as Jethi and the other survivors did.

But eventually, I think I'd go back. If I finish writing the story, I think that they will as well.

I'm Alive!

Sun, 25 Oct 2009 00:56:43 GMT

Well, dear reading public,
I know. It has been a long time since I posted. I'm posting right now largely because I don't really feel like writing my philosophy reflection, but I will do it after I blog.

First of all, for your enjoyment, I have typed up a bunch of quotes from my Israel class. A lot of them are Dr. W quotes. It's not my fault; he's extremely quotable.

Dr. W: [discussing Solomon's wives] "Where would you stash 900 wives?"
Zach: "In the kitchen."

Dr. C: [about the Shashu, a pastoral people] "These are people the Egyptians had fun attacking from time to time."

Dr. W: "Now the wheel concept is easy -- you have a flat disk --"

Dr. W: [about ancient Eastern laws] "If a man bites another man's nose and severs it -- we all know what problems THAT causes!"

Dr. W: [on the invention of bongos] "You know, you skin your cat, and get a coffee can, and... ... Most people don't sit around thinking, 'I'll make my pet into an instrument...'"

Dr. W: "...used for mixing stuff to put on your face -- what's it called -- cosmetics!"

Dr. W: [after giving Zach extensive directions on where to find the papyrus in his office, after he exited] “What he doesn’t know is that I have hidden a rabid dog... No, we haven’t done that for over a year now.”

Zach: “If we misspelled Hoffmeier, will we lose points?”
someone else: “Um... what if we spelled it Currid?”

“Because the Bible is historically accurate, I view it like a murder. If it really happened, there is probably evidence to be found.” ~ Dr. W, on the relation of the Bible and archeology.

[About the Gibeonites] “They jazzed themselves up, they got rotted bread... Okay, they lied, they cheated, they manipulated -- but it was for a good cause! ... You’ve got to give them points for creativity!” ~ Dr. W

Today at the museum we were getting ready to leave. Dr. S asked me to check if anyone was still in there who was supposed to leave with us.
Care to guess who?
Yep. Dr. W.
There was much laughter, and then I went back commissioned to tell him that It Was Time to Leave. He protested that we had only just BEGUN! But we had to go. Oh well.

In other news, Jordan and I have watched some anime movies. We watched Howl's Moving Castle and Spirited Away. We both liked Howl's Moving Castle better. :D We also watched Nanny McPhee with Rebekah... that is, Jordan slept through parts, but she had seen it before, and Rebekah and I randomly laughed at the British humor.

Tomorrow is the Reformation service, best worship service of the year! I wish that we had rather unlimited car space and could bring a TON of people along, but I am soooo glad that I get to go. *is very happy*

Autumn has launched with beautiful colors. I took some pictures today... I love photographing trees in fall. I love the way it smells. I love the weather when it is sunny. Good times all around.

Musings of 55 Minutes

Fri, 09 Oct 2009 21:25:42 GMT

It’s Friday afternoon. The large lecture room is mostly full; the empty seats signal students who have cut the class. The room is dimly lit -- light enough that there is no difficulty in seeing the person next to you, or your notes, or the person across the room from you, for that matter, but dark enough that the powerpoint shows up without problem. Funny things, powerpoints. They didn’t exist when my parents were in college, but you’d think that a lot of teachers couldn’t function without them. My thoughts wander, trying to capture the feel of it in words. It’s drowsy. Friday afternoon, dim lighting, right after lunch? That is an equation for sleep. Especially as Humanities 203 isn’t known for holding the attention of students. Of those who are still awake, most are thinking about things other than Faith and Reason in the Middle Ages. Their plans for this afternoon and weekend. The phone call they got last night.

The room is a subdued ocean of t-shirts and hoodies, jeans and sweats. Sure, this can be my culture. I’m nineteen after all, I can fit in at least decently well.

But it isn’t entirely my culture either. I have far too much distance from it to truly fit. I am not multi-cultural in terms of having lived in multiple countries. I haven’t even lived in different states. Yet there are so many cultures in this room, and I live with the knowledge that I can speak the language of many of them. The college students, that’s a big group. The C-1 girls, my floor of last year. We aren’t on the same floor or in the same building anymore, but that doesn’t stop us from eating together, or calling ourselves “C-1”, or relying on each other. Dag. There aren’t many of us in that class, but it is a culture unto itself. It is not so much of a clique that others can’t join -- I was a new student last year, and only last night found two Dag guys making room for me in a booth when I was planning to eat in my room -- but it is a culture. The post 9-11 culture.

All of these have their own rules. Some of them do not really offer a choice about joining. No one asked me if I wanted to live in a world where terrorism seems unsurprising, if still horrifying. I don’t get an option about being a college student, as long as I am on here. At least, not as long as I’m a traditional student. The older ones are stuck in an even odder position, a sort of no-man’s land. Others of them, such as Dagorhir, were not mandated. I chose Dag. I didn’t know the rules at the time. I knew the stated rules -- no head shots; you lose a leg, get down a knee; sword on head means you’re dead -- but I didn’t (and couldn’t!) know the unstated rules -- we will do other things than fight together; we will watch out for one another in many areas of life, on and off the field -- or the politics, the hierarchy of who was feuding with whom, who had dated whom... so many things to learn. And that is only one culture, and only a tiny glimpse of it.

So now, in this classroom, I remain vaguely aware of the fact that there are rivers and rivers of culture flowing through here. We sit in blue plastic seats and listen to cultures and philosophy of an older world. How many are aware of the cultures and philosophy around them?

Last year, for my big Greek exegesis project, I chose I Corinthians 13. I wasn’t really sure why I was picking that at the time, but throughout the semester, it was astonishing to see how close it ran to my own life. Love is, I wrote what felt like a thousand times. I did not add, And I am not. At least, not yet.

No. Now I sit here, wondering what the value of listening to a lecture that I already know the material for is. Wishing that instead I had the time to do the many things which seem so much more important -- readings, translation, conversations. (There are so many people, and so many conversations waiting to be had, and such limited time.) Or sleeping, something which I did not appreciate till I was in college. For all that, I trust God’s wisdom in putting me hear, and in guiding what I learn. I have seen many other times how what I felt unnecessary proved to be vital. So here I am, reviewing Anselm and Abelard and Aquinas, and waiting for the 55 minutes to run out.

But more than that, waiting for the day when I will know as I have been known.